#there’s no way in hell I wouldn’t bleed through the back of the pad

[joelsgreys]

a safe haven l five

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: You and Ellie have a talk outside your house in the middle of the night and you discover her secret; Joel asks you one more time to tell him to back off and you don’t comply.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) mention of reader’s injuries from the previous chapter (very minimal use of color description, i try to keep it was vague as possible), mentions of domestic violence, talk of possible infertility, pregnancy loss, reader describes her miscarriage (mention of cramping/bleeding), infedility. SMUT. fingering, oral sex (f receiving).

Word Count: 7.5k

You stare up blankly into the pitch black darkness of your bedroom—at Luke’s request, you’d drawn the linen curtains over the window, keeping out the moonlight so it wouldn’t disturb his slumber. Unable to see the hour on your watch, you can’t be too sure as to what time it is, but you’re fairly certain it’s well past the middle of the night, possibly even past the earlier hours of the morning. The harder that you try forcing yourself to fall asleep, the more you find yourself tossing and turning under the covers in frustration. It’s beginning to break what little sanity you have left and eventually, you realize it’s better just to give up on sleep altogether.

Luke is laying beside you, although he’d rolled over onto his side with his back to you. He had gone straight to bed after dinner while you’d been washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen and you couldn’t have been more grateful. You often have very little choice but to fulfill your wifely duties in the bedroom, but lately, Luke had been so tired that he hadn’t even bothered with you, and for that, you’d also been grateful. You had grown to loathe whenever he touched you, it disgusted you whenever he would kiss you or put his hands on you in an intimate manner—you couldn’t even stand it when he so much as breathed in your direction.

Being careful not to wake him, you swing your legs over the side of the mattress and climb out of bed, quietly padding your way over into the bathroom. Closing the door, you flip on the lights and take a look at yourself in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging on the wall above the porcelain sink. You begin to silently inspect your reflection, silently praying that you’d somehow made it through another incident with Luke unscathed. Though your face still stings, thankfully no mark from the blow had been left behind—the same can’t be said for your upper arm. Your skin is blemished, soft flesh tender and irritated from the iron grip he’d had on you earlier in the kitchen. It’s splotched, and the harder you stare at it, the easier it is to make out the shape of his fingerprints, an injury you can’t exactly blame on running into the door or an accidental kick from a horse.

It would be hell having to wear a shirt with longer sleeves to cover yourself up in this heat while working outside in the paddock and inside the stables—the mere thought of it alone makes you sweat. Either that or you can hide away at home for a few days until the marks heal, or at least start to fade. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d have to pretend to be sick and miss your work duties long enough for an injury to heal.

You take the thin, cotton gray robe hanging from a hook on the bathroom door and tug it on over your sleepwear before turning off the lights and stepping out of the bathroom. Brushing past your bed, you slip out of the bedroom. You’re careful to be quiet as you swiftly make your way downstairs and dip out through the front door and onto the porch. During the day, the weather is scorching, but evenings aren’t quite as bad—you wrap the billowy fabric of your robe around yourself as you sink down, taking a seat on the top step of the porch.

“Fuck,” you mutter softly.

Covering your face with both hands, you shake your head as you will yourself to keep it together—you fail at holding back the incoming tears. You curse again, angry at yourself for crying over Luke. Bastard doesn’t deserve a single tear, and yet, the number of them you’d shed over him in the last couple of years would be enough to power the hydroelectric dam outside the town’s walls.

You lift a hand to your mouth and muffle your sobs, but one or two slip out into the silence of the night. Not that it matters, because no one’s around to hear them. Besides the patrolmen working the wall on the opposite end of the settlement, everyone is at home, fast asleep in their beds. No one in their right mind was up at this hour if they didn’t have to be. Or so you’d thought.

The familiar sound of Ellie’s voice saying your name startles you, prompting you to let out a loud, audible gasp as your head snaps up and whips to the side. Instinctively, you reach up and quickly, almost furiously, wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your robe. “Ellie?” you say her name in a confused, questioning manner as she approaches. Though your voice is thick with your emotions, your concern for her is still evident in your tone. “What are you doing outside at this time of night? What’s the matter? Is everything alright?”

“I couldn’t really sleep, so I decided to take a stroll. Wanted to get some fresh air,” she says. She draws closer to you and in the soft, dim glow of the porch light, she notices the tear stains that streak the sides of your face. “You know, I thought I heard someone crying and for a minute, I could’ve sworn I was losing my fucking shit or something. But I guess not.” Pausing, she shoves her hands into the packets of her plaid pajama pants. “You okay? And before you lie to me and say that you’re fine, just know that I’m not blind and I’m as hell not fucking stupid, either.”

You could have laughed—you actually almost do.

The girl’s too smart for her own good.

“Mind if I sit with you?” Ellie asks, gesturing with a nod of her head to the spot beside you.  

You nod and as she sits down, your hand wraps itself around your sore arm. It’s not like she can see it through the sleeve of your robe, but it’s a force of habit. Hiding this, concealing that—covering it all up.

It’s wired into your brain.

Ellie pulls her hands out of her pockets and brings one of them onto your bare knee in a soft, light slap. “Alright, princess. Fess up.” She’d pinned you with that nickname since the night she had seen you in a dress at the party. Nudging your side with her elbow, she continues to say, “Talk to me. What happened?”

“Ellie—” You abruptly stop, realizing it’s a waste of breath trying to convince her that nothing is wrong. You’d gotten to know just how stubborn that she could be. Exhaling a sigh of defeat, you confess, “I had a fight with Luke.”

“What did he do?”

Perplexed, you turn and raise an eyebrow at her. Ellie still hadn’t had the chance to meet Luke, and after what he’d said about her, you had every intention of keeping it that way—you want him to stay far, far away from her. Still, her assumption about him being the one at fault catches you off guard. It makes you wonder just how observant the teenager really is and whether or not she has any preconceived notions about your marriage. “What makes you think that it was him? How do you know it wasn’t my fault?”

Ellie scoffs, “Please. What on earth could little miss perfect possibly do wrong?”

Another one of her silly nicknames for you.

Unable to help yourself, you crack a small smile.

You release a breathy little laugh and feel another tear slide down the side of your face. Reaching up, you wipe it away with the back of your hand. “I’m not perfect, Ellie. I’m far from it, actually,” you tell her, quietly. “I haven’t always been the best wife—definitely not a perfect one, that’s for damn sure. You might not believe me, but I’ve made my fair share of mistakes in the past, and those mistakes really caused a rift between us that we were never quite able to repair.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Aw, come on. What could you have done that was so fucking terrible?”

You sigh.

“When my father got sick, I let myself drift away. I just had so much on my plate between learning how to take care of the horses and looking after my father as his health deteriorated. It was so overwhelming and I just—I shut Luke out.” You don’t have the slightest clue as to why you’re confessing any of this to a fifteen year old, but it eases the heaviness, lifts a weight that you’d been carrying on your shoulders for far, far too long. “I neglected him, Ellie. I neglected him, and I neglected my marriage.” Your voice breaks off into a trembling whisper, prompting her to nudge you with her elbow once more. Though she hadn’t said anything, it was her way of encouraging you to let it out and god only knew that you needed to get the guilt off your chest and out into the open. Luke is an awful man and you don’t want to justify the terrible things he’s done to you, but you still feel partially responsible for how badly things had fallen apart, how they began crumbling long before the first time he’d ever put his hands on you. “I know Luke never forgave me for that, Ellie. In fact, I would say he fucking hates me for it.”

“Your dad was fucking dying! You had to learn how to be a veterinarian in what—a year or two?” Ellie sounds angry and it doesn’t surprise you. You know she’s grown to love you over the last couple of months—you two spend more time with one another than with anyone else and have become incredibly close. Ellie takes a moment to calm herself down before asking, “How long have you and Luke been married to each other, anyway?”

“For about a few years now. We’ve been together since I got to Jackson,” you explain. “A few months after we met, we exchanged vows in the old church that’s just up the road.”

Ellie brings her knees up and hugs them against her chest. “Can I ask you something? It’s really fucking personal, though.” She notices the amused look you toss at her and rolls her eyes. “More personal than what I’ve asked you up until now.”

“Depends. How personal are we talking?” Though you’re mostly joking, part of you is worried about what’s going to come out of the brazen teenager’s mouth. 

“How come you and Luke don’t have any kids?”

Your eyes fall down to your hands, which you’re subconsciously wringing together anxiously in your lap. “I don’t know, Ellie.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Exactly that. I don’t know.” You shrug and feel her lean against you as you elaborate on it a little further. “Once we’d realized that Jackson was just about as safe and secure as we could hope for, we tried starting a family. We wanted to have children like the other couples here in the community, but it never happened for us. I did get pregnant once. It was right before my dad got sick. I miscarried just a couple of days after taking one of those home pregnancy tests. I had just told Maria about the positive result—I was at her place when I started cramping, and then I started bleeding a little bit. Luke said it was normal for some women to experience that, but the next morning, I used the bathroom and—” You trail off, letting her piece together the last piece of the puzzle.

“Shit, I’m sorry—”

“It’s alright,” you reassure her, not wanting her to feel bad for having asked. “Anyway, after a couple of months, we decided to try for another baby, but I never got pregnant again.” Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the expression on her face and beat her to the punch. “And before you ask me, we don’t know who the problem is. It could be me, it could be Luke—it could be both of us for all we know. But without proper medical testing, there’s no way we can know for sure what’s going on. It’s something that we’re probably never going to figure out.”

For a moment, Ellie’s silent. 

You can feel she’s itching to ask another question, tell that it’s right there on the tip of her tongue.

“Go ahead,” you encourage her. “It’s okay.”

“Are you happy with Luke?”

You hadn’t known what to expect.

But you certainly hadn’t expected that.  

Maybe you should have. 

Masking the shock on your expression, you turn to her and say, “He’s my husband, Ellie.”

She blinks. “You didn’t answer the question.”

You open your mouth to speak, but words fail you, and you quickly clamp it shut.

She’d stumped you. Hard.

After a minute, Ellie laughs, “Well, your silence answered the question a hell of a lot better than you fucking did, princess.” She sees you wring your hands together again and her grin fades. She speaks again, her tone going serious. “I don’t get it. If you’re not happy with him, then why not leave and find someone you can actually be happy with?”

“Ellie—”

“Come on, I see how all the men around here look at you,” she scoffs, shaking her head. 

“Elle, please,” you sigh in exasperation. “That’s not true.”

She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth and peers at you.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I know Joel’s definitely got a thing for you—he’s got a thing for you big time.”

You stiffen beside her. 

Fuck. 

“And I know you’ve got a thing for him too.” Ellie’s eyes glimmer mischievously, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a smirk as she watches the color drain from your face.

Say something, you silently urge yourself. Anything. 

“Ellie, I’m married,” you manage to stammer out.

Ellie snorts and shoots you a knowing look. “Listen, princess. It’s like I told you. I’m not blind and I’m not stupid. I know something happened between you two in Ranger’s stall right before me and Dina walked in.”

Again, she has you at a complete loss for words.

“So,” she prompts. “Who kissed who first?”

“Fuck,” you mumble. Embarrassed, you drop your head into your hands, unable to look at her. “I can’t even imagine what you must think of me—”

She touches your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Surprised, you lift your head and turn to meet her gaze. 

“I think you’re someone who just wants to be happy,” she states. “And for some fucking reason I don’t think I will ever understand, I’m guessing that Joel makes you happy?”

“I like him a lot, Ellie. Since the moment I first saw him back during the winter, there was something that drew me to him,” you admit, feeling your cheeks grow warm. After a minute, you squint at her and chuckle. “You probably find that pretty weird, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. Really fucking weird,” Ellie replies, causing you to laugh again. “Joel’s a different breed, man. Joel is—well, Joel is Joel. I didn’t see that asshole crack a smile until weeks after I first met him. We come here and not only do you have smiling—you got him to fucking dance at a party in front of a bunch of people. You might not think anything of it, but if you knew the Joel that I met a year ago, the Joel who hated the whole world and every motherfucker in it, you’d be shocked.”

You blurt the question before you can stop yourself. “How exactly did you and Joel wind up together, anyway?”

Ellie’s eyes widen slightly. “Um, I met him back in the Boston QZ.”

Suddenly, she seems nervous. Afraid, even.  

Whatever secrets Ellie carries, she can’t speak of them—and you respect that.

“It’s okay,” you assure her, shaking your head. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me, alright?”

She nibbles the inside of her cheek. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you—I do. I haven’t been able to tell anyone and it’s been weighing down on me for months now. It’s the reason I can’t fucking sleep at night. It’s on my mind almost all day, every fucking day,” she confesses with an exhausted sigh. “I know if there’s one person that I can trust to tell, it’s gonna be you and only you.”

Patiently, you wait for her to make her choice.

Ellie sighs again.

“If I do tell you, I need you to promise me a couple things—the first is that you won’t fucking freak out on me.”

“I won’t freak out on you,” you swear. 

“And the second is that you can’t tell Romeo that I told you anything about what I’m about to tell you, no matter what,” she warns you. “Got it?”

“Oh, please don’t call him that,” you mutter with a small shake of your head. She narrows her eyes at you and you hold your hands up. “Don’t worry, Ellie. Whatever we talk about tonight, it stays between the two of us. I promise.”

“Okay.” Ellie inhales a deep breath, then exhales it slowly before she lifts her arm. Slowly, she peels back the sleeve of her shirt and holds her arm out for you to see.

“Ellie,” you gasp her name softly. Taking it into your hands, your eyes glaze over what appears to be a large, healed bite wound. After a moment, you look back up at her in complete disbelief. “Is this from—?”

She nods. “Yeah. I got bit a year ago, but I never got sick.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I’m immune.” Ellie withdraws her arm, tugging her sleeve back down into place. That’s when she finally begins to tell you the entire story, beginning to end. She spends the next hour sparing absolutely no details as she recounts each and every one of the events from the abandoned mall in the Boston QZ right down to the Firefly hospital in Salt Lake City.

She tells you about her best friend, Riley. She tells you about Marlene and the Fireflies. She tells you about Joel and his former smuggling partner, Tess, and how Marlene had entrusted them to smuggle Ellie out of Boston. She tells you all about how she and Joel had spent several months traveling on foot halfway across the country to get her to where she needed to be. Losses, near fatal injuries, failures—Ellie spills it all right into your lap, leaving you speechless.

“Joel told me there’s a bunch more people like me who are immune. He said they’ve stopped looking for a cure.” Ellie’s eyes glaze over with tears, but she furiously blinks them back. “I shouldn’t even be here. I should be dead. But I’m not. I’m living in an actual fucking town, living a decent life. I’m going to fucking parties when I should really be dead.”

Finally, you find your voice.

“Ellie, don’t say that,” you say, softly. “That’s not true.”

“It is. I should be fucking dead, just like Riley. Like Tess. Like Sam—”

You turn, angling your body towards hers. You want to reassure her—but you don’t want to dismiss her feelings, either. “Ellie, I can’t even imagine how you must feel after everything you’ve been through, so I won’t sit here and pretend that I can.” Lifting your hands, you take her face between your palms and hold it gingerly, your thumb brushing a stray tear that had slipped and rolled down her cheek. “But if you’re still alive, it’s for a reason.”

“I thought I had a reason,” she mumbles. “But it’s gone now. I thought I had a purpose, but turns out I fucking don’t. My immunity, it means nothing. It meant nothing, all the fucking shit that I had to go through, that Joel had to go through—it was all for fucking nothing.”

Dropping your hands from her face, you place an arm around her and pull her close. “It might not have worked out the way you wanted it to and for that, I’m sorry,” you say, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “I know nothing I say is going to make what you’re feeling just go away. But one thing is for sure, Ellie. You don’t deserve to be dead. None of what happened out there is on you. None of it is your fault. You shouldn’t feel guilty because you’re still alive. It’s like I told you—if you’re still here, it’s for a reason.”

She sniffs. “Maybe the reason is being a thorn in your side.”

Grinning, you reach up and lightly pinch her flushed cheek, prompting her to laugh and slap your hand away. “For the record, you could never be a thorn in my side, Ellie. Not even if you tried.” You wait until her giggles subside before adding, “And just so you know, you have my word about this staying between the two of us.”

“Swear it?”

“I swear it,” you promise her with confidence. 

She flashes you a tiny, appreciative smile. “Thanks.”

A comfortable silence settles over the both of you. You take in the sounds of the night—crickets chirping, owls cooing, and you can even hear a coyote howling in the distance.

“It’s pretty late,” you say, breaking it a few minutes later when you realize how long she’d been out of bed. “You should get home now.” You stand up and hold a hand out to her, helping her up to her feet. “Come on, I’ll take you to the door.”

You walk her back over to her and Joel’s unit and stand at the foot of the porch with her.

“Hey.” Ellie turns to you. “Is it alright if I like—give you a hug or something?”

Her request takes you by slight surprise, but you nod. “Of course.”

She hesitates, at first. But then she takes a step towards you and slips her arms around your waist.

As you wrap your own around her shoulders, it suddenly dawns on you that Ellie hadn’t asked for a hug because she needed one—but because she realized that you needed one.

A minute or two passes and Ellie doesn’t let you go.

An emotional lump rises to the back of your throat and you bury your face into her soft brown hair, warm tears brimming your eyes and threatening to fall.

“Ellie,” you croak her name, trying to warn her. 

“It’s okay,” she assures you. She rests her head on your chest over your heartbeat. She hears it pounding, feels it thrumming against her cheekbone.

She holds you tightly and you finally break, choking a sob into her hair. As your body shudders in her arms, she squeezes you harder, almost as if she’s trying to somehow hug your pain away.

For the first time in two years, you’re finally allowing yourself to cry in front of someone else—for the first time in two years, you don’t feel completely alone.

Suddenly, the front door of the house swings open in such an aggressive manner that it startles you apart from one another.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel breathes, letting out a sigh of relief as he descends the porch steps. “Ellie, what the hell are you doin’ out of bed at two o’ clock in the goddamn mornin’? I went to check up on you and you were gone! Scared the fuckn’ shit outta me—” He stops abruptly when he finally realizes she’s not alone. He steps closer and even in the darkness, he sees the tears you’re trying to wipe away. “What’s the matter? What happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, quickly. “Sorry, Joel. She was with me. We were just at my house talking out on my front porch and we lost track of time—”

He cuts you off. “Why are you cryin’?”

Ellie’s eyes helplessly bounce between the two of you.

“Joel, it’s nothing. I promise it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.” Joel turns to Ellie. “Go inside and get to bed. Go on now.”

“But Joel—”

He pins her with a stern look and she sighs. She gives you one more hug, a quick one, before disappearing inside the house, closing the door behind her.

“C’mere darlin’,” Joel murmurs, taking your hand in his. He leads you up the steps of his porch. The light is off, but the moon and stars light up the night sky bright enough that you’re able to make out the concern written all over his face. Joel keeps your hand in his own as he guides you to sit down on the porch swing he’d built and hung for Ellie. He sits down beside you. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you fib again. 

“Really?” He hums. “‘Cause those tears are tellin’ me a whole different story.”

You can’t help but wonder if Ellie had always been stubborn—or if she’d picked it up from Joel. The latter wouldn’t surprise you.

“I had a fight with Luke. It was on my mind and I couldn’t sleep, so I stepped outside to try and clear my head a little bit,” you explain to him, keeping everything as vague as possible. “I was sitting on my porch—Ellie couldn’t sleep either and was taking a walk when she saw me. She noticed I’d been crying and offered to keep me company for a while.”

“You had a fight with Luke,” he repeats.

“Joel—”

“Why did you two fight? He do somethin’ to you?”

You sigh. “He said something to me he knew would hit a nerve,” you tell him, hoping it’s enough of an explanation for him. “I got upset and said something stupid to him that I really shouldn’t have and we got into an argument.”

Joel squeezes your hand, momentarily hesitating.

You’re almost afraid to ask, but you do anyway. “What?”

“Are you happy with him?”

You stare at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t think I stuttered, peach. I asked if you’re happy with him.”

Pulling your hand out of Joel’s, you stand up and walk over to the wooden railing that circles his porch. You look across the road, fixing your eyes on the front door of a neighboring house.

When Ellie had asked you that question, it’d been fairly innocent.

But now that it’s Joel asking you, it’s different.

You hear the sound of his footsteps coming up behind you and swallow harshly. Slowly, you turn around to face him, though you hadn’t realized he had been so close. Your eyes meet his chest, clad in the same navy blue shirt he’d been wearing when you had dropped off your father’s guitar.

Nervously, they flicker up to meet his. “Luke is my husband, Joel.”

Joel echoes Ellie’s words. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Like father, like daughter. 

“We’re fine, Joel. Our marriage is fine. Alright?”

Scoffing, he shakes his head. “Still didn’t answer the question.”

“What does it matter to you?” you challenge him. You’re certain you know the answer to your own question. Still, part of you, the part that lacks all common sense, wants to hear it from his own mouth. You need to hear it from him. 

“I think you know why, darlin’.” He takes a step closer. He’s now standing so close that his chest touches yours.

“Joel—” You stop, unsure of what to say.

“Tell me to back off,” Joel utters the same words he’d said to you back at the stables. He leans down, inching closer and closer to you. “Please. I need you to tell me to back off right now before I do somethin’ stupid.”

You try to oblige—you really, really try to do what he’s asking of you. But you can’t.

You don’t want to.

Your heart pounds and you can hear the roar of your own blood rushing in your ears as the adrenaline shoots through your veins.

He hasn’t even touched you yet. 

“Please,” Joel nearly pleads. “Tell me to back off.”

“I can’t,” you admit, sounding as weak as you feel. “I can’t do that, Joel.”

“Why not?”

“I think you know why,” you reply, parroting his own words back to him.

He inches closer and your breaths fall from your lips in tiny, pathetic little pants. Your chest heaves as you try to steady them, but it’s useless. There’s no masking the effect he has on you, no hiding how he’s making you feel.

Joel gingerly takes the side of your face and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Baby.”

It’s ironic. Just hours ago, Luke had struck you there in a painful slap and now here is Joel, holding it so softly and so gently in his hand. His touch is comforting, it’s soothing—somehow you already know it has the power to heal the wounds you thought you’d have to live with for the rest of your life.

His other hand moves to your hip and he pulls you in even closer to him. He leans in and presses his lips to yours lightly, carefully, as if he’s testing the waters before allowing himself to take the plunge into the deep end. The moment he feels you melt right into his hands, his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip, silently asking you permission for more.

Eager, your mouth parts for him and he backs you into the wooden railing as he kisses you deeper, with fervor. Your hands slide up his chest, past his wide shoulders, and tangle themselves in his soft, graying curls.

Groaning, Joel tears his mouth away from yours and pins you between himself and the railing, his lips meeting the sensitive flesh of your neck and latching on in desperation. He pushes your robe off your shoulders and it falls to the ground with a soft thud. Your breath catches in your throat as his warm, calloused hands slide up the hem of your shirt and up the length of your sides, his fingers gliding across your smooth skin.

“Joel,” you faintly whimper his name, your hands falling back down onto his shoulders. You grasp them, holding on as if you’re holding onto dear life itself.

You can’t help but imagine what it would be like to feel those hands roam and explore the entirety of your body, touching every last inch of skin you have to offer him. Your mind wanders even further and you wonder how your name would sound rolling off of his tongue while he’s buried inside of you, making you his own.

“You really ain’t gonna tell me to back off,” he mumbles the realization into the hollow of your neck. Inhaling deeply, he commits your scent to memory—the sweet, subtle, fragrance of homemade milk and honey bath soap blends together with the delicate lavender from the calming salve you smother yourself in every night before bed. 

