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s3thwrit3sstuff · 6 months

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❝ WHY AM I IN LOVE ALONE? (WHY AM I HURTING ALONE?) ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | angst with comfort | unrequited love, ex-cheater!Gojo, arranged marriage | wc: 8.5 k | not proofread

warnings: character death (Geto Suguru), mentions of infidelity, r! has self-esteem issues, r! has some dark thoughts about su!c!de, mentions of parent death, abuse from parents (r! is from an influential sorcerer clan, his family kinda sucks), talks of virginity

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: there are some time skips here and there, hopefully, it isn’t too confusing! I really appreciate all the comments on the first part of this and I hope this satisfies you guys!

The flame of the candle casts the room in an evershifting blue. Pulsing and moving, pushing and pulling as the shadows undulated. It resembles the way sunlight dances on the waves of the ocean, piercing through the waters to reach as far down as it could.

It reminded you of —

Of summer.

The candle flickers, sparks of orange briefly flying, just as your father walks through the door of cement. It takes five men to push but they do so without complaint. Your eyes squint to protect themselves from the fluorescent lighting of the hallway and the flame burns upwards in the offence.

The men hastily pull the door closed. Your ears itch from the grinding noise of stone and your skin warms from the candle but you say nothing.

Your father kneels across from you. Unbothered by the still-furious flame.

The candle is the only barrier between you. It sits on top of cylindrical stone; the melted wax nearly covers the top, some dripping down the sides but you’ve never seen this candle shrinking or the flame dimming.

The room you’re in is one of great importance to your family. It was taller than it was wide. Dark as sin without this cursed flame. The (L/N) family nearly fell into ruins some century ago, a member of your clan decided to turn this room into a place where no secrets would be safe, so you’d have no enemies.

After he had done this, your clan flourished.

It served its purpose. No lies could be told in this room.

“Is Gojo Satoru in love with you?”

The flame calms from its fury. As if listening.

“Yes.”

Sparks of orange fly, shooting from the wick and pathetically fizzing out. His eyes darken, swallowing that gorgeous blue like a black hole.

“So your mother speaks truthfully.”

He had hoped it was just mindless gossip — misplaced anger from his own infidelity. Your father was never one to admit your mother was right.

“Geto Suguru.”

His name makes you turn your eyes down to your lap. Your father’s frown deepens. Further settling into permanent lines of displeasure on his ageing face.

“My son, born of the (L/N) clan, promised to marry Gojo Satoru. A six-eye user, soon-to-be head of the Gojo clan. My son who had centuries of ancestors fought to put him in this position of power with a strong family name, riches and opportunities beyond belief.”

“Bested by a boy whose parents aren’t even curse users.”

That haunting blue burns steadily.

“This is your duty, as son of the (L/N) clan.”

“Father, how could I compete with Geto Suguru — “

Your father reaches through the flames and grabs your face. The skin of his arm reddens as the flame roars at the disrespect. It licks at your eyebrow, your eyes, your cheeks. It burns. Though not like a regular flame would. It doesn't eat away at your flesh and render the fat past that — the flame hisses, digs under your flesh, and sets your nerves ablaze.

The pain is white hot and you swear you burst a vein in an attempt to grit your teeth together. It's like you're burning from the inside out, your skull heating up and glowing from where your skin is stretched thinnest.

You've been through this time and time again but the pain never dulls. It pries your lips open and a strangled wail is ripped from your throat.

Your face is held so tightly your cheekbones feel as though one more gram of pressure would shatter it. His face splits through the fire as he scowls down at you.

“I will not let the decision of a 15-year-old boy destroy what I’ve tried so hard to build. This is bigger than you ever will be. Your marriage to Gojo Satoru will make our clan more powerful than ever.”

You weep as you nod your head while nails dig into the flesh of your thighs. He lets you go, pushing your face away from his hand as if he was tossing trash away. You back away, hands shakily hovering above where your skin feels as though it's sizzling. Like you always do, you lean on the wall and the cool wall is like heaven.

The flame calms just as your heart does, at times it is as though it pulses with the beating in your chest.

In those minutes, your father stays stoic.

“Love is worthless in matters of power. The things I ask you to do will strengthen our clan, and strengthen our abilities. Put your selfishness aside, boy. This is a debt you owe to your flesh and blood.”

“...Yes, father.”

“Why do people stay with someone like that?” Megumi scoffs from behind the couch. He’s dressed in his pajamas, hair still damp from the shower he took. Meanwhile, you were sitting watching the television, dressed for bed yourself.

“I think it's sweet,” you say. The series was truly ridiculous and overly dramatized. Some cheesy and soapy drama that plays at night when lonely adults need someone else’s problems to obsess over.

“He stays with her even with all her flaws.” Megumi’s face says more than he ever could. You laugh, beckoning him over to settle next to you.

This is the usual. Gojo is always busy with missions here and there. Sometimes even needing to get onto a plane - he could be gone for days at a time. Leaving you, Tsumiki and Megumi.

Well, just you and Megumi now.

He doesn’t react as you squeeze him a little closer, just tucking his legs comfortably to lean on you.

“Okay, but that doesn’t negate the fact that she’s hurt him. I mean, it’s honorable but — isn’t he tired? I mean, she slept with his dad. Twice!”

You chuckle, grabbing the towel he had slung over his shoulders to help him dry his hair.

“You were paying attention! I thought you hated this show,” Megumi rolls his eyes. “How can I not pay attention? It’s so stupid I can’t look away.”

“Please. Just admit you like watching shitty tv shows,” you tease.

“I really don’t,” he denies. Megumi shrinks a bit despite his words and you chuckle. The dialogue from the TV continues and Megumi relishes the ambience.

The way you gently dry his hair. The dumb characters talk about who slept with whom and what impossible surgeries they wanna do. The lingering scent of the takeout dinner you indulged in with him today. Your shampoo and body soap and the smell of the detergent you use help him sleep easier at night.

“Is it the same for you?”

He feels your fingers pause. Not frightfully, more confused. He continues as your movement does.

“You’re like this doctor. You stay even if he hurts you.”

“What are you talking about? Gojo’s never hurt me,” your tone was perplexed.

“I’m not blind," Megumi mumbles. You pull your hands away from Megumi, his towel now on your lap as you wait for him to turn around. He does.

Then a commercial plays, something about a new aquarium that’s just opened; it casts the living room in blue and your heart gets caught in your throat.

‘ It’s not the same, ‘ you tell yourself, ‘ I’m not my father. ‘

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

“You rarely call him by his name. You stay up when he’s here but turn in early when he’s not. You go to clan meetings alone but he brings you around everywhere when he’s here. Dates, gifts, compliments.”

Megumi shrinks under your gaze but meets your eyes unwaveringly.

“Every time you look like you’re about to smile at his jokes you just...pause and remind yourself about something...is it Geto?”

Megumi inhales sharply at the expression on your face. The commercial had come and gone and the next that plays is a stream of constant colour; chaotic and disarrayed. The red-orange and yellow make you look like a curse.

But then your eyes soften and his grip on his knees loosens.

“I — I saw a picture.“

There are pictures of Geto in the house. Gojo said he would be fine without it but you found it ridiculous how much hurt he thinks he’s saving you from. You were already brought to your knees and metaphorically beaten down by the man you love and the man he loved; your best friends.

A picture of the four of you in high school wasn’t going to make you less or more pained.

Megumi’s asked about Geto before. But not like this; not like he knows something he shouldn’t. Geto wasn’t a forbidden topic.

But.

Your children deserved better than that. They should believe that love is important and that their fathers are there for them through whatever it is. That Satoru and (Y/N) were not going to just disappear and leave them to fend for themselves.

“On his flipphone.”

Of course.

Of course he kept that useless piece of crap.

Of fucking course.

“The wallpaper was of them. They seemed closer than friends. Did Gojo hurt you because of Geto?”

“Despite his flaws, he’s still my husband, Megumi.”

That doesn’t satisfy your son. His brows twitch and he gets that defiant look in his eyes that makes your stomach twist into knots. The ghost of that man, Megumi’s biological father, always sweeps through your brain every time he gets so stubborn.

You don’t hate Megumi because of it. Gods know how much you wish you weren’t a (L/N) — you wouldn’t have chosen your parents. Your mother, absolutely. Your father could go rot in hell with his new wife.

“But you’re unhappy.”

“I’m not — ”

The trailer of a movie plays; it casts the room in orange for a brief few seconds.

“You are. You’re lying. I’m not a little kid anymore, I’d be fine if you...if you divorced Gojo, I don’t mind if you move out. If you’d let me, I’d stay over. A kid from my school has divorced parents, he seems fine. He said it made his parents happier.”

“Megumi — “

“I can take it. You don’t have to stay together for Tsumiki and me anymore. You’ve raised us well.”

Not well enough if he’s pleading for you to leave Gojo.

“You’re just a boy. You don’t know what you’re saying. I think the TV show is really starting to get to you,” you jest. Megumi’s never been one for jokes though. Especially not ones as dumb as yours. Your awkward grin falls and you sigh.

“It wasn’t because of Geto. Suguru and Satoru...”

Megumi’s ears prick. He could count on his hands the number of times you’ve uttered Gojo’s name. Each time, it’s said with such bitter longing. The rotten essence of first love and cruel summers dripped from every syllable. This time, however, there’s a softness to it, an emotion Megumi would later know as yearning.

“They were the strongest and they were inseparable. With Suguru, Satoru could just be. With Satoru, Suguru felt worthy.”

“I was,” you sucked in a breath. “I was...there. Yes, it hurt me but I love Satoru, Megumi.”

How could you not?

Those heavenly eyes and boyish grin. His lips seem painted by the angels and his hair spun from those impossible-to-reach clouds and the purest of light. Satoru was beyond beautiful.

He was funny, brash, and annoyingly persistent. His very existence was irritating to some; he was good at everything. His hands were like Midas, everything he touched turned into gold.

Nonetheless, he was human. You would know better than most. When Suguru left Satoru looked like a facade of a young god. That’s what Suguru did to him that you never could. Suguru made him human.

So you didn’t blame Satoru for falling in love. You couldn’t even blame Suguru for falling in love.

You were an obligation chosen out of his own comfort. (Y/N), his precious friend whom he’d marry once the two of you were 17 years old.

You were duty and honor. You were a reminder of his godhood. He was untouchable and ethereal; even so, he wanted nothing more than to fall into the arms of the one person who could make him unravel his soul. He held Suguru more preciously as you aged until he couldn’t anymore.

“I love him.”

“But you’re sad. He makes you...sad.”

It pained you to see Megumi try to understand. He was your son. This talk of a loveless marriage and divorce, him saying he would be fine with the aftermath as if he would have to carry responsibility for it.

He was just a boy. He was your boy and he’s trying to protect you when it should be the other way around.

So you shake your head and reach forward to cup his cheek in your palm.

“I still love him, Megumi. Sometimes, that’s enough.”

Megumi wants to tell you it isn’t.

If love was enough, his mother would be alive and his shitty father would have stayed to be a father to Tsumiki and him.

If love was enough, Tsumiki wouldn’t be in a coma.

But he says nothing and just shrugs. He murmurs a half-assed agreement and then stands from the couch. He goes to bed that night, wishing nothing more than to see the world from your eyes. You were his father. More than his own was.

Gojo was a busy guy so he warmed up to you first. Despite how tough it was for you to navigate being a teenager yourself as you raised him and his sister.

He just wanted to make you happy. Because clearly, you were incapable of doing it.

Megumi found it hard to sleep that night.

“Awh, asleep already?” Gojo frowned as he peeked into Megumi’s room. He was supposed to arrive the next morning but he missed his family. So he took an earlier flight.

A creak made him look your way and his eyes widened.

“Don’t bother him, Gojo.”

“(Y/N)…” his footsteps sound tentative as he walks towards you.

“Don’t look at me like that, I was just watching a sad movie is all. Megumi stayed up late, so don’t wake him. He’s got school tomorrow.”

Gojo doesn’t believe you. The way he’s gazing at you is as if you were the most pathetic curse to have ever graced the earth. Had he ever looked at Suguru that way before his betrayal?

Gods, even the thought of him has your brain pulsing. Those lost summers and cozy winters were yours too but of course, for Satoru, it must’ve been different.

To you, they were everything because your friends were there. More importantly, Gojo was there.

To him, his Suguru, they were all they needed.

You wipe away some of the tears, sniffling and turning away from Gojo. “You came home early. I didn’t cook dinner tonight, but I can heat-up some leftovers,” Gojo follows you to the dining area. He wants to ask if you are okay, even if he already knows the answer.

‘ Is it Suguru? ‘

It’s on the tip of his tongue. It’s been 9 years since his betrayal, your mother's funeral, your father's wedding. Between Tsumiki and Megumi, and the missions there was never a chance to have that conversation.

But what if it wasn’t? You were more than that. You existed beyond the shadow that Suguru cast — in Gojo’s eyes anyway.

The microwave dings and it casts the kitchen in a warm yellow glow. “How was the mission?” He watches you make a plate, standing near the kitchen island with his arms by his side. “It went great. The uh, the plane ride there was sorta bumpy though.”

“Yeah? You got scared or sumthin’?” He takes his bandages off, eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place.

‘ He’s making jokes, talking casually, ‘ Satoru thinks. His palms feel a bit clammy. “Hah, as if. Even if the plane was fallin’ I’d definitely get out of there,” he boasts with that careless smile.

You offer a chuckle, turning just as your smile fades into a polite purse of your lips. The plate is placed in front of him and he’s not hungry but he sits anyway.

Huh.

So this is what having an intimate dinner is supposed to feel like? It creeps in that you’ve never been on a date outside of this marriage. He had never wooed you before Geto. It was all casual and friendly. Even if it was just the two of you, your guardians would keep watch to ensure that nothing got too passionate.

Where were they when Gojo snuck into Geto’s room? Night after night, week after week...

He had never touched you like that. Every time he tried, you found yourself pushing him away. Not out of bashfulness or lack of attraction. You just can’t help but wonder if he’ll replace you with Geto in his mind and your heart breaks every time.

9 years of marriage and still, your bed was cold as ice.

At times you would feel panic, wondering if Gojo is with another body to fill that void that you can’t fill but then it ebbs away.

Because they weren’t Geto either. So they were just as meaningless as you.

You grimace.

To think you’d blush and swoon at the idea of your marriage. Enamoured at the fact Gojo chose you. Now here you are. A resentful friend, a horrid husband, and a failing father.

If it weren’t for Tsumiki and Megumi you would’ve been hanging from the ceiling or perhaps you’d “let your guard down” during a mission. Maybe even in front of your husband. Your train of thought is cut short as your mother’s face appears. Stiffening your lip, you turn your gaze to the table to collect yourself.

Gojo watches you shifting around and reaches a foot forward to bump into yours. He smiles at the way you get wide-eyed, frozen for a second.

“How was your day, my beloved?”

“I went to Jujutsu High to oversee Megumi’s transfer,” his brows lift.

“Already?”

“Just to make things easier, Gojo. So it isn’t so last minute. He practised summoning his Divine Dogs today too.”

You’re wringing your hands together, folding and unfolding your fingers all while glancing at the table. It reminds him of the day he found out you had feelings for him.

You were sat across from him just like you are now. The both of you were 15 and hungry, so you offered to pay for lunch. Suguru and Shoko had gone off to grab condiments and he saw it; that look of adoration in your eyes.

You were handsome and kind. A true friend to him, Suguru and Shoko. Then an idea popped into his head, an idea he’d never proceeded with if he had known the repercussions.

If he wed you, he’d still be able to be close to Suguru.

He was selfish. Suguru told him that it was cruel, you were their friend and this would hurt you.

“Satoru that’s cool-blooded. He’s had a crush on you for a year now, you shouldn’t,” Suguru murmurs.

“It’s just a crush, he’ll probably divorce me or something. Then, I’ll marry you, Suguru.” He interlaced his fingers with Suguru. Naked shoulder pressed to naked shoulder. His 16th had just passed, he’d have to marry you after his 17th birthday but it’s alright. He told himself you would get the message and he’d have Suguru. Duties fulfilled and promises honored.

“What?” Suguru’s eyes were so wide it was almost hilarious. Satoru turned on his side, outlining the traces his lips left on Suguru’s skin.

“Will you marry me, Suguru?”

Satoru’s guilt wraps around his heart with its sorrowful roots. He wonders if you think you’re ugly, or unworthy. His fondness for you wants nothing more than to hold you. You were his friend after all, before all of this; the missions the four of you would go on together were the highlights of his life.

He didn’t mean to hurt you.

The food tastes like ash in his mouth but he swallows it down.

“We should go out tomorrow.”

You blink at him, contemplating. He can see the tearstains on your skin, the wetness on your philtrum that you’ve tried to wipe away and the way your lashes are clumped together.

“Anywhere you wanna go, after we drop ‘Gumi off we’ll be off to the races. We could go shopping or —”

“I want to go on a mission with you.”

That catches him completely off guard. You offer a grin, and the slightest flash of teeth has Satoru nodding before you even get to say another word.

He owes you this. You deserve happiness.

“Of course, anything you want.”

Gojo should’ve stopped there. Said nothing else.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

All at once, he sees your eyes turn hollow and your smile tightens.

You don’t believe him.

“...Thank you, Gojo.”

Ever since, that’s the only way you responded to his “I love you’s”.

Thanking him for trying to convince you and himself that it was true.

Megumi’s never seen your father before. He looks so out of place at home. His hulking form and intimidating face were so rough like unpolished stone. He should be elsewhere, not eavesdropping like he is now but he can’t help himself.

Gojo had to tend to business and you couldn’t turn away your father. You knew what he was here to talk about anyway and after last night's screaming match with your husband, you were as tightly wound as a coiled snake.

“How is your wife, father?”

“She is healthy.”

A vein bulges from the side of your head, rage pumping through it as your jaw clenches. His gaze scrutinizes you in such an obvious way it makes you want nothing more than to exorcise him.

“Gojo Satoru killed Geto Suguru. Is this true?”

How could it not be true? You thought bitterly. My guilt, Gojo’s crying, my outburst — all proof of his death.

He scoffs, a pleased quirk on the corner of his lips.

“I suppose you’ve done well then, my son. You didn’t even have to do any bloody work.”

“You know nothing, father. Geto Suguru’s death was a tragedy, don’t you dare turn it into a victory,” you seethe.

“He was a troublemaker. A waste of breath — a weakling. He deserved all that he got, don’t tell me you’re sympathizing with a murderer?”

“He was my friend!” Megumi flinched as you yelled.

“If you hadn’t pushed me and Satoru to marry, all this pain would have been avoided. We would still be friends, I could grieve for him without bitterness in my heart!”

You have no more tears to give. Instead, your anger burned like an inferno, burning you from the inside as you glared at your father.

“You’ve ruined me just like you ruined my mother. Where is duty? Honour? All of that is just trampled by your greed! You are dishonorable! Disgusting! Selfish!”

“You dare speak to me that way?” He lifts his hand and Megumi's palms hover close to stop him. The doors slide open. Satoru stands there. Even with his blindfold on, his gaze is heavy.

He calls your father's name. He doesn’t hide his disrespect. No titles were shared. No acknowledgment of his relation to you. He was beyond mad.

“It’s best if you leave, old man.”

Your father lowers his hand and you realize your nails are digging into your palm as blood seeps through your fingers.

“This younger generation truly knows no respect. Does it pain both of you to be together? Is my son so ugly, Satoru?” He laughs derisively. “Put a pillow over his face as you take him then! Gods knows I did the same with his mother.”

You open your mouth and yell, an ugly yell that's so full of anguish and anger; no words or vulgarity. A scream that makes Gojo’s throat hurt hearing it. Your father looks at you in disgust, shaking his head as he turns his back to you.

“Pathetic.”

You lunge at him and Gojo stops you, gathering you into his arms as you try to reach for your father.

“I’ll kill you!”

“Beloved, that’s enough —”

“You monster! I’ll burn you alive!”

“(Y/N)! He’s gone! That’s enough!”

Gojo doesn’t know why but he lets his infinity down. He lets you dig your fingers in his shoulder, and scratch the back of his hands as he tries to gather your wrist and grunts as your head bumps into his.

“I’ll kill him! Let me kill him!”

He grabs your wrists and pushes them against your chest. You’re pinned to the wall and the more you struggle the more he presses on your chest. It forces you to take deep breaths, and for your brain to catch up with your body.

“He should be the one that’s dead! Not my mother! Not Suguru! Him! Why isn’t he fucking dead!?”

Satoru can’t help but think of those final moments with Suguru.

How ragged his breathing was as he leaned against the wall.

“At least curse me a little at the very end.”

Suguru’s smile makes Satoru feel like a teenager again. He reaches forward and Suguru noses into his palm. Satoru’s breath comes out in a shudder. There he is, the man he loves more than anything, dying.

Suguru hums as Satoru leans over to hug him. Using the bit of strength he has left his head slots where it belong; in the junction of Satoru’s neck and shoulder. He remembers how ticklish he was there and manages a chuckle as Satoru flinches as his hair did just that.

He has so many things to say.

But he feels that wedding band and he’s glad that Satoru won’t be alone.

“You went on a date with (Y/N) at the crepe restaurant, I could sense your curse energy.” His daughters had wanted to go there after and Suguru remembered how bittersweet it was to sit where the two of you had sat. He had imagined himself as you and he’s struck with the want to see you and Ieiri and —

“I should have married you.”

Suguru’s eyes water. “Satoru —”

“All I do is hurt him. You were right, Suguru. I was cruel. If I married you, we would all be happy. Your daughters and my children, they’d be siblings. (Y/N) would have found someone who would never be as cruel as I am. We would still be friends. I should’ve married you. I should’ve married you.”

Suguru was selfish too. He resented you for having Gojo. It pained him to think about how lucky you were — he wished you misfortune.

What kind of friend does that?

You’d met his parents. Spent birthdays together, and went through lessons and missions together. How could he resent you and love Satoru and Shoko so dearly?

“I chose my path, Satoru. But in another life...in another life, we’re all happy.”

Satoru feels Suguru’s lips press to his jaw.

“You can make it right, Satoru. You love him, you’ll know what to do. Just don’t be so crass, yeah?”

Your yelling doesn’t cease. He’s half a mind to yell along with you because there’s truth in your words.

Why is it that everyone that mattered wasn’t here? Because they’d hold you and tell you were alright. Your mother would’ve done everything she could to ease your pain. Suguru would be here to do the same for both of you. What would they say if they were here?

What could they do to help you?

Help him?

Satoru lets you push him away. Megumi wonders if he should walk in now. He’d never seen you like this. He takes one step forward and Satoru speaks.

“I want a divorce.”

A pin could drop and Megumi was sure it would sound like an explosion. Your chest heaving slows as Satoru watches you straighten your posture.

“Do you live to embarrass me, Satoru?” You can feel his infinity go back up.

“Or is it me that embarrassed you? Should I allow my father to mock Suguru’s death? What am I meant to have done? What could I do to satisfy you, husband?”

“This marriage is hurting us.”

Your bark of laughter makes Satoru’s heart clench.

“A marriage YOU could’ve prevented. Did you forget that? You’ve had all the time to stop it. In those 3 years, you fucked Suguru and confessed your love to him. What exactly did you intend for my life?” You cross your arms, trying so hard to keep everything contained but your mouth can’t stop itself.

“Because I could have been fine. Maybe my father would have cast me aside but at least I would have moved on. Instead, you wormed yourself into my heart and infected me from the inside out.”

“Your mother just passed. I didn’t want to cause you more pain by canceling our wedding —”

Your palm doesn’t strike him but that isn’t with lack of trying. He can see the way your hands shake as you attempt to nullify his infinity. The trails of blood that drip down from your nails piercing through your palm from earlier. Your eyes were as dark as night as you stared at him with a blank expression.

“You are dishonorable, Gojo Satoru. You are selfish, and you deserve nothing you have. Not me, not Megumi, not Tsumiki, not Ieiri and you sure as hell didn’t deserve Suguru.”

He snaps at you. Slapping your hand away as he points a finger in your face.

“You don’t get to scream at me when I tried to make this marriage work! For 10 years all I’ve ever done was love you!”

“All you’ve ever done is bury Suguru by using me, Satoru!”

“Oh, that’s bullshit!” Megumi is frozen in place. He had never seen you fight before. Had never ever seen Gojo yell or lose his cool. He feels his heart hammering against his chest and clasps his hands together.

“Every time I touch you, you pull away! Every time I kiss you, you flinch — Fuck! Do I repulse you?”

“You don’t get to be pissed about not being able to fuck me, Satoru.”

He takes off his blindfold and those cerulean eyes shine with fury.

“Of course I fucking do! You want to be the martyr so fucking badly and you did it, (Y/N)! You’re the martyr!”

You don’t let him poke his finger into your chest but despite your smacks, he touches you anyway. He grasps your wrist and his grip is so tight you can tell it’ll bruise.

That horrifying blue sears your skin.

“I may be selfish but you’re fucking vindictive, (Y/N). You tell yourself that you’re nothing and somehow it comes true. Living, stewing, in a dead man’s shadow just so you can feel good about not returning my efforts!”

Just a few nights ago he was sweet. Telling you that he loves you and he wanted you. You never believed him and here was your proof, the labor of your hurt and pain stands before you with righteous ire.

“So I’m done! I’m done.” You shake your head. He scoffs, letting you go as if he was tossing trash away.

“(Y/N) — ”

“We’ll divorce next year. Next year on this day, I’ll allow you to divorce me. But not now. Not today. Call me a vindictive, vengeful, stubborn asshole. But what I’ll not allow you to do is humiliate me all over again.”

Satoru wants to say something, but the whine of an animal stops him.

When you find Megumi clutching the neck of his Divine Dog your anger disappears in an instant. He isn’t crying though it’s obvious he’s simply holding it back. The dog's part as you reach to cup his face, whispering his name as he attempts to steel his expression.

“...I’m so sorry, Megumi. I’m so sorry you had to hear that.”

“It’s whatever,” he shrugs. Satoru sighs, combing his fingers through his hair as he crouches next to you.

“No, it’s not. You shouldn’t have to listen to that," Satoru sighs. “I’m old enough — “

You stop him by pulling him into a hug. He’s stunned, his face would have been comical in any other situation so Satoru smiles.

“You’re just a boy. Don’t act so tough so soon,” Satoru reminds him.

The few things Satoru and you could relate to was how your children would never have to face the theft of their youth as long as you were alive. You squeeze him tighter and he returns it, burying his face into your shoulder.

Despite being pissed at Satoru, he says nothing as he feels him stroke his head.

The dogs whine again and nuzzle Satoru and you, licking Megumi’s ears and cheek to dissipate this acrid scent of fear and anxiety.

“Can I stay over with you sometimes?” You know what he actually wants to ask you.

‘ When you leave am I still allowed to need you? ‘

His shoulders sag in relief as you nod.

“You don’t even have to ask, Megumi. You know I love you, right? I’ll always love you, my beautiful son.”

“Couldn’t have gotten a place with better Wi-Fi?”

Shoko glares minutely as you pluck her cigarette out of her mouth. You put it in yours and she gags at the indirect kiss which makes you roll your eyes.

“Just because you’re single doesn’t mean I’m interested, (Y/N),” you scoff and shove her shoulder. She stiffens on purpose but sways a bit. It makes you laugh.

The house you bought was a cute duplex penthouse. Something small for yourself and for Megumi when he slept over. Shoko was the only person to have seen it so far — other than Megumi of course.

Your divorce was months away but it was far too awkward to sleep on the same bed as Satoru after that fight. This was for the best; baby steps until you’re officially separated.

“Hm, even if I was interested in women you’re not exactly my type.” She lights up another cigarette and leans on the railings of your balcony. Man, hate Satoru all you want but he sure was generous with his money. The view was stunning. It must have cost a fortune.

“So. You’re single now.”

You cringe and shrink down, limply holding the cigarette as you brace your chin on your arm.

“For the first time in 13 years...”

“27 is a perfectly good age to fuck around. Not too old to scare anyone of a respectable age off but not too young to make people feel like a creep.”

“You’ve such a way with words, Shoko,” you mutter dryly.

“I’m just saying, sex is a great way to get your mind off of things.”

“Says who?” She laughs, turning to you with a cocked brow.

“Satoru may be the golden child of the sorcerer world but he’s not a sex god. His dick isn’t that good, alright? There’s someone out there that’ll make you feel like a virgin again,” her laughter dies out as she takes note of your bashful eyes.

“...No.”

“What?”

Shoko's brows furrow. It’s the most expressive she’s ever been.

“10 years and not once?”

You hide your face further into your arms.

“(Y/N)!”

“Okay! We never had sex, alright? I — I don’t know if he ever went to get his dick wet from somewhere or someone else. But me and him never fucked. I’m an adult virgin! Sue me!”

“Not even a handjob?”

You groan, smushing the cigarette into the ashtray before going back inside. She follows, belatedly smushing her cigarette when you remind her with a look.

“Ok — Okay, but do you want to be a virgin? It’s perfectly reasonable if you do. I’ll respect your choices. But, why didn’t you...?”

“Shoko, every time he touched me...I felt like the ugliest person on this goddamn planet. We tried,” you sighed. “He tried a few times. Never pushy, never forcing but no matter what fucking angle he approached it from. I just couldn’t.”

Shoko slides her arm over your shoulder and you pliantly turn to return the hug. Her shirt, unsurprisingly, reeks of cigarettes but it brings a semblance of comfort. For a moment you’re washed over with nostalgia though for once, it comes with no pain.

“Well, you’re good-looking and you should definitely take half of Satoru’s money in the divorce. You’re good with kids too, a definite catch,” she presses a kiss on your forehead and you accept it with a loose grin.

“You deserve someone and if you don’t want anyone that’s fine too. Just promise to invite me out sometimes,” her eyebags suddenly seemed darker and so you give her another hug.

“I love you, Shoko.”

“I know. Unfortunately, I do too.”

“You love me,” you tease as your fingers wiggle and she pushes your face away ruthlessly.

“Heavy emphasis on the unfortunately — tickle me and I won’t heal you.”

She lets you escape her grasps, flabbergasted at her statement.

Satoru twists the ring, the light that it catches shimmering bashfully at his attentiveness. His husband had moved out, Megumi decided to sleep over after a whole day of helping him settle in and Satoru didn’t know how to feel about it. His hand feels naked and uncomfortable. The air that breezes lightly on the bare skin make gooseflesh ripple. The ring is enclosed by his fingers and he props his face on the fist, peering at the papers of this mission and that. The writing all look like giberrish, floating aimlessly in his brain as he thinks of (Y/N).

Had he truly never felt Satoru’s affections? It might have not been the love he deserved but to call it nothing was egregious. Or was he being selfish again?

Satoru pinches his nose bridge. His throat longs for the burn of alcohol which surprises him. He wasn’t much of a drinker — he wasn’t a happy drunk.

The ring grew warm in his hold and Satoru squeezed it. It always had the funniest way of doing that. It was as if it was alive, like a cursed object made to punish Satoru. Whenever his eyes wander or his mind reminisces of passionate nights, it burns and he resents himself for it. 10 years of involuntary celibacy was not something he thought of when he was younger. He liked sex. He doesn’t know if it was because it was good or because it was with Suguru. Regardless, Satoru enjoyed it.

He thought that if you got over that hurdle in your relationship, the two of you could fall into sync. He knows he cares about you and he knows you love him.

The house was so quiet. Satoru wants nothing more than to hear your soft breathing, Megumi’s sleepy mumbles and Tsumiki’s shifting around in bed.

He was supposed to be the strongest so why couldn’t he keep his family together?

Suguru told him that in another life they were all happy. But Satoru can’t help but ask himself why not in this life?

His hand unfurls and he slips the ring back in place.

(Y/N) Gojo is a Grade 1 sorcerer with extraordinary skill and wit in battle. His face was crafted by angels with feather-light touches, ones that thumbed the furrows of his brow with a sense of melancholy and kissed his eyelids with love; Satoru did not deserve you. He didn’t deserve to wake up with you by his side, caught by how beautiful you were when your guard was down.

Satoru suddenly wonders what made him unable to fall. It wasn’t your personality, nor your voice. You were funny, intelligent, headstrong, resilient, and everything most men fantasized about. Was it him? Even with all his attempts, his sweet gestures and words, did you see through it?

Did you see him?

What was it that you saw?

A tall child craving for his favorite person to come back?

…Was it a pathetic sight, (Y/N)?

Did you heart bleed for him?

Satoru stands, slipping the mission papers back into their files.

His guilt is a willow tree you had planted within him, tended by his own hands and watered with your tears. It’s beautiful and lonely, surrounded by flowers that climb and choke its branches as it hopes for someone to understand it.

You had. You understood the isolation he felt being on top and you supported him and got stronger to reach him. You saw right through him and he remained blind to you.

Shoko's name flashed across the screen of his phone. Satoru picks it up mindlessly, sitting on the end of your — his bed.

“You better give him half of your belongings in the divorce,” she says. He hears the burn of the cigarette as she inhales.

“Suguru was my friend. Just as much as he was (Y/N)’s.”

Satoru’s brow twitched. “Excuse me?”

“Suguru. I was there, believe it or not, and so was (Y/N). Suguru was our friend, our brother, our Suguru. We grieve him every day. Even before he was dead, we grieved him. I don’t fault you for being a shitty husband because of your grief, (Y/N) wasn’t the best husband either.”

“Don’t pretend to understand — “

“Get out of your head and stop mourning alone. All those years. When have you ever come to see me, Satoru? I was hurting too. ”

She exhales, flicking the ashes away as Satoru covers his wet eyes.

"I fucked up, Shoko." That was an understatement of the decade. She glances at the night sky, watching the buildings breeze past.

"I fucked up."

“Itadori Yuuji?” You squint your eyes at the papers, ignoring the warmth that Satoru emits from your side. You were at a clan meeting. One that Satoru decided to join so, you had no choice but to listen to him.

“Sukuna’s vessel,” he tilts his head, scratching the back of his neck from the uncomfortable button-up you forced him into. If he wanted to annoy you, you’d gladly return the favor. It was a few sizes too tight and the tie you put around his neck choked him but, he acted as cool as a cucumber.

“The boy Megumi found?” He nods and you read his papers with more fervor.

“You fought Sukuna?” He smiles cheerfully, grinning from ear to ear as he spins in place.

“I won,” he cheers. It takes all your self-restraint not to throttle him. “That was reckless,” you hissed out, ignoring the servants eyeing the both of you as they set down the trays of tea and finger foods.

“I’m the strongest. I would’ve won anyways,” he peers over your shoulder to read through the report again.

“Why are you showing me this? The higher-ups already called for his execution.” He places his chin on your shoulder. Your breath hitched yet, neither of you commented on it.

“I told them I’d kill them if they executed Itadori Yuuji,” he faces you as you turn to glare at him. Your lips were centimeters apart. Satoru takes note of your racing heart.

“Are you insane?”

“He’s just a boy doing what he could to save our son. Itadori shouldn’t have to be killed for doing the right thing.”

He lets you push his head away, slipping the papers back into the document sleeve and sliding it over to him.

“He will be executed once he eats all his fingers, he is a lamb sent to slaughter.”

At times like this, you think of Suguru and wonder if he was telling some truth about the world you lived in. Kids dying in droves because of curses that would never exist if non-sorcerers didn’t exist. But really, this was no one's fault but Sukuna. The old bastard couldn’t just die instead, he prolongs his existence like a roach.

"Megumi blames himself for that,” your heart squeezes at the thought. “They get along great, such rambunctious students. You would love them, you could spend more time with ‘Gumi.”

“Satoru, I’m not going to be a teacher. I’ve no patience for it,” he looks befuddled at your words. “You’ve been my husband for 10 years, so that’s a lie.”

The reminder of your marriage earns him a stink eye that he just giggles at. The official papers were to be served in a few more months. Until then, you were still together in the public eye.

“Just...think about it, (Y/N). I know you’ve been busy with missions and these boring meetings but I also know you miss Megumi and he missed you too.”

Gods, he’s playing that card. Why does he always need to play that card? He knows you give in every time.

“How have those missions been? You’ve been traveling a lot,” he puts Itadori’s file away and gives you his full attention. “Exhausting but it is fun to sightsee and make new friends,” you reach for the cup of tea.

“...Ya popped your cherry yet?”

The tea sprays onto the table and you cough violently as you save yourself from the near-death experience. A servant gasps and rushes to clean the mess, another asking if you’re alright and if the tea was too bitter or hot.

“You’re — You are — “ he grins as you cough and pats your back. “You are so gross, Satoru!”

He cackles at your flustered expression.

The servants leave eventually and you stew as you sit across from Satoru, back turned to him to stare out at the courtyard. Your silhouette makes his smile widen. He props his chin in his palm, taking in the sight of you.

“I wouldn’t mind if you had. I was just asking, as a friend.” He’s glad your shoulders don’t stiffen. The only reply he earns is your middle finger.

“Whaaat? I just wanted to know if it was good.”

“Is this how you’re going to convince me to be a teacher? By asking vulgar questions?”

“Not my intention but if I can kill two birds with one stone then why not?” You groan as you hang your head, hoping the ground will swallow you whole. Satoru hums a tune as he awaits your answers.

“Fine! Fine. I’ll be a teacher.”

“You’ve earned one mark! For a full mark, answer the other question!”

You’re tempted to throw the whole tea set to his face but can’t help the smile that crawls on your face at his animated movements. So you turn to face him, shaking your head as you sigh.

“No, I haven’t. Does that satisfy you?” Satoru’s slack jaw makes you want to punch him.

“Nearly four months of traveling and missions and meeting other people. Not one got into your pants?” You huff and cross your arms.

“So you’ve let someone into your pants, husband?” Satoru gasps. “How dare you? I’ve been a dutiful teacher and my students will attest to this!”

He then placed his elbows on the table, looking like a schoolgirl about to gossip.

“You should tell me all about your type, I’ll be more than happy to help you,” he draws hearts in the air with his finger.

Your type? You wanted to scold him and maybe even degrade him for acting like a perverted cuckold but this question catches you off guard.

You found Satoru attractive. Then again, who didn’t? But what was your type? You place your chin between your thumb and finger. Satoru waits patiently.

“I don’t know, I mean, I know I like men but...huh...”

You scratch the back of your neck.

“I guess I never really thought about it.”

Satoru exhales, endeared by the worry on your face. He was a shitty husband but Satoru was a good friend. You had put your life on pause for his. It was only fair that he helped you. He may not be able to fully piece together your heart but he’ll do what he can until you can smile again.

Those months away helped, there’s no doubt about it, but he knows you miss home and you needed to put down new roots in soil that wasn’t infested and toxic.

He knows you’ll probably take years to forgive him. He’s willing to wait, so he can have his friend back.

“We can start simple. Which one of our friends would you sleep with?” Your shrug makes him list some names. Then the sight of your eyes widening as he says Nanami Kento makes him gasp.

“Nanami!? Our underclassmen!?”

As Satoru guffaws and goes on about how boring Nanami was your mind ponders on this tightening of your chest.

Were you too lenient with Satoru? After all he has done?

You weren't without sin or fault. You understand that much but this feels so different. Familiar, actually, there's no expectation in Satoru's affections.

It was casual and it made you feel lighter than you have in a long time.

Should you be angrier? As a boy, his friendly attitude felt like a slap across the face. Now, it just feels right. Has your heart finally stopped beating for Satoru? All it took was 10 years of a shitty marriage?

It was rare for sorcerers to live as long as you have. A sense of panic grips you. For a moment, the thought of time wasted flashes. Then, those sweet memories of Tsumiki and Megumi seep in. Memories of Shoko, Satoru, Suguru and you laughing boisterously at something stupid while eating at the school field.

Your eye creases as your cheeks lift. Satoru is still rambling about Nanami and the only thing that makes him stop is a sound from his fondest memory.

You're laughing. Clutching at your stomach and tear-pricked eyes kinda laugh. His huff of disbelief transitions into a chuckle.

Oh, you forgot how good it felt to laugh this hard. It felt so nice to have him as a friend again. So fucking nice.

"His cheekbones are something to behold, I know, but did you forget his old hairdo?"

Satoru can see the warmth seep back into your skin, your eyes are glowing again as you cover your face; those heavenly shades of (E/C) peek through your fingers. The ring glimmers, and for a moment Satoru's chest doesn't feel heavy.

"You can do better, husband," he says. Your teeth are in full view. No longer hidden by a grimace or frown or a tight-lipped grin. There was still a long way to go but Satoru was willing to go the distance. For his beloved friend who deserves it all.

He can't wait to tell Megumi you are back for good this time. He can't wait to see you interact with his students. He knew you'd get along with them, they'd love you. Gods know they need a break from him at times.

"You're so fuckin' dumb, 'Toru," you exclaim. He agrees with a hum and for the first time in a long time, you feel like yourself again.

"Made you laugh though," he dodges the pillow you'd been kneeling on with glee.

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #gay reader #male reader insert #male!reader #satoru gojo angst #satosugu #satoru gojo x yn #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x male reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x male reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you

1K notes · View notes

kiachiako · 7 months

Text

september nct recs

my library of favorites from SEPTEMBER <3 all creds to authors

[ sorted by word count ]

series

[m] HAECHAN | settle down pt. 1 | pt. 2 | @hyuckmov — rockstar!hyuck, genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff

oneshots

[m] MARK | sweet cream, cold brew | @lucyandthepen 26.4k — something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

[m] MARK | my little doll | @haechansdoll 20k — Humans have hormones, you understand that much. But does that explain why you can't stop the filthy daydreams that fill your head whenever you see a specific redhead? Does it excuse you for getting turned on by him simply breathing in your direction? And to make matters worse, he is off-limits, if your father found out you were messing with his prized boxer? You would be chained to a tower and your red-haired crush would be used as mincemeat.

HAECHAN | one, two, three | @cherryeoniis 19k — In which you devise three different ways to get your best friend to fall in love with you, but things never really go quite as planned.

[m] JENO | summer hair = forever young | @setsugekka 18.1k — Only three weeks after being broken up with by your long time partner, you’re dragged along for your friends summer vacation plans despite your best attempts at staying home to do little more than feel sorry for yourself. Day one? Dinner and a movie. Day two? The bar down the street that smells like old socks. Day three? Well, that’s the waterpark, and the cute, blonde lifeguard that seems to make the lazy river his mainstay is a bit of a sight for sore eyes.

JAEMIN | written in ink | @cherryeoniis 15.3k — professor!jaemin, historical au (early 19th century), fluff, angst, strangers to lovers

[m] MARK | watch me | @sluttyten 14.6k — you pick up the voyeuristic habit of watching your neighbor that never closes his curtains and whose face you never see. on an unrelated note, you start dating the cute barista from down the street that also happens to live in the building across from yours. what could happen?

TAEIL | in earnest | @neonun-au 12k — a letter written in haste when you were fifteen and in love with your best friend gets sent out in the dawn of your engagement. when a reply is sent, revealing feelings you had long thought forgotten, you are left with a choice to make amidst a rather awkward visit.

[m] JENO | fight club | @tyonfs 11.9k — after park jisung introduces you to his shady after-school activity, you realize it’s far too dangerous to be involved with the underground fight club in any way. their members are rough around the edges—except for lee jeno, who keeps you coming back for more.

MARK | a series of white lies | @tyonfs 10.5k — in which it takes you six years to accept that you’re in love with mark lee. (it takes him one.)

HAECHAN | wicked games | @cherryeoniis 10.1k — angst, fluff, suggestive, university! au, friends with benefits, fuckboy! haechan

MARK | baseball (& other disasters) | @tqmies 10k — Everyone admired Mark Lee, starting pitcher of your school’s baseball team and famed ladies man. You, on the other hand, only know him as the boy who broke your dorm lobbies microwave the first time you met.

[m] JAEHYUN | dive | @yougotthatbilly 9.2k — frat boy!Jaehyun: Jaehyun calls shotgun.