“No,” you exhale the world shakily. “I’m not. Because I don’t want you to back off.”

Joel pushes one of his hands further up your shirt, cupping one of your breasts and eliciting another whimper as he kneads the soft mound of flesh, a thumb brushing over your hard nipple. His other hand moves around your waist and he holds you close as his teeth scrape across your collarbone, nipping at it lightly.

He silently reminds himself to be careful not to leave behind marks. He can’t send you home to your husband covered in evidence.

Withdrawing his hand from underneath your shirt, he drags it down to the waistband of your thin, cotton blue shorts. His index finger skims along the elastic. 

“Joel,” you mewl his name into his chest, thighs clenching together as the arousal pools between them, drenching your panties.

Surely he has to know what he’s doing to you by now.

“What is it, my little peach?” he asks, humming against your collarbone. “What do you what?”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders in a silent plea.

“Y’gotta tell me what you want, baby,” Joel murmurs quietly. “Ain’t doin’ anythin’ unless you tell me you want me to. Use your words, sweet girl.”

“Touch me, Joel. Please, I need you to touch me. I need you to fucking touch me,” you beg him in a low, husky voice you don’t even recognize.

Slotting his lips against yours, he does as you ask him and slips his hand down the front of your bottoms. He groans into the kiss the second he makes contact with your heat. “Fuckin’ Christ,” he curses quietly, his eyes snapping open and meeting yours in the moonlight. “Baby, you’re soakin’ wet. This all for me, sweetheart?”

You exhale sharply as he drags his index finger along your entrance—it’s then followed by a loud, audible gasp when he pushes it into your throbbing cunt.

“Joel,” you moan, prompting him to quickly cover your mouth with his once again, swallowing the noise. 

After a moment, Joel pulls away slightly and warns, “Can’t be too loud, darlin’. Kid can’t see us, but I’m willin’ to bet she’s got her ear pressed against the door tryin’ to eavesdrop. Gonna need you to be a real good girl and stay quiet for me, alright?”

You nod, biting down on your lip.

“Good.” He pushes a second finger into your pussy, relishing in how deliciously tight you feel around his digits. He can only imagine how heavenly you would feel wrapped around something else of his.

You sink your teeth harder into your lip and swallow back a moan as he curls his fingers inside of you in an upward, come hither motion, brushing against a spot in your body you didn’t even know existed. Joel withdraws them ever so slightly, then thrusts them back into you, intensifying the flames deep in your lower belly.

“Fuck, peach. Gotta fuckin’ taste you, darlin’,” he mutters as he pulls his hand away from you and takes a step backwards, giving himself enough space to sink down onto his knees.

Realizing what he means, you open your eyes and quickly stop him, pulling him back up his feet. “Joel. Wait.”

He frowns—had you changed your mind? 

“What’s the matter?”

“No one’s ever—I’ve never had anyone do that to me before.” Blazing heat scorches your cheeks as you make the admission.

Joel scoffs in disbelief. “You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

Embarrassed, you shake your head. “No. I’m not.”

He leans forward and his lips brush against the shell of your ear, making you shiver as he whispers lustfully, “Will you let me make you feel good, sweetheart?”

Your insecurities make you hesitate—but your need for him is bigger than your fears, it’s bigger than the anxieties that stem from your lack of experience. Pulling away, you meet his gaze and nod. “Please.”

Joel drops down to one knee in front of you. He hooks his fingers underneath the elastic band of your shorts and slides them down your legs along with your cotton panties. He carefully frees one of your ankles from the articles of clothing and proceeds to drape your leg over his shoulder. He peppers a trail of soft kisses along the inside of your thigh, his beard scratching at the tender flesh there. As he draws closer and closer to where where he’s aching to be, the tip of his nose brushes lightly against your cunt and he groans your name quietly underneath his breath. He’s already intoxicated—if the scent of your sex is this fucking sweet, he’s willing to bet his life that the taste of you is going to be something beyond his wildest imagination.

You don’t trust yourself not to collapse on top of him. Reaching behind yourself, you grip the railing and your fingers claw at the wood, running the risk of painful splinters. But you don’t even think about that. You can’t think about anything except Joel Miller being on his knees in front of you.

He glances up at you and asks, “You sure ‘bout this, baby?”

“Yes,” you reply, already breathless. “I’m sure.”

He spreads your legs further and moves his head to the apex of your thighs, his mouth, hungry and searing, meeting your cunt. Nose buried in tufts of damp, silky soft curls, Joel slips his tongue between your glistening folds, flattening it out as he slowly drags it forward, savoring the taste of your slick. One of your hands abandons the railing and buries itself into his hair, your fingernails lighty scraping at his scalp. Your knee shakes and you fight to keep yourself upright, but with the way Joel’s ravishing your pussy, it’s only a matter of time before he brings you down. He moans into you, devours you like a man starved—a man who wouldn’t dare leave any part of you not licked, not sucked, not kissed. He swallows everything you have to offer him, drinks it down like it’s water.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, hearing the audible slurping coming from underneath you. It’s a sheer pleasure you’ve never experienced before—a pleasure you didn’t even know was possible. You’d never been touched like this before. Tasted like this before. 

Joel wraps his lips around your clit, taking extra care to give plenty of his attention to the swollen bundle of nerves as he slides two thick fingers into your pussy, stretching your walls.

“Fuck—Joel,” you whisper, willing yourself not to be too loud. He begins thrusting them in and out of you, gradually increasing his pace until the squelching sound of him finger fucking you breaks the calm, quiet silence of the night. All the while, his mouth remains latched onto your clit. Combined with the strokes of his fingers, the way they hit that soft, sensitive spongy spot inside your cunt, you’re approaching a release you’ve only ever give yourself when you were home alone. “God, that feels so fucking good, Joel. Don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop—”

And he doesn’t.

As desperate as you are, his own desperation tops it.

You’re dripping around his fingers, wetness slowly trickling down the palm of his hand, dribbling down to his wrist. Joel keeps his pace, but his tongue flattens over your clit in firm, broad strokes. He lifts his other arm and hooks it around your trembling thigh, holding you firmly in place as your body involuntarily tries squirming away from him. He keeps you right where he needs you, his face still buried in your cunt.

The pressure that’s been building between your hips nears its peak—there isn’t a single part of you that isn’t aching for that sweet, sweet release. “Joel, fuck, I’m gonna—I’m so fucking close.”

He tears his mouth away from you and looks up, whispering, “C’mon, baby. C’mon. Come for me,” he whispers hoarsely. “Wanna feel this sweet little pussy squeeze my fingers.”

You sink your teeth hard into your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying out his name. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, feels different than the orgasms you’d give yourself, better than the orgasms you would give yourself—after coming on his fingers, coming on your own won’t ever be the same. The muscles in your stomach tense, and then an explosion follows, sending you tumbling over the edge as you fall apart right in the palm of his hand. He slows his pace as he helps you right through the tumultuous wave of pleasure that crashes over you.

Unable to hold yourself steady any longer, you feel the leg that’s supporting your weight buckle and if it wasn’t for Joel’s hands flying to your hips, you would have collapsed to the floor.

“S’alright baby, I got you,” he reassures as he holds you up. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Joel feathers his last few kisses on the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of burning fire behind in his wake. He then pulls your underwear and shorts up your legs back into place before rising to his feet with a small, labored grunt. Taking you in his arms, he pulls your body flush against his as he kisses you, allowing you to get a taste of yourself on his lips. It’s foreign but intoxicating, and it makes you drip for him all over again.

As he holds you even closer, you feel his cock brush against your hip and you moan. You squeeze an arm between your bodies and eagerly cup him in the palm of your hand through his gray sweatpants, eliciting a groan from him as he licks into your mouth. He’s hard for you and all you want is to see him, taste him, feel him. 

Breaking away from his embrace, you start to sink down to your knees when his hands catch your shoulders and pull you back up to your feet.

“You ain’t gotta do that,” he whispers, tucking a loose lock of your hair behind your ear. “You don’t owe me anythin’ back, alright?”

“I know I don’t, but I want to,” you insist, batting your eyelashes. Tugging your lip between your teeth, you give him an innocent face that almost makes him come on on the spot. “I really, really want to.”

Joel takes your hands in his. “I believe you, peach. I do. But tonight, all I wanted—all I needed was to take care of you. Make you feel good. That’s it. We can worry ‘bout me another night.”

Another night. It takes you a minute to realize what he means. 

He wants to keep seeing you. Like this.

In secret. In the dead of night, when nobody else is around.

You glance up at him, lips parted slightly in surprise. Then, your eyes flicker down to your hands, still in his, your stomach sinking when your wedding band gleams in the moonlight, garnering your attention. It’s not because you feel guilty, but rather, it’s only a frustrating reminder that you belong to Luke. He would never set you free, not in this lifetime. He’d rather see you six feet under the ground than allow you to end your marriage.

Stolen moments and clandestine meetings in the middle of the night were all you could ever have with Joel Miller.

The man you’re falling for too hard, too fast.

Joel’s thinking the same. He’s not an idiot. He knows that you’re not happy in your marriage, but even so, there’s not a chance in hell Luke’s going to be willing to let you go—much less to be with another man. He remembers the night at the party, the way Luke held you possessively, marked his territory and made it known you’re his. Not his wife, but his property.

He hooks an index finger underneath your chin, bringing your eyes back up to meet his. “Need to ask you somethin’ and I’m gonna need you to be real honest with me, darlin’. Alright?”

Nervously, you nod. “Okay,” you reply, tentatively. “What is it?”

“He ever hurt you, sweet girl?”

A chill runs down the length of your spine. In the steadiest voice you can muster, you ask, “What are you talking about, Joel?”

He clocks the way you stiffen, feels your discomfort. “Luke. He ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

Your throat goes dry like sandpaper.

Does he know something? 

No, that’s impossible. 

He’d only ever seen you with Luke once.

“No, of course not,” you lie to him, furiously shaking your head. “We do fight a lot, but he’s never gotten physical with me.”

Suspicious, Joel peers at you. “You tellin’ me the truth, peach?”

No, I’m not! I’m trapped in a fucking nightmare of a marriage and I can’t do anything about it.

You want to take him by his shirt, curl it in your fists and shout it in his face. There isn’t a single part of you that doesn’t want to confess everything to him, tell him about the hell Luke’s been putting you through since your father passed away. But you know better than that. You know that if Joel ever finds out, he’ll go straight to Tommy and Maria

Or worse.

He’ll go straight to Luke himself.

After everything Ellie had told you about him from their journey across the country, you now have a clear idea of just what Joel Miller is capable of, the lengths he would go to just to protect the people he cares about.

“I am,” you finally answer, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m telling the truth. I swear.”

You can see it. Feel it. 

Joel doesn’t believe you.

Without an admission, though, he doesn’t have much choice but to nod his head, accepting the lie. “Alright.”

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” you mumble, taking your hands out of his. You place them on his chest and look up at him through the thickness of your eyelashes. “We might not always get a lot of alone time together, Joel. So what little time we do get together, I don’t want to waste a single second of it by talking about him. Okay?”

Joel wraps his arms around your waist. “Okay,” he agrees with another nod. 

Something tells him that you’re protecting Luke and he doesn’t know why. 

But there is one thing that he does know. 

If he ever catches wind of what Luke is doing to you behind closed door, Joel’s going to fucking kill him. 

#joel miller series #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal characters #joel miller imagine #fic: a safe haven #fic: ash

[jangofctts]

Feel the Heat (Batman/Bruce Wayne x fem!reader)

PART ONE  PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: !!spoilers!!, some fluff!!, twisted the timeline a bit sorry ig, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, squirting, jealousy, unashamed lesbian smooching, slight praise kink, mentions of violence/death, (lmk if I missed anything please!!)

a/n: aha thanks for your patience!!!

This is a stupid idea—going back to the Wayne Tower.

What are you even hoping to gain from this? 

A stupid apology? An explanation? 

You don’t know. 

Bruce Wayne will always have his secrets—this you know. Middle school—sitting in the nurse’s office after class—Bruce holding his bleeding nose between his crimson stained hands while you did your history homework on the counter, littered with bloodied tissues and cotton-balls. He told you the other kid swung first—you promised him you wouldn’t tell Alfred. You remember the emergency room—junior prom night—broken collar bone and road rash all up the right side of his body. A piss poor attempt at driving his father’s motorcycle—you ditched your date to come pick Bruce’s ass up. When he tried to unwrap those stale muffin’s they give you as consolation, he burst into silent sobs when he couldn’t do it. His tears weren’t over the broken bone or icky muffin—rather the bike. The paint was scratched to hell. These sorts of things you’re privy too. The rest? You’re not so sure.   

Not all of it is intentional. Isolation has a keen way of threading through one’s social life, binding together the art of conversation. He’ll never jump to share unless you jam the rusty pliers between his teeth and wrench his jaw apart. Unravel and sort through the mess of words to find a sensible answer—but that’s more of your mother’s way of things. 

It still doesn’t stop you from throwing yourself at all those stupid walls he throws up. They’re flimsy when it comes to you. So, while the request to see you a day later from the whole funeral fiasco is not a surprise, your annoyance certainly is. It’s not really…aimed at Bruce. More of a cumulation of stress that has no outsource other than your morose friend. So when you arrive to the Wayne Tower, snappy and lightly rained on, you’re ready to tear into him.   

Too bad you’re too much of a fuckin’ crybaby to follow through. 

When those stupid nickel plated elevator doors slide open, you startle—completely throws you off your game. You don’t expect Mr. Bruce Wayne himself to be waiting to greet you. 

Disheveled, shoulders drawn inward, hair an utter mess. God, he looks like shit. Why does he always look like shit? It’s the vampiric nature of this penthouse—you know it. Or his complete disregard for eating something other than a singular blueberry. 

Bruce fiddles with his fraying sleeve. He attempts to smile but immediately drops the act the second you pointedly quirk a brow. He scowls. “Blue—”  

True. You’re a coward when it comes to verbal confrontation, but pettiness? Oh, you can manage that just fine. 

You mash the close door button. The metal squeaks on its hinges, shuttering as Bruce shoves his forearm between them. The doors snick back open. “Oops. Wrong floor.”

“Blue,” he protests, stepping to the side as you pout and shove past him. “Blue—wait.” 

You wave him away and flee to the dining room. You fling your bag over one of the chairs and stalk towards the little bookshelf tucked away in the corner. Watery light streams through the gothic windows, highlighting the swirling dust motes. Bruce’s bare feet pad over the tile and then the plush rug, lingering behind you as if he were your shadow. You tense when his fingers touch your shoulder—he pulls back. 

“I’m sorry I left you,” he murmurs, words mournful and reaching.      

Your throat tightens, fingernails biting into the sot flesh of your palms. “You didn’t pick up the phone—I was so worried.” 

No answer. You grit you teeth. 

“I called almost every hospital, you know.” 

Still nothing. Only a hollow exhale and a shuffle of loose fitting clothes. 

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “Where did you go, Bruce?”

You were left there alone, swept into the crowd and mass panic—and you only wish he was there too. And at the end of it all, you don’t really care where he’s been or where he goes, just that he cares. You willingly outstretch your hand into the burning house, will watch it corrode and blacken all for his sake, but he chooses to sit and let the flames devour him. 

This time, he reaches out. 

“Carmine Falcone,” he says. You recognize the name from the funeral. A pause. He works his jaw, rubs at his arms, then sighs. “He knew my father." 

Oh.

Gives the situation more a basis for understanding—still doesn’t excuse the abrupt depart. You watch him out of the corner of your eye. There’s more to this story—but now’s not the time to pry. Not yet. 

Goosebumps rush down your spine as his fingertips meet the base of your neck. When you don’t turn around to bite, he sidles his body up to yours. “I’m sorry, Blue.”  

“No,” you sneer, shrugging off his advances. Your feelings are still a bit tender. It doesn’t do much of anything—it’s just a strange dance of avoidance and of weaving limbs attempting to ensnare you. “I’m mad at you.” 

Bruce’s hand slides down your forearm and slots around your wrist, pinning your arm across your waist. The other arm soon follows, trapped against your body with Bruce’s own limbs acting as the restraint. It’s a flimsy hold—one push and he’d fall away quicker than grains of sand through a sieve. Yet, as Bruce tucks you against his chest, most of your resistance ebbs. “Blue.” 

“Don’t,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut. You’re angry for fuck’s sake—you’ll be damned if you simply give up your grievances just because Bruce is caging you close. You’re not some cheap-ass date nor feeble willed. You grit your teeth and dig your heels in. “Didn’t you hear me?”

Goosebumps rush up your arms as Bruce’s thumbs rub light circles on the delicate outcrop of your wrist bones. You feel his nose press into your hair, his exhale ruffling the strands atop your head. “Hm.”

His little hum is posed more as a question—quiet and lifting in the way questions do in the case of feigning innocence. Bastard. “I said I’m—”

Dry lips and scratchy stubble brush the dip of your shoulder. He mouths your name inaudibly into your skin like a patchwork of saccharine blessings and devotion—so sugary sweet that the roof of your mouth tastes like fuzzy static. Bruce imbeds devout kisses up your throat that curves out for him as offering. “You’re what?” His lips vibrate as the words tumble out, goading you into finishing your fallacy.       

His plush lips latch onto the line of your jaw. You swallow and claw at the fleeting strands of your sensibilities and blink away the haze of desire. “I said I’m angry at you.” 

You shiver, bitting back a gasp as his tongue trails a slick line up to your earlobe. One arm unlatches itself, fingers moving to sweep your hair off your shoulder. Though as they trace the slope of your shoulder, they hesitate over the the base of your neck. A dull flare of pain radiates out as Bruce curiously kneads the skin. “Did I leave this?” 

A stab of panic lacerates your gut. Your first thought is to lie—tell him that yes, the mottled skin matching the teeth of Vengeance belongs to Bruce—but the guilt tastes bitter on the tongue. You clench your teeth. “I’ve uh…there’s someone else.” 

The admittance does not deter him. Bruce’s hands find the hem of your shirt and skate up your bare stomach and sensitive sides. “Do I know them?” 

“Why would you?” You sigh, smoothing your palm down his forearm. “You don’t have any friends.” 

Bruce’s chest rises, intending to disprove the accusation. You beat him to it. “I don’t count.”  

He snorts and runs his thumbs over your ribcage, setting the nerves alight. “Do you like him?”

You swear you feel Bruce’s lips upturn into a smirk, but just as you think it, it dissipates. Bruce’s lips touch your cheek as his hands rise higher, brushing the underside of your breasts. A noise of approval rumbles through his chest as you lean more of your weight against him. “Why?”

Bruce shrugs. You inhale sharply through your nose as he pushes one hand under the elastic band of your sports bra, deft fingers curling around the pliant flesh. “Competition,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. 

“Tall, dark and handsome,” you say, eyes fluttering shut. He rolls your nipple between his fingertips, other hand traversing back down the line of your sternum, over your stomach and to your navel. It’s pathetic how easily he’s lit a fire under your skin—hot and pressing, working up your body until it only craves him. “H-hard to beat.” 

Bruce toys with the hem of your leggings, waits for your breathy consent, and then wiggles his hand into your pants. He dives past the thin elastic of your underwear and past your curls to touch your clit. Bruce smiles into your neck. “It is.” 

Your head tips back against his chest, knees buckling at the raw pleasure that sparks from his fingertips to your body. He cinches closer, the sinew and muscle of his arm flexing to keep you from falling. A ragged gasp tears from your throat as his fingers brush teasingly over your clit, only to delve further between your wet cunt. He spreads the gathering wetness, gliding his fingers through your folds at an achingly slow pace—a prideful show of self satisfaction—how easily you unravel for him. Delicious heat simmers in the pit of your stomach, increasing tenfold as his middle finger experimentally circles your entrance. Your breath stutters as he dips only the first half inch of his fingertip inside of you—you clench around him and whine. 

However, the angle is a little too awkward to fully seat his finger inside of you. Instead, he slips his finger up, dragging it back up to your clit. You jolt as he catches the underside of your clit, unprotected and searing. You claw at his forearm circling your front, nails harpooning into his skin. Bruce’s other hand unlatches from your breasts, slides out of your shirt and slots his hand over your jaw. He carefully twists your head, inviting you to look up at him. Dark hair spills over his forehead, irises blown wide and mouth parted. If anything, you’d say he’s the one who’s splitting apart at the seams. 

You squint—there’s a smudge of something black under his eye—you hadn’t noticed it before. Like dust, or paint maybe. Before you can wiggle a hand between your bodies to inspect it further, Bruce nudges your nose with his.    

“Kiss me,” it comes out in a strained gasp, because desperation is the venomous snake that’s bitten you both. Holding each other on the razorwire and the ivory snake fangs of your bodies—the burning a solid boundary of trouble and hysteria alike. “Blue—”  

You neck strains at this angle, but you’ll bear the discomfort. His lips meld to yours, tasting like blueberries and mint tea. His lips are always forgiving, soft and feathery like he can’t quite fathom that you’ve decided to kiss him. You understand—loss decorates his chest like medals of war. Better the aloneness than the hurt—days that feel scripted and arduous. Barely fumbling his way through habits and requirements as if each of his bones were made from concrete. You’d carve him a slice of sunlight if you could, but you can’t. The only thing you can offer are your outstretched fingers and a promise not to leave again.

You cry into his open mouth, hot tongue sliding against yours as you part your lips. Bruce’s fingers don’t stop rocking against your clit, your slick arousal making a mess of your underwear. His fingers split, massaging the swollen nerves between the two digits, breaking away from your mouth to tuck his chin over your shoulder. Your head rolls back as your hand jumps up to bury your fingers into his hair. You’re nearing your end already. “Fuck—Bruce.”     

He pants into the crux of your neck. “How many?”

Your hips roll into his hand, confusion blooming. “W-what?”

“How many times,” Bruce says lowly, “did your friend make you cum?” 

You keen. What the fuck—what the fuck. You shouldn’t react in the way you do—swallowed by a wicked rush of arousal and heat—your cunt clenches hard and fuck, you’re right on the edge of orgasm. “I-I don’t—don’t know.” 

Teeth pinch around your tender flesh, marking the space right above Bats’. Bruce paws at your breast. “How many? Once?” 

Tears push at your eyes, squeezed shut as you scramble for an answer. You nearly burst into tears right then and there as his fingers cease their movements—you were so close, but now you’re plummeting down the mountain of ecstasy. You arch against him and yank at his hair—you don’t care that it’s bratty, nor the way the sound of his name filters past your teeth like a petulant princess. “Bruce.”

“Blue,” he mocks. Your fault for forgetting that Bruce is an only child—he gets what he wants. 

You wet your lips and nuzzle your nose into his throat. “T-twice…” 

Bruce’s lips draw into a grin. “I can do better.”

You hips stutter and jerk as his fingers leap into action. They roll over your clit, tight and fevered circles that shove you off that edge—your body seizes. You cum onto his fingers with a strangled cry, sparks of blurry white alighting behind your eyelids as you twist in his arms—jittery with nowhere to go. Bruce continues to swipe his fingers around your throbbing clit, your nerves burning hotter than wildfire, spreading from your core all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, and over the roar of your pulse, you hear Bruce murmur his praise. And maybe, if you were a better person, you’d tell him he’s competing with a shadow. You don’t even know his name or what he looks like—but it’s too late now. 

Your stomach drops as Bruce’s hand loosely curls around your throat, his fingers over your clit refusing to give you a chance to recover. You don’t scrape the bottom, you’re swept into a wild whirlwind of scraped nerves—too blistering. The discomfort doesn’t last long. Another orgasm bursts through your core, quick and bright as Bruce’s fingers twitch around your throat. It singes your insides and fuck—your vision goes a bit fuzzy. 