[m] RENJUN | high-waisted shorts | @tyonfs 7.8k — huang renjun might be the least committed to all this “bitch hunting” bullshit, and he doesn’t want to stoop to the level of stupidity his friends are at. that’s why he’s pissed when you’re strutting around in those high waisted shorts wherever you go, making renjun lose all sense of reason.

[m] JAEMIN | blur | @jaeminvore 7.5k — Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face and hungover was one thing. Waking up to the sunlight blazing onto your face, hungover and in a bed that wasn’t your own in nothing but a pair of sweatpants that were obviously not yours, was another and a punishment specifically made for you—your own personal hell.

[m] JAEHYUN | racer | @smileysuh 6.7k — street racer!Jaehyun, star-crossed lovers, secret relationship, step-brother!Johnny

[m] HAECHAN | tattoos together | @cherryeoniis 5.4k — rockstar!haechan x reader

[m] DOYOUNG | hungry for you | @sluttyten 4.9k — doyoung is your best friend’s older brother, and you hate each other until one evening you’re alone together and the tension finally breaks

HAECHAN | dance to this | @cherryeoniis 3.8k — dancer! haechan x dancer! reader, university au, slight enemies to lovers

. . .

drowning in college rn :((

xoxo <3

2K notes · View notes

matchingbatbites · 25 days

Text

somehow we're here

Explicit | 6.5k | Modern AU | Full Tags + Read on Ao3

Steve only downloaded the app because he was drunk.

At least, that’s what he’ll tell himself in the morning, once he’s back in the light of day and not half-gone on a few fruity cocktails and multiple shots of tequila - at least three, though it’s realistically more like five or six. Nevermind that he’s been home for almost an hour at this point, is only still awake because of the vague nausea still rolling in his stomach.

It had been incredibly easy to set up an account, even in his drunken state - something he thinks might be a feature and not a bug - and he’s been scrolling on it for about ten minutes when he realizes-

He’s still bored.

Because that had been the real reason, hadn’t it?

Steve is bored. Bored of first dates that seem to go nowhere, of relationships that seem to fizzle out after a few weeks, and for whatever reason, Tequila Steve seems convinced that a gay dating app would be a fun thing to sign up for. It’s not like he has anything to lose, he’s just bored and kind of horny and definitely not lonely and desperate.

So Steve flips through profiles, taking in photos of the same waifish boys and beefy gym bros. He’s just about ready to give up and try to sleep through the nausea, when he stumbles across a profile that makes him stop cold.

The photo looks like it’s from a concert or something; the guy is on a stage, clearly mid-show, with a wicked looking guitar in his hands. Steve’s eyes get caught on those hands, the veins and the painted nails and the chunky, silver rings.

His hair is a riot of dark curls haloed by the stage lights, and Steve regrets that he isn’t able to see the man’s face. He focuses instead on his clothes, the black t-shirt and ripped jeans, his exposed forearms littered with black ink.

The photo is so honest. It’s pure, simple emotion and Steve is instantly drawn in, eager to know more about this person.

The next photo is closer, clearly cropped down from a larger picture, and Steve gets his first good look at the man’s beautiful face. Deep, chocolate eyes that house a delighted sparkle, a blinding smile that sets loose a swarm of butterflies in Steve’s stomach. Not to mention the piercings; two just below his lower lip and another through his eyebrow - Steve briefly wonders if he has more, maybe his tongue or his nipples - fuck, that would be so hot.

In the last photo the man is seated on a couch, holding an acoustic guitar this time, and he seems focused on whatever he’s playing, clearly unaware of the camera-person at all. Those brown curls are pulled into an updo, revealing ears littered with even more silver jewelry, and there’s a cute little crinkle between his brows that Steve wants to smooth out with his thumb.

Steve scrolls down to actually read the guy’s profile, and sees that his name is Eddie. He’s 27 and local to the area, he likes metal music and D&D, and he definitely seems to check a lot of Steve’s boxes. Nerdy? Yeah. Hot? Fuck yeah. Confident? If the concert photo is anything to go by, this man has confidence coming out his ass. So yeah, check there too.

He adds the guy without hesitation, and will once again blame Tequila Steve for what’s next once he’s sober. He sends Eddie a message.

‘Hi, i’m straight, i literally just got this app cause im kinda bord and kinda drunk. But you’re actually my type. Can I be honest?’

Steve doesn’t really expect an immediate response, considering that it’s two in the morning and all, so he decides to flip over to a different app, already knowing that he isn’t really going to care about anyone else he might come across. He’s surprised when only a couple of minutes later, he gets back a simple ‘Sure lmao’, and scrambles to flip back over to the messenger.

‘I didint think i’d message anyone on here but your cute and hnestly i geuss i kinda like that you won’t get pregnant.’

He decides to wait this time, to see if he’ll get another quick response, and he holds his breath when the typing indicator pops up, only to disappear again. It does this a couple of times, like Eddie is writing and pausing, or erasing and starting over, and Steve just waits, so curious to know what the other man is going to say.

‘Are you free tomorrow? I need to know if you’re as adorably endearing when you’re sober.’

Steve gasps in delight. Eddie wants to meet him! He kicks his feet a little in excitement and messages back ‘I can be as endering as you want me to be baby.’ It takes him a second to realize he hadn’t actually answered Eddie’s question, and he sends a follow up ‘Yes i am free tomorow.’

‘Meet me at Hank’s on 6th? 7pm?’

He confirms the time and place, and even as giddy as he is, Steve’s barely able to exchange a few more messages before he’s out like a light.

Steve wakes up the next morning with a headache. It’s nowhere near the level of one of his migraines, but it’s enough to be annoying as he gets up and starts his day. He’s thankful it’s Saturday, that all he really has to worry about are some errands and brunch with Robin.

A quick shower and a cup of coffee has him feeling more alive, but meeting up with Robin makes him feel better than anything else could. She looks about as bad as he does, which is interesting considering that she didn’t even come with him to the club last night.

They chatter on for a while, with Steve letting her rant again about the situation she finds herself in (she refuses to drop Vickie even though the girl bounces between her on-again-off-again boyfriend and Robin like a fucking ping pong ball, and she also refuses to admit her growing feelings for Chrissy, her roommate turned friend with benefits. It’s a whole mess.)

She asks about his own dating life, and he honestly has nothing new to report. He’d gone out last night intending to at least find someone to take home, but once he actually got into the scene, the effort just didn’t seem worth it for a temporary fix.

Instead he drank, and he danced with strangers until the room started to spin, and then he made his way home. He’d had fun, even though he'd ended his night alone. Robin hums and pours another drink from the pitcher between them - White Peach Sangria this week, and it’s good, though Steve prefers the Bloody Mary they had last time.

“We're kind of pathetic, huh?”

“I mean, you are,” Steve replies, and shrugs when she gives an affronted Hey! “I might be single, but you're the one who's letting a great girl slip through your fingers because you can’t say no to your fickle ex.”

“She’s not fickle-”

“Where was she last night?” Steve asks, staring Robin down until she says “With me.”

“Mhm. And where is she now?”

Robin frowns hard and grumbles “With Jack.”

Steve gives her a look, and she sinks down a little in her seat.

“You know, sometimes I forget that you were friends with the mean girls in high school, and then you hit me with that fucking Carol Perkins face and it all comes flooding back,” she says, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Stop being a drama queen, and stop waiting for Vickie to change her mind about Jack. It’s not fair for her to come running to you every time they have a fight if she has no intention of actually leaving him for you. You deserve better, Rob.”

Robin groans and drains the last of her glass. “When did you get so wise and shit?”

“Fuck you,” Steve says, no heat behind it as he kicks her under the table. “I know how relationships work and shit. You’re the one who doesn’t listen to me.”

She kicks him back with a “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s finish this pitcher so I can go home and wallow.”

The notification comes in after brunch, once he and Robin have parted ways and Steve’s just parked at the grocery store (he doesn’t take Robin with him to the store anymore, for both of their sakes).

‘Hey, just want to make sure we’re still good for tonight?’

Tonight? What’s tonight?

It takes him a moment to remember his actions from the night before, to remember the app. Steve’s stomach flips at the vague memory of a conversation and he opens the messenger. He scrolls up, reading his message history with this Eddie person, and oh god.

Is it possible to get secondhand embarrassment from your own actions? Your very drunk and somewhat horny actions? The guy seemed to take it pretty well, at least, and Steve taps over to his profile out of curiosity.

And yeah, okay, Tequila Steve had a point. He’s never thought about dating a guy before, but this man is hot, just absolutely sexy in a way Sober Steve isn’t prepared for. He had been planning on telling this Eddie guy that he was drunk when he agreed to meet, that he wasn’t interested, but now that would be a lie. Because he’s definitely interested.

He sends a ‘Yup! Still good :)’ and then quickly follows it with ‘I was so drunk last night that I kind of forgot about our conversation, so I’m glad you messaged me!’

Eddie’s reply takes a second, that starting and stopping going on just long enough to make Steve nervous before a message comes through.

‘Oh damn! I’m glad I did too. Though you did tell me last night that you’re straight, so I won’t hold it against you if you don’t want to meet anymore. I know alcohol can make us do things we normally wouldn’t.’

Oh, he’s sweet. Steve actually does decide to think about it, and flips back over to Eddie’s profile as he does. He goes through the photos again, imagines what it would be like to be close, be intimate with Eddie the way he has with women. It doesn’t scare him the way he thinks it should, because he doesn’t actually think it would be that different. Sex is just sex, right? It’s the person that makes it fun, makes it special. And Eddie definitely seems like a special one.

What reaffirms Steve’s decision is the last photo, where Eddie is holding the acoustic. His eyes catch again on those ringed fingers, on the rough, clearly hand cut neckline of Eddie’s shirt. He thinks about what it would be like to lick the jut of Eddie’s exposed collar bone, and the shiver that runs down his spine has him immediately flipping back to the conversation.

‘I definitely still want to meet. As embarrassing as I was last night, I was telling the truth.’

‘Oh good! Nice to know that sober Steve also thinks I’m cute and is glad I can’t get pregnant.’

Steve groans and drops his head onto the steering wheel a few times. He's never gonna live that one down, is he?

Another message comes through before he can be too mortified, though he almost regrets looking when he sees ‘Unless sober Steve is more upset by that than glad’ which is followed rapidly by ‘It’s okay baby, we can always pretend if you want ;)’

This man is gonna fucking kill Steve.

Hank's on 6th is a little dive bar that Steve has actually been to a few times, when he and Robin had wanted to go drinking but hadn’t wanted to deal with the noise and bustle of the club. It’s cozy compared to other bars in the area, and Steve is happy for the familiarity of the location as he steps inside. He pauses inside the door and glances around, looking for- oh.

Sitting at a nearby table is Eddie, in the flesh. He’s even more stunning in person, with his hair pulled up into a bun, showing off the jewelry in his ears and the long line of his neck. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt and jeans, and Steve can see a leather jacket slung over the back of his chair.

Eddie spots Steve about the same time and waves, inviting him over. He does his own once-over as Steve approaches, and Steve knows what he looks like. He spent long enough in front of the mirror agonizing over his appearance, making sure everything was perfect. His red sweater is comfortable even though it’s a smidge too small, and he can see Eddie’s eyes catch on the way it stretches across his shoulders, on his forearms where he’s rolled the sleeves up.

“Not gonna lie,” Eddie says as Steve sits down. “I’m kind of surprised you showed up.”

“I said I would. Tequila Steve might not be the smartest, but sometimes he has good ideas.”

Eddie laughs and Steve is overwhelmed with the desire to dig his thumb into the dimple that appears in the man’s cheek. “Well I hope I get the chance to thank him someday.”

Eddie’s photos don’t do him justice, don’t properly convey the energy he has. They get on better than Steve would have imagined, and while the conversation lulls every now and then, it never truly stops. His piercings catch the light, pulling Steve's attention down to his mouth, to the way it moves while Eddie speaks. It’s distracting, and the teasing smile Eddie wears for the conversation tells Steve that he knows.

Steve learns that Eddie works at an assisted living facility, something he never would have guessed based on the man’s appearance. It’s not a job Eddie ever expected to have, but he loves it, loves helping people who need it and gossiping with the old biddies that have taken a shine to him. In exchange Steve talks about his job as a physical therapist, how he recently started his experiential hours so he can specialize in pediatrics.

(“I feel kind of dumb now,” Eddie says. “Knowing that you’re a whole ass doctor and I just have a CNA.”

“Eddie, I majored in kinesiology. You’re probably better in a medical setting than I ever will be.”)

They talk about their hobbies and interests, pleased to learn there’s a little bit of crossover with everything. They may not know the ins and outs, but Steve has absorbed some knowledge on D&D thanks to the kids he used to babysit, and Eddie likes to watch sports with his uncle to keep him company on his off days.

They sit and talk for a long while, completely unaware of the time passing until Steve looks at his watch and realizes it’s been nearly four hours since they sat down.

“Holy shit, it’s almost eleven,” he says, and Eddie blinks in surprise. “Oh wow, I had no idea.”

It’s like they’ve been snapped back into reality, and Steve notices the half dozen beer bottles littering their table along with the bill that’s been there for who knows how long. Steve pays the check - nearly shoves his card into the server’s hand so he can beat Eddie to it - and they both leave cash for the tip before heading out of the bar.

It’s outside Hank’s that the hesitation sets in. This is one of the best dates Steve has been on in a long, long time, and he really isn’t ready for it to be over. He thinks Eddie feels the same, if the way he reaches over to thread their fingers together means anything.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Steve asks, practically on impulse, and Eddie smiles.

“I would love to, Stevie.” He takes a breath like he wants to say something else, but pauses, and Steve squeezes his hand gently.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to tell you that I want to have sex with you without sounding like a slut who puts out on the first date.”

Well, that’s fair. Steve doesn’t usually have sex on the first date either. He likes the connection that comes with knowing someone emotionally before learning them physically, but there’s just something about Eddie. Steve feels like he knows the man inside and out after just four hours together, and he knows it’s fast but he wonders what it would feel like to wake up next to him in the morning.

Steve just grins at the blunt honesty and tugs Eddie closer. “If you’re a slut then so am I, because I’m definitely down for that.”

The drive back to Steve’s place doesn’t take long, and before he knows it he’s locking the door behind them as Eddie sheds his leather jacket. He drapes it over the back of the couch as he looks around, taking in Steve’s apartment. It’s not much, but it’s comfortable, cozy, very different from the sterile house Steve grew up in.

Eddie smiles as he sees the trinkets dotted about, a mix of gifts from the kids Steve used to babysit and his own little knick knacks, but pauses when he sees a photo collage of Steve and Robin on the nearby wall. Steve doesn’t like the way his smile dips down into a frown, and he walks over to wrap his arm around Eddie’s waist.

“That’s Robin,” he says as he pulls Eddie into his side, needing to quell any doubts or misconceptions he might be having. “She’s my best friend in the entire world, and a lesbian, so you can stop pouting now.”

Eddie gives him a bit of a side-eye and says “Not pouting. Just want to make sure you’re not doing this behind the back of an unsuspecting girlfriend or something.”

Steve smiles at the consideration and shakes his head as he turns Eddie to face him. “No girl, Eds, I promise. Just you and me.”

Something about that seems to be the final straw for Eddie because he surges forward, hands landing on Steve's neck as he leans up to press their mouths together.

The first kiss with Eddie is easy. It’s not earth-shattering or life changing, not like Steve thought it would be kissing a man for the first time. It feels like a normal kiss, and honestly that’s more of a comfort to Steve than anything. The fact that it’s Eddie on the other side of the kiss is what makes him shudder, makes him press closer.

Eddie’s hands push up into his hair, messing up the styling as Steve dips his head to kiss along his jaw. He hums into smooth skin and slides his own hands down to Eddie’s ass, squeezing it briefly before using his grip to drag Eddie’s hips against his own.

He can feel the line of Eddie’s dick through the layers of denim and yeah, that’s different, but not bad at all. Steve warms up to it pretty quickly actually, especially once Eddie starts moaning into his ear, a low “Fuck, baby,” that only encourages Steve to continue. Their mouths meet in another kiss as Steve grinds their hips together, each thrust working to drive Steve absolutely insane.

Eddie’s hands eventually make their way south to ruck up Steve’s sweater, and he breaks the kiss just enough to mutter “Off, get this off,” against Steve's mouth.

Steve laughs but steps back, pulls off his top and drops it carelessly to the floor. Eddie groans and reaches out, not even hesitating before he pushes his hands into Steve’s chest hair. “God, I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw your photo last night,” he mutters, and it takes Steve a moment to remember the picture he’d drunkenly added to his profile.

It was just a typical shirtless thirst shot he’d taken before a run one day (though he had put a shirt on before he actually left, thank you), because he’d felt good about the way he looked - and clearly Eddie had appreciated the picture as well. Steve shudders as Eddie scrapes his nails down his chest, and he half-expects Eddie to start purring in delight.

“Is it as good as you imagined?” he asks, biting back a chuckle, and Eddie nods.

“Better than. So fuckin’ hot. Don't ever shave it, I beg you.”

Steve does laugh at that. He lets Eddie get his fill for a moment before swooping in to kiss him again. He slips his fingers into Eddie’s belt loops and mutters a “Bed?” against his mouth. Eddie hums in agreement and Steve tugs him along, guiding him to the bedroom and only stopping once to grind their hips together.

He steps back enough to pull off Eddie’s shirt and groans because his nipples are pierced, and fuck if that isn’t doing something for Steve. Thumbing over one makes Eddie shiver and gasp, and he knows that he needs to get his mouth on them as soon as possible. He feels like a predator as he pushes Eddie back, not stopping until the man is sprawled across his bed, a beautiful feast meant just for him.

Steve crawls on top of Eddie and presses his lips to the spider decorating his shoulder before moving down to lick over his nipple. Eddie shudders and pushes his hands into Steve's hair, holding him in place as Steve seals his mouth around the pink bud. The piercing is warm, and the stark contrast between metal and flesh has Steve groaning into Eddie's skin.

He sucks on it, earning a stuttering moan from the man under him and hands tightening in his hair. “Fu-uck, Stevie.” Steve thumbs over the other nipple and pinches it just to hear him gasp again, before continuing his journey southwards, pressing kisses into the tattoos he comes across along the way. He pauses for a moment to suck a bruise into Eddie’s hip, just above his waistband, and the man is practically squirming.

“God, when I agreed to come over, I didn’t think you were gonna be this much of a tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bites into the bruise he just created, pulling a low groan from Eddie. “It’s called foreplay, you ass.”

“I’d rather you foreplay my ass,” Eddie mutters, and Steve laughs into smooth skin. He does concede, though, and pulls back so he can slide off Eddie’s jeans and underwear, discarding them to the floor. Eddie’s dick is pretty, a smidge thinner than his own but just as long, and weeping heavily from the pink tip. Steve wants to touch it, taste it, wants to feel the weight of it on his tongue as Eddie fucks his mouth.

“Feel free to touch it, not just look at it,” Eddie says, and Steve smirks.

“Normally I would, but someone wanted me to skip the foreplay.”

Eddie groans dramatically in response and Steve ignores him as he reaches over into the nightstand to grab the lube and a condom. He drops the items next to Eddie, and the man gives an “Oh shit!” as he grabs the tube. “You actually have lube?”

“Uh, I'm a grown man, Eddie. Not some 15-year-old that still uses lotion to jack off.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smacks the bottle against Steve's chest. “Twenty-four hours ago you told me you were straight, excuse me for making some assumptions.”

“Stereotypical assumptions,” Steve tacks on and Eddie rolls his eyes again harder. “Also you might be surprised to learn this, but some women also enjoy anal, so I'm not actually a complete newbie when it comes to this.”

“And here I was thinking I'd have to hold your hand through the whole thing.”

Steve huffs a laugh and slicks up his fingers. “Oh, do you not want to hold hands while I fuck you into the mattress?”

Eddie gasps and brings a hand to his forehead, like a mockery of some swooning maiden as he says “Why Stevie, I think that's the most romantic thing you've said so- ohhh my god.” He groans as Steve pushes the finger deeper, and kicks his shoulder gently when Steve just grins.

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie spits, but Steve can tell there's no real heat behind it. He just hums, says “I dunno what you're talking about,” as he slides a second in alongside the first. He hooks his free hand under Eddie’s knee and pushes it closer to his chest, exposing him a bit more.

Steve leans down to press a kiss to Eddie’s neglected dick and curls his fingers at the same time, trying to hit Eddie’s prostate. He knows he’s successful when hands jerk down, sinking into his hair once more as Eddie keens.

“Shit, Stevie-!”

“Wanna suck you off next time. Wanna pin your hips to the bed and see how much I can take, wanna tease you until you come on my face, in my mouth.”

Eddie shudders and nods, bucks his hips as best he can with Steve’s fingers in him. “Oh fuck, yes. Gonna let me paint your face, baby? Gonna let me be the first cock to fuck that pretty mouth?”

Steve groans a “Fuck yeah, Eds,” and pushes in a third finger, eager to finish his prep but not wanting to rush. He spreads his fingers wide as he leans in again, sinking his teeth into the junction where thigh meets groin, and Eddie's entire body jerks at the bit of pain.

He tugs at Steve's hair, trying to pull him up as he says “Fuck! That's gotta be good enough, need you in me fucking last week, sweetheart.”

Steve shudders and nods with a “Yeah, baby,” as he pulls his fingers free. He stands up and strips off his remaining clothes, not worrying about where they land before he climbs back between Eddie's legs. He can feel Eddie watching as he rolls on the condom, and he's about to make a remark about it when the man says “You know what kind of sucks?”

Steve just hums in response as he scoots closer, until his thighs are pressed against Eddie's ass and all he has to do is push forward just a little more-

“That we’ll have to get tested before we can put my ability to not get pregnant to good use.”

A groan rips through Steve and he drops his head back at the mental image that creates. “Fuck, you can’t just say that.”

Eddie grins, all Cheshire and taunting as he says “Oh, I can’t? I can’t tell you how excited I am for you to come in me, to fill up my ass until I’m fucking leaking- mmh!”

Steve dives down to shut him up with a kiss before he can say anything else, and he can feel Eddie laughing into it. Arms wrap around Steve’s shoulders, holding him close as they take a moment to just make out, all slick and languid like they're not both on the verge of desperation. Steve wraps a hand around his dick and blindly rubs the head against Eddie’s hole before he finally pushes forward.

Even after prep, Eddie is tight, and Steve groans as he slowly sinks in, not stopping until his hips are flush with Eddie’s ass. He rubs his hands over Eddie’s sides as he just waits there, giving the man a chance to adjust. It only takes a moment before Eddie gives a soft “Okay, I'm good,” and Steve holds good on his word. He leans forward, lacing his fingers with Eddie's and pressing them into the bed as he starts a slow pace.

Eddie goes all starry-eyed as he glances at their joined hands, and mutters “Didn't think you were serious about that.”

“I don't joke about hand holding, Eds. It's very important.” That pulls a soft laugh from Eddie and Steve leans closer until he can kiss that smile, can taste the laugh at its source.

It's hands down the best sex Steve has ever had. Eddie is so responsive, all noisy and twitchy and eager. He quickly figures out what Steve likes and doesn't even attempt to keep his mouth shut, just offers a stream of encouragement that’s only broken when Steve finds and abuses that sweet spot inside him.

“Right there, Eddie? Is that it, baby?”

“Uh-huh, fuck, so good!”

Eddie's a fucking vision, with his brown curls slowly escaping the confines of the bun and his eyes glazed over in pleasure. Steve releases Eddie's hands and slides his own down to clutch at the man's slim waist, his fingers digging into the tattoos decorating his skin. He fantasizes about leaving bruises, about leaving his own mark alongside the black ink and fucks into him harder at just the idea.

“Shit, Stevie! Gonna come, gonna-”

Eddie gets a hand around his dick and barely gets in a few strokes before he’s coming, a loud “Fuckfuckfuck!” escaping him as he spills over his hand and onto his stomach. It’s so fucking hot, and Steve’s hands tighten around Eddie's waist at the sight. His thrusts are a bit wild as he chases his own orgasm, and all it takes is Eddie's reedy “In me, Steve, give it to me-” before it hits him like a fucking truck.

He doesn't remember the last time he came this hard, his hips grinding against Eddie's ass as he fills the condom before eventually collapsing down onto the other man. They just lay there for a moment, waiting for their highs to settle and their breathing to return to normal, and Steve smiles when Eddie starts to giggle.

“What's that about?” he asks, using the opportunity to press a few kisses along the line of Eddie's shoulder and neck. The man just grins and shakes his head.

“I haven't bottomed in like- three years. Forgot how good it feels.”

That surprises Steve a bit, actually. “Three years? And you just break that streak for some random person you met on the internet?”

“Mhm. You sent me those messages and I was like ‘Wow, I can't believe I'm gonna let this guy fuck me’.”

Steve laughs and nips at Eddie's shoulder. After a few minutes he carefully pulls out and reluctantly leaves Eddie on the bed as he goes to the bathroom to trash the condom and grab a wet hand towel. He cleans Eddie up before tossing the cloth to the floor and laying down beside him. He's instantly wrapped up in Eddie's arms and he sighs happily as they huddle close together.

“Stay the night? I'll make you breakfast in the morning,” Steve offers, and Eddie hums into his temple.

“With coffee?”

“With coffee.”

Another hum before Eddie nuzzles into his hair, and Steve can feel Eddie press a kiss to the crown of his head. “Then I'd love to stay the night, Stevie.”

Steve wakes up slowly the next morning. The sun shining through the window bathes the room in golden light, making Eddie look ethereal where he lays curled into Steve’s side. He takes a moment to just watch the man, to admire the relaxed lines of Eddie’s face as he slumbers on, unaware.

He doesn’t know the last time he felt a connection with someone this- profound.

Actually, no - the last time this happened was probably with Robin, the girl who became something closer to him than a sister, the one person who probably knows him better than he knows himself. Being with Eddie feels so similar to those early days with Robin - after they’d gotten locked in the bathroom during a mall fire, not the actual early days when Robin seemingly hated him.

So Steve knows deep in his soul that there’s something about Eddie. Something so special ingrained into his very existence, and Steve’s sure that, if he just gives it a chance, Eddie could change his life.

After a few more minutes of basking in the morning silence, he tries to slip out of bed without waking Eddie, but he knows he’s failed when the arms just tighten around him. Eddie groans out a “Noooo,” and Steve grins. He presses a kiss to Eddie’s hair and says “Gotta let me go if you want me to make your coffee.”

A muffled “Man of my dreams,” as Eddie releases him has Steve chuckling as he climbs out of bed. He throws on a pair of sweatpants and heads downstairs, and puts on some coffee before he does anything else. By the time Eddie joins him, dressed only in his boxers from the night before, the coffee is ready and Steve is stacking pancakes onto a couple of plates.

Eddie seems more awake as he wraps his arms around Steve, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder along with a soft “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, baby. Coffee’s on the counter, sugar’s in the jar and milk is in the fridge if you want it.”

Another kiss meets his skin, this one just below his ear, before Eddie is pulling away. Steve finishes plating the pancakes while Eddie makes his coffee, and they converge at the kitchen island. They eat mostly in silence, but it's not uncomfortable. It's easy, actually, to let the quiet settle around them like a warm blanket. But that doesn't mean Steve's thoughts aren't racing.

“So, uh.” Steve pauses, feels almost bashful as he looks up at Eddie. “It's been a really, really long time since I've felt a connection like this, and I may be a little dumb, but I'm not an idiot.” Eddie frowns at Steve's little self deprecating dig, but doesn't say anything as he continues. “I really want to see where this goes, if you're up for it.”

A slow grin breaks out on Eddie's face and he leans in, getting into Steve's personal space. “Why Stevie. Are you asking me to be your boyfriend? After only one date?”

Steve huffs a laugh and slides a hand up to the base of Eddie's neck, feeling and tangling his fingers with the soft hair there. “I’d ask you right now to move in if it wouldn't make me look fucking insane.”

Eddie's expression instantly goes slack with shock, and fuck, Steve's done it again, hasn't he? Said too much, too soon, and lost something good before it even had a chance to go anywhere. He starts to pull away, wanting to give Eddie some space, but he's stopped by two hands settling on his waist, practically clutching the bare skin.

“My lease is up for renewal in three months,” Eddie says, and Steve blinks in surprise. “So maybe at that point we can see where we are? Because you're right. I don't think I've ever just clicked with someone like this before. It feels like- like fucking destiny or something. And I also really, really want to see where this goes.”

Steve gives in to the urge to pull Eddie forward into a kiss. It’s intense and passionate and a bit sticky, the maple syrup making their lips tacky and causing Eddie to giggle into Steve's mouth.

They’re interrupted by the sound of Steve’s phone ringing with a video call, and he knows who it is before he even looks at the device. He answers with a “Morning, Robin,” and is met with a manic “You’ll never guess what happened this morning!”

“I would hope something with Chrissy, but I’m guessing it��s something with Vickie-”

“Vickie called! Jack fucking proposed to her last night!”

Oh shit. “And she said..?”

“They’re on good terms right now, so of course she said yes!”

Steve takes a sip of coffee and hums. “Sounds like it’s time for you to put on some big girl panties and ask Chrissy out on a real date.”

“Steven, you know I hate that word.”

“I will record it and set it as your ringtone if you don’t make some kind of move, Robin. Before Chrissy gets tired of waiting for you to make a decision and makes one herself.”

She groans pathetically and Steve watches her scrub a hand over her face. “I hate it when you make sense. Can we stop talking about me, please? Distract me with something else.”

“Oh, well, uh,” Steve glances up at Eddie who has been watching the interaction with an amused smile. His heart swells with affection and he blurts out “I have a boyfriend.”

Eddie beams at him as Robin blinks, most likely processing before she says “You just told me yesterday that your dating life was practically nonexistent, and now you have a boyfriend? How did that happen?? And moreover, how long have you liked men??”

She sounds incredulous - rightfully so, honestly - and Steve shrugs. “At least twenty-four hours, but it could realistically be closer to something like thirty-six. I downloaded a dating app the night before last and met Eddie on it. We went on a date last night, he stayed over, and I asked him to be my boyfriend this morning.”

“You asked me to move in this morning,” Eddie says, and Robin must catch it because she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“You’re gonna put every U-haul lesbian in this city to shame,” she mutters before looking at Steve again. “Are you not like- freaking out? I mean, in the near decade I’ve known you, you’ve only dated girls, and now you’re dating a guy? Just like that?”

Steve shrugs and reaches out to take one of Eddie’s hands. “I guess so. You know I’ve always been a roll with the punches kinda guy. And Eddie is- Special. He’s special.”

Eddie is looking at him with those big, brown eyes, wide and a bit awestruck, and Steve can’t resist reeling him close for a quick kiss.

“I am so happy for you,” Robin says, pulling Steve’s attention back to his phone, “but also incredibly upset because now I know I have to follow your advice about Chrissy. Which is just absolutely terrifying.”

“You should have been listening from the beginning. Seriously though, go get your girl, Rob. You deserve to be happy.”

They say their goodbyes after another moment and Steve focuses back on Eddie. “Did you have anything to do today?” he asks as he collects their empty plates and takes them to the sink. Eddie follows, draining the last of his coffee before he replies “Not today. Why, did you have something to do?”

Steve grins and takes Eddie’s mug, setting it on the counter before he scoops the man into his arms. “Other than you?”

Eddie barks a laugh at the line and shakes his head fondly. “Jesus Christ, how did I get my hands on such a dork?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Steve replies, and tugs Eddie into another sticky kiss.

Much love to @bramble-berries for brainstorming this with me! (Even if she didn't know it at the time lol.) Also thank you to @sidekick-hero for cheerleading me through the last bit of writing on this! You're an absolute dear! <3

#steddie #mentioned rockie and buckingham #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #people who subscribe on ao3 got this fic 6 hours early #just saying #joey writes

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chococolte · 2 years

Text

☼ — osculatus solem

my take on sagau/cult au zhongli, reactions to first meeting you/as a worshiper + reactions to being your lover

word count. 4.2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationship, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au shit, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. im sorry if tense is weird im kinda dumb lol

Zhongli has waited for you for six-thousand years.

It wasn’t until he was faced with you that he realized how cruel the wait was. Six-thousand years of patiently waiting had never felt like grueling punishment until he realized what he was deprived of. Like a man starved, he had grown used to the numbness of constant hunger— he found it almost comforting, as he had lived his entire life malnourished. He lived unaware of what it was like to have a full stomach.

Your presence is primeval. It emanates, and it overwhelms all else. When Zhongli looked into your eyes for the first time, he finally felt complete. He was finally where he was meant to be. Finally with who he was meant to be with.

The scripture had described you in detail, but there were only so many words, so many different ways to speak of you. None of them could compare to how you looked in person, standing in front of him.

Your eyes hold all the knowledge in the world. Constellations and stars shine within them, a myriad of stellar tapestries formed within the small reflective surface of your eyes. Past, present, and future dance inside, moving according to your design. You see all. You are all. Everything that is, and everything that will be, is you. Every burgeoning bud, blooming flower, roaring wave, and colossal beast; you are every death, there in every mournful cry and scornful glare; you are every mortal life and every god.

You are the sun that brings warmth to Teyvat, the moon that caresses its tides, and Zhongli wants nothing more than to worship you for it.

Zhongli was not always your devout worshiper. He was once, like all of his temperament, rebellious and spiteful. He refused to believe that all of his victories in battle had simply been part of your design. Just a single thread in your grand tapestry.

His triumphs were his, and his alone. He won by his own virtue, will, and vigor. He won by his own hand, spear, and stone. You did not aid him in his wars. You did not save anyone worth saving. Zhongli watched his allies die, slip through his fingers like grains of sand— and he would never thank you for what he endured. He promised himself that if ever faced with you and your faux benevolence, he would demand answers from you. You owed him that much. A recompense for all the hardship and injury he had sustained.

Zhongli, in his youthful hubris, did not care who heard his blasphemy, and whether they thought it distasteful or not. He was the god of war, and would allow no being to silence his voice. Zhongli bathed in his rage, wallowed in it; he would not allow himself to believe what others so easily indulged in. Ignorance led way to arrogance.

Guizhong had always been of the opinion that you were a kind, gentle god. She argued that your light could not be quantified, nor labeled; just because you did not act in ways he could see, did not mean you did not act at all. You breathed life into the abandoned, the lost— you embraced those without a home, without purpose. You forgave and you pardoned, and you rained down fury on those wicked and vile.

Zhongli had long grown used to her arguments. Every victory of theirs, despite the tight grip on his weapon and the ichor on his blade, was attributed to you— your grace, your blessings. By your grace you allowed them one more day, by your blessings you allowed them one more triumph. Zhongli thought her pitiful; you had done nothing to deserve her kindness. She worshiped you, and what had you given her in response to her devotion?

Guizhong died in his hands, and he had nothing to show for it. Helplessness ate it's way at him, through his flesh and bone. What was left was nothing more than a husk, a parody of a god. What was once anger at authority transformed into righteous anger at the one who made him. You allowed him his victories, to parade around with pride and vanity; you gave him your blessings, benediction and approval, and yet you let the one who meant the most to him die. The one who worshiped you above all else.

Why did he live over her? He did not appreciate you. He did not worship you. He made no offerings, nor did he pray. He did not believe in your salvation, neither did he ordain your will. But he was the one left behind with the sorrow and the guilt, and Guizhong was the one turned to dust. Why was he chosen?

Zhongli knew that asking questions was meaningless. You would not deign to answer. Maybe it was to be expected. Why would an Almighty God answer to a lower being demanding answers far beyond their comprehension? Why should you have to explain yourself, when you saw all? Zhongli was merely the god of Geo. You could take even that from him.

You were the God of All. The Primordial One. No being had authority over you; not even one of the Seven.

It was only in the light of Guizhong's death that Zhongli had finally begun to understand her perspective. He might’ve been alone, but that did not make you cruel. It did not mean you were unable to be kind, tender and loving. You loved as much as you breathed— the world was showered in your love for it, in the wind that caressed its people and the sea that fed them. Your love was in its bountiful harvests and its gentle rain.

You loved just as any other, but Zhongli had long refused to see it.

He started small. Gestures of devotion hidden underneath many layers of misty glass, only clear to those who looked hard enough. Zhongli had postured to those still with him that he no longer minded if they worshiped you in his presence. If he was feeling particularly daring, he would join in and mutter a small word or two of thanks. Perhaps he thought of it as a way to make up to Guizhong after so many years of his disapproval.

Though he may have found it unbearable at the beginning, he soon began to pray to you in times of need. He looked for you when he found himself in need of counsel, forgoing the people around him. He made offerings in your name when there was a drought or a shortage, praying for your guidance. Even if he did not initially believe that you would truly respond, the comfort it brought outweighed the logistics. If there was no one else he could turn to, he still had you— and you would never forsake him.

Zhongli started to find your answers in the strangest of places. An arrangement of flowers in some botanical garden of some odd scion, the conversation of two orphan boys that shed a new perspective; a tale that seemed almost catered to him told by a storyteller at a tea house. Perhaps he was imagining things— he surely would have thought so a millennium earlier. But were they truly coincidences, if they only happened after he had prayed and offered at his altar for you?

If it was the Zhongli of old, he would have said yes. But the Zhongli of new knew better now: it was you, speaking to him through indirect means. You answered his prayers and accepted his offerings. You forgave him for what he had done and the things he had said in the past.

Liyue was modeled after what Zhongli believed you favored the most. Its jagged cliffs, jeweled karsts, cuihua forests, and vibrant plant life; sculpted and molded to fit your tastes. He sometimes daydreams of showing you his life’s work— would you like it? Would you tell him he’s done a good job, that he had done enough to please you? If you found it distasteful, would you tell him why? Even if it meant tearing the land asunder and usurping the earth that tethers it to its place in the sea, Zhongli would change whatever it is you dislike immediately.

Even if the problem was himself. He would happily bow his head, whisper one last plead for forgiveness, and take his own life. If it was your will, there is nothing he wouldn't do.

When Zhongli meets the Traveler for the first time, he is frozen in place. His heart drops to his stomach as he sees the gleam of your existence in their eyes. It's you. You're here, in front of him— he wants to kneel and worship you the way he's always wanted, but…

Why is it them, and not him?

Zhongli knows he shouldn’t be jealous. It’s a blessing in the first place to meet you like this. It's a blessing to know that you're real. But he can’t stop himself from lying awake at night, thinking of what it would be like if he was the eyes through which you experienced this world.

It’s an ugly feeling. A twisted, nasty feeling. It leaves him feeling bitter in the morning and sick whenever he sees the Traveler walking through Liyue’s streets. He assists them on their quest, because you are there with them— watching him through their eyes. He hopes to leave a good impression, to assure you that there is no problem with him; perhaps, that is why you did not choose him? Because he was faulty in some form?

Hours upon hours of self-reflection spent in dark, locked rooms. Zhongli stays there, looking in mirrors, searching for reasons why. He looks at his mortal form and wonders: is this why? Did you want him to serve you as the Geo Archon for longer? Why not him?

Was he not enough? Was Liyue not enough? You are never wrong, never incorrect— the problem lies with him. But no matter how long he looks, he can't find the reason. He's better in every way. Better in his devotion for you, better in his worship— he would kneel until his knees turned raw and skin gave way to bone, he would pray and sing your praises until his throat bled. He built Liyue with earth and stone, and cracked the land until it was worthy enough of a formation, molding it with his hands to please you. He had changed himself until he was deserving of your forgiveness, until he was worthy enough to worship you.

The voice in the back of his head tells him it was because he once hated you. Once, when he was a fool and a heathen, he spat on your good name, derided it with disgust. Zhongli thought you forgave him for the sins of his past. He thought you still loved him despite it. He thought he had purified himself long ago, but perhaps he still had some rot left to root out. What part of him wasn’t perfect? What part of him wasn’t enough for you?

Zhongli knows he’s only being ungrateful. You’ve done enough for him. Who is he to demand more?

REVERENTIA ; first meeting/as a worshiper

Zhongli did not know what to do with himself when his eyes laid on your figure for the first time.

You were beautiful. Resplendent and illustrious. When you spoke, crying out so timorously, he shuddered involuntarily. He clasped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to steady his breathing, but your voice was infectious. His heart felt heavy in his chest as you looked at him with wide eyes.

Nothing could compare to your stare, to the life that swirled within your eyes.

Zhongli knelt, then, his head hitting the floor. His shoulders trembled with tension as he kept them taut and straight, keeping his posture as poised as possible.

His first words to you: "Welcome home."

Whether your reaction was volatile or not, Zhongli is at your beck and call. He waits on you hand and foot, staying by your side and keeping close. He acts as your shadow, following your orders, even simple commands, as if the result of his failure will be death. Zhongli is aware that your current form is weaker, mortal in nature; but when you ascend once more, he wants to be known as the one who never doubted you, never thought of you as lesser because of your current circumstances.

Zhongli, despite his worship of propriety, is still prone to decadence. His hands as he helps you dress linger for far longer than they should, brushing against the soft skin of your shoulders. The tips of his gloves burn from where they've touched you, and you notice him wearing them less and less often, now.

In Zhongli's eyes, you are never wrong. You stand at the pinnacle of righteousness, justice and light; anything you say is gospel. He commits all of your opinions, even of the littlest, pettiest things, to memory. His personal thoughts on the matter are meaningless, now— if you dislike it, then it's bad. Simple as that. If you find something enjoyable, then it's good. If your concept of morality is twisted and murky, then he will morph his own to match it; there is no internal struggle, no hesitation in his thoughts and behavior. Your will is all that matters.

When in your presence, Zhongli is perfect. He is courteous, gentle, and benign. He never does anything without your explicit permission. He brews you tea, and tells you anything you wish to know. He worships you with so much vigor it's hard to deny him.

Outside of it, he is barely hanging on by a thread.

Zhongli doesn't know how he lived without you before. He feels vaguely sick even thinking of going back to when you were not present. Just a moment without you is hellish. Every step away from you is like walking on scorching coal. It is an agonizing pain, one slow and tortuous.

He has never felt such pain before. The mere thought of leaving you by your lonesome sends him into a frenzy powered only by his desire to stay by you. He is willing to tear anyone apart should they stand in between him and his god. He can't leave, not when he isn't worthy of your forgiveness yet, not when you're so fragile in your current form.

Every night he rests only barely. Every morning he rises with relief, knowing that once more he is allowed to bask in your company.

Perhaps he's still driven by his insecurity, by the idea of you thinking him unworthy of you.

Zhongli speaks of your grace and elegance, of the light you inspire; he tells you how long he's worshiped you, how long he's loved you.

He tells you of his devotion, of the offerings he's left at your gilded altars, jewels and the finest riches. Zhongli brings them directly to you, now, with an uncharacteristic bashfulness.

He tells you of the wars he's fought in your name, of the blasphemers he's slaughtered— though, conveniently leaving out that he used to be one. Zhongli hopes you're proud of the things he's done in your name, that you will finally embrace him, utterly and wholly.

In the dark of the night, when doubt and searing loneliness so clearly bite at his mind, Zhongli walks to your room. He never dares to walk inside, always conscious of your privacy— but he kneels outside your doors with muted footsteps, only the soft echo of ruffling fabric to accompany him.

He mumbles into the gelid floor unintelligible prayers. He listens for your breathing, for assurance you're still within reach. His unrest is barely abated each time.

When he is particularly nervous, he stands by your doors until morning light, shoulders trembling with unease until you rise from your slumber.

Zhongli is fearful. His muscles are tense as he whispers pleadings that you stay, that you at least say goodbye, should you leave again. He fears one day he will awake and you will be gone.

He fears that he will be left alone again, once more without the tenderness of your guidance. Back to when he had thrown you away, when he only knew of bloodshed and the weight on his shoulders.

You freed him from his self-imposed shackles, whether knowingly or not.

Only when he's assured you're safe will he allow himself peace and serenity.

Only then, will he finally rest in the only paradise he wishes for: being by your side for eternity.