A broken groan falls from your lips as Bruce mercifully retracts his hand. His fingers are drenched, leaving behind shiny spots of wetness over your tummy as he flattens his palm over it. You’re still twitching, panting and swimming through the clouds of lust. Your throat bobs under Bruce’s hand, and as he slots his hips closer, you feel the bulge of his cock pressing against the base of your spine. 

Bruce plants a kiss to your temple, the soft skin cool to your flushed skin. You sniff and clumsily wipe at your watering eyes. Bruce’s laugh is soft—reserved. “You ok?”

“Peachy,” you croak. You tilt your head and dot a quick kiss on the underside of Bruce’s jaw. His grim mouth upturns into the traces of a smile. He boxes you in against the window and slips his hands up your shirt. 

“Can I take this off?” He murmurs into your ear. You nod, lifting your arms for him to slide it off. You bra comes next. A appreciate groan rumbles through his chest upon seeing your bare chest. You shudder when Bruce cups your breasts and thumbs over your nipples. His palm skates to your pants. “These too?”

You shuck them off faster than the blink of an eye. There’s a ruffle of fabric behind you and then Bruce is just as bare as you. His hands drift over the dips and swells of your body, his warm chest molding to your back.                    

He threads his fingers with yours, pinning your hand against the frigid glass. The city is shrouded in fog today, ghostly towers and the brief glimpses of the road down below swimming in and out of view. Raindrops splatter over the glass, the beads rolling down the flat surface until they conjoin into rivulets of water that mimic branches of lightning. A deep rumble of thunder reverberates through the window—typical weather for early November. A soft touch on the swell of your hip, draws you back into the present.

Bruce peppers kisses over your bare shoulders. “I want you.”  

“What’s stopping you?” You goad, dipping a hand between your legs to touch his cock, nestled in the apex of your thighs. He hisses between his clenched teeth, fighting the instinct to mindlessly take you without regard. Your fingers roll over the head of his cock and then, inpatient, you guide him inside of you. “Shit—” 

Your breath catches in your throat, no time to adjust as Bruce rocks his hips forward, pressing you tight between the cold widow and his body, splitting you open on his thick cock. You’re wet enough to take him with little resistance—soft and searing. Bruce whispers a curse, his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes, obscene in the quiet space. Your breath fogs the window and when you catch his blissed out reflection, you clench around him. Bruce throbs, thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, hands tightening around your hip and hand.  

You claw uselessly at the glass as you try to acclimate, sucking in tapered breathes while pleasure seeps through every pore. Bruce’s groan is rougher than gravel, a sound that has you tightening around him like a vice—threatening to cum again. It feels different like this, bent over in a way that his cock reaches a place you’d never be able to get to yourself. Bruce allows you a moment before he starts thrusting into you, sparking a sensation deep inside you with each movement so hard that it becomes sharp—not painful—but fuck, you’re gonna walk with a limp tomorrow.  His hips roll into you, setting a rough pace that drags out a punched sigh every time he rocks up—

There’s no easing into it, nor does Bruce dare tease. It’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and a touch of pain blasting through you all at once, throwing you to the flames.

“Fuck,” Bruce gasps. His grip tightens around your fingers, then falls away to trade in his hold for your breast. You squeak and hook onto his forearm. “Fuck—you’re perfect.”

Bruce drops his head into your neck, his grunts now muffled. Bruce’s fingertips move from your hip to between your legs, seeking out your abused clit. You flinch and press your forehead into the glass, welcoming the bitter chill as distraction until your nerves become used to his touch once more. “Y-you’re—ah—gonna kill me.”

He laves his tongue over your flushed skin, tasting the salt of your perspiration and the sweetness of your perfume. “Little Crybaby Blue—you’re tough.” 

You’re not sure why the words pluck at such a visceral part of you. Shredding you apart for the third time without mercy. Your teeth pierce your bottom lip as you cum—everything surging up hot and molten. Bruce peels off your back, fucking you through it, and you can’t distinguish anything in the haze aside from his burning skin under you, in you, on you—the only anchor you have as the euphoria rockets through you. His name comes out garbled as you wail for him, the only warning either of you get before your knees buckle under you. 

Your aching cunt weeps at the loss of Bruce’s cock as he catches you before you topple to the floor. Christ—your limbs are a mess—a feeling akin to being drunk. Your back meets the plush rug, the remnants of your orgasm still radiating out through your veins and arteries. Your legs are splayed open, your hip joints winging in protest as Bruce hooks his hands under you knees and pries your thighs further apart. You squeak as he suddenly yanks your legs over his knees, cock pulsing at the seam of your pussy as he folds over you, strong arms posting above you. 

Your murmur his name and cup his stubbled cheeks. A lopsided smile graces your face as you push a strand of his hair behind his ear. Your gaze drifts back to that black smudge under his eye—you wipe the oily substance away with your thumb. Huh. “You wearing eyeliner now, Brucey?”       

Bruce swallows and drops his chin. His shoulders lift with a shrug. “Something like that,” he says faintly. And then he kisses you. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, devouring and greedy.

Bruce leans his weight onto one arm and breaks the kiss. He doesn’t go far, your lips just barely graze his. His hand finds his cock, flushed and twitching as he drags the blunt tip of himself through your folds. You both gasp as he finds your entrance, seating himself only partially inside of you. What the fuck. You arch and claw at his bicep, begging for all of it. Bruce doesn’t budge.

He quiets you with a kiss and rolls his hips. Your entire leg twitches and jerks over his hip, praying he’ll go deeper or something. “Bruce—please.” 

You’re not expecting him to start moving the way he does—oh fuck. It’s a twisted, deep, burning pleasure that sparks through you, diffusing outwards from each calculated thrust. This pace is controlled—slow—but the brutal up and down thrusts that meet that little pleasurable spot inside you dead on, make up for the near-teasing tempo.  

Bruce sits up, gripping your hips to counteract your ceaseless wiggling. You grab at him, clutching onto his arm and his bare chest, leaving behind red lines upon his pale flesh. You cry at the overwhelming sensation, straining and babbling for mercy or more. You can’t rightly tell. Your toes start to curl as the feeling overtakes your very soul. God—fuck, this is so fucking unfamiliar. Shoved down your throat and you can’t do anything about it but take it. You face the pleasure heard on, pure fire blurring the seams of your mind, hot and amorphous through your entire body. Fuck—you feel like crying. Are you crying? Probably.

You hiccup. Bruce murmurs gentle praise and yep—you’re crying. Blunt, white hot pressure builds up, tightening like a drawstring pulley against all the muscles below your waist. The strangled cry you make, like some wounded thing, should embarrass you as Bruce pulls out completely—ashamed by how desperately your cunt clamps down around nothing for what seems like an eternity.  Bruce doesn’t seat his cock back into you until you stop writhing and clawing at his arms. Fuck him. Fuck this—

Bruce reaches out, cupping your cheek and thumbing the tears that dribble into your hairline. His thumb drops to your lip, toying with the plush skin until your tongue flicks out to taste his skin. Bruce grunts. “You’re so pretty.”

It’s right then that you realize you couldn’t be friends anymore. You’ve fallen into the arch of his fingerprint, the tender loops of his heartstrings. The tiny scars of childhood and the creases in his skin that you’d know numb and blind. You’re no different to him—he knows you—knows all the little ugly bits of yourself and still finds them beautiful. He’s handing you this secret insecurity of displaying desire. Something he is so afraid of—of it being stripped away. You don’t get to bask in the vulnerability— 

Bruce shoves back inside of you and everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again. You clutch at his wrist and mouth his name, strong hips rolling into with devastating accurate and poise—you’re falling apart. Bruce pulls out again but this time, as your cunt spasms and arches with the loss, wet heat suddenly coats your inner thigh. His voice trips into a ragged moan, threaded in awe. “Shit—you liked that.”

Sparks zap and crackle through you long after his touch is gone. You don’t—fuck, what—

It clicks quite abruptly, what’s happened—a blush that encompasses your whole body burns through you. Christ—you didn’t even know you could.

His slides back inside you and you wail his name. “Do it again,” Bruce breathes, jerking his  hips into you hard. You don’t know how he’s doing this to you—does this count as an orgasm? Fuck, you don’t know—you’re on the knife’s edge. All you know is Bruce, his cock spearing into your wet heat and the cloud of ecstasy. You don’t know where Bruce’s burst of confidence came from—it’s unlike him to just take.  Almost like targeted vengeance on behalf of all the times he’s let you slip through his fingers, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you. You blink up at him, your vision blurry with tears as he leans down to whisper against your lips.

“Does he make you feel like this?” It’s spoken so delicately in contrast to the force and persistence of his movements, that it’s jarring. Is he really still thinking about that? It doesn’t fucking matter—  

Even if you wanted to voice your opinion—you can’t fucking speak. It just tumbles into a realm of beyond worse as Bruce yanks himself out one last time. You can feel your floor muscles automatically flex against the sudden emptiness inside you. Your cheeks burn as he chokes out a broken moan, self satisfied and glued to your thighs that have become wet again. “No,” he answers for you, pushing your shaky legs off his hips. His keen eyes bask in the fruits of his labor, watching you struggle through the aftershocks. You shiver each time his hand rubs at your exposed thigh. “He doesn’t.”

You feel like lead, your limbs don’t work properly, as if you’ve severed the nerves that connects you to them. Fuck—your eyes, still blurry, drift to his tummy…then lower. He’s still hard—glistening in your arousal and flushed an angry red. You spare not a moment nor a thought as you reach out to touch him. He slides easily into palm—Bruce curses and drops his chin to his chest.You pump his cock the best you can at this angle, appreciative of the way he bucks his hips up to help you. Bruce crumples atop you a moment later, leaving just enough space for you to jerk him off, but close enough that you’re both melded together. 

He mouths at your jawline, that dark and jealous streak seeping out of his body. His demeanor softens, drawing back into the familiarity of the Bruce you know. Your pussy clenches as Bruce whines into your ear—his hand pawing at any available skin that he finds. You can feel his cock throb—he’s close. You whisper his name and bury your other hand into the hair lining the nape of his neck and tug. His lips curl into a snarl. 

“My B-Blue—”

Bruce’s teeth latch over the skin of your collarbone, one more thrust into your fist, and he’s spent. Bruce cums in your hand, over your hip and upper thigh. Fuck—that has no business being that fucking hot—covered in his spend while he shakes and grips you like you’re his only tether. 

You let your hand fall lax. Bruce unlatches his teeth over your now mottled skin, and jumps to steal a kiss. You still can’t fucking talk—he’s robbed you of your ability to form words. He peppers kisses over your forehead, down your eyes and over the bridge of your nose. Memorizing each inch of skin with his plush mouth. Your heart aches for him—you hope your hand, threaded through his hair and tenderly massaging his scalp, conveys the message. 

You like it here—crushed under his weight and the plush rug under you that’s probably given you rug burn on your ass. You like the way you can feel his heartbeat pound through the ivory makeup of his ribcage and the way his breathing evens out to a gentle puff against your neck. 

However, the universe has a funny way of ruining a perfectly good moment, doesn’t it?   

Footsteps echo down the hall—Bruce’s head rears, eyes widening as Alfred steps around the corner. There’s no time to give warning nor throw on a shirt or something. “Bruce? Everything—”

Alfred’s eyes drift down to your disorderly selves. Quicker than you can say Wayne, Alfred spins on his heel, throws a hand over his eyes and books it back the way he’s come. “Chrissake,” you hear him announce, carried by the tall ceilings and the echoey nature of the Wayne Tower.  

You start giggling—what else is there to do? You’re soaring on endorphins—so much so that everything is bathed in humor. 

Bruce blushes. A deep red that stains the hollows of his cheeks, his throat and the tips of his ears. You snicker and sweetly touch his scarlet skin. “Oops.”

Bruce groans and buries his face into your neck, holding you tight to escape the embarrassment. You cradle his head, carding through his hair and running your fingers over each inch of skin you can reach. This feels normal—right.   

You wish you knew if he feels the same. But tragedy looms over Bruce like a cloud. You don’t know how to stand between this darkness of his life and the curled, shaking fist around the heart of his past. How to tell him that he has always been loved. But every time he opens up the book of his life, leafing though the thin, opaque paper, it is always the same story about aching. The same rabid hymnal of flight, of fingers breaking and twisted lungs. He’s strangled the light of better things between his fist like the ocean floor, the vacuum of space. You think it’s probably cathartic to him—to suffer the same pain everyday. Bruce could be be loved like an explosion and still be left cold. Whatever is broken inside of him only wants to devour. The love just slips right off from where he can’t feel it, a tiny swirl of mint toothpaste in the sink of his childhood. The little white menthol fingerprints spelling out apologies, guilt—  

It’s an uphill battle to love him—but what fault is there in trying? 

“I’ll drive you back.” 

“What?” You ask, called back to the present. 

Bruce kisses your shoulder. “Tonight, when you leave—I’ll drive you back home.” 

“Tonight?” You echo, eyes drifting to the window. “It is eleven in the morning.”

Bruce shifts and turns his head to smatter kisses up your cheek. His quiet mhm vibrates over your skin.

“Is this your way of asking me to hang out with you?” 

He nods and finds your lips. It’s a languid kiss—sweet and long.  

“Fine.”

                                   -=-=-=-=-

Selina knows this depraved club like the back of her hand. The vile happenings and the shameful acts that the upstanding arms of justice in Gotham should avoid at all cost. Yet here they are—greedy hands and lecherous eyes that can’t help themselves. Less of them have been down here as of late—happens when a serial killer is targeted men like them—but again, these stupid fools can’t quit. 

And neither can Vengeance. 

Selina only agreed to it for Annika—to wear this dumb earpiece and recording lenses so Vengeance could creep on all the unlucky souls here. The DA’s office, cops, social workers—all of it incriminating evidence that could land their asses in jail for life. Selina isn’t sure what exactly Vengeance is looking for. Loose ends maybe—a trail that leads back to this supposed rat that’s got everyone in a twist. 

Vengeance is muttering in the earpiece, reading off names and loosely directing Selina to a mark worth sinking her claws into. It all falls to shit the moment Selina’s eyes drift to the bar, illuminated by a rainbow of LED and neon lights. She’s a pretty little thing, hugging the wall as her fingers fidget around the rim of a half empty tumbler. The black, sequined cocktail dress, hugs her frame like a glove, and every other moment or so, she tugs the hem of her dress back down her thighs. There’s plenty of hospitality workers, and though Selina works topside now, she knows or knows of the girls down here. While Vengeance’s sharp inhale that crackles through the earpiece solidifies Selina’s assumptions, the girl on her own, sticks out worse than a crayon in a box of colored pencils. 

Selina sidesteps a drunken patron, eyes locked on the girl. “You know her, hun?” 

“Talk to her,” Batboy orders sharply. Raw desperation laces his tone. Oh, he really must like her.  

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Selina sighs. “She’s a looker, huh, Batboy?” 

No answer is given. Selina, quickly traverses the space, the bass of the heavy music vibrating through the air. The girl’s eyes flick to Selina, a quick look over to analyze he potential threat she may pose. They double back when Selina flashes her a smile—the girl squirms in her seat, touching one foot to the floor to bolt if she needs. Selina tiptoes he finger over the mahogany bar top, forcing back her snicker as panic wells in the girl’s flighty eyes. When she tries to leave, Selina slides a hand over her forearm. Selina leans in close, lips brushing her ear. She freezes. “Vengeance says hello.”

Blue shifts her weight in her seat. Her eyes, painted in neat eyeliner and glittery eyeshadow, widen. The ends of her mouth quirk into a faint smile. Innocent. Kind. You don’t find much of that in Gotham anymore. Then again, the girl shouldn’t be so trusting of Selina simply because she uttered a name she was familiar with. She settles back in her seat and offers her hand. 

Selina eyes the outstretched limb and slips her hand into hers. They’re a little dry compared to the softness of Selina’s skin. They’re warm, though. “Blue.”

“Selina,” she smiles, allowing her hold to linger a little too long to be considered friendly. “Whatcha’ drinking, hun?”

“Selina,” Vengeance warns in her ear. “Careful with her.” 

Selina heads him no mind. After all, he’s the one who directed Selina over here.

“Oh, uh—” Blue flounders and tucks a hair behind her ear. It’s a deliberate move—a wire is taped behind her ear—damn kid works for GCPD. Not that the signal will ever reach down here. Falcone and the Penguin have this place safeguarded and jammed. She lets the strands of her hair fall back into place. “Fizzy water and lemonade.”

Selina’s shoulders bounce with a laugh. “Never heard of that before.” Blue ducks her head and shyly offers her glass. “I used to get it as a kid—wasn’t allowed to drink soda.” 

Selina takes up her offer and wraps her lips around the straw. Mauve lipstick stains remain on the white plastic. It’s alright—the lemonade is too sweet for Selina’s liking. She places the glass back into Blue’s hand. “Sounds like a boring childhood.” 

Blue’s nose scrunches and waves her hand in dismissal.  

“Ask her why she’s here.”  

Selina inwardly sighs. 

“So—what’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?” Selina purrs, crossing her legs and leaning closer. She props her chin up with her hand, limiting the chances of someone overhearing their little chat. Maybe, if fortune favors, Blue knows something about Annika. 

Blue sips her drink. Her tongue rolls out to collect the excess moisture. “Same as you—and Bats. Looking for familiar faces.” 

“It’s not safe here,” Bats harps, “She needs to leave—tell her.”

Selina lays a hand on Blue’s knee. Blue’s eyes drop, brows lifting in mild surprise. She doesn’t pull away. Selina smirks and rubs her thumb over the soft flesh, cooing softly as Blue clears her throat. Oh, she’s a treat to tease. “Hey—why don’t we help each other out? I think I know what you need.”  

“Selina.”  

Blue twists a strand of hair around her fingers, curiosity piqued. “Yeah? Like what?”

Selina lightly traces her fingernails further up Blue’s leg, the head pounding music and the nodes of her sweet perfume a perfect mix of risk and stupidity. Though just as Selina parts her lips to dangle a tidbit of information for Blue, an unwanted third party blunders through. Blue and Selina jerk apart, startled, hackles raised—

“How much do you—hic—ladies want,” a man, dressed in a disheveled three piece suit, slurs, “for a little—y’know...two on one.”  

Selina scowls at the idiot in question who gestures to himself, shit-eating grin plastered across his aging, perspiring face. Blue blinks rapidly, the muscles in her jaw jumping. She recognizes this man—

“Jackson Pollard—DA’s office,” Vengeance supplies. “Get Blue out of there before he notices it’s his boss’ daughter.”    

Shit.

Selina grabs Blue’s hand, and slips out of her stool. Blue follows. “Sorry, hun. We gotta run—girl stuff, y’know?”

The man’s lips, covered in a thick, graying mustache, purse. He squints and jabs a meaty finger at Blue. “Wait…don’t I—”    

Selina grimaces and wrenches Blue out of the corner and into the fray of dancing girls and suited men. Blue grips Selina’s hand like a lifeline as thy navigate through the club. Vengeance nags in her ear—it’s drowned by the music and the thumping of her heart. 

Selina herds Blue into the little side hallway, leading to the dressing rooms. She pins blue against the wall—her eyes shine in the dim lighting, her lips parted in protest. “Listen, baby—you a detective?”

“Crime scene tech,” she specifies. Selina feels her voice vibrate under her hand that presses on her sternum. “Why?”

Selina chews her cheek. “My friend—Annika…she’s missing.” 

Blue’s brows dip into a worried furrow. “I-I’m sorry—she’s the Russian girl, right?” 

“Yeah, exactly,” Selina nods, hope flickering in her chest. “You gotta help me out—you have access to police records, you can look for her. See if she pops up anywhere.” 

“Don’t ask her that—she already risks her job for me.”  

Selina’s hope sputters out like a candle as Blue frowns. She looks away, eyes finding the floor to stare morosely at. “I don’t think—”

“Please,” Selina grovels. “I can get you a list of regular patrons—Falcone keeps it as blackmail.” 

Her face lights up. Blue contemplates for a moment. She outstretches her hand. “I can’t promise I’ll find anything.” 

Selina takes her hand to shake on it. “Deal—wait here. I’ll be back in ten.”

“No—don’t leave her,” Vengeance protests in the earpiece. “Selina—“ 

Selina smirks. She lifts her hand to cup Blue’s face and runs her thumb along her cheekbone, shimmering with highlighter. “I’ll kiss her goodbye for you, Vengeance.”    

                                               -=-=-=-=-

The second you stepped into the underbelly of the Iceberg Lounge, you go radio silent. The wire and the camera tap out instantaneously, becoming a static blur. You suspect that who ever manages this place installed a jammer—weaselly bastards.      

You have no choice to navigate blind. Your word is not reliable on its own in the court of law, but you’ll have to make do. You make a game of it—memorizing all the faces, the girls, who’s downing Drops like M&M’s. You recognize some of them. Lawyers that work under your dad—you turn your head to hide you face each time one of them passes by the corner you’ve chosen to occupy. This was a stupid idea. 

Yeah, you fit the bill for this kind of undercover work, and the ID you use looks similar to you, but damnit. Gordon should have known you have too many ties in Gotham now. The police, the DA’s office, your mother’s senatorial shit. You just hope the gaudy makeup and your skimpy dress is enough to pass under the radar.  

It doesn’t. 

But not by who you’d suspect. 

Batboy’s colleague. Selina is what she calls herself—if it’s even her actual name. Regardless, it’s your saving grace—plucks you from the jaws of danger and offers you exactly what you’ve come for. A list of names.  

Nothing comes without a price—you figure you could poke around for her friend but the chances of finding her are…slim. Everyone knows that you have about 24 hours or less to find the victim alive—it’s been four days. Whatever. It’s worth checking. 

The kiss is unexpected—not unpleasant in the slightest, though—a little too short if you were to complain. Her lips are soft and yours taste like lemonade. A thrilling blend of voracious passion and firecrackers that explode in your chest. You wonder what Bat’s will say to you later—it’s kinda funny. 

Selina pinches your cheek and promises she’ll be back in ten minutes. So you wait, huddled in that dark hallway and twiddling your thumbs as working girls pass in and out. None of them pay you any mind. Ten minutes pass—then twenty. 

You gnaw at your thumbnail—dread making a home inside your head. Selina isn’t coming back.

Left with no other option than to escape or keep digging—you bolt from the hallway and towards the gold-plated doors that lead to freedom. Your heartbeat drums in your chest as you reach security. They glare down at you with indifferent eyes, and just as they crack the door open for you—a hand clamps down over your arm. At first you think it’s Selina—

Wouldn’t that be fuckin’ nice?

Your blood runs ice-cold—panic lacerates through your veins and kicks your pulse into overdrive. You don’t have to know his face to realize who this man is. Dark sunglasses, silver teeth and a sharp suit. His sly grin curls up his withered face as yours crumbles into despair.  

Carmine Falcone.    

#well yeeha #batman x reader #batman 2022 x reader #bruce wayne x reader #pattinson!batman x reader #pattinson!batman #bruce wayne #batman #selina kyle #selina kyle x reader

[thatesqcrush]

12 Steps to Love: Step 7 - Ask a Higher Power to Remove Your Shortcomings

Rafael Barba x Reader. CW: NSFW for smut, obscene language, addiction talk (alcoholism), minor physical altercation, and that bitch (IYKYK).

AN: HBD to me! So I am giving y'all a present instead. That present, is smut (under the cut).

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed. You scanned the room, the entire apartment quiet. You wrapped the bed sheet around you as you explored the apartment. “Rafael?” you called out to no response. Your hand trailed along the wall as you headed into the kitchen. There was a note on the counter from Rafael stating he went to pick up breakfast and his suits from the cleaners. You smiled to yourself, feeling perfectly content. 