VENUSTUS ; as your lover

Zhongli has always loved you. By virtue of your holiness and sacred being, he has always loved you as his god. As his guiding hand and light, sculpting him into the Archon you want him to be; into a believer worthy of worshiping you.

Faced with your luminous presence, finally able to see what he has only imagined before, Zhongli's love for you only grows. It unfurls like a blossoming glaze lily, petals perfect and serene.

He would never dare presume that his feelings are returned. As his God, you are above him in every way— you are above him in every breath, every step you take. In every slight movement of your fingers, you establish the bridge between you. The line he should never cross.

You are above him. He is beneath you.

Whether it is intentional or not, Zhongli knows his place. He is grateful to be where he is, blessed enough to stand beside you in any capacity. To know that you exist would've been enough, but to care for you personally— to be the one with whom you spend the most of your treasured time with; that is an honor worth dying for.

Zhongli has played with the idea of being your consort before. Of being yours, utterly and entirely. He never lets the thought stay for long. Shame begins to eat at him all too quickly, twisting his stomach into knots of guilt and remorse. He's embarrassed more than anything; of having the gall to dare to imagine himself ever being so important to you.

The thought would've never crossed his mind before, the mere idea laughable. You were untouchable. Above even The Seven, above Celestia. You had not shown interest in any individual for a millennium, and it would be no different now.

But Zhongli knows you now. He's felt the brush of your touch, the zephyr of your breath when he leans in too close. He's felt the warmth running through your veins, the warmth that leaves him flustered, even when you've only touched him for a moment.

The thoughts come more often, now. More vivid. More apparent. You cradle him in your arms, whispering soft words of loyalty and love. You hold his hands in your own, intertwining your fingers, and tell him how you have come to love him. He is special. He alone is yours; no one else.

It terrifies him.

Zhongli is nothing more than your worshiper. He is your servant. He may have been a god, but now he is just your tool. He is content with that much. He should be content with that much. But his heart wants more from you, more than you've deigned to give him.

It wants your love. Your attention. His heart yearns to be special to you; to be the sole holder of your affection.

It's a selfish desire. A nasty one. One that he wishes he could remove, exorcise out of him like a spirit. But every attempt to carve it out of him only leaves him bleeding, and it hurts more to pretend like it doesn't exist. It burns him from the inside out, a fiery jealousy that roars whenever he sees you with another.

It should be me, his heart trembles. It should be me, his heart weeps.

Zhongli is terribly flustered when you begin to show signs of reciprocation. Small things like careful touches, honeyed tones, and words of favor. You compliment him more often, go out of your way to do things that please him; brushing and running your fingers through his hair, listening to him spin tales of old. He is aware that you must know everything already, but you look at him with such big eyes of wonder and interest he can’t help but go on.

He’s barely able to speak when you admit to him your feelings. His heart beats fast in his ears like war drums, his heartstrings tightening as if nocked by an arrow.

It's an uncharacteristic moment of timidity for the wise ex-archon. He's stammering over his words, barely able to keep up his façade of calm. Is that something you truly wish to do? With him?

You assure him— I want this, you say— and Zhongli allows himself to believe you. He follows you when you lead him by the hand into the palace of your heart. He cradles it softly in his hands, gentle and delicate. Zhongli swears to never hurt you, to never let another harm you in any way; but he still fears, still doubts you.

It should be expected for you to have multiple consorts. Multiple lovers, all equally vying for your attention. Zhongli should be happy that you have any interest in him at all— but the thought of being second to another in your heart makes him sick.

Venti, the verdant bard, does nothing but drink. He wastes away his woes in bottles of wine and bourbon; surely, you will not choose him over Zhongli? Ei lorded over her people and took their freedom away. Her reasons do not matter. All for an eternity unreachable by mortals and gods, she attempted to trespass upon your domain. Surely, you will not choose her over him?

The thoughts are foolish. Nearly sacrilegious in nature. He has no control over you; no place to demand that you only love him. But Zhongli has spent thousands of years worshiping you— is it wrong of him to believe himself better than the rest? Venti does not worship you in the way he does, with such fervor or zeal. Ei may pray or rest her eyes beneath your statue, but she has not spoken good of your name like he has, hasn’t hunted blasphemers like he has.

She’d rather her servants deal with them, whenever they so rarely come. Zhongli deals with them personally, knuckles clenched around his blade.

In every way that matters, he is better. As such, he shouldn’t fear, shouldn’t worry of when you will inevitably grow bored— he should enjoy the moments he has with you, the brief time when he is all that you have. When he is still all that you want.

Fear still grips his throat with its tiny, intangible hands. Even if he severs its wrists, it continues to thrive; to suffocate him with its pervasive thoughts.

He must prove himself, it echoes. Or else he'll be deserted. Discarded when another proves themselves his better.

Zhongli won't let himself be thrown away. Whatever he must do to please you, he will do.

Until his mortal form wears down to nothing but dust and bone, until his only coherent thought is how wonderful it is to worship you— until you have no need for anyone else.

Whatever your command is, he will follow. As long as he alone stands in your heart, as long as he alone can kiss the dirt off your feet, he will be content.

He only hopes that he can love you as you deserve.

Zhongli’s zealous behavior worsens to an obscene degree. He never falters in his fervent, almost fervorous veneration— it becomes excessive, almost actorly. Though his obsequiousness appears inflated, it is entirely genuine; he fawns a tad more obviously, smiling with dazed eyes when you kiss his cheeks or lips.

This has always been how he feels. He's only unrestrained, now. And even still, he hides the deeper parts of his worship, the servile and fanatic in him that wants to drool at your lap. It's hard to stop himself every time you sit on your throne to immediately drop to his knees.

Zhongli is happy to give and never receive. He is pleased with being yours, though it never clicks in his mind that the same is applicable to you.

You are not his, but he is yours. If you call yourself his, Zhongli melts. His face blossoms red and it permeates his cheeks for hours afterward. His hands slightly shake and he has trouble standing still in the immediate aftermath. All he wants to do is kneel, and say I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—

If you'd like it, Zhongli would let you do whatever you want with him. Tear him apart with your bare hands, and shred him of any sense; it matters not as long as it's you.

You are everything, your love is everything. Even the softest of your kisses and touches have him breathless and numb, and anything else only serves to make him fall deeper into you.

Only with you is he easy to fluster. Anyone else, and he'd have punished them long ago, if not tore out their eyes for having seen him in such a state.

But it's you. You could crush his heart in your hands, leave him heartbroken and bitter, and Zhongli still would not find it in himself to hate you.

You are the lifeblood that runs underneath Teyvat’s cracked earth, the soft undercurrent that ties it together— and, if only you'd let him, Zhongli would worship you for it.

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serpentandlily · 7 months

Text

Wicked Games

Dark!Batboys x Reader

Summary: Desperate to pay off a debt, you decide to break into the penthouse of one of Prythian’s richest males, one rumored to make his money in a less than legal way. But after witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, you find yourself caught in a wicked game of cat and mouse with three of the most dangerous males in Prythian. (Modern AU!)

Warnings: Violence, dark themes (will update per chapter)

Part II

Part I

༺♥༻

It had been too easy sneaking in through the back door of The Sidra, a huge building filled with luxury apartments only the top one-percent could afford. Too easy sneaking into the laundry rooms downstairs and finding a freshly cleaned maid’s uniform. And too easy convincing one of the maids on duty into believing you were a newly hired employee.

It wasn’t hard to play the role. You had worked as a cleaning lady before—at a motel when you were only sixteen. So it wasn’t long before she was dropping a keychain filled with master keys for each floor into the pocket of your apron and pushing a cleaning cart into your hands.

Before you knew it, you had an access card to the elevators in one pocket and those all too important keys in the other. You waited until no one else was near the elevators before slipping into one and immediately pressing the button that would take you to the penthouse.

According to your sources, aka one of your exes, one of the richest males in Prythian lived in that penthouse. A male who was rumored to make his money in a…less than legal way. And if you knew anything about those types, you knew they’d have cash stuffed into just about every hidden crevice of that apartment. Because that kind of dirty money never made it into banks.

You had tried to do some research on who was living here but it seemed like he was a rather elusive male. All you could find was a first name, Rhysand—and that he had ties to Velaris, the illustrious night club downtown.

It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was getting into this penthouse, finding his hidden stacks of cash and getting the hell out of here. You needed this money and this guy was rich enough that you doubted he’d even notice a measly six grand missing from his piles of cash.

But that six grand meant life or death for you. Because you needed to pay off the debt you owe your ex. You knew his patience with you was slipping and you were worried that for once he’d actually go through with his threats.

The elevator dinged, signaling you had made it to your destination. You stepped out of the elevator, leaving the cleaning cart behind, and found yourself in a grand corridor. There was only one direction to go, only one set of large double doors up here.

You knocked once. Twice. A third time. No answer, no noise, nothing. You thanked God for your luck today as you fumbled with your ring of master keys, trying to figure out which one worked for this door.

It took you longer than you liked but soon you were pushing the doors open and making your way into the insanely large penthouse. Your jaw dropped as you took in the place, envy crawling up your skin like thorny vines.

This place was…incredible. It was opulent, full of expensive looking furniture and high-tech electronics. You spun around, taking in everything. Jesus, the sitting area alone was larger than your own studio apartment. Everything looked so ornate and for this being the supposed bachelor pad for one of Prythian’s richest males, you were surprised by how elegant it all was.

But you quickly snapped yourself out of your admiration. You had a job to do. Find the money you needed and get out of here before someone returned. You checked the usual spots for hidden safes—behind paintings, where medicine cabinets should be, in closets. You cursed as you found nothing out of place.

That was until you stumbled upon a large painting of three mountaintops with a star painted above each in the master bedroom. It was incredibly heavy, but you managed to get it off the wall and nearly let out a squeal of joy when you caught sight of the safe built into the wall. You pulled out the small electronic stethoscope that you had found at a pawn shop years ago and got to work with cracking the safe.

It was one of the skills your ex had taught you. A skill that had come in handy quite a few times. And you were particularly good at this part. So good that you had the safe opened within the hour. Your jaw dropped as the door clicked open and revealed piles and piles of cash, some gems and gold chains. You were half tempted to take it all but restrained yourself.

Just enough. You needed to take just enough to pay off your debt…and maybe some extra for rent this month. Just to get you back on track with your payments. Still, just a small amount that hopefully would go unnoticed. You opened the satchel you had hidden under the maid apron and started tossing stacks into your bag.

Once you were certain you had enough, you closed the safe and went through the strenuous process of hanging the large painting back up on the wall. You were sweating a bit as you finished, wiping your clammy hands on the apron.

Now all you had to do was get the fuck out of here. You could not believe your luck as you made your way back to the front door. Could not believe that everything had gone exactly to plan.

Which is why you shouldn’t have been surprised at the sound of a key unlocking the front door. Of course it wouldn’t have been that easy. Fuck. You looked around quickly, spotting a closet in the hallway and managed to slid yourself into it right as the front doors opened. You held your breath as three large men came walking in, the two in the back lugging in another person whose head was covered with a burlap sack.

Your eyes widened as you took in the scene, your heart beginning to pound in your chest. The male who led the group forward was one of the most handsome males you had ever seen. He was wearing a finely tailored suit, his tie loosened around his neck. His hair was short, a dark blue-black color which suited his golden skin.

The two guys holding up their captive were equally attractive, if not more. One was huge, taller than the other two, with muscles cut from stone like a God. He had shoulder length dark brown hair that had been pulled into a bun and wore black pants and a white button-up shirt with his sleeves folded up to his elbows, exposing his veiny forearms.

The other male was just straight up beautiful. His features were more elegant than the other two, as if a romantic artist had spent their whole life carefully crafting him out of clay. He also had dark brown hair, cut short like the first guy, and golden skin that matched the other two. His face was expressionless, unreadable, and that made him look all the more lethal.

The two guys dropped the captive to his knees and yanked the burlap sack off his head. You nearly gasped in surprise as you recognized him. He was known widely in the criminal world as “The Attor.” He was a slimy looking male who used all sorts of weird torture methods to get his victims to talk. Last you heard of him, he was working with Hybern, one of the many gang leaders in Prythian.

“Are you going to talk now?” The male in the suit purred. He sat down in one of the plush armchairs, resting his ankle over a knee. He held an air of authority and you guessed that he was the leader here.

“Fuck you, Rhysand,” The Attor spat, wiggling to try and break free of his bonds.

Ah, so this was the famed Rhysand. You had expected someone older, someone maybe in their fifties. But this guy couldn’t be older than thirty. And god, he was so hot. Most criminals were ugly, aging men. Nothing like the handsome devil who sat in his chair like it was a throne.

Rhysand merely chuckled before running a finger down the armrest of his chair. “Tell us what Hybern’s planning and I might just decide to let you leave with your life.”

But The Attor just spat at his feet. “You and I both know I’ve been a dead man since your dogs caught me.”

The lethal looking male snarled at that. The noise was so animalistic, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re right, you have been,” Rhysand answered with amusement. “And now I tire of our games.” He nodded at the male who had snarled. “Kill him,” he ordered.

Before you could even process those words, the man yanked a blade out of his pocket and swiftly stabbed it straight through The Attor’s throat. A small gasp escaped your mouth as red blood sputtered out of the wound and the man slumped to the ground, his eyes glazing over. You quickly slammed a hand over your mouth, praying to God that they hadn’t heard your slip-up. But you had never seen someone killed before. You had only ever dealt with petty criminals, mostly thieves.

“Did you hear that?” The one built like a God asked, his eyes narrowing as they swept over the place.

You smothered yourself further with your hand, pressing your body against the wall of the closet—as far from the door as you could get.

“I did,” the lethal one answered, yanking his dagger from the dead man’s neck and wiping it clean on his clothes before returning it to his own pocket.

“Who’s here?” Rhysand called out, standing up.

The other two began to search through the room, their footsteps surprisingly silent. You squeezed your eyes shut and sank onto the floor, praying and praying that they wouldn’t look in the closet, that they wouldn’t find you. As a few moments passed, you were beginning to grow hopeful.

But then the closet doors were yanked open and you were being pulled out by your upper arms. You let out a small cry as you opened your eyes to see the lethal one staring down at you, his face impassive as he dragged you into the sitting room and tossed you onto the floor next to the dead man’s body.

You let out a whimper, your apron soaking up some of the blood on the floor.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves an intruder,” he called out, gaining the attention of the other two who returned from wherever they had been searching.

Rhysand stepped forward, looking down at you in surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected to find one of the maids hiding in his closet. Your whole body tensed as the corners of his lips ticked up. This close now, you could see the unusual color of his eyes, a rich shade of blue that almost looked violet.

“Well what do we have here?” His voice was so sensual, bringing color to your cheeks. “What a pretty little mouse you’ve caught, Az.”

“I’d say so,” the other one smirked, his eyes roaming your face. But you kept your attention on the leader.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I was cleaning in the bedroom when I heard the ruckus and…I swear I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I’m sorry. Please, just let me go,” you pleaded, quivering under his amused stare.

“That’s odd,” he said, tilting his head at you. “I didn’t schedule any cleaning services today.”

You blinked, trying to come up with another lie. “I-I’m a new hire, sir. I only d-did as I was told.”

He stroked his jaw, glancing at the other two men who stood behind you. “Interesting. You know, I didn’t happen to see any cleaning supplies when I was looking around just now. Did you two see any during your search?”

“Nope,” the bigger one chimed. You could hear the smile in his voice. The other one must’ve shaken his head because Rhysand looked back down at you.

“I-I…” you choked on your own words. Fuck, how were you going to get yourself out of this one? You were screwed. So fucking screwed. You were going to die right here just like the man next to you.

Rhysand stepped forward before bending down on his haunches in front of you. A pathetic whimper fell from your lips as you backed away, only to run into a pair of legs. You gulped, looking up to see the pretty one staring down at you, that unfeeling face sent another shiver through your body.

“You’re not a maid, are you, little mouse?” Rhysand purred, reaching a gloved hand out to brush some hair from your face. You were shaking like a leaf now, as you found yourself surrounded by three dangerous males.

Fuck, you were going to die. All twenty-one years of your life wasted just to die here, likely never to be found. Not that anyone would be looking for you or miss you. You had grown up in foster care, never knowing who your parents were.

“I-I am,” you lied. “I swear it.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue, giving you a mocking frown. “What a pretty little liar you are. I don’t like liars, little mouse. Do you know what I like to do to the people who lie to me?”

You shook your head, not able to form any words. He gave you a wolfish grin and pointed a finger at the dead body on the ground, blood still oozing from the wound on his neck. You whimpered again, a few pathetic tears now slipping from your eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry, pretty girl,” Rhysand purred. “It would be a waste to kill a little thing like you. Don’t you agree?”

Your head was spinning now.

“What…what do you want from me?” Your voice shook, making you feel even more pathetic. Rhysand smiled again but it was not reassuring—more like a predator showing off its sharp teeth.

He glanced up at the other two. “What do you guys think? Should we let this little mouse go or should we punish her for her trespassing?”

“We don’t even know what she’s here for yet,” the pretty one said. His voice was as dark as him and just as cold.

You used this time to glance towards the front door, noting how far away it was. You could make a break for it. You were a fast runner and you had the advantage of being smaller and more agile than them.

It could go horrible but you had to try. You had to try and get out of here before they did whatever it was they wanted to you. You would only have one shot, one chance.

Before any of them could notice you plotting, you scooped a handful of blood from the floor and flicked it into Rhysand’s face. He let out a noise of surprise and you used the distraction to slip between the other two and dart towards the door.

You could hear their yells from behind you but didn’t look back as you yanked the door open and sprinted into the hallway. You bypassed the elevators and slammed into the stairway.

You could hear footsteps running behind you and you pushed yourself to run faster, hopping over railings to other floors when you could. You burst through the door leading into one of the other floors and sprinted down the hallway.

A man was leaving his apartment, his eyes glued to the phone in his hand. You pushed him out of your way and slipped into the open door, ignoring his curse from behind you. You ran into the bedroom, darting for the window.

You let out a small cry of relief when you noticed it was connected to a fire escape. You quickly pushed it open and flung yourself through the window, landing with a thud on the metal landing.

You didn’t waste any time climbing down the ladders from landing to landing. You had made decent progress by the time one of the males had figured out where you had gone. The metal fire escape rattled with both of your weights now on it, but you continued climbing down until you reached the bottom.

As soon as you landed on the ground, you took off down an alleyway—twisting and turning down different paths, trying to keep them off your trail. Unlike those rich pricks, you knew the underside of this city like the back of your hand.

As soon as you were confident you had lost them, you found a spot in the shadows to rip the maid uniform off. You tossed it on the ground and quickly got dressed back into the clothes you had brought in your bag.

Once you had pulled on the jeans and jacket, you tossed the hood up and slung your bag back over your shoulder. This time you made your way to a busy street, hoping to get lost in the crowd.

You didn’t let out a breath of relief until you were on the subway, on the line that would take you back to your neighborhood where your shitty apartment would be waiting for you.

You bit your lip, unzipping your bag to make sure all the money you had stolen was accounted for. You finally let out a breath and rested your head against the cold wall of the subway cart.

You had fucking done it. You had stolen from one of the richest men in Prythian and gotten away with it.

༺♥༻

“This is only six grand, bunny,” your ex, Tamlin, said with a small frown. “Where’s the rest?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? I owed you six grand, right? That’s what you said. It’s all there.”

“Oh, bunny, you owed me six grand last week,” Tamlin replied, pushing some of his blonde hair away from his face as he looked up at you. You bounced from one foot to the other, standing in front of his desk. “It’s seven thousand, five hundred now—you know, because of interest.”

“What?” You breathed out. “You never mentioned anything about interest!”

Tamlin chuckled, sitting back in his chair. “I did. You must’ve not understood. It’s okay, bunny, not all of us can be smart. It’s a good thing you’ve got that pretty face of yours to get by. But I’ll take this for now. I’ll need the rest by next week, though. And it’ll be an extra one thousand, eight hundred seventy five by then.”

“You can’t be serious! Tam, I—do you know what it took to get that money! Please, I’m begging you. Can’t this be it? An extra thousand dollars is nothing but petty cash to you. Please.”

“I don’t think so, bunny,” Tamlin responded with a mockingly sad voice. “You see, you lost those kinds of privileges when you broke up with me. I could’ve taken care of all of this for you but you’re the one who wanted to cut ties. So now you have to play by the same rules as everyone else.”

“This is ridiculous, please,” you begged. You were willing to get on your knees at this point. All you wanted was to be done with this—done with him. “I can barely afford rent. Barely feed myself. I won’t be able to get you another grand by next week.”

“That stopped being my problem a long time ago, bunny,” Tamlin said, all niceties gone from his voice now as he stood from his desk, placing his palms flat against the surface. “Get the money to me by next week. I’d hate to see that pretty little face of yours ruined. Do you understand?”

You scoffed but Hart, one of his guards, took a step closer to you, so you swallowed your pride, ignored the tears building in your eyes, and nodded your head. You quickly left the room, made a quick exit from the warehouse and started the long walk back to your apartment.

How the hell were you going to get more money for him? He was doing this on purpose, still upset with you for breaking up with him. You wiped at the angry tears spilling down your face. Would you ever be able to pay him off? Would you ever be able to get rid of his presence in your life?

You kicked at the loose concrete pebbles on the ground as you made your way home. You kept your hood on, head ducked towards the ground to avoid any unwanted attention. Now that you no longer had Tamlin’s protection, the men in this neighborhood had gotten rowdier with you.

Once you reached your apartment building, you took two stairs at a time to get to the fourth floor, wincing as you heard Marcus yelling at his wife again for the third time today. You wished she’d put a kitchen knife through his gut and do your whole neighborhood a favor.

You pulled your cheap, burner phone out of your pocket along with your keys, ready to call your friend Valerie to bitch and moan about Tamlin as soon as you were inside.

But apparently God had other plans.

As soon as you flicked on the lights to your apartment, your phone slipped out of your hands and landed with a thud on the floor. Your eyes widened, your heart plummeted all the way to your stomach as your gaze fell on a pair of unusual violet eyes.

Rhysand.

Rhysand was sitting there on your dingy mattress, his nice clothes a stark contrast to your fraying sheets. He gave you a grin that could rival the devil’s.

“There you are, little mouse,” he purred. “I’ve been looking for you.”

#acotar #fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #cassian x reader #cassian x you #batboys x reader #batboys x you #azriel #rhysand #cassian #reverse harem #modern au #acotar au

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 years

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Masterlist 📝

A regularly updated list of my works; all are x f!Reader unless otherwise stated. If you wish to be tagged for any specific story, or all future works with a certain character, please comment on the specific post!

Please do NOT copy, repost, steal, or translate any of these! My works should only exist here, on Tumblr. I have not and will not post them on any other platform, nor do I consent to any other individual doing so.

The Sandman

Morpheus / Corinthian

Ineffable (series) *on hiatus

Corinthian

Easy on the eyes (series) (18+) *on hiatus

Morpheus

Only you can set alight the fire in me (oneshot)

House of the Dragon

Daemon Targaryen

Without you, I would not be (upcoming series)

This world was never meant for a fire like yours (part one - part two (18+) - unalloyed - part three.one - )

in the shadow of your heart (part one - part two)

She is my heart (oneshot)

ñuha mērī jorrāelagon (oneshot)

feast (oneshot)

rogue ink (oneshot)

turning red (oneshot)

Aemond Targaryen

prūmia va perzys (heart on fire) series

part one: don't you love me?

part two: and what of your love? (18+)

part three: the flames that divide (18+)

part four: the aftermath

part five: never tear us apart

part six:

part seven:

some jealous Aemond Targaryen scenarios

burn them all for you (oneshot)

a little game (modern au oneshot)

hmm (a christmas drabble)

sepār iā sylutegon (just a taste)

your heart's serrated edges are much like mine own (oneshot) (18+)

sapphire-hearted - part one - part two - part three -

dragonfire (oneshot)

Daemon and/or Aemond

A dance with two rogue dragons (oneshot)

If these walls could speak (18+)

midnights imagines : question...? - anti-hero - labyrinth - lavender haze - maroon (part one - part two - part three - part four)

dialogue series: King? -

Star Wars

Anakin Skywalker

As I believe in you (oneshot)

there's hope for us, yet - part 1 - part 2

MCU

Bucky Barnes

babydoll (oneshot)

reconnaissance - one - two - three

Steve Rogers

The Bolter - part one - part two - part three - part four - part five -

World On Fire

Tom Bennett

tongue in cheek (one - two - three - four )

John Wick 4

Marquis Vincent de Gramont

le marquis et le moineau - (ill)fated - first dance -

#masterlist #morpheus x reader #the corinthian x reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #the sandman netflix #bucky barnes x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #steve rogers x reader

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 9 all chapters

Thank you @treedaddymcpuffpuff for curating this beautiful pic!!!! 🖤🖤🖤

TW: sexual harassment, (not john!)

-The next day, you find that diabolical pain in your shoulder is actually gone. You’ve lived with it for a good six months at least. He actually fixed you. It’s such a relief you could cry. You take his advice, and start doing stretches in the morning and after work, so as not to squander his gift. Though, the thought of receiving another massage from those oh-so-capable hands keeps you up at night sometimes.

You wonder if something will change between you at the shop after your little birthday adventure together, but Mr. Wick doesn’t press his advantage, or act overly familiar. In fact, it’s almost like it never happened at all, and you are torn between relief at maintaining the comfortable status quo, or disappointment because…well.

And just what would that look like? you chide yourself. He’s at least twenty years your elder, capable, interesting, handsome as the devil and rich to boot. Do you think he would just sweep you off your feet and let you live in that beautiful cabin of his up on the mountain with him, away from it all?

What would you have to offer a man like that?

The answer, at least in your estimation, is not much, so you concentrate on not pining for him like a lovesick little fool.

Besides, you tell yourself. You’re going to Italy soon. Maybe you’ll meet someone on your travels to take your mind off the Byronically-broody older man who occupies the corner in your shop, and an unfair amount of space in your thoughts.

It doesn’t seem likely, but a girl can hope.

-You start to have a problem at work with your new shift manager. He just can’t seem to fucking restrain himself from making lewd comments at you. He says them jokingly, but it’s not funny, at all. You made the mistake of laughing along awkwardly the first time because you were so shocked and didn’t know what to do. Now he thinks he has carte blanche with you, or worse, that you’re flirting back.

Unfortunately, he’s the owner’s ne’er do well son. It was totally a pity hire, even though you’ve been there longer and are way more qualified for his job. You guess your habit of disappearing for a month to travel probably knocked you out of the running.

Since you’ll be leaving soon for Italy anyway, you feel emboldened to sit down for a second across from Mister Wick when he comes in. He looks at you inquisitively, but not like he’s annoyed you’re intruding.

“I don’t think I’m coming back after my trip,” you feel obligated to tell him, for some reason.

“You can’t leave.” He says it so quickly, and maybe there’s even a note of panic in it. There’s something a little fragile about this imposing man. You feel like maybe only you see it, and it pulls at your heartstrings.

“I just don’t think I can do this anymore. My boss is a creep.” You used to look forward to your job, but now you’ve started dreading coming into work when he’s on the schedule with you. You’re filled with anxiety all the time now, and it’s cut into your sleep because you keep having nightmares about it too.

Mr. Wick’s eyes narrow, and suddenly you are reminded of a wolf. “Is he bothering you?”

You make a face. “He just says gross stuff all the time. It’s wearing. But he’s the owner’s son, so I’m kinda fucked.” The fact that you’re cursing in front of a customer shows how worn down you are.

You’d tried to talk to the owner, Mark, and had been completely blown off about it with the usual tired excuses. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just joking.

Well, ha ha fucking ha.

It was a small indie shop, there was no HR. Your only real recourse, as far as you could tell, was to quit, but you wouldn’t have time to find another job before your trip, and you were counting on your next few paychecks to make ends meet.

“That shouldn’t matter,” Mr. Wick insists.

You sigh, because that is the world a Tall White Male occupies, versus your own situation.

The next day after the morning rush you are cleaning up your station when Kyle creeps up, making a gross comment about how he’s jealous of the way you’re “jacking off” the steamer wand as you wipe it down.

“Could you not say stuff like that to me?” you finally snap, exasperated.

“Come on, I was just joking,” he says with a leer, like it’s your fault that you’re uncomfortable.

“You will never speak to her like that again.”

The voice from behind the two of you is cold as Siberian winter. Neither of you heard Mr. Wick approach. In fact, you didn’t even know he was in the shop. The look he is giving Kyle is pure murder. It’s not even directed at you, and you feel the chill to the marrow of your bones.

“S—sorry, sir. I was just—”

“No, you weren’t. Stop it.”

“Yeah. Ok, sorry.”

Kyle flees for the back, mumbling about having some paperwork to do. You breathe a sigh of relief, and there is some annoying moisture welling in the corner of your eyes.

“Thanks,” you sigh, and you are sorely tempted to leap over the counter and hug this man. He just nods sharply, and goes back to his table. Once again, you can’t help but feel like you have a guardian angel watching over you from the corner. If Kyle is smart enough to take the hint, it will all be fine.

But then you start to think about what just happened a little more.

You start to get an uneasy feeling, and you get Cassie to cover the register while you dare to seek out your dark savior outside as he’s making to leave in his Range Rover. “Mr. Wick?” you ask in hushed tones as he opens his door.

He cants his head in answer, turning to you.

“Please, don’t…light his car on fire or anything?”

He steps in close enough to you that you feel you are engulfed amidst the breadth of his chest and his downturned head. You can smell the warm, masculine spice of his cologne, and maybe you are a little idiot, knowing what you’re pretty sure you know about this man…but it takes every iota of your self-control not to lean into him.

“I don’t know what you mean?” he says pointedly in a low voice.

“Just…” You make a fist of all the words you want to say, but can’t. You don’t know where you get the cheek to pound his chest with it in your frustration, even if very lightly. It’s like a stone wall beneath your hand, and for some reason that ties something low in your abdomen up in knots.

Maybe you wouldn’t be mad if Kyle lost his dick in an unfortunate petting zoo accident, but...you don’t want him dead. You feel a responsibility in this matter you didn’t with the predators in the van. “Please?”

He engulfs your small hand with his, holding it over his heart.

“I'm just going to go talk to the owner,” he assures you.

“That’s Kyle’s dad,” you inform him, again.

“I’m aware. I’ve dealt with situations like this before.” He smirks a little, and you don’t understand the joke. “If you don't push back on assholes like that, they think they run the world.”

Wasn’t that the truth.

“Ok.” Then you realize, he might mean he’s going now. “Wait, it's his day off. He hates being disturbed at home.”

The owner is kind of a big deal in your small town. His own father has been a local business owner and the mayor off and on for a long as you can remember. Their family is connected. You guess that’s why Kyle feels so free to act the way he does.

Must be nice.

“That's too bad,” says John with a lift of eyebrow like he absolutely doesn't give a shit.

“Wait…how do you know where he lives?”

This seems to amuse him. “This isn't exactly a big place. And...that's kind of what I do. Or used to, anyway.”

It's the most he's outright told you about his past. It gives you a little chill, and you wonder how much longer you’ll let yourself play dumb. He’s the kind of man who isn’t afraid to take the law into his own hands. He’s missing a finger, and though they’re long healed, you’ve noticed the faint scars on his gorgeous face. He’s gruff and forbidding with a body that could be chiseled from some kind of physicalwork, and eyes that are sharp as a falcon’s, and oh god you hope he doesn’t do anything drastic to persuade Mark to see things his way.

For you, a little voice in the back of your head reminds you. You are half afraid of what’s to come, and half…in love, maybe, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“I'm so getting fired,” you sing-song under your breath.

“Then…you’ll just have to come work for me.”

There is a breathtaking sparkle in his dark eyes he says this. It sends a delicious thrill shooting through you, and in a ditch effort to hide how thirsty you are for this man you narrow your eyes at him.

“There better not be an ulterior motive to this caper,” you grouse with no real venom. Then, curiosity gets the better of you. “What would I even do?”

“I’ve been thinking…I might need a governess for Dog. All he does is eat and lay around all day. He needs some culture.”

You roll your eyes at this.

“Oh, and pray what does the position of Governess to Master Dog pull?” you play along.

“What sounds fair? 50 thousand per annum?”

If you were really committed to the bit, you would have swooned into his arms. It was all too tempting. The thought of going to Mr. Wick's beautiful home to play with Dog, as a job that paid a livable wage, sounds like a dream. With the added bonus of...him, at home, all to yourself. Just the thought makes a red-hot flush bloom from your neck to your cheeks.

John smirks down at you, but is kind enough not to call you out on it.

You can’t help but notice he is still holding your hand.

It dawns on you that this is the first time he's ever been this playful with you. Does the thought of going into a confrontation excite him? It probably does, you realize. If he’d done the kind of work you expect he might have…life in Clear Forks must seem pretty boring, after a while.

You probably seem pretty boring too.

“Very funny, Mr. Wick. And a little mean, dangling that in front of me.”

“Who's being funny?”

But he says it with such a devilish smile, and you just can’t chance taking him seriously. It’s too…much.

You try to disguise your shuddering sigh, and fail, badly. You try to take back your hand, but he holds on, and you are unable to budge him. You can feel his heart beating against your fist. Steady, but fast.

He’s enjoying this as much as you are.

“I'm probably not supposed to ask you this, but...were you a spy?”

This question sobers him a little, and he levels you with that look. You know it’s meant to be stern, but god. All it does is make you ache.

“You'd better get back inside, Miss y/n. But if fuckhead bothers you again, you tell me. Immediately.”

He says the words, but it still takes him a few seconds more to release you, those dark eyes boring down into yours.

“Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

He nods before getting in his Rover.

You’re sorrier than usual to see him go.

As the day goes on and you remain unmolested, most of the tension in your shoulders lifts, and you almost feel normal again. You believe that everything will be fine, one way or another.

Of course, later, Fuckhead makes a point to tell you, as you're leaving at the end of your shift, that he's not scared of your old man.

Easy to say, once Mr. Wick is far out of ear shot.

However, in a week's time, Kyle is a no show. Suddenly he's decided to leave town—on a day he was supposed to open the shop, leaving his dad high and dry. Mark is livid and swears Kyle is disowned, and you get your little life back at the Clear Forks Coffee Co.

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #john wick fic #john wick imagine #bittersweet john wick imagine

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onlyyvette · 5 months

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★ DAY 3 - puppy play | leon s. kennedy

kinktober 2023 - masterlist.

warnings: top/dom reader + sub/bottom leon + gn reader + reader uses the title "sir" + petplay + collars and leashes + cockstepping + "loving" degradation + humiliation + overstimulation + boot-licking + leon is often called "dumb mutt" + and he adores it

a/n: this takes place in a "no-outbreak" au because why not

Leon S. Kennedy considered himself to be your average young, up and coming police officer. Always making sure he isn't two minutes late to work, having your coworkers tease you relentlessly for being the newest recruit, and for months being known as a simple rookie...yeah it it wasn't that great but hey, it made him happy to serve his city in the best way he thought possible.

But his relationship with you is anything but average.

"You'll be a good boy for me, right, Kennedy?" Your voice was sickeningly sweet despite Leon knowing the true implication behind your words. Behave and maybe you'll be able to cum tonight. "I will..." You look at him expectantly. "I-I will Sir." He immediately corrects himself. He didn't want to be punished so early into the night. "That's a good mutt," you say mockingly, leaning down to pat his head. You then take a seat on your plush bed and motion him closer. He obeys, crawling a bit closer to you on his hands and knees.

As he sits on his knees before you, he keeps his hands to his sides and tries his best to ignore his already hard cock. He tried to bring less attention to it but covering it would only make it obvious that he's hiding an erection. He might as well be open with his shame. "Aww, you're already hard? Hard from me telling you to strip and and putting a collar on you? You're so adorably pathetic." Even so, Leon wasn't safe from your torment. He whines as he now attempts to cover up his dick, only for his hands to be kicked away.

"Hey. Who said you could cover up? You don't deserve to hide anything from me, mutt," you emphasize your cruel words with a harsh tug on the leash attached to his collar. He stumbles forward a bit before regaining his balance and putting his hands behind his back. Leon's visibly trembling now, and you can tell your words have had an effect on him. "Fuck, it's almost like you're even harder than before. Then again I could barely tell. Your dick is so small and cute, you know that?" You give him a wicked smile before tugging on his leash even harder.

Finally, Leon begins to crack. He pulls on the collar as you're nearly chocking him with it and you can see the tears start to well up in his eyes, despite his best efforts to hide them. He wasn't even that small! He was a reasonable six inches! Though that didn't mean anything to you, you were hellbent on pointing out everything you saw unfit about him. But despite that, his pretty dick began to drip pre-cum, twitching a bit.

"And you're still getting off on this shit, no touch anywhere. You're really making me think you're just another pervert, mutt." While you sounded disgusted on the outside, you were truly thrilled. You were drinking up your mutt's pathetic reactions like it was all you needed to survive. You eye him hungrily as he shakes his head, muttering a few "not a pervert" and some other stuff that you didn't bother to listen to.

"I'm real fucking tired of seeing your pathetic cocklet, so hurry up and get off," you say, pressing the heel of your boot against Leon's weeping cock. "HhhnNGH! S-Sir!" Leon whimpers as you press your shoe harshly onto his dick, the rough stimulation making him let go of the tears collecting in his eyes, letting them fall freely. He sobs openly as he humps your shoe, leaning into the cruel treatment your were giving him, the flush from his face reaching his chest and shoulders a bit.

He continues to let out adorable moans as the rough texture of your boot rub on his aching length and he can't help but think about how mean you are to him. The crude marks you make towards him and his body, that sadistic gleam in your eyes when you looked at him...but he was ashamed of himself for being the slut that enjoyed the humiliation he received from you. He embraced it all, getting pleasure out of your twisted interactions that always left his sobbing and trembling. And he would always coming back from more, like a lost puppy.

"...Hey. Mutt." your cold voice jerks him out of his dreamy state. "Hurry the fuck up. The quicker you finish, the quicker you can put your sad excuse of a dick away." Those last words of yours were all Leon needed to cum. He covered his mouth as he came all over your boot, covering it with his cum as he trembled from the strength of his orgasm. Despite his hand covering his mouth, it didn't hide the slutty moans coming out of him. While Leon is clinging onto your leg still coming down from his orgasm, you shake him off. "You're not done yet," you say and motion to the cum on your shoe. "Clean."

With that single word order, Leon wordlessly obeys, bending down to reach your shoe. As he sticks his togue out, you add salt to the wound, pushing the tip of your shoe into his mouth. It immediately makes him recoil, tears jumping to his eyes. Still, he dutifully licks his cum off of your shoe, his tears falling down his face the whole time. God, you make him feel so fucking pathetic. He whines as he laps up the last drops of cum. You yank on his collar again and he comes back up to face you. The moment he gets back up, you step on his dick again, grinding your shoe into his oversensitive dick.

"GhHK! N-no-- uhnn!" Leon sobs as you stimulate his poor dick once again. You really weren't going to give up your relentless bullying. "You're done when I say you're done," you state simply as you continue to crush his dick underneath your shoe. Leon doesn't know how beautiful he looks right now. His eyes are glazed over while fresh tears fall from them and roll down his pink cheeks. A thin line of drool escapes from his open mouth, perfecting the lewd image. You were never going to get enough of tormenting your mutt. And Leon was never going to get tired of being the outlet for your sadistic desires.

#vetty's works. ✿#vetty's thirsts. ✿#vetty's kinktober. ✿#resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil #sub leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #top reader #dom reader #gn reader

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loosingmoreletters · 1 year

Text

take an AU haunting me for ages now: the “sects go to the terrifying Yiling patriarch to ask for his help in the war, WWX ends up demanding LWJ marry him” fics?

Yes, that, but kinda in reverse.

The Sects go to meet the Yiling Patriarch and he’s as expected: arrogant, bold, careless, demanding. And using heretic powers to keep his Burial Mounds untouched by the world.

They negotiate, he smirks properly wicked, and and says he wants to name a bride and a marriage to the Lan.

The Lan talk, outraged, but they have a war to win so the agreement is struck: marriage to the Lan and the Yiling Patriarch is allowed to name bride and groom. They write it down exactly like that.

The war happens, but with the Yiling Patriarch’s army of the resentful dead, they lose less soldiers, win more battles. The Lan wonder why they were chosen, perhaps because they hold enough moral sway that any hostage of theirs wouldn’t result in another war? Regardless, Lan Wangji makes it his job to stick close to the Yiling Patriarch, as close as he will let anyone. He has a whole entourage of ghost brides, though only one stays close to him at all times, veiled whenever they have company

They win the war. “Bride and groom,” the Yiling Patriarch says and swears to return in three months. There is talk of taking him down now that Wen are gone, but no one wants to go to war in the Burial Mounds.

The Yiling Patriarch arrives in three months as promised, dressed in red, followed by a parade of people. “I’ve come to collect my debt,” he tells them. “I will name Lan Wangji as the groom,” he says, sparking confusion and outrage. Does he intend to name one of his ghost brides next? And indeed, he reached for one, lifts her veil, revealing living woman, but takes the veil for himself instead. “And I, myself, will be his bride.”

The story goes a little like this:

One. Wei Ying’s parents die and he follows them. Only he is young and alive and curious and the Burial Mounds are very hungry. They devour him skin, flesh, bone, teeth. And they spit him out again. And again again and again.

Two. Wen Qing is her uncle’s favorite, but she’s her brother’s only sister. She fears what war means, what the retaliation might mean. Young Masters go to the Cloud Recesses for study on invitation, Wen Qing goes to the Burial Mounds to beg.

Three. There is very little begging to be done in front of a boy her brother’s age, who hasn’t been hugged in years and keeps the company of murdered brides as though they are his mothers, aunts and sisters. She asks for protection, he asks for a meal.

Four. They cannot stay in the Burial Mounds forever. It is not a place for children even Wei Wuxian realizes that one morning and promptly disappears in his childhood bedroom, a cold cave filled with trinkets of the dead. He survived on the cost of skin, flesh, bone, teeth. They cannot all pay this price.

Five. The Sects knock at his door, a solution presents itself. He dressed Wen Qing like his older sister, veil and all, and hides her among his undead. They strike a bargain.

Six. They could keep a hostage, but a hostage will not keep them fed. Brides, he knows from childhood on, marry out. One of his sisters would’ve taken with her all her servants, had her unwilling husband not killed her on the wedding night.

Seven. “This is why it has to be a Lan,” Wen Qing tells him. Your husband would not kill you like this. They might keep him in some other way, but what could be worse than skin, flesh, bone, teeth? A wedding night of death? Nothing. And if he can help his family by making them servants and himself a bride, he’ll stay locked up in the Cloud Recesses. At least this prison will not spit him out.

What Lan Wangji knows is this: the Yiling Patriarch is mocking them, but there is a debt and a debt must be paid.

They marry in name, no matter how much the Yiling Patriarch taunts him about the contents of a proper marriage, and then they live separately. They keep an eye on him of course, him and his servants, who keep to themselves, settling in Caiyi and the Cloud Recesses, wary, hungry, terrified people - not of their master, but of everyone else.

And then, on accident maybe, a slip of the tongue, one of those servants soak a different name. Within a second, the Yiling Patriarch is in front of them in protection, though he looks less arrogant, less bold, less careless, less demanding. He looks, Lan Wangji thinks, like someone who has more too lose than he’d ever admit. He looks terrified like no one in the Cloud Recesses ever should.

So maybe he should ask him why

#mdzs #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #the untamed #fanfic #aus and ideas

586 notes · View notes

serpentandlily · 7 months

Text

Wicked Games II

Dark!BatBoys x Reader (modern au!)