After your shower, you decided to rifle through Rafael’s cabinet and sure enough you found a new unused toothbrush. You brushed your teeth as you then looked through his drawers to find something to wear. You crouched to the bottom drawer and to your surprise, you found a pair of jeans that you must have left behind. You grabbed one of Rafael’s many (albeit faded) Harvard t-shirts and brought it to your face, inhaling the scent deeply. You were in the middle of putting it over your head when there was banging at the door. You furrowed your brow and made your way over. Your hair left a trail of water droplets as your feet padded along the floor.

The banging continued and you huffed to yourself. “I’m coming, hold your horses!” You undid the lock and the chain on the door before swinging the door wide open.

You let out a gasp. It was Yelina. 

Yelina scoffed with an eye roll as she took in the sight of you. You took the sight of her in - she was dressed casually, no makeup. You could see the redness in her eyes and the dark under eye bags and you quickly deduced she had been crying.

You awkwardly turned towards the apartment. “Look, um, Rafi’s not here…” your voice trailed.

“It didn’t occur to me on my way over that you’d be here, but of course you’re here,” Yelina spat. Her voice is bitter, dripping with disdain. Her eyes narrowed. “Are those my jeans?”

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. It didn’t occur to you that they would have been anyone else’s but yours. 

Yelina held up a hand. “Don’t answer that. Keep them. I wouldn’t want them back. Not after you stretched them out anyway.”

You were still too stunned to speak. 

“What Rafi and I had… I finally got a second chance with him,” Yelina continued, pushing past you and making her way into the apartment. You look around awkwardly and then decide to use the small ceramic bust of José Martí that Rafael had to keep the door propped open.

“I wondered what I did wrong to deserve this. Then I realized the only ones to blame are you two.”

You took a deep breath and prayed like hell, your voice wasn’t going to shake. “You know, Rafi told me all about you. And that when he was with you, he imagined it was me who was with him. Look, I get why you’re being such a bitch. You obviously love him and you think you’re gonna get him back. But the thing is, he outgrew you.”

“Bullshit. After he dumped your sorry ass, he came to me. I can’t pretend that I am over him, cuz I am not,” Yelina replied, her voice dripping with acerbity. “You think you’ve got him all figured out. Well, let me tell you something—“

You crossed your arms and jutted your chin. “I’ll worry about that the next time I fuck him.” 

What happened next came off as slo-mo - Yelina’s hand swung out and connected with your face. Your face felt hot from the impact of the slap. You immediately reached for your cheek. Your skin stung and you flexed your jaw. 

And without so much as a second thought, you clenched your fist and crooked your arm back before popping Yelina directly in the face. She let out a cry of pain and stumbled backwards. She brought her hand to her face and shrieked in horror. “I’m bleeding! Holy shit! Did you break my nose?”

It was that moment Rafael walked in, carrying flowers and a bag of food. “Yelina?” He looked at you and then her. “What is going on? What are you doing here?”

You and Yelina both turned towards Rafael.  Because she was standing next to you, some of her hair whipped you in the face. You sputtered and wiped your hands over your face repeatedly.

“Are you bleeding? Are you okay?” Rafael rushed to Yelina’s side. Rafael turned to you. “Did you hit her?”

Yelina moved her hand from her face, blood dripping down from her nose. “Rafi! The stupid pendeja punched me!”

“Hey! You slapped me first!” You yelled defensively.

Rafael looked at the two of you, completely stunned. He shook his head, recovering. “Yelina, don’t ever say that!” he scolded before continuing. “She’s not a pendeja. Did you slap her?”

“You asked me to bring you your stuff. And as much as that hurt, I did.” Yelina sniffled. She dropped the bag without care and some of the contents spilled out - mostly toiletries, but also some other items, like a few ties. But your eyes were immediately drawn to the gold strip of condoms. “Guapo, is there somewhere we could talk privately?”

Rafael let out a sigh; he didn’t miss how Yelina didn’t answer his question about hitting you. “Siéntate, por favor. Let me get some ice for your nose.”

Yelina turned to look at you, scoffed, and then made her way to the couch. Rafael approached you. He lifted your face with his finger and pushed away some hair, tucking it behind your ears. “Are you okay?”

You felt your cheeks grow hot and your eyes welled up. The skin where you were slapped was sore. “I am. But I am not gonna sugarcoat it. I could use a drink. Or ten.”

Rafael frowned. “I understand. Let’s talk about that once I deal with Yelina, okay? Go wait for me in the bedroom.”

You nodded. “Okay,” you replied quietly. Rafael pressed a kiss to your forehead. You watched as Rafael made his way to the kitchen. 

Your chest felt tight and panic bubbled under the surface. You took a deep breath and then walked over to pick up the bag Yelina dropped. You threw everything back haphazardly. When you got to the condoms, you stared at them. Your mind briefly imagined Rafael and Yelina together and you shuddered before shoving the condoms back in the bag. 

With a sigh of your own, you headed to the bedroom. You scrolled through your various social media apps waiting for Rafael to return. When he did, he himself looked agitated.

“Is everything okay?”

Rafael nodded, rubbing his chin. “I sent her home in a cab. She is not taking the breakup well. But I made it very clear that in no uncertain terms that she and I are not getting back together. And I managed to convince her to not press charges.”

You sat up straighter, your anger increasing. “Excuse me? She is the one who came here and hit me. I just reacted in response. Self defense if you will.”

Rafael gave you a pointed look. “It’s over. And I am glad I got here when I did. Are you okay? Do you want to file charges? I can call one of the detectives…”

You shook your head. “No you’re right. It’s done. It’s over. I don’t want to make it more messy than it needs to be. In working step 7, I need to be conscientious of avoiding sources of temptation that threaten my sobriety.”

Rafael gave you a look. “Temptation?”

You laughed. “You sir are a good kind of temptation. You give me orgasms and keep me humble. I mean more, just trash that threatens my sobriety… like her. I don’t want this to set me back.”

Rafael nodded. “Of course. Also glad to know I am a temptation.”

You climbed off the bed and approached Rafael, swatting him playfully. “You’re so full of shit. You know how fucking handsome you are.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Maybe a TRO won’t be so bad. I could have handled her, y’know.”

“I know,” Rafael murmured. “Let me take a look at your face sweetheart.” You lifted your cheek towards him. He crooked a finger under chin and tilted your face some more. “I don’t see any bruising or a mark.”

“It’s sore but mostly faded,” you responded. “Truth be told, I enjoy getting slapped - but on my ass. And by you.”

Rafael chuckled. He turned your face towards his. He bent his head down to press a kiss to your lips. You sagged against him, returning the kiss. His hands gripped you tightly, pressing your body close to his. 

“I know you brought food and all that, but maybe let’s just go back to bed?”

Rafael kissed you once more. “Yes.”

You undid the jeans and went to remove his t-shirt when Rafael stopped you. 

“Leave it on.”

You arched a brow. “Okay Mr. Harvard.” 

Rafael gave you a cheeky grin before he got undressed himself. The two of you made the way back to bed. 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Rafael asked in between kisses. “You can say no.”

You pulled back. “I know. And you’re so sweet and such a nice, decent guy for checking. But I enthusiastically consent to being fucked Rafael.”

Rafael’s eyes darken, blown by lust. “Okay cariño.”

You wrap one hand around his neck and pulled him to you. His lips crushed against yours, and you opened your mouth to allow him to deepen the kiss. His tongue exploded your mouth, licking hotly.  You wrapped your legs instinctively around his hips. Rafael rutted against your lace covered pussy, already so wet and ready for him. Your hips rose to meet his, and for a second as if the two of you were two teens dry humping one another.

“Fuck me,” you whined. “Please.”

“When you beg so prettily, how could I ever even dare to say no,” Rafael husked. You let out a moan as he rucked up his shirt, exposing your braless tits. His tongue traced your areola before taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking.  Your nipple hardened in response to the combination of the cool air and his warm wet mouth. His teeth gently scraped your sensitive bud and your back arched toward him, wanting more. Rafael repeated the actions to your other breast and you sighed contentedly. “Don’t stop, so good.”

Rafael obliged, alternating his attention, sucking, flicking, squeezing and pinching. You whined some more and Rafael took the opportunity to leave a dark mark on the slope of your breast. He then moved down your body, creating a path down your stomach with open mouthed kisses. 

Rafael used the tip of his tongue to trace along the seam of your panties. Your skin fluttered and you squirmed under his touch, and Rafael made a mental note to file away about this secret sensitive spot of yours.

Your hands ran through his dark hair, tugging. “Raf?”

Rafael looked up at you, his gaze downright sinful. “Yes amor?”

“Fuck me, please. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Rafael nodded. “I need to get a condom.”

Your mind flashed to the strip of gold condoms that fell out. You shook your head inwardly gagging. “No, I trust you. I still have my IUD.”

Rafael swallowed hard. “Okay,” he managed to squeak out. The idea of going bare with you made his temperature soar and he felt dizzy. 

He climbed over you again, and you spread your legs wider. You used a finger to push your panties to the side. Rafael pushed his boxers down, but didn’t completely remove them. He sat on his haunches and pumped his cock, before he drew the tip through your folds, teasing you and coating his length in your wetness.

Finally, Rafael lined himself along your entrance and pushed in. Your wet warm cunt pulled him in, gripping tightly like a vice. You wrapped your legs around his hips and gripped his biceps tightly as Rafael began to fuck you. The rhythm was slow and measured at first, drawing half way out before snapping forward, pushing all the way to the hilt until he bottomed out.

Rafael watched as your eyes fluttered close and your face contorted in pleasure. His pace quickened, snapping his hips repeatedly, driving his thick cock in and out of you. The way you chanted his name as you surrendered yourself to him made him feel like a king.  You watched as sweat dripped off his brow and how his cross swayed with his thrusts. You weren’t religious but something about just the sight of that made you feel perverse. 

You’re gasping, clenching his sides, your nails digging into his sweaty, tanned skin as he rode you hard. He pushed one of your legs higher, changing the angle and you let out an actual sob at the feel of his cock dragging along your cunt, hitting that one spot that makes you feel boneless. You were close - so close, but you did not want it to end, so instead you tapped his bicep. Rafael locked eyes with you. “I want to be on top.”

Rafael lowered his body to yours and kissed you before rolling your bodies so that you were on top. You rucked up Rafael’s Harvard shirt so that he could knead your tits. One of your tits puffed through his fingers as you bounced on his cock, meeting his thrusts. You slowed your roll of your hips, throwing your head back as pleasure sparked through you before picking up the pace again. The room was filled with obscene sounds wetness, breathy moans and groans. There was something about all of this - how this extremely handsome man wanted you, and that he wanted you in spite of everything, that made you feel so incredibly vulnerable. Rafael slapped your ass quickly in succession. 

“Again,” you panted. Rafael is quick to oblige, smacking your ass some more.

“Is that what you like? Getting spanked.”

“Sí papí,” you purred.

You reached between your bodies to rub your clit, but Rafael shooed your hand away. The way you called him papí thrilled him. He pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing haphazard circles. 

“Gonna come for me?” Rafael grunted as he met the pace of your hips. You bit your lip and nodded frantically. Your toes curled as you began to teeter closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m close too,” Rafael panted as he continued the snap of his hips. He could already feel the tension in his belly, the heaviness in his balls, aching for sweet release. You cried out as you fell, coming hard on his cock. The wrecked look on your face, the way you whined his name so prettily, and the feel of your wet cunt rippling around his cock, soaking him with your slick is too much. You collapsed forward, and Rafael planted his feet firmly into the mattress and began snapping his hips into you even more quickly as he chased his release. Rafael’s hips stuttered and with a deep groan of your name, he spilled inside you, painting your walls with his release, white, hot, and sticky.

Rafael stayed there, buried deep inside you. You were both panting, waiting for your hearts to slow down. You enjoyed the feel of his sweaty body against yours. You felt his cock soften and his release began to drip out of you due to gravity. He kissed you softly, then peppered your jaw and cheeks with some more before a final kiss on your nose.

You hum contentedly. “Mmm that was wonderful.”

Rafael smirks. “You got one more in you sweetheart?”

“Wha—?” 

Your question is quickly answered as Rafael rolls you back onto your back, withdrawing from you as he did so. Your legs still feel boneless and Rafael spreads you easily, your body pliant to him. He uses his thumbs to spread your wet puffy lips, watching his release drip out. Then his mouth is on you, licking and cleaning the mess he made between your legs. You thread your hands through his damp dark locks.

You cried out and whined Rafael’s name, drawing out every syllable.  

Rafael lapped at your cunt as if he were a starving man with his last meal. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of your sweet juices mixed with his salty cum. He paused to climb back over you and kiss you, pushing the mix of yours and his release into your mouth. You moan as you take it in and swallow. Rafael settles back down between your legs and sucks at your clit while he slides two of his thick fingers inside. Your second orgasm quickly crested. Rafael could sense you were close with how your stomach tightened and your legs shook. 

“That’s it, come for me again. Show me how prettily you come for me.”

Rafael wrapped his mouth around your clit and shook his head. You arched off the bed, your words incoherent as you come once more. He licked you through your release, letting go of your clit with a wet squelch. 

Rafael’s face was smug, his chin and cheeks coated in your juices.

“Get up here,” you purred. Rafael climbed over you and the two of you lazily make out, you tasting yourself on him once more.  Rafael rolled so he was on his back and you snuggled in his embrace.

It would be easy to settle back to sleep, but your stomach growled loudly enough to remind you to eat. You climbed out of bed, legs unsteady. Rafael caught you and you thank him with a smile. Rafael pushed you back onto the bed by your shoulders. You give him a confused look. 

“Stay put, I’ll bring everything here.” Rafael explained. Your mouth formed an ‘oh’ and you climbed back into bed. 

And it was in the soft morning light that you both ate, committed to one another and this relationship more than ever. 

Tags: @madpanda75 @beardedbarba @beccabarba @melk917 @witches-unruly-heart @dreamlover31 @detective-giggles @storiesofsvu @qvid-pro-qvo @tintinxtintin @plaidbooks @wanniiieeee @qvid-pro-qvo @detectivebarba @mrsrafaelbarba @mrsraulesparza @garturbo @zoeykaytesmom @bisexual-dreamer02 @evee87 @i-justreally-like-cats-okay @madamsnape921 @imjustreallynosy @glimmerglittergirl @sass-and-suspenders @alwaysachorusgirl @greeneyedblondie44 @gibbs274 @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindos @ottosuricato @amelia-song-pond @averyhotchner @eltrujillo

#rafael barba smut #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba and reader #rafael barba x you #rafale barba x f! reader

[dirtyvulture]

😎 So I have had a really weird thought/ realization ………. like a really, really weird thought / realization so please bear with me. Wolverine R is Femreader meaning most likely AFAB ( Assigned Female At Birth) and that means our dear lovely R gets a period very single month. Now in cannon Wolverine’s healing factor are so OP that they can regenerate from a single drop of blood ( not the point that I am trying to make but now that I think about it , imagine how crazy that would be that R could regenerate entirely from a single drop of blood from her period. Like she has a whole host to choose from and a lot of opportunities every month) . Wolvie ( I have noticed you calling both R and Logan that and that is so cute and I am going to put a pin in that ) can come back and regenerate very single thing in her body ( including possibly all her eggs that sheds and all the other  “wonderful”things that goes into having a period ) and I am sure you can see where this is going . Wolverine was born in the late Nineteen century ( Like 1832 in one account or in some accounts 1882 / 1885) and we don’t know as of yet when our Wolvie has been born and how old she is exactly. Or hell if she is Canadian or something else.

But imagine if Wolvie has been born in the late nineteenth century ( in one of those years listed above) , the girl has had periods for literally almost two centuries and a shit load happened before pads and tampons , just that type of hygiene as we know it now . The pads that we know today weren’t invented until WW1 when nurses were trying to find ways to stop the soldiers from bleeding.Tampons wasn’t invented until 1931 and it was a cardboard applicator with tightly bound strip of dense cotton , In the 1800s it was a DYI situation up until 1880s and that was a disposable napkin. Damn all of this really made me do actual research because my Nerospicy  brain wouldn’t let this go. Anyway Wolvie has seen all of this and gone through the evaluation of monthly hygiene products but because of her healing factor she is just going to keep going through this hell forever .

People looked at the X-ray scene in Wolverine( you literally see how the bones are forced to move and shift around when the claws come out)and how wolverine says it “ Hurts every time they come out” . They are like no wonder he is so angry and violent , he is in a lot of pain very time he fights. Even when he is protecting people. I rise you one better for why fem Wolvie is like that . Fuck I am on my period right now ( yes I am a cisgender woman) and if I had to endure that for ever I would be ✨Staby ✨ too , especially to those who fuck around and find out. It also gets better because of Wolverine’s canonical  resistance to illicit substances ( i. e not really able to get drunk) I don’t think she would be able to take pain medication for her cramps so she has to deal with that all on her own.

Thank you for bearing with me down this weird ass rabbit hole of thoughts, research and  realization.

Also R would totally 💯 percent would go off to a store and get like a whole bunch of candies, chocolate, pads ( I personally CANNOT DO tampons , just Nooooo) and pain killers( these are specifically for Nat as they don’t work for R) Everything that one would need at a time like this and she made sure that she got enough for Nat just in case ( R knows about the “ graduation” ceremony but is unsure if Nat undergone it) . R isn’t going to broach the subject but gets Nat to see the supplies and keeps her nose out for smelling blood ( remember R has heighten senses and can smell blood) . But if Nat had undergone the ceremony than R would still give her candy and the pain medication and other relievers when needed ( and one can still used pads to stop bleeding wounds ) .

R 💯 percent goes and just slash up trees ( her x marking ) and things like that while screaming as an outlet for the really bad cramps. R also gets a bit stab/ slash happy too.

A...very interesting thought to have, anon. 😂

I never even thought about having to have a period every month if your body doesn't age. Poor R. 😭 But I would like to think that once she realizes she's going to live forever and face this once a month, she might have a hand in inventing some of the best feminine products we still use to this day. :) Just a random headcanon of mine now lol.

But yes. R would absolutely go out of her way to make sure Nat is comfortable if she does have a period. ❤️ Because she always wants to make sure Nat is taken care of and comfy. But yes, I agree that on her own period, R is probably seen running through the woods and cutting trees up with her claws lol.

#😎 anon #vulture answers #darkest knight au

[susiequaz12]

Whumptober 24

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

Day 24! Continuation of Marlowe and Solomon's story. Last part from Day 23. CW: nonbinary whumpee, vampire caretaker, talk of past injuries, blood, some angst. (Mostly angst.)

- - -

Solomon lay outside the tent, taking watch for the next few hours as Lo caught up on some sleep, giving them a chance for their wounds to heal. Sol scratched at the bandages wrapped around his arm, the scent of his own blood making him queasy. He’d been feeling more light headed and tired- coming off of his sickness. Another feeding would probably help but there was no way in hell that he’d ask that of the human right now. 

Not when they were still bleeding from their wounds and trying to grow back several limbs. He’d have to wait at least a few more days.

Solomon hated to admit it but he probably wouldn’t have made it if Lo had not forced him to feed. 

The rumors about not being able to kill a vampire aren’t necessarily true. You can kill them- it’s just a lot more difficult. Vampires are notoriously stubborn creatures. One of the easiest ways for them to die is from sickness. If they get too sunsick and starve without feeding, their body just slowly withers away- unable to keep up their strength and their life force.

Solomon had fed from Lo, despite them still healing themselves. 

They had fed from Lo, and Lo had bandaged up their wounds, forced them to drink, and still stuck by his side, even when Solomon was the one to have captured them in the first place. 

And all the vampire had done was take. 

He had drained them of their blood too many times to count. He had forced them to feed his entire camp of vampires, drugged them so badly that they could never fight back. And then when his camp got overtaken, he couldn’t even protect them. They were led to the slaughter of countless other vampires. 

Solomon had no idea why Lo was even sticking around now. 

They were probably only using him until they could fully walk. And then they’d leave. Go off on their own to live whatever life they were living before Solomon stole them from it. 

He hung his head in his hands, tracing a finger along the dirt in the darkness, just the light of the fire glowing slowly around him as he guarded the small tent. 

If Lo wanted to leave, Solomon would let them. 

But they couldn’t leave him. Not unless Sol left first. 

The vampire’s heart pounded, his chest growing tight as he rummaged through the pack for the small pad of parchment he had thrown in there. There was no pencil, so he grabbed a stick and burnt it in the fire, using the charcoal to scratch out on the paper. 

‘Lo, I’m sorry. You’ve given me your blood, and I’ve given you nothing but pain in return. Be safe, my friend. Goodbye. -Sol’

Solomon didn’t notice the tears coming down his face until they dropped onto the parchment, smudging a few of the letters. He wiped his eyes and tossed the stick back in the fire. Now Sol just had to find the right moment to deliver the note, and leave the human behind before he regretted it. 

He stoked the fire, adding a few more logs to make sure it didn’t fizzle out before the sun came up. He’d leave while the human was still sleeping- the note would be in the tent-

“Sol-” came the faintest of whispers. 

“Shit.” He mumbled, scrambling to pick up the note and things as movement was heard from in the tent. 

“Sol are you- are you out there?” 

He scrambled, moving to the tent, crumpling the piece of parchment in his fist, the charcoal smudging over his hand. 

“What’s going on, Lo?” He whispered. 

Lo was sitting up in their bedroll, wiping the sleep from their eyes. 

“You should get some rest, you’ve been up all night. You can rest for an hour or two and then we can cover some more ground and find a safer spot to camp once the sun comes up.” 

Solomon glanced at the crumpled paper in his hand- and then back to the human, pulling themselves out of the blankets with a grunt. The vampire had been here all night, keeping a watchful eye on them. He had fought off wolves for them, and then let Lo sleep as long as they wanted. 

The vampire turned away, feeling the stares of the human in his back as they awaited his answer. 

“Yeah, I’ll, I’ll rest a bit. Thank you Lo.” 

He quickly tossed the note into the fire. 

Lo trusted him. 

And that was enough. 

- - -

Tag List: @imagination1reality0 @thecyrulik @whumpsday @termsnconditions-apply @spectral-whumpy-writer @raddyscoops @whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #no.24 #goodbye note #ocs #whump writing #nonbinary whumpee #vampire caretaker #angst #blood #marlowe the immortal

[stray-kaz]

Ditched

Dated: 3/3/2016

She was sitting on the curb, waiting, mounds of coloured lace frothing around her narrow ankles when the truck pulled up inches from her painted toes and a door slammed before the cab disgorged its single passenger. She didn’t move a muscle from her position, arms wrapped around her bent knees, as dusty boots stopped beside her. They didn’t move for a few seconds and then, when their wearer realised she wasn’t going to move or say anything, they stepped off the curb and the man wearing them sat down beside her, his knees spread outwards and his hands hanging in the space between.

“So” he said, his voice rough and low. “Danny called.”

She scoffed and then sniffed, the derisive sound undermined by the following sorrow.

“So” she copied him. “My big brother sent you instead of coming himself. Because he’s busy, right?”

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes hard but wet in the corners.

“Look, Ronan, I don’t need to be babysat, okay? I can get myself home.”

“Oh, sure you can. I’m sure those shoes of yours wouldn’t be making your feet bleed by the time you got back home. How do they feel by the way, Little Miss Cowboy Boots?”

She turned her head away from him and stared out into the darkness at the edge of the road.

“Come on, Nora, just get in my truck and let me take you home.”

“Why?” she snapped, woeful.

He reached over and grasped a handful of red lace, grimacing faintly.