Warnings: smut (minors dni pls), dubcon, drugging, violence, dark themes (if you would like more in depth warnings before reading, feel free to message me!)

a/n: thank you guys for the love on part I! Hope you enjoy this one just as much <3

➻❥ Part I

༺♥༻

Part II

༺♥༻

As soon as the shock of seeing Rhysand in your tiny studio apartment wore off, you quickly grabbed your phone off the floor and started to dial 911. Before you could hit the last digit, a large hand yanked your wrist forward and snatched the phone right out of your own hand.

You gaped up at Rhysand as he cruelly smiled at you, snapping the phone into two pieces right in front of your face. He released the broken phone, letting it fall to the floor.

“I don’t think so, darling,” he purred.

You let out a yelp and turned for the door to make your escape but Rhysand grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you back into his hard chest. Your heart skipped a beat, panic now setting in. You were fucked. So fucked.

“Don’t even think about running, little mouse.” His breath ghosted the tip of your ear. “Do you remember my two friends?”

You said nothing, your body freezing subconsciously, as if it knew you were now in the hands of a predator. And a sick, twisted part of you liked it.

“I asked you a question,” he snarled, his hand that was holding you by the back of your neck moved until it wrapped around the front of your throat. He squeezed and you let out a whimper, finding it in you to nod finally.

“Good,” he said, easing up on the pressure. You choked some air in, gasping. “Well, they’re waiting out there for you. So run and you’ll find yourself in their hands, instead. And let me tell you something. I think you’ll find I’m a lot more merciful than they are, darling.”

He twisted you until faced your own apartment and then pushed you forward onto your bed. You crashed into the mattress face first, letting out a curse. You flipped yourself over to see him staring down at you, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“I’ll scream,” you threatened, brushing the hair out of your face.

“Go ahead, darling. I don’t think anyone will care.”

You hated that he was right. No one would care. Not in this neighborhood. Screams, shouts, cries for help. Those all went ignored. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“What do you want?” Your voice was a near growl.

Rhysand raised a single eyebrow at your tone. “You break into my apartment, steal my money, and have the audacity to have an attitude with me? Oh, little mouse, you are more than I expected.”

“If you’re looking for your money back, it's no use. It’s gone already. And you won’t find any cash lying around here.”

Rhysand’s flickered around your pathetic apartment. “I’m not here for my money.”

“Then what do you want, asshole?”

Rhysand’s lips ticked upwards, a small challenge flashing in his eyes. “I want to know who you’re working for, little mouse.”

“I’m not working for anyone,” you scoffed and went to stand but Rhysand’s eyes darkened.

“Sit down,” he ordered, his tone lethal.

You swallowed nervously and sat back down, suddenly realizing the most dangerous male in Prythian was here, in your apartment.

“Tell me who sent you to my apartment. Tell me who you’re working for.”

You shook your head. “No one, I’m not working for anyone. No one sent me to your apartment. It wasn’t personal. I just needed to pay off a debt and I figured you’d hardly notice six grand missing from your stacks of money.”

“And who do you owe money to?”

You looked away from him, debating if you should tell him. Rhysand probably didn’t even know who Tamlin was. Tamlin was a small-time criminal, nothing like Rhysand.

“Tamlin,” you murmured.

Rhysands’s grin turned feral and you wondered if you had made a mistake in telling him that.

“What kind of debt do you owe Tamlin?”

Shit, maybe he did know who Tamlin was. “None of your business.”

Rhysand studied you. “Well, little mouse, it seems that you owe me a debt now.”

Your mouth went dry. “I-I thought you weren’t here for money.”

“I’m not,” he chimed, stroking his well-defined jaw. You tensed as his eyes roamed your figure from head to toe, his gaze darkening as he met your stare again. “It's you I’m here for, little mouse.”

“M-me?” you stuttered. “I don’t…what do you mean?”

Rhysand lurched forward, grabbing your chin in his hand to force you to keep looking up at him. You winced at the pain of his fingers digging into your skin and that only seemed to rile him up more, his pupils dilating.

“What I mean, darling,” he purred, “is that I own you now. You are mine.”

“What–What does that even mean?” You tried to pull out of his grasp but he only tightened his grip further until tears lined your eyes at the pain. “You can’t just own someone!”

“Oh I can and I do,” he smirked. “You’ll soon come to find there are many people in Prythian that I own.”

“I’ll go to the police,” you snapped. “I’ll tell them everything I saw at your apartment.”

“No, darling, you won’t.” A stray tear fell from the corner of your eye and you watched Rhys track it down with his unusual eyes. “Gods, you are so pretty when you cry. The second I saw you, I knew you had to be mine. I guess I can thank you for that, for putting yourself on my radar, little mouse.”

“I’m not yours. I don’t belong to anyone,” you argued. You tried to rip yourself from his grip again and this time, he let you. He stood back to his full height, straightening out the ends of his sleeves.

“Think what you want but you are mine now, darling. I own you, remember that,” Rhysand said and turned to make his way across your shitty apartment to the door. You huffed, pissed that he had dismissed you like that.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you yelled at him, standing and following him to the door. “Do you think you have some sort of blackmail on me? What are you going to do? Tell the police I stole some of your dirty cash?”

His hand twisted the door knob but he paused for a second, turning to stare at you over his shoulder. “I’ll be in touch, little mouse.”

Your lips pressed together in a flat line, angry that he wouldn’t answer.

He left out the door and you rushed forward, sticking your head out to watch him leave.

“How are you going to do that? You broke my phone, asshole!” you shouted at his back.

You heard him chuckle before he disappeared around the corner.

༺♥༻

“So let me get this straight,” Vivianne, your friend, shouted over the booming music of the club. She and Valerie were sitting in the private booth across from you. “You stole from the Rhysand.”

You nodded, sipping on your gin and tonic bitterly. You were still perturbed by your visit from Rhysand yesterday. Still had no idea what he wanted or what he had meant by anything he had said.

“And you managed to get away only for him to figure out where you live and show up at your apartment?”

You groaned, resting your head against the cushion behind you. “He broke into my apartment. He was already there when I got home from dealing with Tam.”

Both of them made a face at the name of your ex. “And all he did was break your phone, threaten you a bit, and then left? Do you…Do you realize how lucky you are to still be alive, y/n?!”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you replied with a sigh. “Turns out even Rhysand is more forgiving than my ex. How depressing is that?”

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” a waiter cut in, stopping at your table. You glanced up to see him holding a small tray in his hand, a cocktail sitting on it. “That gentleman over there sent this for you, miss.”

He was looking at you as he said that, setting the drink down in front of you. You looked over to where he had gestured to see a fairly handsome man staring back.

“Thank you,” you said to the waiter who took his leave.

Your two friends giggled. “Well, are you going to go talk to that gentleman?”

You snorted. There were no gentlemen in this club. He had bought that drink hoping to get in your pants. But it had been awhile since you had sex and the male was attractive. You shrugged, tossing back your old drink and picking up the new one.

“I think I am,” you said, standing.

Vivianne winked at you, knowing exactly what you planned on doing with that man. “We expect all the details tomorrow morning.”

“You know I never disappoint,” you purred, with a wink back, before saying good-bye to your friends and making your way over to the male at the bar.

༺♥༻

You groaned, rubbing your eyes, as you sat up in your bed. You blinked awake, struggling to reach for the glass of water on your nightstand. You went to reach for your phone to check the time before remembering that Rhysand had broken it. You cursed him and looked at the small alarm clock you had, realizing it was already one in the afternoon.

You had gotten home in the early hours of the morning after leaving that male’s apartment. The sex hadn’t even been that good. Definitely not worth this headache.

You made your way to your bathroom, going through the motions of showering and getting ready for the day. You had a shift tonight at the diner you worked for as a waitress.

You went to the kitchen, squinting your eyes at the sun’s light streaming through the window. You filled up your glass of water before fishing in one of the drawers for some advil. You tossed two back and turned towards the counter.

A scream escaped your lips and the glass you were holding slipped, crashing to the floor and splintering into a million pieces. You backed up until you hit the cupboards behind you, gasping with a hand over your mouth.

Sitting on your counter was the decapitated head of the male you had gone home with last night. His face was frozen in a scream, his eyes glazed over. Blood was still dripping from the hole where his neck once was, making a huge mess all over your counter. Pinned to his forehead was a note.

You inched forward and ripped it from the head with shaky hands.

To My Little Mouse,

I don’t like my belongings tampered with. Let another male touch you again and there will be hell to pay. And don’t bother calling the cops, darling. I think you’ve realized now that you are being watched. They won’t help you anyways.

Rhysand

Fuck. This…This had to be some joke. Some fucked up joke. The head probably wasn’t real. It was probably from one of the Halloween stores that had popped up last week, at the start of October. You glanced back at the head and vomited all over the floor. It was real. It was fucking real.

On the counter next to the head, but far away enough not to be sitting in the pile of blood that had accumulated, was a big black box with a red bow on top. When you finally composed yourself, you scooted out of the kitchen, trying your hardest not to look at the human head on the counter, and grabbed the box from the other side.

You brought the box into the living space, trying to get as far from the head as possible before you opened it. You tossed aside the black tissue paper inside to see a brand new iphone sitting on top of something folded. Another note was on top of the phone.

Sorry for breaking your phone, little mouse, but I’m sure you’ll like this one much better.

Rhysand

You frowned, setting the phone and letter to the side before pulling out the other thing in the box. It was a little black dress. You set it aside, confused.

You picked up the phone, pressing the side button to turn it on. It seemed the phone had already been set-up, going to the home screen instead. A picture of Rhysand was the wallpaper and you rolled your eyes at his arrogance.

Before you could even look through the apps and stuff, a text message came through from an unknown number.

Unknown: I see you’ve received my gift, little mouse. Hope you enjoyed the other one, as well. Consider it your first lesson.

You: What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m calling the police. Now.

Unknown: You won’t. We both know you won’t. And you wouldn’t want to make your punishment any worse than it already will be, darling.

You wanted to chuck the phone at the wall, to snap it in half. You were certain this was just another way for him to track you. But if he already had people watching you, did it matter? You groaned, looking down at the phone again to see another text.

Unknown: Did you see what else was in the box, little mouse?

You: A dress?

Unknown: Yes, that is what you will be wearing when I pick you up tomorrow at 9pm. I’ll be sending over two girls to help you get ready at 8:30pm. Be home or else.

You: I’m not going anywhere with you. And I certainly won’t be letting two random strangers into my apartment! FUCK OFF

Unknown: Such naughty words, little mouse. Maybe you want to be punished more. I will see you tomorrow night. Don’t worry about your other little gift. Someone will be by to take care of it when you leave for work.

How the hell did he know your work schedule? Gods, he wasn’t lying when he said he was having you watched. You were in deep waters now. Truly.

And you had no idea how you were going to get yourself out of it.

You clicked out of the messages and pulled up the dial pad, hitting 911. You held the phone up to your ear as it rang, both fear and anger rushing through you. Fuck him. You were calling the cops. You didn’t care if you would get in trouble for stealing from him. There was a fucking head of a dead male in your apartment.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I need to report a murder,” you said quickly, whispering as if Rhysand was in the apartment with you. “There is a… head of a dead male in my apartment.”

“What is your location, ma’am?”

“1962 Alis Ct, Hewn City. Apartment number 333.”

There was a pause before the operator spoke again. “Okay, the cops are on their way. Stay on the phone with me until they arrive, okay?”

“Okay,” you said, the phone shaking in your hand.

“Do you know the identity of the male?”

“Yes and I know who killed him too,” you answered quickly.

“Okay, ma’am, I’m going to need you to speak slower. You said you know the person who killed him? Who? Can you give me a name?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, still shaking. “Yes, his name is Rhysand. He’s the owner—”

“Excuse me, ma’am. Did you say his name is Rhysand?”

“Yes! H-he’s stalking me! He showed up at my apartment two days ago and I know he’s the one who put the…head here.”

Another pause.

“Ma’am, do you know it's illegal to make prank calls to the police emergency line?”

“I–I…what?! I’m not…I’m not making a fucking prank call. There is a real, fucking head in my apartment! I have text messages. I can prove it was Rhysand!”

“Do you know what the penalty is for prank calling the police? Up to ten thousand dollars in fines and a year in prison. That is what you’re looking at. It is in your best interest to end this call now, ma’am. Or the cops that were on the way to your apartment can come arrest you instead. What will it be?”

“You–You’ve got to be kidding! This isn’t a fucking prank call! Please, I need the cops. I need help! There—”

“I’ll give you one more chance, ma’am. End the call now or be arrested.”

“Fuck!” You cursed before hitting the red button to end the call. You let out a scream of frustration. What the fuck? Why the fuck did she think you were lying? Or did Rhysand have more sway over this godforsaken city than you thought?

The phone dinged again, a message popping up on the screen.

Unknown: Naughty little mouse. I told you not to bother with the police.

This time you really did throw the phone across the room.

༺♥༻

You didn’t even have to let the two girls in at 6:30pm the next day. Apparently, Rhysand also had made keys to your apartment. You had nearly peed yourself in fright when the door to your apartment swung open. Two women sauntered in dressed in all black. They were beautiful with long dark hair and onyx eyes. Twins, it seemed.

They didn’t even say anything to you, didn’t answer any question you asked them. Instead one of them wrestled you to sit at your clean counter and began to unpack a whole traincase full of make-up and hair products.

The other one grabbed the black dress from the floor and hung it, smoothing out the winkles.

They proceeded to do your make-up, giving you a black smokey eye and a red lip to compliment it. They also curled your hair and then pushed the black dress in your hands, gesturing at you to change. You made your way into the bathroom, not wanting to get naked in front of them, and put the dress on.

It was strapless and clung to your body. It was fairly plain except for the bottom of the right side where the dress was cut in an arch and rhinestones dangled from the edge to fill in the spot. You had also been given matching earrings to wear along with a thin, silver bracelet. A pair of black heels had been included as well. All of it seemed expensive, you even recognized some of the luxury brand names. This outfit alone was probably worth more than your monthly rent here.

By the time you got dressed and made your way out of the bathroom, the two girls were gone and you were alone again in your apartment. A knock on your door had you jumping in place, your heart accelerating even more than it already was. You hesitantly walked over to the door and opened it.

You were surprised to see not Rhysand, but one of the other males that had been present that day you had snuck into his apartment. It was the beautiful one, with his elegant bone structure and hypnotizing cold, hazel eyes. He gave you a once over, a muscle ticking in his jaw, before he held out an arm towards you.

You stared at it.

“You are to come with me,” he said, his voice as dark as his presence. You remembered Rhysand’s remark about his friends and decided not to test the male.

A shiver ran down your spine and you placed your hand in the crevice of his elbow. He guided you out of your apartment like a true gentleman. You gulped, staring up at him as he led you down the stairs.

“Who are you?” You finally worked up the courage to ask. He glanced at you again, his eyes darkening as they drifted down your face.

“Azriel.”

Your heart nearly stopped. “A-Azriel? As in…the Shadow of Death?”

He said nothing else but his lips ticked up for a second, an answer in itself. You found yourself shaking the rest of the way down the stairs now knowing who you were walking with. Azriel. That name was known in the criminal world, though most people called him the Shadow of Death. Because wherever he was, death normally followed.

Of course, nothing could ever be proven, no evidence ever tied back to him. Which is why he was here with you and not in prison.

Waiting outside for you two was a black limo, all the windows tinted so you couldn’t see in. The door swung open as you approached and Rhysand was there, sticking out a hand to help you in.

He grinned as he looked you over. “You look just as I hoped you would.”

You gritted your teeth, sliding into the limo. Azriel followed behind you and the other male from that day was already seated inside. He gave you a small smirk, his eyes also unabashedly trailing over your body and face.

Rhysand pulled you to his side but you pushed him away with a hiss. “Where the fuck are you taking me, asshole?”

“Oh, the kitty cat has claws,” the taller and more muscular male chuckled. The other two laughed at his remark, causing your cheeks to turn hot with embarrassment.

“I told you she had a filthy mouth, Cassian,” Rhysand said, stroking your arm. You grimaced at his touch, pushing his hand away.

“Do you want to try asking that question again?” You gasped, not even noticing how close Azriel had slid in behind you. You could feel his hot breath against the back of your neck. You shivered again at his dark, sensual voice. Your hands clenched into fists.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked again, through gritted teeth.

“Where are you taking me, sir,” Azriel cut in. “Try again.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder with a glare but he only stared down at you with that icy expression. You turned to see Rhysand watching you with amusement.

“Where are you taking me, sir?” you spat.

“I needed an escort for tonight.” Rhysand shrugged.

“I’m not a prostitute,” you hissed.

“Of course not, darling,” Rhysand said with a flick of his hand. “You are my date.”

You couldn’t stop your cheeks from turning a bit pink at his words. Couldn’t stop the coiling in your stomach. You bit your lip, looking away from him and his stupid, hot, smug face.

Rhysand shot forward, plucking your bottom lip free from your teeth. You wanted to back away from him but Azriel was still behind you and you found yourself pushed against his hard chest, now squeezed between the two males.

“Don’t touch me,” you breathed out, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You won’t be saying that by the end of the night,” Rhysand purred. “I can promise you that.”

“You’re delusional if you think I’ll ever want any part of you,” you managed to choke out.

“I don’t think, darling, I know,” he replied, gripping your chin in his hand like he had the other day to force you to look up at him. “Besides, you are mine. I own you, little mouse. I will do whatever I want with you.”

“You’re sick,” you spat, trying to ignore the heat that just blazed through your skin at his words. You were just as sick as him for even being slightly turned on right now.

Rhysand sat back, tossing his arm over the back of the bench seat with a shrug. “I am. But so are you, little mouse.”

His violet gaze apparently saw right through you.

He reached forward and plucked a champagne bottle from the ice tray on the other side of the limo. He filled up a glass for himself before handing the bottle off to Cassian.

“You have a very important role tonight, little mouse,” he said, twirling his glass in his hand. “I expect you to play it well.”

“And what role am I supposed to be playing?”

“You are going to sit there and look pretty.” Rhysand turned to look at you again with a smirk. “Should be easy enough for you.”

“And how is that supposed to help with whatever the fuck you’re doing tonight?”

“Because, darling, you are going to be quite the distraction.”

You said nothing else during the car ride while the three males talked with each other. You were surprised by how they were acting, like they were truly best friends and not just partners. You had never seen anything like it. Tamlin had never been like that with his two guards.

The limo finally stopped and you realized you were at Velaris, the nightclub owned by Rhysand. You were also far away from your apartment, from your neighborhood in Hewn City. And this area was entirely different. Clean and filled with rich people.

“Come, little mouse,” Rhysand said, holding out a hand to you to help you from the limo. You took it, remembering that you’re supposed to be his date, and let him lead you into the club, right past the long line of people waiting to be let in.

It wasn’t the first time you had been here, so you were familiar enough with the place once you were inside. The music was blaring, lights so dimmed and different colors, creating a dark atmosphere.

You held his hand as he maneuvered your group through the crowd until you made it to the vip section. The guard standing at the roped off section let you guys through as soon as he saw Rhysand.

You were pulled into a far corner, into a private lounge area secluded from the rest.

The three men filled the booth and you stood awkwardly, wondering where the hell you’d fit.

Rhysand patted his lap with a feline grin. “Come here, darling.”

“You’re joking,” you muttered but he didn’t falter.

“He’s not, little mouse,” Cassian said. His voice was as masculine as his appearance was and you found yourself feeling slightly warm at the sound of it. “Better get comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.”

You sighed but obliged, perching yourself on Rhysand’s lap. Rhysand was quick to wrap an arm around you, his hand spreading out on your stomach as he pulled you back even more so you were resting against his chest.

Your legs dangled off the side of his thighs, making you face Cassian. The male ran a hand through his long hair, sending you a wink which you scoffed at, looking away. But your cheeks still turned pink and you were certain he noticed.

A table girl came by a second later, dropping off four drinks at the table, already apparently knowing their orders. Rhysand slid a clear one in front of you and the smell of vodka reached your nose.

He pulled something out of his pocket with his free hand. It was a little baggy filled with white powder. He tore it open with his teeth and poured half of it into the drink in front of you. It disappeared into the liquid.

“Drink that,” he ordered.

You snorted. “You literally just put who knows what into that and you really think I’m going to drink it?”

“You are,” he said smoothly, bringing his own drug-free drink up to his lips. His was whiskey, you figured out by the smell of it.

“Like I said,” you replied, crossing your arms. “You’re delusional and sick in the head.”

He ignored you, looking over your head at Azriel. Before you noticed the look they shared, Azriel fisted your hair and yanked your head back. You let out a cry of both surprise and pain.

Rhys took advantage of the moment, pouring the drugged drink into your mouth before you could react. He slammed your mouth shut with his hand and held it closed as you looked at him with wide, panicked eyes.

“Swallow,” he commanded. You shook your head, desperately trying to pry your mouth open but he was too strong. “Swallow it. Now.”

A bit of the minty tasting liquid slid down your throat and you choked on it, unintentionally letting the rest of it follow. Rhysand let go of your jaw and you gasped for air, glaring at him.

“What the fuck did you just give me?”

“Just something to help you relax, little mouse,” he purred. “Calm down. It’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you spat him. “If you rape me, I swear to the gods—”

Rhysand’s eyes darkened as he met your stare. “No one is going to rape you. I would never let that happen, little mouse.”

You wanted to spit something back at him but the genuine look on his face made you falter. You swallowed back your retort just as a slinky looking male walked over to the table. Rhysand’s persona flipped in an instant, that cocky, smooth look back on his face. You tuned out the men as they started to talk, focusing on the alcohol that was now spreading through you as well as whatever fucking drug Rhysand had put in it.

More people came up, only ever one by one. He was dealing with some sort of business thing but you didn’t bother listening. The more you knew, the more trouble you’d be in when this all eventually got shut down.

The table girl came back a few times, bringing new drinks. Rhysand had slid another drink in front of you, not putting anything in it this time. You decided to drink it. You were already drugged, what more could possibly happen? You had wanted to keep a sober, attentive mind tonight. But Rhysand clearly had other plans.

The alcohol hit its mark, or maybe it was the drug, because you finally relaxed into Rhysand’s hold, the feeling of warmth spreading throughout your body. He seemed to notice, grinning down at you, satisfied. You continued to sip on your drink while Rhysand did his business, perched on his lap just like he wanted.