“So you can get out of this monstrosity and into something that’s actually comfortable?”

Nora glared at him and snatched the lace free, patting it roughly back into place. She jerked her chin into the air.

“Shut up about it” she muttered.

A warm hand gently cupped her knee over top of her dress and goose bumps spread over her skin underneath the material and up her bare arms. She shivered and he pretended not to notice.

“Danny told me what happened” he said quietly.

She reached up and brushed away a lone tear, smearing her eyeliner. Black smudged beneath her eye.

“Are you sure?” she asked him, trying to keep her voice light and failing to. “I didn’t know if he was listening.”

Ronan sighed deeply.

“He was listening” he told her. “He said you were prom ditched.”

She hunched her bare shoulders and lowered her head. His hand left her knee and moved to the nape of her neck, where it rested, warm and heavy, the pads of his fingers just touching the fine hairs there.

“I’m sorry” he said. “Whoever he is, the guy’s a moron. He doesn’t deserve you, and you sure as hell deserve better than him.”

Nora released a sigh she didn’t realise she had been holding in for so long and turned into him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. He didn’t hesitate before hugging her back, folding her tightly in against his chest. He could feel her fingers digging into him through his shirt and smell the faintest scent of sweet perfume on her neck. He held tighter, his chest tightening, too.

“Come on, Nora” he murmured. “I’ll get you home, sugar.”

She nodded her head against his shoulder and propelled herself to her feet, stumbling slightly in her heels. Still on the ground, having been used for her balance, Ronan rocked upwards and knelt at her feet, tapping his fingers on the top of her pale foot.

“Off” he said curtly.

She lifted both feet, one by one, and he slid the shoes off and tossed them into the bed of his truck. When he turned back, she was disappearing inside the cab, a slim hand reaching down to tuck the hem of her dress out of the way of the door. Ronan reached out for it, holding onto the edge until she was finished, and then he slammed it closed; slamming was the only way he could successfully shut any of his doors. She smiled at him then and he felt his heart jump before he crossed in front of the truck to climb in behind the wheel.

#liss writes #fiction #copyright #2016

[galatially]

❝𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧❞

❝𝐢 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫❞

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤 x 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — it's not often that you'd tempt fate and be at the mercy of the Devil. But when you did, it was well worth the trouble

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 1.2K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, unprotected sex (wrap it up, kiddos!), pet names (honey, pretty girl, good girl)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — this was short and not at all as smutty as intended, but I'm running on caffeine and no sleep and this is my first time writing for my baby Matty so bear with me lol

as always the dividers are by @firefly-graphics

i don't have a tag list but i do have a library where all of my works live,@galatially-wrote so please check it out! reblogs and comments are much appreciated ♡♡♡

tagging @honeychicana since she asked so nicely ♡♡

You enjoyed the night.

Not the busy evenings, abuzz with thrumming bass lines and sweaty limbs connecting in dingy bathrooms or the tense evenings where you’d been hyper-vigilant walking home from work.

No, you enjoyed the hush that fell over New York; the hazy oranges and peaches that bled into indigo sky and the soft tread of tires on the empty roads. It was in that quiet, that stillness, that he came to you — the Devil with silver-scarred skin and a tongue that made prayers tumble out of your chest.

The first night he appeared, you were taking your trash out to the dumpster and you saw someone propped up against it. At first, you'd thought they were dead with how still they were. As your thumbs padded against your phone screen, a hand shot out and curled around your wrist.

“Don't...call…”

The voice was deep and unmistakably male. sThe words came out pained in between his heavy breaths but you didn't miss the plea. So, you took a deep breath and wrapped his left arm around your shoulders to heave him up. He let out a few curses, trying not to lean into you with his full weight. Thankfully you were only on the first floor of the building and were able to duck into your apartment without anyone spotting you. You walked him to your couch and flicked on the side table lamp. His black shirt was torn and his dark pants had bullet holes stippled through them.

"What the hell happened to you?"

A chuckle followed by a sharp breath came from his lips. "Met the wrong end of a barrel, you could say."

You gave him a flat look. “You’re bleeding out. That’s hardly something to joke about.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s pretty funny considering.” He smiled a dimpled smile, a boyish grin that made your heart flutter and your cheeks heat up. “You wouldn’t happen to have some medical training, would you?”

That was it; a cute smile and morbid humor is what won you over. Every night for two months, you patched up the Kitchen’s lone vigilante and exchanged a few words here and there, all while never knowing who the man was under the mask. As your fingertips traced the seams and planes of his face, your eyes committed every feature to memory as if to decipher his identity in some way.

One evening, while you were sitting at the foot of the couch, you propped yourself up along the edge of the couch eye to cheek with your masked visitor when you asked for his name.

“Matt. Matt Murdock.”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You smiled. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Your phone buzzed against your bare thigh, a smirk cutting across your lips. Your thumb swiped along the screen and you put the device to your ear.

“You’re calling me.”

“I am.” You could hear the lilt in his voice. “Things have been pretty quiet tonight.”

“Oh?” You leaned back against the frame of the window. “That’s good. I know it’s been pretty rough for you these last few weeks.”

“’S been nice havin’ a one night.”

“So does that mean you’re heading home?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

You rolled your eyes as an amused huff passed your lips. “Are you passively asking for me to invite you over, Murdock?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Y/L/N.” If Matt ever asked you outright, you’d deny it, but you loved this side of him — the easy softness that radiated from him that enveloped you like a warm embrace. Very few people have seen him like this and you were glad that he considered you one of the lucky few. “I’m a few blocks away from your house. Leave your window open.”

“I always do.”

“Shit.”

The callused pads of his fingers held fast against the column of your throat as his hips met yours in harsh thrusts that shook your bed like a hellish gust of wind.

You couldn’t recall how long you’d been like this underneath him or how many times pleasure had shocked you still but you didn’t mind. You’d barely remembered how you’d gotten to this point. Instead of needing medical aid, Matt had come in street clothes and a six pack of beer, wanting to spend a night doing “normal-friend-things”.

Conversation flowed easy and suddenly the tension between you was tangible, sitting between you like a familiar guest. Your hands reached out to him — or did his reach out to you? — and then you were straddling his lap, his rough hands burning bruises into your soft skin.

Matt’s name clumsily fell from your tongue as his cock drove in and out of you, litanies of “don’t stop” and “s’good, s’fuckin’ good” echoing with the sloppy sound of your sopping cunt and his sweat-slick skin against yours. You dug your nails into the bare skin of his back as another soundless moan threatened to rip from you. Drool dribbled at the corner of your slackened jaw and your eyes were half-lidded in pleasure.

“You’re squeezin’ me like a fuckin’ vice, pretty girl.” Matt moved the hand that was gripping your hip to your puffy, throbbing clit and pressed the pad of his thumb against it. “You gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?”

You let out a mewling sob.

“Go ahead, baby, cum,” Matt grunted out. “Cum on my cock.”

Your belly tightened and your back canted into a V-shape, a guttural cry careening from your lungs. You collapsed unceremoniously against your mattress as Matt’s orgasm caught up to him and his seed painted your inner walls. Teeth drug along the curve of your shoulder up to the underside of your jaw.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’, pretty girl.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, your eyes meeting his brown ones. Something about him being able to see you without seeing you made the vulnerability you often expressed with him more visceral. “I keep waiting for you to disappear. That one night, you’ll fuck me senseless and vanish into the night never to be seen again.” Your fingers moved from his scalp to the seam of his bottom lip. “I don’t know what I’d do then, Matt.”

“I’m not leavin’ you anytime soon, Y/N.”

“How do you know that?”

Matt sighed and moved up your bare torso until his nose touched the tip of yours. “Because in the last six months of me doin’ what I do, you’re the only thing that’s certain. I know that I can always come home to you.”

Your face warmed. “Bullshit.”

“Bullshit,” he mocked, slotting his mouth over yours. His tongue laved against yours deepening the kiss. You swallowed his soft chuckle and bucked your hips against his, the hunger from earlier no longer sated.

What’s one more round with the Devil?

#galatially #from eden #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x black!reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x you #daredevil x black!reader #daredevil x you #daredevil smut

[pa1nkill3r]

It’s My Party [F.W]

[Pairing:] Fred Weasley x GN!Non Gryffindor!Reader, (slight) Fred Weasley x Angelina Johnson

[Summary:] Y/H has won the 1993 interhouse quidditch cup as Y/N, the house’s keeper, gleefully shoved it in their boyfriend, Fred Weasley’s face. Prideful as ever, Fred decided that he can’t be the only sore loser between the two of them.

[Warnings:] angst, Fred being immature, off canon, mentions of smut, not a happy ending, swearing, (please lmk if there’s more :)

[Word Count:] ≈1.4k

[Song:] It’s My Party- by Lesley Gore

[A/N:] please no Angelina slander. Y/H = your house. The first fic I will be posting will be ANGST?? idk what to think about this tbh but i just really want to post a fic out of the many in my drafts so let’s hope this goes alright :D

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Gryffindor’s are chivalrous. Evident in the way Fred Weasley has mastered the art of seduction as he made gallant efforts of persuading the inhospitable Y/N to be his. 

Gryffindor’s are courageous, as he and his brother gave their all into their final game that would lead Gryffindor to victory. Hitting bludger after bludger and making sure they do not give Alicia Spinnet another nose bleed. 

And Gryffindor’s are determined, so much so as their loss has made them into sore, sore losers. 

The Gryffindor’s are pissed and Oliver Wood took to punching the soil. Harry Potter let go of his firebolt and covered his face in frustration. Angelina Johnson took the same approach, aggressively wiping sweat off her face and crouching down to her knees. Not a single damn in the world if her trousers get grubby. Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell held onto their broomsticks as they placed their foreheads on its end, frustrated tears trickling down their faces. 

The sound of wood plopped down onto the dirt as Fred and George Weasley threw their beater's bats and clean sweeps aside. A deathly look splattered across their once haughty exterior.

All of their vigorous training, late nights and early mornings, all of their valiant efforts, all for nothing. They have lost.

What’s worse was that the opposing team was dripping with ecstasy rather than tears or whatever’s on Johnson’s slacks. 3 houses were beaming, but not for the house of red and gold like they wanted. 

It pained Fred that they lost. It hurt him to feel angry and resentful of the prideful smile that graced Y/N’s beautiful lips. Those sweet sweet lips he kissed once, twice, a hundred times now looked so pungent. The fact that the smile he's looking at was full of mock instead of sincerity for his loss made every drop of his blood boil.

Y/N's eyebrows raised once they saw their lover, giving him a cheerful smile and a shoulder shrug. Their hand gripped onto their broom as the other held their soaking leather helmet. They shook their head in celebration, droplets of sweat shooting from the ends of their hair.

They truly looked beautiful, especially with the warm rays of sunlight gracing their skin and robes; Fred was breathless. His heart was thumping so hard from rage as his breathing was suppressed.

He didn't think losing to his partner's house ESPECIALLY if his partner is part of the competition would affect him so negatively, but it did. He wanted to feel happy for them. Genuinely happy for them. But he couldn't, or at least at that moment.

And before he knew it, Y/N was being dragged away by their teammates, whilst roars of celebration followed suit. He wouldn't have a chance to be with them alone now, and probably for the better.

The tension in the Gryffindor common room could be cut smoothly with a butter knife or Colin Creevey's safety scissors. The silence was uncomfortable and Fred's lips were all pouty, leg bouncing up and down, and arms wrapped around his torso.

His mind was clouded with rage as well as a longing to see them, to enrage them like what they did to him, he wanted them to feel how he felt the moment they gave him a cheeky smirk knowing, KNOWING how much Gryffindor wanted to win. To be the one to give their head of house the cup they utterly deserve.

He stood, grabbing a girl's wrist, "Angelina. Come with me, will you?"

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"Kind of weird not seeing you grinding on Weasley right now, Y/N." Y/N's teammate joked, making Y/N choke on their butterbeer. "Like— he looked pissed. Every one of them did. But like— I dunno, I expected more from angry Fred, y'know? Maybe like angry fucks or something?—" Their teammate continued, making Y/N chortle even harder. If there was such a thing as getting drunk on butterbeer, this would be it.

"—maybe even a heated make out session?"

"Fucking hell, why in the world are you talking about my love life? MINE?" Y/N asked light heartedly, getting a shoulder shrug and a mocking glance of their teammate's eye.

"All seriousness though, Y/N. It's weird not seeing him here. He'd still appreciate you, you know? You did amazing!"

Y/N thought about it, but knowing Fred's quick temper, he's most likely cooling down before he meets them at their house party. "He's probably just pissed off. Or maybe they’re trying to stop Wood from drowning himself again, I don't know. There's endless amounts of possibilities when it comes to Gryffindors." Their teammate nodded in agreement and went back to the usual chatting.

Every minute that passed by without Fred showing his freckled face felt like a stab in the chest. They've never ghosted him when Gryffindor won against them, why's he doing this to them now?

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"Fred?! Or is this George? OY WEASLEY? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU TAKING ME?" yelled Angelina, being dragged out by an angry red head with a face redder than his hair.

"Just trust me, Johnson." he said breathless, speed walking his way through the halls, Angelina in toe. Dragging her towards the Y/H common room.

He reluctantly took off a wire wrapped ring Y/N made for him and placed it on the pads of his fingers. "Wear this."

"Why?!" asked Angelina angrily. "What are you on about Fred? Didn't Y/N make this?!" Not answering or even giving her words a single thought, he put the ring on the nearest finger he could reach, held her hand, and made his way into the entrance.

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The party was going beautifully, just like every single one that preceded it. It was going as smoothly as a butterbeer running down a drinker’s throat. But something is wrong with the butterbeer. It hit hard. It was bitter. It was burning.

Y/N’s shoulder was tapped by the person next to them, their finger pointing towards the entrance of the common room.

Who in their right mind would put firewhisky in a place no one asked it to be in?

“This party’s beautiful! How come you don’t make Gryffindor party’s this nice?” Angelina said, fingers relaxed in the hand of Y/N’s boyfriend. The man they’ve been with since third year. Now holding onto a pretty girl’s hand instead of theirs. 

And to add insult to injury, a bronze glint shone on her finger, as well as a purple bead. Angelina’s wearing his ring loosely on her thin, nimbly finger.

Y/N froze in their seat, simply staring at the two of them. They looked like they belonged together really. They really did. They looked like royalty, and every time Angelina pointed at something it looked like she was giving a wave. 

It broke them. It finally broke them. The cold Y/N, the stony Y/N, the frigid fucking Y/N broke as a tear ran down their cheek. Shit. He broke them.

“Hey Y/N!” The beautiful Gryffindor chaser waved cheerfully and innocently as she spotted the beater’s partner. But they didn’t respond cheerfully back. Instead, a half empty mug of butterbeer was left at the place they once sat and a fuming Y/N walked away. 

Angelina stood confused until she felt a weight in one of her hands. “What the hell, Fred?” She let go of his hand as soon as it hit her. “Are you using me to make Y/N jealous?! What the fuck is that for?!”

He didn’t answer. It was as if at that instant his once clouded mind became sober. Once drunk with rage now sober with guilt. Yeah, what the fuck was that for? 

“I’m going to find them because apparently you don’t have the fucking decency to do so.” She spat to his face, taking off the ring he put on her finger, throwing it to his face, and following the sounds of sorrow. 

And there the red head stood, face as pale as a ghost and as guilty as a criminal awaiting his charges, knowing, KNOWING that no one would bail him out now. Several heads were looking at him at that moment, but he couldn’t give a single fucking damn.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader #fred weasley x slytherin!reader #fred weasley x hufflepuff!reader #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fic #angelina johnson #i'm scared this isn't that good but kjsdnfjbdj

[honeypiehotchner]

Satan’s Waterfall (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

I couldn’t think of a name for this to save my life, but Satan’s waterfall is literally what I call my period so... (Also this is 100% self-insert because my period was from actual HELL yesterday)

I wrote this instead of doing my homework. Enjoy xx

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: SMUT! period sex in the shower, “good girl” is said many times, Daddy kink (a lil), slight size kink (it’s inevitable with him), you and Hotch are newly married (I wrote “husband” organically and kept it)

It’s the second day of your period.

The first day is always the worst. The cramps are so severe that you’re nauseated (sometimes actually to the point of puking your guts out) and dizzy, freezing but somehow sweating, hungry but in too much pain to bring yourself to eat more than some crackers, and in desperate need of chocolate or coffee -- even though both of those things make everything else a thousand times worse.

You’re on birth control -- which was Aaron’s first question when he witnessed your period for the first time, completely on accident because you forgot you invited him over when your period was scheduled to hit. So, needless to say, it was maybe your fourth date night ever with your now-husband, and he had to hold your hair back as you puked. You had meant to reschedule that night, but you honestly weren’t feeling too bad until halfway through the movie the two of you decided to watch.

Regardless, birth control helps regulate your period and put it on a schedule, but so far it hasn’t done much to help the pain. Although, you used to pass out, and you don’t anymore, so maybe birth control has helped in a slight way.

Aaron doesn’t think it has at all. He still worries every single month, threatening to take time off of work (at least on the first day) to be with you, but you always tell him not to. You essentially threaten to become an unsub if he doesn’t take his ass to work, but he doesn’t find the joke as funny as you do.

Sometimes he’ll stay home because he’ll wake up and you’ll be in a shivering mess on the bathroom floor, or wide-awake next to him in bed (did anyone say period-induced insomnia?), or groaning to yourself quietly on the couch, having been there for hours so as not to disturb him.

Which is how yesterday went, actually, so that’s why he’s not home today because you told him if he stays home again to coddle you, you might become a fuming toddler.

Thankfully (but unfortunately for him), Chief Strauss called a meeting, so he had no choice but to go to work.

The second days aren’t even that bad. You’re still basically bed-ridden (or couch-ridden, at least, because the TV is in the living room), but you’re not puking and you’re not dizzy. You occasionally sweat like crazy when a wave of cramps comes, but nothing like yesterday.

You’ve showered, changed into new sweatpants and one of Aaron’s old t-shirts, had breakfast and lunch, and you’ve even done a load of laundry (mainly because you bled through the sheets last night). You’re having a much better day.

But, because it’s still that time of the month, it isn’t a great day because you’re still cramping. And lucky you, a bad wave hits right when Aaron walks in from work.

“I told you to let me stay today,” he says gently, pushing the hair back from your sweaty forehead.

“These are nothin’,” you whine, reaching out for his hand to hold anyway. “They’ll be gone soon.”

“You’re pale. Have you eaten?”

“Mhm, breakfast and lunch,” you nod, letting your eyes slip closed when the cramps ease. You feel your heating pad getting cold. It must’ve turned off. You start fumbling around for the controller, but Aaron beats you to it, turning it back on.

“That’s good,” he says. “What about water?”

“Oh, oops,” you chuckle. “I had one glass this morning.”

“And?”

“Anddd coffee.”

“Y/N…” He sighs. “What have I told you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I need to drink extra water when I’m like this. But here’s my thing: I’m suffering enough already, why make me suffer more by making me drink water?”

“Because it’s good for you,” he mutters, standing to fill a glass. “And you’re drinking more tonight. I don’t care if you’re up peeing all night--”

“I’ll wake you up every damn time I do.”

“Gladly,” he smirks, returning with the glass. “Come on, up. Drink.”

Begrudgingly, you sit up, muttering curses under your breath because now your back is cold which means you’re hurting more. Wordlessly, Aaron lifts the heating pad and holds it to your back while you drink some water.

“Good girl,” he says, taking the empty glass from you and sitting it on the coffee table.

“Don’t say that to me,” you grumble, already laying back down and grabbing a blanket, tucking it under your chin.

“Why not?” He asks, smoothing your hair again, smiling when you close your eyes.

“Because it gives me thoughts.”

“Thoughts?”

You open your eyes a little. “Thoughts.”

Aaron chuckles when you close your eyes again, effectively hiding from him. “Honey pie, you’re going to have to tell me what thoughts you’re talking about.”

“You know what thoughts I’m talking about,” you breathe. “Sexy thoughts.”

“Ahh, sexy thoughts,” he laughs.

“But I can’t have those right now.”

“Why not?”

“Hello?” You open your eyes, giving him a look. “It’s the time of Satan’s waterfall?”

“Satan’s-- Okay, just because you’re on your period, doesn’t mean we can’t have sex. It might make you feel better.”

“Oh, orgasms do, yes. I’ve had two today.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t give me that look. My issue is, I want you inside me when you call me a good girl.”

“I still can be.”

You scrunch your nose. “Too messy. I just washed the sheets.”

“Not in bed,” Aaron squeezes your hand. “We have a shower.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Is my husband into period sex?”

He laughs loudly. “I’ve always thought about it, but you’re always in so much pain, I didn’t want to ask.”

“We’ve done worse things than have sex while I’m bleeding.”

“Yeah, but…” He lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles. “I never want to hurt you.”

You can’t help but grab his face and kiss him then, too overcome with love for him to stop yourself. His care, his tenderness. You’ve asked him to throw you around like a literal ragdoll before, and yet he’s still worried about hurting you.

“You know I’ll tell you,” you whisper, stealing another kiss. “You never hurt me. At least not in ways I don’t like.”

He groans into your mouth. “Time for a shower.”

“Already?” You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He lifts you from the couch and guides your legs around his torso, all the while keeping his lips on yours. He digs his fingers into your thighs and you squeal, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You have no idea how he manages to get to the bathroom without knocking into anything, but you’re not questioning it.

He sets you down and you start ripping off your clothes, and he joins you after turning the shower on.

“Someone’s excited,” he chuckles, feeling your fingers on his belt. All you have on are your panties, but he’s still got pants on which is unfair.

“Hey, you suggested it, so I want it.”

“Okay, okay,” he tosses his belt out into the bedroom, laughing because you’re already unbuttoning and unzipping him. “You are eager.”

“I’m horny,” you correct him. “And it’s your fault.”

“I know, sweet girl,” he kisses your forehead. “But I’ll take care of it.”

“You better.”

While he’s busy finishing undressing, you kick your panties away and hop in the shower, adjusting the temperature.

Aaron steps in a moment later, a stupid grin on his face. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” you reply, relaxing under the hot water. “This feels good.”

His face softens. “Are you hurting again?”

“Not really,” you roll your shoulders. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

“I’m not,” he promises, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me, I’ll be fine,” you tug him closer, tilting your head to accept his kiss.

He starts slow, wanting to gauge your reactions before he does anything too drastic. He rubs your clit gently, waiting until he hears a moan before he continues. When his tongue slips into your mouth, one finger sinks into your core.

It’s different, that he’ll admit. You feel warmer and wetter, but you’re definitely not in any pain. Your moans are too loud for that.

He dips his head to your neck, suckling there, letting you thread your fingers in his hair while he slips a second finger into you. You gasp a little too loud and a little too suddenly, so he stops, but quickly starts again when your fingernails dig into his scalp in protest.

“Are you okay?” He mumbles against the hickey on your neck.

“More,” you whimper.

He scissors his fingers, wrapping his free arm around your waist to keep you steady. The added pressure of three of his fingers buried inside you nearly makes your knees buckle. Everything about him is so big and it makes you weak when you even as much as think about it.

He moves back to your lips, kissing you deeply, pausing only to ask, “How does that feel, little one?”

“M’gonna cum,” is your only reply, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Go ahead,” he whispers. “As much as you want, sweet girl. This is all about making you feel good. There you go.” He feels the first flutterings of your walls. He spreads his fingers slightly, knowing you love the stretch, when his fingers press right into your g-spot. “Come on, honey. Let go.” He moves his thumb to your clit, rubbing small circles before spreading his fingers once more, shooting you over the edge.

You cling to his shoulders, nearly biting him from the force of it. Everything is so much more sensitive when you’re on your period and you knew that, but it’s different when it’s him. It always is.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, easing you to the ending waves of your orgasm. “How was that?”

“Amazing, do you even need to ask?” You laugh, kissing him. “Can you please get inside me?”

“Please what?”

“Please, Daddy.” You bat your eyelashes for good measure, even though you know he wouldn’t tease you, not right now. He just wanted to hear you say it.

“Of course,” he steals another kiss before finally taking his fingers from you. Wordlessly, he washes the blood away, and you should’ve known he wouldn’t give two shits about this.

And you’re right, he doesn’t. The sight of blood doesn’t phase him anymore, especially not your period because it’s natural. And right now he’s too worried about making you feel good to even bother pretending to be grossed out by it.

He’s already hard, so you can’t help but reach down and stroke him, grinning when he groans loudly.

Before you can blink, though, he has you up in his arms and against the wall, your legs already settling around his hips.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he says again, looking into your eyes. “Okay?”

“Yes, I promise,” you assure him.

Accepting that answer, he drops his hand to guide himself inside of you, moving as slow as possible -- which you appreciate, even if you do want to be fucked. But you’ve never had sex on your period before, not even with previous partners, so you weren’t sure if having a dick inside you would actually feel good.

But damn it does.

You know part of it is because it’s Aaron, your husband, your best friend. His dick is good on a normal day, but when you’re sensitive from your period, it’s even better.

“Oh my fucking God.”

“What?” He stops moving, leaning his head back to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you laugh, threading your fingers through his hair again. “Nothing. It feels good.”

He smirks, rocking his hips slowly, letting you take more of him. “Feels good?” He asks, and you nod. “Is it wrong of me to enjoy this?” He whispers, going deeper. “You’re so warm.”

“Harder, please.”

He slams his hips forward, nipping at your neck when you whine loudly. “Are you gonna cum again?”

You nod your head lazily, locking your ankles behind his back, arching your back, forcing him deeper. A groan stutters in his throat when he feels his head teasing your cervix.

You like that normally, but his paranoia has him pulling back. “Are you--”

“If you don’t shut up and fuck me.”

He doesn’t question you after that, especially not with the lethal look you had in your eyes.

With no more hesitations, Aaron finally gives in. Every thrust is deep, yet you still push your hips up, trying to take even more. He’s never seen you like this, this greedy and almost animalistic in the way you’re chasing your orgasm.

He lets you guide him, staying still when you pull him in as deep as he can go and hold him there. He nearly explodes a few times, having to stay still while your walls pulsate around him.

Soon you’re quite literally thrown into your second orgasm when Aaron’s thumb rubs your clit as he pushes in deep, staying there, letting you squirm until he tells you to let go, and you do.

“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing your cheek lovingly. “That’s my good girl.”

Once your orgasm has settled down, he carefully lifts you off of him, setting you back on your feet. A puzzled look crosses your face.

“What?”

“You didn’t…”

He smiles. “I told you, I wanted to make you feel good.”

“And you did, but--”

“It’s okay, sweet girl.” He kisses your forehead once before turning to rinse off his dick, but you’re not giving up that easily.

You sneak your hands around his waist, resting your cheek on the middle of his back while you swat his hands out of the way.

“Little girl...what do you think you’re doing?”

“Making you feel good,” you murmur, gently stroking him.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum with a muffled cuss word under his breath. You sigh happily against his back, letting go of his dick to hug him instead.

Aaron turns around to gather you in his arms, moving forward slightly so your face isn’t directly under the water. “Is someone tired?”

You shake your head, even though you practically bury yourself in his chest. “Just content.”

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” you giggle. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he kisses your forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

#aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner smut #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #hotch smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

[hotwings0203]

Bully!Dabi pt. 3

Tags: @shikamaruscumrag @pinkiy13l @an-ambivalent @luno614 @sukunasleftkneecap

Tw:dubcon, noncon, bullying, manipulation, Russian roulette

“Doll? Come on out and I won’t hurt you too bad.”

You wait with bated breath as he walks right past your hiding place behind some crates, blue fire licking up the sides of his body and held in the palms of his scarred hands.

He’s mad, you know he is. He’s teasing you, of course he is, why else wouldn’t he just turn on the lights and pounce?

No, this is another punishment of sorts. A punishment for escaping your previous punishment from being locked in your room.

Another lash of burning cobalt strikes against a wall about 10 feet away from you, and you curse yourself internally. If only you had just stayed in bed a couple days more, if only you hadn’t snuck out when he left, if only, if only…

“Baaaabbyyyyy”

It sounds so wrong and uncharacteristic coming out from his gravely voice.

You huddle your limbs even closer to yourself, paying no mind to the cramping in your knees from being squished for so long.

It’s been about 25 minutes or so from what you can remember. It’s hard to remember anything that happened this bland morning anyways when the climax of your life was seemingly taking place here, after you entered the wrong room.

You had honestly just wanted a peek outside of Dabi’s room and maybe a drink of water, nothing more.

Or so you tell yourself.

But can you really be blamed? Who else wouldn’t have run out the moment they got a chance after spending almost two weeks in the same shitty room, being used as fuckmeat and only given bread scraps and salty cum as meals.

It didn’t matter how close he held you at night, how his strokes seemed to brush up against all the right places, how he tried catching your eye every time he wanted to talk about anything (which you would never really indulge in, only giving him a soft grunt or a nod). He was a monster, a demon in disguise that was keeping you against your will in his clutches.

A loud crash closer than before hits your ears, and you stifle an impending whimper. You can tell he’s roamed closer than before, finding nothing from his earlier place in the front of the storage room.

“I’m getting pretty fucking tired of repeating myself doll. You must be even more of a masochist than I thought since it’s like you want me to fuck you up even worse than I did before.”

His words are quiet but they do enough to cause a loud beating in your already-pacing heart, so loud in fact that you fear he can hear it racing a mile a minute.

You wonder if anyone is nearby, if they even remember you’ve been missing for a while now.

“Y/N”

“Come out, pretty girl. You know I miss you”

But you don’t miss him.

What you do miss, however, is not being chased into an empty storage room and hounded like a fucking dog. You miss joking with Twice, painting your nails with Toga, making Shigaraki chuckle.

All of a sudden, the crate next to you is covered with hellfire. The flames that are thrust from Dabi’s hands are so wild that they seat through your shirt and prick your skin.

You scream and scrabble backwards, the light of his fire illuminating his face leering up above you in the dark like a ghoul from a children’s book.

You clap your hands over your mouth, ignoring your bubbling skin as fear overrides premonition, but the damage has already been done.

It’s eerily quiet for a minute. Then, he whispers,

“Found you”

Even in the pitch black room you can practically see him lunging towards you, and you scuttle backwards on your hands and feet in terror. His hands miss your bare feet by a few inches, and he snarls before making another swipe.

“Fucking bitch, this is the thanks I get for taking care of you, bathing you, feeding and fucking you?”

You yelp as he lights up the floor on both sides of your trembling body, and you see his figure once more as the blue fire shows the sick grin twisted up on his face.

“Leave me alone,” you sob, clambering up on your feet and running backwards as he advances on you. The smoke from his quirk is filling the room, and you erupt in hoarse coughs as it’s filtered through your aching lungs.

Everything about him is toxic.

“Nah. That’s not how this works sweetheart. You see, I take care of you, and in return, you do whatever the fuck I say when I say it.”

He raises his palms to you and you flinch, covering your head and colliding with the wall behind you. You’re too scared and tired to evade him again as you feel his body cover you and brush against yours as you shake in place, your arms still above your face.

He cooes at you. “There there, my stupid little bitch. You were scared daddy was gonna hurt you, right?”

His stitched palm caresses your bitten bottom lip and trails up to your tear-stained cheek.

After a moment of you saying nothing, he slaps the side of your face, hard, and you gasp in pain. Now it wasn’t just your stomach that felt on fire.

“I asked you a question, you brain dead whore. Are you scared daddy’s gonna burn you? ‘You scared he’s gonna beat you black you blue? ‘Scared he’s gonna cut a gaping hole in your burnt tummy and fuck the gash?” He leans in and lets his raspy words settle over your ears as he tenderly brushes your hair away from it. He softly kisses the shell of you ear, and when you sob quietly he wraps his arms around your middle and hugs you close, paying no heed to how you uncomfortably squirm when your raw torso burns from the contact.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to inhale too much, lest the smoke embedded all over his body gets too close for comfort in your system.

“Y-yes daddy. Please don’t hurt me, I was…a bad girl.” You cringe when the words are wobbled out, but you know it’s what he wants.

To humiliate you, to hurt you. Who was he kidding when he said he loved you?

Dabi, however, feels butterflies in his own stomach.

See, this is what you need. To answer to Daddy, to submit to him so that he can take care of you. That’s why you stayed so long in his room, right? It’s cause you knew it would make him happy if you listened to him. You let him make love to you, and treat you like his little girl because deep down, you know this is where you belong.

So why are you fighting him? You never raised a complaint for a week and a half, you only stayed quiet and kept your eyes shut when he asked if you were okay. That means you liked it, right? No real opposition, after all.

Except for now.

Dani is honestly disappointed in you right now, you were doing so well…so why’d you have to go and ruin it?

He might’ve softened from the way your body shakes and your sobs are muffled by his smoke-scorched jacket as you press against him for comfort, but the image of you turning around and running away when you saw him earlier hurts him too much.

It angers him.

Why the fuck were you so scared? Hasnt he shown you enough that he loved you? What, does he need to fucking spell it out for you?

Why were your eyes filled with such terror when he caught you? Did you turn away from him and run because you thought he was going to make you look like him, all burnt up and hideous?

Honestly, he would never, but if you’re so hellbent on making him the bad guy, then fine, he’ll play the bad guy.

Anything for his precious little girl.

And so he tightens his arms around you and chuckles cruelly when you whine at the lack of air.

“Well, you were right. I am pretty pissed, I mean I told you to come out and you didn’t listen right?”

“S-sorry,” you weakly choke out.

He laughs even more crazed now, crushing your ribs so tight he could actually hear your breath wheezing out of you, could feel your weak little punches against his back.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. No no, I want you to beg for your fucking life now.”

Your eyes widen as his arms begin to warm up and become unbearably hot.

“Dabi, no, no please!”

You writhe in pain as he cackles above you, savoring the choked breaths that emit from your wetted lips.

As soon as you begin to see spots, he releases you, and flings you against the corner of the room.

You go flying and bang your head against the concrete wall, his voice muted and swimming around in your ears as you fight for consciousness.

He saunters towards you in all his flaming glory, hands in his pockets as if he were walking out for some fresh air. He crouches in front of you and lifts your head with the pads of his fingers.

“Awww, my poor little girl. That had to have hurt, huh? You’re bleeding,” he cooes and blows a strand of hair away from your eyes.

He’s not lying, you can feel hot blood trickle down the side of your head as your vision sways.

“Stop this,” you pant. “I get it, I’m sorry- you were right and I was wrong, I shouldn’t have ran. I’ll listen to you from now on-“

“-But you said that last time, didn’t you?” He cocks his head and with the light of his turquoise fire against the shadows of the room, he looks like a being from hell itself.

“Remember? When you sucked me off like the dirty whore you are? Remember that you stupid cunt?” His grin becomes more reminiscent of a wolf baring its fangs, and you’re rendered silent in complete terror.

He takes your silence as an encouraging factor to continue his fun.

“You ever played Russian Roulette, Y/N?”

You have enough sense to quickly shake your head, a sinking feeling in your stomach forming at his implication.

“Me neither. But I kinda wanna try it right now. So, back against the wall. Stand up straight and spread your legs.”

You look at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious Dabi.”

He raises an eyebrow and a fire grows in the palm of his hand. “Wanna find out? Oh wait, you already are- now do what I said otherwise you’ll have one less leg.”

You don’t need more motivation to act on his orders.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly spread your legs and place your palms flat against the wall.

“Spread ‘em more. That shouldn’t be anything new to you.”

You wince at his dig but continue to widen the stance between your legs.

He smiles at your compliance.

“Good. This should be fairly easy, I mean the room is already dark enough to count as having a blindfold. Whatever you do, just don’t move.”

You wouldn’t know it, but he’s sincerely saying it for your sake. He’s glad for the safety of the dark, because he doesn’t want you to see the way he hastily wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he prepares himself for his next move.

The room goes dark, his fire has been put out.

You inhale softly, blood pounding in your heart as your hands shake in anticipation.

Then all of a sudden, a fireball comes barreling right towards you, in between your parted legs.

You shriek and jerk, but luckily you’re saved from being singed.

“I told you not to move, babe.” He clicks his tongue and rubs his erection absentmindedly.

A second, then third bolt of fire comes at the side of your head, singing your hair and then dangerously close to your already burnt stomach.

At each one you sob and do your best not to move, not to take in Dabi’s utterly emotionless face as you wail for mercy.

The last one comes so powerful that as it strikes the wall next to you, flecks of ash sting your cheeks and lips.

Your knees are jelly, your mouth is aching from begging for your life as he wanted.

But you know he’s done when he lets out a loud yawn and groan as he stretches his arm and flexes his fingers.

“A-are we done?” You sniffle.

He says nothing at first. You just hear him ask a couple steps towards you, his boots echoing in the room. You assume he stops in front of you because you can feel his body in front of your kneeling figure.

His hand descends and feels around until he reaches the top of your head. Stroking softly, he twirls locks through his fingers and gently shushes you until your hiccups subside, and you lean your forehead against his thigh.

“‘You happy it’s done? You did so well for me, sweetheart.”

“Yes Dabi. Thank you,” you utter softly, knowing it’s what he wants to hear.

“Yeah? How thankful are you?”

You still at that.

He starts to unbuckle his belt.

You pull your head back, and he pulls his pants down.

“Dabi-“

“Shhh, don’t ruin this. Just keep your mouth shut and let your body do the talking. Show me how grateful you are that I spared your fucking life.”

The gentle way he handled you clashed with his harsh words, and you have a moment of whiplash.

He kneels down in front of you and lets his hands wander in the dark until he meets your torso.

You hiss at the sensitive flesh, but he doesn’t stop. He just moves his hand under your shirt and higher, pushing your bra up until your tits spill from the bottom of it.

He bites his lip as you whimper from his touch, his thumbs swirling around your nipples and prodding the squishy flesh.

Dabi gets more eager when you throw your head back at one particularly rough squeeze and shuffles even closer, his pants and underwear at his knees, member bouncing out in the open air.

“Take your panties off,” he rasps, furiously stroking his cock.

You surrender and slowly pull your sweats off, and then your panties as you hear him lightly panting in eagerness.

The second he hears them drop to the floor he lunges for your feet and yanks your forward, catching you in his lap as you yelp.

It’s pitch black, but he can feel you clear as day.

The tickle of your hair hanging in his face, your sweet smell clouding his rationale, the melodious sounds of fear and pleasure mixed with pain make his prick stand painfully at attention, weeping at the slit for your pussy.

He doesn’t even bother taking your shirt off in impatience, he simply barks at you to hold the hem up so he can feel your breasts bouncing against his face when he motorboats them.

You, however, shakily hold his hand at your waist when he pulls you forward until your bare hole presses against his length, coating it with light juices.

“Oh fuck, doll, your pussy’s practically begging me to fuck it. ‘You like having your life in danger? No wonder you keep fucking up,” he groans as he moved beneath you, letting his hips rock back and forth to gain friction from under you.

“Wait, go slowly-“

“No the fuck I won’t,” he interrupts. You have enough sense to bite back any retorts from the subtle growl in his words.

He lifts you up from underneath your ass, and you raise your hips in compliance as he grabs his dick, circling it around your swollen nub and then pressing it against your entrance.

You breath shakily and run your hands through his hair, not so much in a loving gesture but tightly in futile hopes to deter him in any possible way.

He takes it either way as you wanting him equally, and without further ado he slams your hips down on his whole length.

You howl in pain as he begins bouncing you, pressing down on your shoulders and forcing your poor cunt to envelope him fully at each stroke.

The room is filled with the lewd sounds of your ass clapping on his dick, the mixed fluids from both of your bodies and the harmonies of his low grunts and your high pitched whines.

You can feel his dick twitch violently inside of you as he nears his climax. He flips you over on your back and starts pounding into you, laughing cruelly in your face as you cry out from the intensity of his strokes.

“D-Dabi! Pull out, I’m not on birth control!”

“Good.”

You open your eyes to stare at him in horror, barely making out the marred features of his face.

“I’m gonna fill you up with my babies. You’re gonna be plugged with my cum from now on, ‘s the only way you’ll stop running.”

“Get the fuck off me, this isn’t funny-!”

He grabs your rising fists and pins them back against the floor, crushing your wrists in the process.

“Who said I’m laughing?” And he isn’t laughing anymore, no, on the contrary he looks the most serious that he’s ever been, and that terrifies you the most.

The upper half of his body is suspended in midair above you as his pelvis smashes against your clit in a steady rhythm.

“‘Bet you’d like that, bet you’d like having all your holes stuffed with my kids. They’re gonna grow up and know how slutty their mommy was, they’re gonna watch and learn how Daddy earned his name. You think they’ll cry when they hear you scream for me?”

You want to rip out your ears from the filth pouring from his mouth, but unfortunately your hands are trapped under his grasp.

All you can do is chant “no, no, no,” under your breath as he’s pushed over the edge.

“Or maybe I’ll tie your legs against the barstools outside and let every man out there have his way with you. You missed them, right? I’m sure they missed you too, I’m sure they missed the way you’d fuck them the second they made you laugh,” bitterness seeps into his voice as ropes of cum shoot out.

He moans loudly in your ear and collapses against your body, sweat intermingling in the cervices of your entangled limbs.

It takes around three minutes for you both to catch your breaths, and for him to shakily raise himself on his elbows to peer down into your ruddy face.

“Clean yourself up. You’re going back to my room. And this time, if you try to run we’ll repeat this entire process again, but I’ll actually let everyone have their way with you. It’ll be like an orgy version of Russian Roulette, well all place bets on whose kid it is.”

You don’t miss the rest of the League, anymore

#tw:noncon #tw:misogyny #tw: bullying #Dabi smut #mha dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere Dabi #Dabi mha #dabi oneshot #dabi imagine #bnha dabi #bnha yandere #bnha smut

[sugawara-sweetheart]

𝔭𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔥𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 (𝔪)

❥levi ackerman x fem!reader

❥warnings: age gap, mature, spanking, restraints with belt, rough sex, minor angst

❥word count: ~3.0k

❣︎ @kenji-futakoochi : For the sake of my sanity please do punishments with mean dom Levi🥺💞 fun twist, reader is his subordinate so its a taboo relationship

ah taboo relationships i love🥰🥰thank you for this suggestion- i didnt go entirely mean dom bc i just dont see levi being fully into that but i did want to show his sadism hehe

it’d been a tense few days.

you didn’t mean to be so hostile but you couldn’t help it- bitterness and resentment had festered in you, leaching out in disgusting ways which you knew annoyed the captain- disregarding commands, fighting huge Abnormals alone even when captain levi insisted you take another member of the squad with you, a senior. did he really think just because you’re the youngest member of the squad you’re incapable? is this why he kept you like some dirty, little secret, almost like he’s ashamed of his subordinate, his girlfriend? that’s why you’d been acting up so much- speaking out against him, not bothering to do your punishments properly, arguing with petra and uluo for no reason and now you’d gone against his commands outside of the walls, putting yourself in danger as you slaughtered the Abnormal alone- not that it’d been easy. you could’ve easily died when the grotesque titan grabbed your wire but luckily you’d been quick enough to slice its fingers, running off pure adrenaline and fear. and it was worth it to see the utter look of fury flash across levi’s face.

he waits until you’re all back in the safety of the castle to unleash his anger, rounding onto you with nothing but sheer rage burning in his grey eyes.

“what the hell do you think you’re playing at, you little brat?” he growls. everyone stares, holding their breath as he storms up to you, face contorted into an angry scowl. you don’t flinch or look at all nervous, not like the scouts watching in anticipation. you know your boyfriend, but you’re tired of this all. you’re tired of the lying and the pretending, of feeling like a nasty secret that you merely sigh, groaning as you stretch out your sore body.

“don’t, levi. we’re all tired and hungry.” there’s a sharp gasp around the mess hall, a few murmurs running through as levi grits his teeth, hands curling into fists. you know he’s even angrier- this is the angriest you’ve ever seen him, but this is the most hopeless you’ve ever felt in a relationship.

“my office. now.”

you don’t argue as you follow after him, a few scouts sending you some looks of pity whilst your senior squad members look at you with a look of disgrace and disappointment. to them, you’re just the youngest squad member with the least experience, the least kills, you’re not in any position to be acting like this. but they don’t know the truth about you and levi- nobody does.

the door slams shut behind you, the lock clicking and levi’s eyes are pure fire as he rips off his ODM gear, his piercing gaze not leaving you as you stand expectantly before his desk.

“what the fuck, y/n? what the hell crawled up your ass and died there?” his stare is heavy as it burns into your back but you don’t turn to look at him, making him growl with even more anger. the grip on your shoulder is hard as he spins you around, grabbing your jaw roughly and forcing you to look at him. “why the fuck are you being such a little brat? that stunt out there too- you clearly disobeyed my orders. do you have a fucking death wish?! i’m your captain, y/n-”

“you’re also supposed to be my boyfriend!”

your voice trembles as you cry out over levi, voice thick with tears and you jerk your face away from his hold, staring at the door to avoid his heavy eyes.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means, why do you treat me like i’m some sort of kid? i know i’m younger, i know you’re my captain but you don’t ever tell petra or uluo to go get help fighting an Abnormal. you just always treat me like i’m incapable.” you couldn’t stop the words from flowing out, fingers trembling with anger and hurt as you curl them into fists. “i want us to feel like a proper couple too, not like i’m just your dirty little secret like- like- like you’re ashamed of me!” he doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are wide as he stares at you, lips parted as you laugh mirthlessly. “yeah, i thought so-”

“you thought wrong.” he growls, pushing you against the desk and caging you in with his own body, the grip he holds on your hips heavy with his nails piercing through the fabric. “you’ve been acting like such a disobedient brat all this time- risked your life- just because you’re upset with me?” his hands unbuckle the straps of your ODM gear as you swallow heavily, suddenly aware of how close he is to you, how tight he’s clenching his jaw and the throbbing of the green vein in his temple- you’re in trouble tonight. “you’re a fucking pain, you know that?”

“well if i’m such a fucking pain-”

your words are cut off by levi’s lips smashing against yours- the intoxicating taste of his soft skin bleeding into your mouth as his fingers thread through your hair, tightening to make you gasp in pain as your mind grows dizzy. he always has such an effect on you- he always makes your head spin and your heart thump against your ribcage with passion, admiration, love, lust and everything in between. but that’s why it always hurt so bad. 

“you really think i’m ashamed of you?” levi growls, his teeth biting into your swollen bottom lip and leaving a possessive stinging to linger in the wet skin. “you must be fucking joking.” his lips meet yours again, tongue sliding into your mouth as he swallows your breathless moans, hands fumbling with the hem of your shirt and only breaking away from you to slide it off. his cold hands slide along your chest, groping and pinching at the nipples that pebble under his touch, making you wince before he’s spinning you away from him, pushing you against the hard, wooden desk.

“i’m going to teach you a fucking lesson, you little brat.” he grunts, pressing against you as his belt unbuckles with a clink. you can feel his erection pressing against your ass, your thighs pressing together as wetness seeps into your panties, your heart thumping and blood pulsating through your ears as he presses kisses to the delicate skin of your neck, taking care to bite his teeth enough you’re sure you’ll be left with marks.