His hands were all over you. Part of you wanted to protest, but a dark side of you liked how his hands felt on your body. His hand rubbed circles on your waist, his thumb rising up high enough to brush against the underside of your breast, occasionally causing you to suck in a breath. His other hand was resting on your thigh, petting your exposed skin.

There was a break in people coming to the table, the three males just talking amongst themselves. You leaned forward to grab your drink, taking another sip. A bit of liquid dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You went to wipe it by Rhysand grabbed your hand before you could.

“Cassian, our little mouse is making a mess out of herself. Clean her up,” he ordered.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at the other male. He smirked, his own eyes flashing with both amusement and hunger. He leaned towards you, swiping your lip with his thumb before bringing up to his mouth and sucking the spilled alcohol off of it. His devilish grin had your pulse spiking. Fuck. Why were these males so attractive? It wasn’t fair.

You released the breath you were holding in as Rhysand let your arm drop. You looked up at him through your lashes. “I thought you didn’t want other males to touch me.”

Rhysand leaned down to whisper in your ear, “They are the only ones allowed to touch you. And I think you want them to, little mouse. They are like my brothers. We share everything.”

He pulled back winking at you and you looked away, your cheeks turning bright red as the image of you squished between the three men popped up in your head. Rhysand seemed to read your mind, chuckling as he took a sip from his glass.

Whatever drug he had given you was working now. You felt fire pulsing through your veins. Your skin was warm but you wanted to be touched. Rhysand went back to stroking you and you couldn’t stop yourself from arching into his touch. Not when it felt so good.

This feeling only grew and grew the longer you sat there in his lap. You shifted again, crossing your legs to try and ease the tension between them. Rhysand growled, his hands tightening their hold on you.

“Stop moving around so much,” he hissed into your ear. “Or I’ll take you right here in front of everyone. Unless, that is what you want, darling.”

Fuck yes, it was what you wanted right in this moment.

“No,” you huffed, feeling shame and embarrassment at how much his words had affected you. You squeezed your thighs together, blaming it on the drug he had given you. Asshole.

“Then be a good girl and sit still.”

Fuck, that only turned you on more. What the fuck was wrong with you? You were seriously fucked in the head. No. It was that fucking drug he had put in your drink. It had to be. Your skin felt so hot now, the ache inside of you impossible to ignore. What the hell did he give you?

His hands went back to touching you all over and you bit down on your lip, trying to ignore the feeling. It's like he was doing it on purpose. You glanced up at him to see him smirking to himself as the male in front of him talked. Scratch that. He was absolutely doing it on purpose.

Another hand brushed against your thigh under the table and your eyes widened, looking up at Cassian. He gave you a wolfish grin before his attention went back to the male across from them. You looked back up at Rhysand but he didn’t give any indication that he knew what Cassian was doing.

Cassian’s hand traveled further up your thigh and you held back a groan as his calloused fingers brushed against your soft skin. You debated pushing his hand off of you but it felt so good to be touched right now. You glanced at him again but he was still paying attention to the other male, even as his hand began moving again.

Fuck, you should stop this. But gods, your skin sang at Cassian’s touch. You felt heat pooling in your stomach, your core pulsed in need.

No, stop. It was the fucking drug. You didn’t want this. Did you?

This time you did try to push away Cassian’s hand, but Rhysand grabbed your hand instead, stopping you. So he did know Cassian was touching you. Your nails bit into his skin.

Cassian’s fingers traveled higher and higher, your core tightening along with it. Fuck. Your skin was impossibly hot now. You bit your lip harder, drawing a bit of blood as his fingers brushed against your underwear, tracing the lining against the junction of your thigh. Your nails were still digging into Rhys’s hand and you let out a small whimper, unable to stop yourself.

“Darling,” Rhys purred. “We’re trying to have a conversation. Be a good girl and keep quiet.”

You could understand the double meaning behind his words. He looked down at you with a wicked glint in his eyes. He let go of your hand as Cassian’s fingers brushed against your underwear again and you realized he was giving you a choice now. Push Cassian’s hand away. Or not.

You should. You really fucking should. But gods, you were on fire. Blazing hot with the feeling of their hands all over you. You glanced around. You were out of sight from the rest of the club but that other male was still here talking to Rhys.

You needed their touch. Your skin was singing for it, electricity sparking at every touch of Cassian’s fingers. You were craving it now, feeling hot and flushed. The pressure inside of you wouldn’t let up. You chewed on your lip, your hand fisted on your thigh. That was apparently the sign both of them were waiting for.

Cassian pushed your underwear to the side quickly before his fingers stroked against your core. This time the moan slipped free from your lips and you arched in Rhysand’s arms. Your face turned hot as the conversation stopped again at the noise.

Rhysand leaned back down to whisper in your ear so the others couldn’t hear. “Keep yourself composed or there will be trouble. You wouldn’t want that, would you, darling?”

How the fuck were you supposed to stay composed? Was this your fucking punishment for calling the cops? Did he purposely give you a drug that would make you so fucking horny, you wouldn’t be able to resist their touches in the middle of a club? Be forced to keep quiet and sit still?

Cassian’s fingers circled around your clit and a spark of electricity roared through your body. You bit your lip harder but couldn’t stop from wiggling a bit on Rhysand’s lap. He held you tightly, pulling you higher up on his lap until you could feel his hard length beneath you. You held back a gasp at the feeling, at the proof that he was just as turned on by this as you were.

You took a peek at the stranger across the table to see his eyes trained on you, full of lust. So this is the distraction Rhysand wanted you to create. You should be more embarrassed, put a stop to this. But Cassian’s fingers circled around your clit again and all reasonable thought left your mind.

“Don’t look at her,” Azriel growled at the male.

The male swallowed audibly and forced his eyes back on Rhysand.

This was so fucked up. So, so fucked up.

Cassian’s fingers quickened and so did your breathing. You were nearly tearing apart your own lip now, swallowing your moans as he caressed you. Fuck you needed more. More and more and more. Heat was pooling in your stomach, between your legs where his fingers were.

It was Azriel who leaned in to whisper to you this time, his hand traveling up your shoulders to the back of your neck to hold you there. “Don’t you dare come without our permission, sweetheart.”

His deep voice caused your heart to jump in your chest. You wanted to give into Cassian’s touches. Wanted to unravel right there. But Rhysand was still talking to the male who looked like he was almost sweating with the effort of not looking at you.

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as Cassian’s fingers continued their assault. Fuck, you could hardly breath. Sweet, hot pleasure was sweeping away every thought.

You were beginning to tremble as Cassian continued to rub his fingers around your clit. Rhysand held onto you tighter and tighter, his hard length pressing into you from behind.

The embarrassment of having them do this to you, especially in public and in front of a stranger should be overriding everything else. But the pleasure kept you locked in place. You licked your lips, tasting blood. You knew you had split it open with your own teeth, trying to keep your cries in.

Cassian’s fingers moved down, to circle around your entrance and you almost bucked in Rhysand’s lap if it wasn’t for his tight hold on you. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting them to see how his touch made them roll to the back of your head.

You whimpered as he slid in one finger, slowly pulling it back out and thrusting it back in. This time you did moan. It was too much, the feeling was too much to keep yourself quiet.

Rhysand grabbed you by the jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “What did I tell you, little mouse?”

You opened your mouth but no words came out, not as Cassian pushed another finger into you. Another whimper escaped from your mouth and Rhysand’s eyes darkened. His thumb brushed against your bottom lip.

“Answer me. Now.”

With Rhysand’s grip on your chin, Azriel still holding you by the back of the neck and Cassian sliding his fingers in and out, quickening his pace as you flushed red with pleasure, you almost unraveled right then and there.

“Y-you said to keep q-quiet.” Gods, it was torture getting those words out without a bunch of moans coming with them. Cassian was still thrusting his fingers in and out of you, his thumb circling your clit. Fuck. You were close now, that warm feeling spreading all the way down to your toes.

You were panting now. You wanted more. So much more. Fuck.

“And you disobeyed me,” Rhysand purred. He still held you by your chin, now forcing you to look at the male across the way who was staring at you with desire. “So this is your fault, little mouse. Don’t forget that.”

You were confused but Azriel stood as quick as lightning, pulling his dagger free and stabbing the man across from you in the neck. Rhysand wrapped a hand around your mouth before you could scream. The man gurgled before slumping over. Dead.

Your eyes went wide, tears building up.

Cassian yanked his fingers from you and you would’ve cried in protest if it wasn’t for the dead body across from you. He smirked at his brothers as he licked his fingers clean, groaning at the taste. “Gods, she tastes so good.”

“Are you pleased with yourself, little mouse?” Rhysand growled into your ear, keeping your face towards the dead man. “It's your fault he’s dead. Do you want to know why?”

You shook your head no, unable to talk with his other hand still wrapped around your mouth.

Rhysand continued anyway. “He’s dead because he got to hear your moans, your cries. And you know why that upsets me?”

You shook your head again as he turned your face back to him. You stared up into those devastating violet eyes. He let go of you finally.

“You are mine, little mouse,” he snarled. “No one should ever be able to hear those cries of pleasure except us. Just like no one should ever touch you again except us. Do you understand?”

Gods, this was your punishment for sleeping with that guy the other night. Had killing him not been enough of a message?

“He asked you a question, sweetheart,” Azriel growled, squeezing the back of your neck. “Answer him.”

“Y-yes. I understand,” you stuttered out. Azriel squeezed your neck again, a little harder this time. You yelped in pain before giving him what he wanted. “Yes I understand, sir.”

“Good,” Rhysand said with a pleased smile.

“But I—this wasn’t my fault! I didn’t want this. You drugged me! You made me want this.”

His smile stayed as he pulled that baggy out of his pocket and tossed it into your lap. You looked up at him in confusion. “You were never drugged, darling. Those are just crushed up mints. You’re just as sick as we are, aren’t you, little mouse?”

You grabbed the baggie with shaky hands, bringing it up to your nose to smell it, to see if he was telling you the truth. You sniffed and the scent of mint hit you. He really had never drugged you so…so all of that, all of the pleasure and want you felt, all of the desire, that had all been real.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel were all grinning now and you knew it that moment that you were completely, utterly fucked.

༺♥༻

Tag list: @justdreamstars @minakay @f4iry-bell @godletmebeanf1wag @judig92 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @peaceandcrackers @glitterypirateduck @gorlillaglue25 @the-lake-is-calling @danikamariemain

#acotar #azriel #fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x you #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand #poly!batboys x reader #batboys x you #batboys x reader #cassian x azriel x rhysand x you #reverse harem

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goldengirlls · 2 years

Text

security tape

pairings — beefy!biker!bucky x fem!reader

warnings — dom!bucky, unprotected sex, breeding kink, lap dances, talks of sex tapes/pictures/audios, dumbification, beard burn, mentions of balls, oral fem receiving, daddy kink, exhibitionism/public sex, dirty talk, spit kink and cum play

summary —only for our eyes.

wc — 3.2 k

authors note — AHH !!! OVER 2.5 K OF YOU BABIES!!! LOVE U ALL SO MUCH !!!! SO IN HONOR OF THAT, HERES THE FIRST INSTALLMENT OF MY NEW AU VERSE !!! will be part of the for our eyes only verse

࿐ m.list 🂱 s.stan list

“Well look who finally decided to make an appearance.” Bucky’s voice rang through the beer infused air, back pressed back up against the dark color cushion and behind the wooden table that was littered with papers, a screen and a nearly finished glass of bourbon. The hum of the ice makers coming to life and the music fading from one song to another.

A sympathetic and amused look, thrown in his direction as your legs took you to stand in front of the table. Hands pressing themselves against the cool wood table and resting your body against them.

“I told you I’d be here around six.” Leaning further on to the table and at the pout forming against his lips and the space growing larger between his hairline and eyebrows.

He scoffs at the audacity, looking at his watch, “Yeah, a whole forty seven minutes after.” Firm glare or what was trying to be, but the glimmer of his midnight eyes proving otherwise that he was happy you were here, with him where you where were suppose to be.

“Yeah ‘s in the general area of six.” You protest while holding back the laugh that you so desperately wanted to let go off at how childish the six foot four leather clad biker was being about this.

His arms uncross from one another and his lip untucked itself from his pearl white teeth. Not saying a word as he slid out of the booth and over to the low lit bar where the open bottle of bourbon sat, pouring himself another glass.

It was comical when you really thought about it. The six foot something tattooed cover biker with a sour look and grumbling under his breath. To anyone and everyone else he was labeled as grumpy and scary, but to you— he was a big softy, with a weak spot for you.

Making your way over to him, you squeezed your body between him and the cool wooden bar, doe eyes already begging for forgiveness, “‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to be late. I, uh got distracted.” Tucking your lip between your teeth, your cheeks growing warm at the faint thought of what made you late.

Grabbing his attention, the midnight eyes searched your face for an answer to said distraction. The pink dusted cheeks— warm to the touch, the dazey hooded glimmer in your eyes and the slightly ruffled hair was drawing a conclusion, but couldn’t quite draw a conclusion.

Then, with one last sweep over your enhanced features, it all clicked.

Bucky biting back a smile— or a smirk, “Distracted?” His voice dropping low and hands bruising your hips as he deposits you up onto the bar. “Care to explain, Ace.” Glimmer of hope you’d spill all the details he was desperately trying play in his mind.

“Uh, I couldn’t find my keys.” That was believable.

“Really?” His hands trailing up your bare legs, only covered by a denim cladded mini skirt. “When I left an hour before you, could’a sworn the were on the gold dish on the counter.” Challenging you.

Your eyes growing ten times in size, “I, uh mean my wallet. Yeah, couldn’t find my wallet.” The goosebumps rising the closer he got to the hem of your mini skirt. Fingers playing with the distressed material as he hummed at your answer — not believing your words for a moment.

Bringing your body closer to him, his lips hovered over yours, “Sure it wasn’t something else that made you late?” Bourbon mixed with mint meeting your cotton candy like lips, “Maybe something like on your phone.”

Wicked, delicious and a dangerous game.

One of Bucky’s ring cladded, tattooed hand leaving your thigh as it met the heat of your cheek, thumb brushing against the high point, encouraging your answer, “How’d you figure it out.” Sheepishly asking with a glimmer of pride.

“Cause ‘m usually the one makin’ you look that way.”

“Bucky!” A hand meeting his concrete shoulder, doe eyed and face warmer than before and far pinker.

“Love it when ya scream my name.” Smiling before pressing his lips against yours. Bucky’s tattooed hands seemed to have a mind as they wandered around your body, meeting your legs , under your skirt and ever so lightly ghosting against your thighs which elicited a moan letting him deepen the kiss and sliding his tongue into your mouth.

A fucking dream come true. His best girl — perched on the bar, leather jacket and all, nape of the neck exposed for his lips, sloppy kisses and even messier hands.

“Which video did ya watch?” Bucky spoke against your lips, trailing down your jaw and to the column of your neck, a trail of destruction everywhere his lips connected to your skin.

“I— the one of us after Sam’s house party.” Gasping out when his teeth grazed your skin. “Y’know the one where you tore my panties right in half.”

“Didn’t seem to mind when I made you cum four different times that night.” He hums against you, eyes gleaming with pride when he met your eyes that were watching his every move.

Four years of love and two years of living together. Soulmates. Complete opposites, but alike in many ways.

A crisp autumn night, layered in a waffle white long sleeve tucked away in a leather jacket with light washed denim jeans. One too many tequilas as your sneaker cladded feet took you to the very man that you’d come home to every night and show you how much he loved you every morning. And Bucky thanked his lucky stars every day for those doe eyes and wicked tongue.

You fell hard and fast for the six foot something, leather wearing, tattoo covered biker.

Neither one of you loving someone the way you loved each other. Day in and day out proving your worth to one another.

“‘Specially when I did that thing with my tongue.” He mumbles out, his forefinger running between your wet folds followed by many curse words.

You gasped out a string of incoherent words when his cold rings could be felt when his finger dipped into your messy hole.

“Gonna let me wreck you.” Other ring adorned hand squeezing your bare thigh, voice dangerously low and the midnight eyes pleading for your acceptance. “Let me destroy this little pussy. Make her cry and squirm.” Retracting his finger to bring to his lips— tasting his favorite thing.

“Sweeter than ever.” He hummed out pressing his lips against yours so you could taste you on his lips. “And always so messy for me, for daddy.”

“Bucky.” You whine grinding against his jeans, trying to alleviate the ache between your legs. The pleading, close to pathetic look you were giving him was enough for him to flip your skirt up and blow against your puffy pussy. “Don’t tease me, touch me.” Lips pouty and prominent with the taunting promise of watching them quiver.

“Yeah? Want me to make ya sing, baby? Play with her all night? Make her weap and cry till she can’t take it anymore?”

A moan escapes from your bruises lips with a nod and eyes fluttering closed.

“Gonne let me eat your pussy, baby? Know you’re gonna be my good girl for daddy tonight.” He questions licking his lips as his eyes follow your glistening pussy, “Shit, baby. A drippin’ mess, s’all for me? Needs me that bad, huh?”

Nodding your head in response, your walls clench around his forefinger and middle finger, your head becomes even fuzzier when his lips connect with your clit as his tongue begins spelling words that word spoken between the two of you.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ pussy ever. Can’t wait to show you what she looks like when ‘m done with her tonight.”

Your senses are in overdrive. Hypersensitive. And when his beard brushed against your folds the most pornographic sounds falls from your bruised lips and he inserts a second and a string of saliva leaving his lips runs against your folds to your hole.

It’s filthy and delicious.

The pathetic whimpers leaving your mouth mixed with the wetness from your pussy and the moans from Bucky are driving you closer to the edge.

“D— Daddy, ‘m gonna cum.” You cry out, squeezing your legs around his head, only making him shove his face further into your sensitive pussy. “Don’t stop, please.” Whining out rubbing your face against his mouth and beard. The burn of his hair increasing the pleasure and without a doubt leaving the promise of him on you tomorrow.

Bucky’s tongue laid flat against your clit, his eyes connecting to yours holding eye contact telling you to cum, to be his good girl. He’s desperate to taste you — your warm cream filling his mouth. He needs you spread on his beard and he’s begging for it with every lick and curl of his finger.

A few more swipes of his tongue — spelling his name, the promise of coming home and the curl of his cool cladded fingers brushing against your spongy spot was enough for you to cum, squirming against him as you see the stars.

Bucky continues to clean you up. Never missing a drop of the warm cream lapping up every last drop. Standing tall and proud with a smirk plastered on his lips, noticing how floaty and fucked out you already look.

Your slick glistening against his beard, swollen pillow like lips and blown pupils, “Think ya can give me another on, baby?” Bucky husks out, nudging his nose against yours — smelling you on him.

Your eyes lashes flutter close when your lips meet his, moaning into his mouth with the taste of you on the tip of his tongue, as you palm at the prominent bulge hidden beneath his jeans.

The zipper makes a loud, thick sound, as your hands find the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head— only left in your mini skirt when his angry cocks’ finally able to breathe.

“Shit— gettin’ pretty everytime I see you.” The butterflies soaring in your stomach when you feel the mushroom leaky tip drag up and down the reminiscence of the mess he created earlier before he eases the head into your sore but desperate hole.

“Just stretched her out this morning, how’s she this tight already.” Bucky continues, “Guess ‘ll have to fix that, seein she’s gonna suck me back in everytime I pull out.” Bottoming out — pelvis to pelvis, chest to chest.

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin her and you, baby. Gonna have her a weapin mess, beggin’ me for more after I fill her up.” Bucky states as he slams in and out of you at a bruising but promising speed.

Bucky fucks into you as if his life depends on it. His midnight eyes connecting where his cock meets your needy hole, moaning when he sees himself covered in your slick. Bucky’s balls slapping against your ass as words fall from his lips when he feels you suck him in and clench around him.

He pounds into you relentlessly, the girth is snug and length is delicious. His bulbous tip brushing against your g’spot, the delivering of every thrust is deliberate and tasteful. He’s demanding you feel everything that makes his cock — veins, crevice and mushroom tip.

“Daddy needs you to be a good girl. He needs ya to drench his cock. Need ya to make a slutty mess, c’mon I didn’t fuck you that stupid, yet. Cum for me. Make a mess so daddy can make a mess in you.” Bucky states, eyebrows furrowed, cock slipping in and out of you.

His balls are heavy. Begging for a release. Begging to fill your silky creamy walls. Needing it.

“Be a messy slut and cum for me.” Buckys fingers start rubbing your little clit, in small deliberate circles, as you moan loudly clenching his cock like a vice making his balls tighten and body tighten.

Your legs to shake and spazz around his thick thighs, as your pussy wheeps and creams around his cock riding out your orgasm.

“Good girl, baby, fuck, gonna cum.” Bucky moans ropes of his seed shot from his bulbous tip, spewing into your bruised and velvet like walls, flooding your pussy to the brim, riding out his and your orgasms.

A few moments of labored breaths and stolen kisses, he slowly slides himself out, careful to not let anything spill out. His fingers coming down to collect the cum that’s dripped out, collecting it and running his fingers along the rim of his glass— a promise to taste you the rest of the night.

“I have to save some of you for later Ace” Licking his lips and fingers once done.

Tucking himself away and helping you collect yourself you catch that lovestruck boyish look he’s given you a million times.

He cups your cheeks, cold rings flushed against your pink cheeks, keeping you close to his heart and the steady thumps beating at the same rate. Passionate and messy. Desperate and yearning. Actions speaking louder than words. Each kiss expressing the impact and heaviness of his love. Everything pouring into this kiss.

“Much as I love those sweet lips, gotta get ready to open the bar.” Speaking lowly and with a huff. Meeting your eyes as he leaned down for one last kiss.

“Oh and Ace,” Your eyes connect with his, your head titling to the side — indicating for him to continue, “Can’t wait to watch the security tape later.” His tongue licks the rim slowly and deliberately as he goes to get the supplies to clean the counter.

taglist: @mackenzielovee @r0und3bitch @glitterandsparklessss @onmykneesforrafe

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