“levi-”

“that’s not what you should be calling me now, y/n.” you whimper when he grabs your wrists, pressing them together and cold leather tightens around them, leaving you bound with your hands wrestling helplessly. “you know you’re getting punished, don’t you?”

“sir, i-” levi cuts you off with his hand gripping your hair, pulling you back into a fervourous, fierce kiss- almost jarring compared to the soft touches he grazes along your jaw. his eyes are full of fire and lust when he pulls away but he’s soft for a moment when he presses his forehead against yours, hot breath lingering on your wet lips as he wipes the messy saliva away with the coarse pad of his thumb.

“do you want me to fuck you so hard you’ll never think i don’t care about you again? do you want me to fuck you so good you’ll know you’re mine- your pussy’s all mine- for everyone to know? you’ve got to be punished for being such a brat.” you whine at his words, nodding as your hands press against the leather confines of his belt, the cold buckle sending shivers down your body as your pussy clenches. you’re so wet, your panties feel uncomfortable as they cling to your soaked folds.

“yes please, sir! i’m sorry-” levi shushes you as he presses you down against the table, your forehead resting against the cold wood and your pebbled nipples rubbing against the surface, sending warm tingles running through you.

“if you’re so fucking sorry,” he says coldly as he rips down your jeans and pants. the air is cold against your wet folds, making you moan as you press your ass out with anticipation, knowing levi can see your drenched pussy and the wetness trickling down your thighs. “then count.”

you barely get to inhale when levi’s hand slaps down on your ass, a loud crack filling the room as you moan out loud.

“o-one!” the skin stings with the pain, soothed momentarily by his hand rubbing the reddened skin before he brings it down again, the force making the desk shake as you cry out. it hurts but it feels so good, your cunt throbbing as a pained thrill rushes through you, body hot as wetness trickles from your clenching hole.

“i told you to count, not just moan out for everyone to hear.” he tuts, waiting for you to stammer out a shaky ‘two’ before he slams his hand down again onto your glowing ass. “unless you want everyone to hear. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

each spank makes you moan, tears swelling in the corners of your eyes as your legs quiver and wetness seeps down your thighs, making a sticky mess which levi tuts at but he doesn’t stop till you’ve reached ten. his touch is gentle as he massages the red glowing skin that burns with the pain, pulling you off the table and into his hold, his lips meeting yours in a rewarding kiss. you whine against his lips, fingers digging into the leather belt as he cups your ass, squeezing the sore reddened skin and fingertips edging towards your wet folds.

“levi- i mean, sir, please.” you whimper, sighing as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your bruised neck. “please, let me touch you! you’re mine- i just want to touch you, please sir.” his cold eyes flash, a little ‘tch’ escaping but his fingers move to unbuckle the belt anyway.

it drops to the floor with a clang, the delicate skin of your wrists flushed red and levi gently rubs his fingertips against it before he pushes you against the desk, spreading your legs wide as his fingers trail up your messy thighs.

“you’ve made a mess all over yourself.” he tuts, sliding his fingers along your wet folds with your slick squelching. your pussy clenches as he edges towards your hole, thumb pressing against your swollen clit and eliciting a mewl from you as you reach out to thread your fingers through his black locks. “just from a punishment?”

“it’s because of you, sir.” levi’s graphite eyes widen at your tender words but the moment is cut short when he plunges two long fingers into you.

your squelching wetness offers no resistance to levi stretching out your tight walls with his scissoring movements, thumb swirling your clit as your head falls back with a deep moan, eyes fluttering shut at the stretch. it feels good, his fingers rubbing at your spongy walls and curling to hit all the right spots you love, your toes curling as warmth floods your body.

“s-sir!” you gasp when he curls to thrust against that sweet spot that makes your mind cloudy, your nails scraping against his scalp as your back arches, chest pushing into his. the pressure builds in the pit of your stomach, levi’s eyes ripping away from watching your pussy suck in his fingers, drenching his hand in your slick to watch your face contort with pleasure.

“are you going to cum?” he demands and you nod desperately, eyes clenching shut as you anticipate your orgasm hitting-

except it never does.

levi grits his teeth when he slides his fingers out of your tight pussy, your glistening slick coating his fingers as the pleasure fades.

“what?” your pussy clenches, legs pressing together as you squirm on the table, whining as you lock your arms around his neck, tugging him closer with desperation. “sir! make me cum please.”

“you can come on my cock, brat.”

“but-” you’re cut off with his fingers forcing their way into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and you moan at the taste of yourself, his eyes watching carefully as you wrap your lips around his fingers, sucking and lapping them clean.

“that’s right.” he murmurs. “keep quiet and don’t argue back if you want to cum at all.” there’s a little twinge deep inside your chest at his words but you’re far too wet to care, your whines muffled by his fingers pressing down on his tongue as he unbuckles his pants, his hard cock pressing against the tight restrains of the fabric.

“turn around and bend over.”

you slide your lips off him with a wet pop, doing as you says and arching yourself low against the desk just how he likes. levi groans at the sight of your spread pussy waiting for him, folds drenched in your slick as he pumps his dick, leaking cockhead prodding against your hole. your nails scrape against the wood when he sheaths his cock in you, stretching out your tight walls and making you moan wantonly as he bottoms out, cock throbbing deep in your wet cunt. you clench around him, whining as you try to push your ass against him but he just tuts, slapping your ass punishingly before his hands grasp your hips, nails piercing deep into the soft skin.

“stop being so greedy.” he groans, voice deep and raspy with pleasure before he drives his cock into you. each thrust is punishing but so delicious- warm, electrifying pleasure runs through you as he fucks you, his long cock rubbing against your spongy walls with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and your sinful moans filling the room.

“you’re so tight.” he grunts as you squeeze your walls tighter around him when he brushes against that sensitive spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. your nipples rub against the table, only providing you with more pleasure as levi pounds into you, hand snaking around your waist to rub your hard, sensitive clit. “your pussy’s taking my cock so well. all mine- you’re mine,” he growls, his thrusts only growing faster and harder, hips snapping roughly into yours as your wetness drools from your tight pussy, the coil in your stomach growing tighter. “don’t forget that. and,” his hand suddenly leaves your hip to lock around your hair, pulling you off the table roughly to press your back flush agains his chest, his hips driving his cock sporadicly into your convulsing pussy. blood pounds in your ears and you’re so close, moaning with drool spilling from your lips as he sucks and nibbles marks along your throat. “don’t ever think i’m ashamed of you, my little brat.”

your orgasm hits heavy, waves of pleasure rushing through you as your walls convulse around his cock, the hand on your hair slipping down to lock around your throat. the lack of air makes your head spin with the dizzying euphoria swimming through you, your walls squeezing around levi’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your high, your moans falling freely as your body shakes around him, drenching him in your release. his deep moans are gruff against your skin, head falling onto your shoulder as his throbbing cock twitches as he cums deep inside you.

you’re panting as he holds you steady, your legs suddenly weak with a deep ache between your legs, his hands gentle as they massage your damp skin.

“come on,” he mumbles as the lustful haze starts to clear in your mind and a bitter taste settles on your tongue. “let’s go shower before dinner.”

***

you’re painfully aware of the eyes that burn into you and levi when you enter the mess hall for dinner, no doubt curious of the scolding you must’ve received from the intimidating captain. and you know the drill- you’ll get your food and eat with some other scouts your age, rarely opting to sit with your boyfriend and the other seniors like hange or erwin to avoid suspicion but much to your surprise, levi calls your name and points to the seat beside him. hange and erwin look surprised when you take the seat, sighing heavily at the heaviness in your chest. sure, levi had fucked you good enough but you’re still a secret, still pretending like there’s nothing between you both and it hurts. why can’t you just simply be good enough? why couldn’t he be happy to tell everyone you’re together?

“y/n, your neck is all bruised.” erwin says, narrowing his blue eyes at the deep purple marks that litter your throat, making you freeze as the heat rises to your cheeks. you can’t even bear to look at levi, not even when he presses his leg against yours.

“oh, i must’ve gotten hurt-”

“no. that’s my handiwork.” levi says plainly. a silence settles as you all stare at him with shock, your heart thumping as you can’t even bear to stammer out words but hange’s loud cackle fills the hall instead.

“yours?!” they cry, looking from you to levi in amazement. “you guys are fucking?” levi tuts sharply, scowling at the squad leader with a look of irritation.

“not like that, four eyes. we’re dating.”

erwin and hange gasp as you squirm under their gaze, glancing at levi shyly with a pointed look.

“levi-”

“i thought you were sick of hiding it- and besides there’s no reason to keep it a secret.” a small subtle smile tugs at his lips when his eyes meet yours, sparkling when you return it- only it’s ruined by hange’s loud laugh.

“look at them!” they tease. “they have a secret look!”

#attack on titan imagines #attack on titan fic #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #Levi Ackerman x you #Levi Ackerman imagines #Levi Ackerman fic #Levi Ackerman fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyoujin imagine #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin fic #shingeki no kyoujin x you #shingeki no kyoujin

[tommyspeakycap]

Painted Roses

jordan henderson x reader

word count - 2k I think

jordan takes you back to the place it all began as you expand your life together.

second part to Rose Garden

4 years to the date.

The country house with the long gravel road that lead up to the huge red brick cottage. The owner passed away over a year ago and their family, to Jordan’s utter shock, weren’t interested in maintaining the beautiful home as the wedding venue it had existed as in the past. The second he heard it was up for sale, he placed an offer and had the keys in the space of two weeks.

“Jordan where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He promises, giving your hand a gentle squeeze where it sat on top of your knee. The blindfold is making you sweat more than you already were. “I can’t see anything.” You note pointedly with a roll of your eyes behind the blindfold. Jordan chuckles heartily with what you can imagine in your mind is his signature smile, all white teeth and crinkled eyes. “You’ll love it,” he says through that smile, “I promise.” His hand pats your knee again as a silence falls between you.

Gravel crunches beneath the wheels of his fancy black Mercedes as the smell of cut grass and fresh flowers enters your nose and makes you grin subconsciously in a way you barely even notice. Jordan catches sight of that out the corner of his eye and his heart grows with joy in his chest. The slow, careful turn of his car, paired with the sound of his hands sliding along the leather of the wheel alert you to his parking. He does so with ease and you hear the keys jangling as he shuts off the engine.

“Wait here,” he instructs, climbing out his side with the door thrown shut behind him. He’s round at your side of the car before you have a chance to think up a cheeky retort. He’s gentle as he always is when he helps you out of the car carefully, wrapping one arm around your waist so you don’t fall. Admittedly, it doesn’t work very well because the ground beneath is so incredibly uneven, so when he gets to that first smooth grey cement step, he opts to simply scoop you up into his arms with ease.

“Okay,” he begins, placing you down as you feel the smooth material covering your eyes loosening and slipping from your face. His hands replace it for only a moment as he presses a kiss to the side of your head from behind you. “Open.”

You do as told and tears spring in place of his hands to blur your vision.

It’s beautiful.

It was that Victorian style country home that once acted as a wedding venue, redecorated to a minimum. “Wanted it to look nice for you, but so that you can give it your touch. You know better than me.” He admits sheepishly with a pink tint to his cheeks. You beam at him tearily, hands clasped together in sheer joy. “God Jordan, you shouldn’t have!” You exclaim, tears bleeding over your lash line. You knew how expensive these types of homes were, never mind ones so big with such history to them. It hadn’t even made much of a dent for Jordan really. He had more money than either of you could ever have spent and he likes to remind you of that to ensure you know full and well his gentle spoiling of you is not a hardship for him. He actively loves to do it.

“Take it as an anniversary present.” He shrugs, trying to fight at the smile that was tugging his lips. The warmth of your hug and the tears seeping through his white shirt was all a welcome to him no matter how hot it was outside. He could not wait to come home to this house, be welcomed home by you and hopefully some littler mixtures of you and him with your eyes and smile. “Makes my present look a little rubbish now,” you jest, making him chuckle heartily.

The house needed a fair bit of work. New flooring, new carpets, your furniture from home would do just fine but you reckon Jordan will be all for new stuff for a new home. A few new coats of paint and nice clear out, but all in it was still absolutely gorgeous.

“There is one room I really wanted to show you though, if that’s okay?” He asks, keeping his eyes trained down on the floor. You furrow your brows, but nod your head. “I gotta grab something from the car first though?” You hum, detangling your hand from his, “And pee.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy. “Again? You went right before we left?” He queries. You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Since when do you question a woman’s toilet habits at that point in the month, Henderson?” You poke with a blush and a light giggle. He chuckles with you and holds up his hands in defeat, but the second your out of eye and earshot his shoulders fall and a sigh bursts out his lips. He wouldn’t let it show to you right now his disappointment. You hadn’t been trying long, but it was enough for him to be in the longing stage. Longing to see your swollen belly, longing to feel those tiny kicks against his hands and then hold his brand new baby for the first time, spend all those nights wide awake wishing for nothing but sleep while he cradled them through to the morning. You said it would happen when it happened, but it still ached with every negative test. Hearing you say you were on your period hurt a little more than he had anticipated, but he’s still heart set on showing what he had done with the short time he was able to keep this new home a secret.

You return with your handbag and take his hand. He is instinctive in those soft movements of his thumb over the back of your hand. It’s something he always does to sooth both you and him.

“So this is the master bedroom and I know it’s not quite good yet but I thought-“

“Jordan it’s beautiful,” you cut him off, your hand drifting out of his as you step in slowly. Being cautious of dust sheets and some tools, you walk into the massive room. You’d never been in a bedroom that big and it had blown you away. The huge bed, still with plastic attacked and tags on the mattress. The en-suite bathroom is marble worktops, one of those huge bathtubs and a walk in shower updated to a beautiful mixture of modernity and it’s antique homage. Tears are found again. The window gives a perfect view out the back of the house, rolling fields worth of garden space, loosely fenced in for acres into the distance. There’s a pond on the land a little to the left, not far at all that leads off towards the beginning of the hidden Rose Garden where you met Jordan 4 years ago today. All of that owned and shared by just you and the man you love. “Bloody hell, it’s so magnificent Jordan. I literally have no words.”

He beams shyly almost, “That’s how I feel about you.” He mumbles softly, almost too quiet for you to hear, like he didn’t want you to. “What’s through here?” You call behind you as he trails after you on anxious legs. You carry on through the very short pathway attached to the master bedroom that had some extra storage space. “Well uh..I haven’t finished that so maybe we should just an-“

“Oh my god.”

Jordan rubs nervously at the back of his throat as he enters into the connecting room behind you. His eyes take you in immediately, studying your features carefully. Your hands are clasped over your mouth with slow tears sliding down over your rosy cheeks. Your eyes are afire with love and happiness. “I know it’s weird but-“

“It’s perfect, Jordan.” You throw your arms around his neck, his arms finding you immediately as he buries his head into your shoulder.

It’s the only room with a new carpet yet. It’s soft beneath your shoes, a plush cream colour to match a white wall. The window on the back wall gives the same fantastic view you have in the master room. There’s a white crib pushed against the wall furthest from you with a mobile of twinkling toys dangling above and a baby changing table a little away from the top end of the crib stocked full of pampers and baby cream. In the right corner of the room just by the window is a white wooden rocking chair next to a little book shelf with baby books that had a couple plush teddies and a photo of you and Jordan 4 years ago sitting atop it. The other side corner is decked out with two beanbag seats, a soft baby mat and a bundle of all sorts of soft toys.

“Left that wall blank ‘cause I remember that day you told me you’d always wanted to paint it like the sky.” He recounts, pointing his finger at the wall that the crib was situated next to, making your head whip towards him. He had such a fantastic memory even for the little things you said, just like that. You barely even remember it, spoken under the stars as you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. It gives you no doubt about having kids with him, the thought of him remembering your babies favourite little treats or ineffective toddler secrets makes your heart soar with pride and joy. “Look closer at that.” He turns you round so your facing that wall again, the one with the little cosy corner.

Painted on the wall intricately above it is that rose arbor your stood underneath when he first laid his eyes on you. Where he first had that dance with you, where he told you he wanted to see you again. Where you snuck into when it was late, dark and only lit by those same fairly lights so he could tell you he loved you for the first time all those years ago. The roses are painted in perfect colour, careful and precise in the way they hung around you for that first ever dance you shared together. It’s so beautiful and so lifelike you that get lost in it, reliving the moment your world came together. Every time you sit there, it’ll be like sitting under real thing when you can’t take the baby out there.

“Well this makes my present a little more fitting, then.” You sniffle, letting Jordan swipe the tears gently off your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs in a slow, loving motion. “What do you mean?” He asks, “I told you not to get me anything.” He crossed his arms over his chest as you rifle through your bag. “Okay okay, here. Open this.”

You hand over a small gift bag, one stuffed with tissue paper he has to tear through as you sit your bag down and wait, watching him with wide and watery eyes. He pulls out first the tiny little wad of fabric and places the gift bag on top of the white wooden dresser, carefully unravelling the rolled up clothes. “That’s bloody adorable.” He breathes out, trying to keep the tears he has inside his eyes to no avail. You wrap your arm around his back, rubbing his tight shoulders softly. “Look at the back.” You encourage, his eyes meet yours then look back to the tiny clothes.

HENDERSON

8

With a little picture taped carefully to the bottom that he peels off with shaky, tentative fingers. “No way!” He booms, jumping back from you in shock. He looks down at the picture, up at you, back down at the picture, then up at you again with tears slipping over his cheeks. “But you said-“

“It was a surprise!” You squeal back as he swoops forward and scoops you into his arms, spinning you around in glee. “So no food poising? And no period?” He giggled out like a schoolgirl in shock. You shake your head. “Morning sickness and just a diversion. We’re having a baby!”

“We’re having a baby!” He repeats, louder. His words bounce of the walls that can barely contain the happiness inside of them. Threatening to burst at the seams as it fills beyond belief. This room, though incomplete, is perfect. Because you are in it together. Here, together in each other’s arms sharing in joy just like you’ve both shared in pain, hurt, love, happiness, nerves and everything else along the way. Head on, together.

“And this,” Jordan holds up the little football strip with his name printed across the back, his england appointed number proudly underneath, “This is perfect. You,” he pauses, leaning forward to capture your lips in his, “Are perfect.” His hands wander down to your stomach, placed gently over where his pea sized baby currently exists, growing and feeding on the love he intends to drown them in just like he does to you, “Both of you…perfect.”

It is perfect, really. Your love is. Even when it isn’t, it is. When he’s gone too long and you can’t see him because of a pandemic; the effort is made, emotions are shared. He tells you he misses you and his ego is never too big for its space in your relationship. When the world is against him or when fate turns against you both, it’s in each other’s arms that you find solace even if space is needed first. There’s an understanding of the love you have. It’s special. The kind that only a lucky few seem to find these days, a one people can look at and spot from a mile away. It’s beautiful, it’s own space taking entity that makes you both target to significant teasing from friends and family alike. It’s perfect.

Even when you fight over what blue is better to represent the sky just because your pregnant and too hormonal to admit he’d found the right colour before you did. Even when he coats you in paint that ends in an all out paint war, thankful you both removed all the furniture before painting. Even when you sob as your body changes, with pregnant emotions skewing your mind and making you question whether he’ll ever be attracted to you again, he’ll remind you that he’s never been more attracted to you than now. Housing his child, taking the aches, the pains and the changes like a true champ while he can do nothing but rub your feet and buy you ridiculous quantities of Solero ice creams. He’ll remind you in more ways that one just how perfect you are to him. Love by it’s very nature is as messy as that paint fight. It’s up and down and all over the place all the time. But the kind of love that you and Jordan have is a special that doesn’t waver, doesn’t dull or dim or change through time.

If anything, each day he loves you more. Even if he was convinced it wasn’t possible. But then it just was. Seeing you red in the face with sweat dripping over your forehead and tears leaking from your squeezed shut eyes as your screams echo through the room. All he could do was coax and coach, trying to tell you how proud of you he was. Even when you screamed that you despised him, he laughed and told you to squeeze his hand a little harder. It hurt, but that was nothing compared to the pain that you were enduring from multiple areas of your body as that baby ripped through you to make her grand entrance to the world, kicking and screaming just like the fighter her mother was. He thought his heart might burst with the amount of love he has, surely that’s as good as it gets?

No. No, it gets better still.

Everyday it’s better. Better when he gets to watch that woman that he loves so much sing to his tiny baby daughter, rocking in that chair under the painted rose arbor as she feeds from you. The most beautiful, natural thing in the world and he is enthralled by it. Watching you giggle at her she coos up at you. Placing her down in the crib beneath the gentle jingling of the cloud themed mobile next to the pale, sky blue coloured wall, blossoms falling, trickling down through clouds from a painted blossom tree on the wall and rose petals in variations of pink and red along the bottom of the crib. Roses and rose petals just like the ones that surrounded you on the day you danced with each other in under the trees of the garden that summer night. Roses like the ones you stood under to profess your love for one another. Roses, like the ones he took a knee beside, beneath and with one in his hand to give to you as he asked for your hand. Roses like you would stand beneath with one pinned to the breast of his suit to say the vows that would tie you in law to one another and to give you his name. Roses like the ones painted on the far wall, still fresh when you shared the news of that baby girl’s existence. Roses that were such an important symbol of the love you shared, pure and beautiful, sometimes painful but always worth the fight. Those roses painted on that crib with space for just one word carved into the wood.

Rose.

Your own beautiful little Rose.

#jordan henderson #jordan henderson imagines #jordan henderson imagine #jordan henderson x reader #england national team imagine #england national team #footie fics #footballer fics #football fics

[angelguk]

Omg pleaseee write the jock jk playboy bunny costume idea u had 🙌🏼🙌🏼🙌🏼😩😩💗💗

lemme do a quick little thing 4 u :)

featuring: oc and jk being dumb lovers, chayoung  (the female lead from vincenzo) as seed of doubt, anniversaries and a playboy bunny costume. somewhat mature towards the end but only because jk see's sexy gf and cannot help himself.

This is a stupid idea, so incredibly stupid that you're considering jumping out of the bathroom window right now. A four-storey jump may result in various injuries (or potentially death) but it would be a far more welcomed out come than leaving Jeongguk's bathroom in this stupid costume.

You don't know why you bothered to listen to Chayoung's drunken blabbering. The moment you'd mentioned your upcoming one-year anniversary she's launched into a spiel about how young love never lasts, or how the roots for future foreboding break-ups were planted during the first anniversary. Her words sowed a dangerous seed in your head, one that was nurtured by Jeongguk's sudden distance. You could tell he was stressed, weighed down by the daunting options before him. Coach wanted to push him to try for the national leagues, his parents wanted him to take a step back and focus on his degree, and Jeongguk, after one quiet evening at yours, had confessed he didn't know what he wanted at all. It hurt to see him like this, usually such a sure and confident soul suddenly staggering and lost. But what could you do apart from hold his hand as he walked forward and help him up when he fell? There was nothing else you could offer, you knew his parents and their concerns were sensible but those same concerns made Jeongguk wonder if they ever believed in him in the first place.

So maybe that's why you're doing this, in hopes of rekindling a spark you feel dying and taking Jeongguk's mind away from everything that burdened him – just for one night.

It's oddly quiet in his room. You'd scuttled right into the bathroom the moment you'd picked him up from practise, complaining that you needed to shower before you commenced your usual shared evenings. Jeongguk had just nodded, quiet and mulling, his eyes absent. It had made something twist in your gut. The whole entire day, from the moment you woke up to right now Jeongguk had not mentioned one thing about your anniversary – not even a text or a bouquet no matter how subtly you hinted. It hurt, but it was proof Chayoung was right. And perhaps the only think that could fix this ship before it sunk was her stupid, stupid idea.

You can only stare at yourself in brief swift glances, grimacing every time you catch the reflection of those white ears standing at attention on top of your head. The fluffy tail attached to the back of the costume was making your butt itch too. Even with those criticisms you knew deep down that you looked good... Surprisingly so. The body of the costume was black satin, shimmering under the luminescence of the bathroom lights. It fit perfect over each curve and roll, hugging your waist just right. Coupled with a pair of fishnets and the fact that your boobs looked exceptionally great today (perks of ovulating) you were a sight to behold.

So even if Chayoung is irritating as hell you had to give some props to her.

"Y/N?" The knock that follows it startles you, sending you lurching forward hard enough that your hip bangs against the counter-top.

"Y-yes?"

"Are you okay?" He sounds tired through the wood, weathered away despite his concerns.

"Hmm? Yes, I'm good–I'm good. Just give me a sec."

A pause, you hope you locked the door because normally Jeongguk would have barged in not bothering to knock.

"Okay. Hurry up though I'm hungry and I ordered food. It's here and if you don't come out I'll eat it all."

"Already? It's here?" God, how are you going to disrupt Jeongguk's chicken nights with a playboy bunny costume?

He makes a noncommittal noise. "Yep. So hurry, I'll really eat all of this if you don't come out soon."

The handle burns your palm when you finally grip it, tummy swimming like you've chugged a series of vodka shots. Jeongguk should like this, right? He calls you bunny all the time, even Chayoung had noticed it (hence the horrifying costume you were currently donning). So wouldn’t he like it? And it was a cute little anniversary surprise, at least you were doing something unlike Jeongguk.

You take in one deep last breath, heart pounding in your head, before you twist and handle and swing the door open, a forced sneaky smile slipping onto your lips.

It falls right off the moment your eyes land on Jeongguk's bedroom.

Either he's the fucking Flash or you've been camped in the bathroom for too long because somehow he's managed to turn his messy room into a perfect romantic dinner spot. He's got the lights turned on to a low rouge, lit candles scattered around the place (which is a fire hazard but the warmth blossoming in your heart is ignoring that), a couple cushions on the floor flanking a heart shaped picnic basket where you dinner presumably resides. And then you glance down, something bright bursting in your chest when you see the red petals lining your path from the bathroom right to the picnic set up.

His back is turned to you, his phone in hand which he abruptly presses on. A melody fills the room a moment later, the song low and familiar. You know that song, that's your song.

Jeon Jeongguk will be the death of you.

"Now if–fucking hell." Jeongguk turns before you can stop him, the grin on his lips evaporating when his gaze lands on you

Oh. Oh. You wilt in a second, floundering against the bathroom door frame in a attempt to hide you bare (and bunny costume covered) body.

The silence that follows is unbearable, sinking deep into your gut as guilt rises to the surface. Jeongguk planned all of this and all you did was wear a stupid sexy costume.

"I–" You start, but his brain must of started working at the same time as yours because he catches that sentence with his own statement.

"You–" It's coated with disbelief, and your tongue gets caught in your throat when he exhales heavily, head falling into his hand. You watch with a sore heart as his fingers comb through the loose chestnut curls, tugging and yanking at his scalp as if his brain was falling to pieces.

"Jeongguk," you finally murmur, meekly padding forward, the shame you feel eating you inside out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin this. I'll change just give me a second."

His head snaps up when you say that, gaze sharp, almost terrifying as he surveys. "Why should you change?"

"W-what?"

"I said," he rises then, slowly moving forward as if not to startle you, his eyes never straying from your body. "Why should you change?"

"Because I look dumb," you return. "And I ruined your great anniversary surprise with my stupid one."

You only notice it then, how his jaw ticks, his head tilting to the side slow. Like he's holding himself back.

"You think you look dumb?" The question itself is innocent but the tone Jeongguk delivers it in is not. You can feel the words in your throat clumping together the longer he looks at you like that, his doe eyes different – dark and spilling with something that has you quivering, your eyes shifting away.

"Answer my question." A firm but gentle hand on your chin, guiding your gaze back to his.

"Yes." It's silent in his room, the low hum of the song bleeding into the thumping of your heart against your ribs.

"Why would my baby look dumb wearing a bunny costume? Huh? It's fitting actually, since you are my bunny."

"Yeah," you try and lighten it was a small laugh, noting the way Jeongguk is staring at your lips. "But this was dumb anniversary surprise. Yours is much better."

You see it click in his head then, like he wasn't hearing a single word you were saying before.

"You did this for me?" Jeongguk questions, eyes dipping to your chest.

"Obviously, who else would I do this for."

"No–I meant, this, this is for me? This was meant to be a surprise for me?"

"Yes," you repeat. "I'd do anything for you. Now let me take this silly thing off so we can have dinner first." You twist away then, but Jeongguk snatches you right back, your frame colliding with his solid chest, firm massive arms holding you in place. The squeak that erupts from your lips lands into tight air, a sudden tension thrumming in your veins. Jeongguk's hard against your ass, erection grazing the downy tail attached to the base of the costume. There's a palm placed steady around your neck, trapping you against his while his other hand idly explores, sparking little fires along your skin as it journeys from your chest down to your stomach before settling right between your thighs.

There's nothing in your head except how massive he feels behind you, wandering hand gentle but eager a certain roughness appearing when his lithe fingers press through the fabric, toying with your clothed clit. It's a promise for what's to come, judging by the quiet groan that melts into your skin from his throat as his hips buck into you.

"You don't know what you do to me do you?" It's whispered softly, mimicking the ginger kiss he places on your hollow of your throat.

If you could think sensible words you would speak but right now everything is loud and roaring and words feel to heavy for your tongue. So you hum instead, whimpering when his fingertips circle your clit.

You can feel the smile on his lips. Hear it in what he says next.

"I should show you then, shouldn't I?"

#ask #anon #au: jock!jaykay #ehhhhh #well!! #jungkook x reader #:3 #i hope u lik dis #not edited of course i wrote dis rn

[whumblr]

And they were...

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1 - Continued from Part 45

Hmm, this was meant to be a little something for @queenofthenoobs based on this post by @whumpsabyss and then it turned into a whole chapter *shrugs*

-

For the umpteenth time, Jay turned over in bed.

Sleep didn’t come to him that night. He was restless, as always, and he’d been tossing and turning ever since he’d dragged himself to bed for an early night. God, what a joke that was, as always. Tired and broken as fuck, yet still not able to catch a wink of sleep.

Just a bit of rest. Maybe not even a full night’s sleep, but just not waking up feeling like absolute death would be nice in while.

He pounded a fist against his pillow in frustration.

As he closed his eyes, he heard a soft but very distinct little click from the hallway. No sound of the door opening, nor closing, just the sound of the lock.

He froze up, a feeling of intense dread crashing on him, the weight almost pushing him into his mattress. Those were the sounds not just of someone entering, but entering very sneakily.

Zayne?

This late? That would be a first.

Then, footsteps, and he held his breath, listening. Soft footsteps, trying to cloak the sound, sneaking through the hallway, past the bathroom door. Going into the living room and stopping, right in front of the door to the bedroom.

No, no, oh god, no, what the fuck, what the—?!

Fuck, Zayne would’ve entered by now! Was it actually a burglar? Zayne at least was kinda predictable, burglars weren’t… Or – oh hell – was it Emery sneaking in to finish the job?

He glanced around in the dark, cursing himself for never in all these months having something prepared for this even though he always dreaded it. No baseball bat, no tall lamp or golf club or whatever.

Fighting the urge to stay where he was and hide, he slowly got up out of bed and tip toed across the room. Opening the door ever so slightly, he peeked out and immediately jumped back as he saw a tall shadow right in front of him.

“WhoA!”

“Shit!” A familiar voice cussed back.

Zayne, standing over the coach, pillow in hand, deflated as he noticed Jay in the dark. “Shit,” he said again in a sigh, “you scared me.”

“It’s my flat, what do you think it was?!” Jay whisper-hissed, hand clutching his shirt over his heart, holding himself up by the doorframe as he doubled over in relief.

…wait, relief?

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Zayne whispered.

"Jesus, I thought you were a burglar!"

Zayne snorted at that. "Relax, I’m not gonna do anything. Just go back to sleep.”

Softy nodding to himself, Jay almost obediently padded back to bed but stopped mid-track when reality hit him.

Hold up, his brain said. This had been what he was always afraid of; Zayne sneaking up on him in the middle of the night. Zayne. Not a burglar. And definitely not a roommate who would stalk in like this and have a little chat.

“Waaiit a fucking minute—“ he almost shouted as he spun around.

Zayne had already made himself comfortable on the couch. "Good god, you’re slow. Hey, do you have a blanket?"

"No I do not have a fucking blanket what the fuck?! What are you doing here?!"

"Relax," he said again, "I just need a place to crash for the night."

"Go to your own dump of a house that’s also not yours!"

"Yeahh, about that..."

Jay was getting tenser with every word as Zayne explained the house had been demolished. Like, fuck, would that mean this was going to be a recurring thing?

“It’s just for now,” Zayne quickly said, as if he was reading thoughts and wouldn’t be able to force Jay to accept him as a new roomie.

While this was the worst, really, Jay also couldn’t muster up the courage (or strength) to pitch him out. This night, Zayne would be sleeping here, whether it was with Jay’s approval or with Jay beaten and bleeding on the ground. Jay chose the former, though reluctantly.

“Fine.”

He kept up a calm façade, but as soon as he closed the bedroom door behind him, he frantically started working on a barricade. No way he could fall asleep while he had to keep alert to make sure he wouldn’t wake up to a knife to the throat.

He rushed to the bathroom and locked the door to the hallway. His bedroom door, unfortunately, had no lock, so he had to improvise. Chair under the door handle? Should be able to keep invaders out or at least give him a little heads-up if someone were to try to come in.

The makeshift barricade gave him some peace of mind. He listened at the door for a bit; the couch being right next to it and he’d like it if Zayne was already asleep and snoring away. Everything was eerily quiet though…

The little jump scare and setting up the blockade had certainly left him exhausted and he snuggled back into bed again.

Despite everything, he kept on listening, but he fell asleep fairly soon.

A couple hours later, he half-woke and turned to his other side, softly stretching out.

But as he stretched and settled, his leg brushed against something and before he could even dismiss any thought, something next to him stirred and he felt the mattress under him shift.

His eyes flew open and all of a sudden he was wide, wide awake.

“WHAT THE F—“

He shot back, almost falling out of bed, as he saw the shadow next to him. The impossible shadow that somehow phased through doors, chairs or underneath the doorstep.

“How the HELL did you get in?!”

Zayne croaked something and turned over again, stealing some of the blankets. “It’s the middle of the night, can’t we do this tom—“

“We will not do this tomorrow!” Jay perched near the edge of the bed in disbelief, laying half on his side, half alert to bolt out if Zayne were to try something.

But Zayne just sighed and let himself fall on his back into the pillow. “Bathroom locks aren’t exactly built to keep people out, man.”

“They should!”

“Yeah, well, easy to just turn the lock. Also, your couch sucks, man. And it’s cold with no blanket, so… Actually meant to dig a blanket from your closet but when I saw the empty side of your bed…”

“Fine, then I’ll sleep on the couch.” But as Jay turned away, a hand to the collar of his shirt stopped him.

“Can’t allow someone with broken ribs to sleep on that thing.”

“Really no trouble.”

With little effort, Zayne literally pulled him back by the collar into his pillow and leaned over on his throat. His eyes twinkled in the dark and Jay knew he was fucking amused by all this, yet there was also a little something that Jay didn’t want to play with right now.

“I had a long night, Jayboy. Now go the fuck to sleep or I’ll be back tomorrow and I’ll tie you to the fucking bed.”

Jay opened his mouth to retort (“it’s 2 am it’s not been that long!”), but the horrifying idea of having to do this all again tomorrow, when he was even more defenceless, made the words catch in his throat.

“Fine,” he snapped again for the second time that night when everything wasn’t even remotely fine. He scooted back over to the far edge of the bed, trying to get as much distance as he could.

Zayne just snorted. “I’ve literally sat right on top of you and straddled your hips, yet this is too intimate for you?”

“I hate you so goddamn much.”

“Don’t go to bed angry, dear,” Zayne said through a yawn and turned over.

Intimate wasn’t the right word. It’s true, now that he thought about it, if you were to talk about intimacy, they already covered quite some bases. It wasn’t just once that Zayne had sat on top of him or pulled him in so close their noses would touch. He’d felt the man’s breath on his face, had been held flush against his body in a struggle, and over the past few months Jay had shown his most vulnerable side several times a week.

But now he was defenceless; in the dark, still injured, by the time he would wake Zayne could already be on top of him with his knife.

The thought of having to wake up to that, while he was caught unawares, with a knife tickling under his nose, a pillow or hand over his face, or fucking worse, his arm caught in a cuddle – okay maybe it was a little bit about intimacy – it just made him want to squirm.

Did he have his knife with him? To bed? He was still wearing his jeans though, but Jay wasn’t going to check if it was in his pocket. Surely not…?

Unable to make up his mind whether he would have to watch Zayne sleep next to him or to turn his unprotected back to him and not being able to watch Zayne sleep next to him, he just stayed on his back and stared up at the ceiling, softly fuming.

Cold toes suddenly slid over his calf and he sat upright with a yelp, nearly losing his balance and tumbling off the bed. The high-pitched squee turning into a hiss as his ribs didn’t like the sudden jolt to stay in bed.

Zayne just chuckled next to him. “Told ya it was cold.”

“Could you fucking not!”

As Zayne’s breathing quickly settled in a soft and rhythmic pattern – at least he didn’t snore – Jay still found himself on the alert. Every time Zayne shifted, his breath caught and his eyes flew open again, only to see Zayne just turning over or tossing in his sleep. He desperately tried to pretend he was alone, trick his brain into getting some sleep, but he was very much aware of every little movement and hitch of breathing next to him.

Amazing how Zayne didn’t seem to have any qualms, any of the fears Jay had, and just slept like a baby, all vulnerable next to his own fucking torture victim. Jay vaguely played with the idea of taking the pillow and smothering him. But of course, he didn’t. Just a brush over his ribs and Zayne would toss him over and turn the night into something far worse and less peaceful.

The alarm woke them both at 7am sharp.

“Too early,” Zayne whined into his pillow.

While Jay agreed, he also was very happy to just jump out of bed and get out of here. He survived the night. Good god, in all these months he never had a night as broken as this one.

“I don’t think I slept at all,” he groaned.

“Yeah, you did, don’t worry,” Zayne said. A smile formed as he caught Jay’s confused expression. “You were asleep. Had a nightmare. I heard you.”

Well, wasn’t that just great, his body and brain deciding to still catch him as vulnerable as he could be. He didn’t remember. Also, wasn’t gonna ask.

Zayne followed and got out of bed with a yawn.

As he stretched out, his shirt rose up a little and Jay couldn’t help it as his eyes wandered to the man’s abdomen, where a soft pink scar demanded his attention.

“How’d you get that?” he blurted out, even though he probably already know. The raised reddish skin standing out was very similar to some of the knife wounds on his own torso. Though those were cleaner slices, and Zayne’s seemed a bit more ragged.

“Hm? Oh.” Zayne followed Jay’s gaze, but didn’t seem bothered and made no attempts to adjust his shirt. Or his stance, still standing with his arms raised resting over his head. “That’s quite old. I don’t mind explaining. I can even show you. Give you one to match.”

“I’m good.” Jay rustled up some clean clothes and was about to disappear into the bathroom for a quick shower, as he suddenly remembered how the man had fucking breached his night’s rest that night.

“Please,” Zayne said, hand waving at him dismissingly, “I’m not interested in peeping on you. Just do whatever you do.”

After a shower, he joined Zayne at the kitchen table where a mug of tea was waiting for him.

“Lil thank you,” Zayne smiled over his own mug, aptly catching the distrust.

Sharing a soft morning ritual with Zayne wasn’t really the thanks he wanted. “Am I to understand this will be a regular thing? Will you be back tonight?”

“Some of us have to work night shifts, my man,” Zayne said, gulping his tea down.

Good, though that still didn’t answer his question. Last night was probably a night shift as well. A criminally night shift, doing criminally stuff for Emery. “So when—?”

“I’ll surprise ya.”

-

Continued here

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @snuffhimout @susiequaz12 @mnmlover2002 @undertheburrow @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpinggoodtime @starnight-whump @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13  @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion

#whump #wayy longer than expected :3 #it's not crack whump if it fits the plot! #ok have a little crack whump before the storm #crack whump #home invasion #intimate whumper #not even sure if I can call this whump #meant to make it all angsty but ugh #Home is where the hurt is #Jay #Zayne #hiwthi #my writing

[ohtobeleah]

He knew you. The second your eyes locked onto his, full of anger and hurt and sorrow. Bucky knew that pain—the inability to control yourself. Screaming for someone to help you from the inside but nothing seems to come out. He knew you, but he knew you didn’t know him.

“Charlotte?” Bucky whispered through heavy breaths, holding you around the next with his vibranium arm. Your hands clawing at him—body begging for release. Sending a knife into the side of his thigh. Bucky hissed when he let your go—watching as you fumbled for one of the discarded guns that laid on the concrete. “Charlotte! Don’t—“ it felt like Bucky was caught in some fucked up time loop. The words that fell from your mouth made his stomach churn. He’d been there—he knew exactly what it was like to be locked inside yourself, to not know who you are.

“Who the hell is Charlotte” you hissed, firing a shot at Sam who flew past. Pushing a stunned Bucky to the ground and swooping out unscathed. Bucky stumbled to his feet—looking around for answers, left with nothing when he’d seen you had disappeared, clearly distressed and injured. Only fearing the people you were running back to.

***~***~***~***~***~

Bucky held in tears as he walked through the Smithsonian institution’s display of Steve Rogers, the howling commandos and of course, Charlotte McLeod. The only member of the 107th to never make it home after Steve had fought his way into save hundreds of lives. Bucky listened as the auto voice over played—watching as the screen played video footage of him dancing. Swinging you around in your nursing uniform. You smiled at the camera. Before you’d both been shipped off—Bucky smiled as he watched a younger version of himself dip you down and kiss your lips. Your hands cupping his cheeks. Lifting his hat from the top of his head and placing it on your own. Laughing. He could still hear it.

“Second Lieutenant Charlotte McLeod, a soul most dedicated to helping the men who’d return from battle. Often disobeying commands—Charlotte would often find herself on the front line with the 107th battalion, saving hundreds of lives with triage as soon as injury occurred. A life saver, a hero, Charlotte McLeod was the only member of the nurses army coup whom frequently worked alongside the 107th to not be rescued during Steven Rogers heroic takedown of Hilters rouge Nazi science division, Hyrda, where members of the 107th were being held captive.”

“So that’s her huh?” Sam voice broke through Bucky’s thoughts. Standing beside him, taking in the history. Bucky just hummed. Don’t being able to stop looking at you, so happy, so ready to help out. You weren’t ever afraid. “That’s the super soldier from yesterday?”

“I’m positive Sam—her eyes.” it was all rushing back. The memory of you.

“How?”

“Zola experimented on her, we were both kept in his lab, it’s like I compartmentalised my memories of her until I saw her damn eyes.” Bucky balled his fist—angry at himself. “Guess it worked on her just as much as it worked on me, I didn’t know what they did to her at the time or if it was the same as what they did to me—but it makes sense.”

“That’s not your fault man, none of this is, we’ll track her down—“ Bucky knew Sam was right, but he couldn’t help the guilt that lived inside him. His memory flooding back to him. To you.

***~***~***~***~***~

“Are you okay?” You cooed as you ran your thumb over Bucky’s temple. He nodded in response as he reached over to run the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, a small split bleeding more then he’d like it to be.

“Such a nurse, c’mon McLeod I know you don’t really care about me—“ Bucky teased, watching you chuckle in response. Your uniform dirty and blood stained just as much as his. You shouldn’t be here, but you wouldn’t fall back. Not with Bucky.

“Such a jerk Barnes.”

“You know when I get you out of here I’m gonna take you on that date I owe you.” Bucky smirked, trying his best to get your mind of the situation you were in.

“Really, where are you gonna take me?” You asked. Your hand playing with the base of Bucky’s shift, twisting and twirling the fabric between your fingers. Absentmindedly.

“That new burger joint down the street from that one alley Steve loves to get beat up in.”

“The one near the barbershop where you get your hair cut?”

“That’s the one—“

“Hmm.” You leaned into Bucky, his arms embracing you. Kissing the top of your head. “Sounds like a date Buck.”

“Sounds like a date Lotty.” The nickname sending butterflies through your stomach—even in such awful circumstances Bucky was the light of your life. “Gonna get you out of here yeah? Gonna get you back so you can tell old man Sal down the street how much of a hero you are.”

“Stupid old man.” You chuckled through your own tears. “He was right though, I should’ve just brought stock, put a bullet in the barrel of my best guys gun.”

“Wouldn’t of done much.” Bucky looked at you as he whipped your tears. “Just means I’d be stuck in here without you.” You could hear the sounds of guard’s coming down the corridor—opening the cell door you and a bunch of the 107th were being kept in. Watching as one of the men Grabbed Bucky, feeling your arm being ripped apart as you were dragged to the ground, your knees being cut up. Bucky tried to fight the guard. Tasting the back of a rifle soon after. The guards spoke a language you couldn’t interpret. You screamed as the guard gripped your hair tightly dragged you out of the cell as they led Bucky out as well—his arms twisted behind his back.

“Charlotte!!” Bucky yelled, still fighting for his life, for your life as they dragged you down towards an office you’d watched others be brought to before. Never seeing them again. ”don’t you fucking touch her do you here me!? Let her go!!” Bucky spat. But it was pointless. Being dragged to your feet you gasped when you felt the barrel of a gun in your lower back. Looking at Bucky with fearful eyes. Bottom lip quivering. Hands raising slowly to the back of your head.

“In, move, now—“ the guard spoke as you walked through the door, Bucky was lead in seconds after you. Looking around you saw tables with brown leather straps, medical instruments, things in jars that made your stomach squirm, maps, and a desk littered with paper and reports. A short man with glasses stood in the corner. He smiled wickedly.

“One of each, brilliant! fräulein.” Addressing you as you shook. “Strip—now, I’d like to begin my experiments, I’ve made slight adjustments to my formula.” One of the guards started ripped at your uniform. Pushing you towards the table with the straps.

“No-“ you cried. “No no no—no please—“

“I said don’t you fucking touch her!” Bucky yelled as more guards moved him to his own table. Forcing him down and onto the table, straps securing him in. Helpless as he listened to your screams. Watching your clothes be torn from you. Exposing you—bra and underwear the only things not leaving you completely and utterly on display. Restraints holding you down.

“Bucky—“ you sobbed, it broke his heart.

“I’m here.” He replied. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sweet.” Zola mocked as he came at you with needle after needle. Bucky listened to your painful screams. Fighting against his own restraints to get to you. Your blood burned, it stung. The more the mad man pushed into you, vile after vile, your screams got louder and louder. More painful the. The last.

“Charlotte?” Bucky cried when he couldn’t hear you anymore, “you okay?” There was no response. Bucky couldn’t see through his own tears.

“Take her to the truck, when you arrive wait to see if there’s any change, if there is even the slightest bit put her into the chamber—“ Bucky watched as guards undid your restraints, picking you up and throwing your limp body over their shoulders.

“Lotty!” Bucky screamed as you were removed from his view. “Charlotte I love you!!” He cried. “Don’t take her from me, please.” He begged. Zola just smiled as he plunged one of many needles into Bucky’s skin. Cries turning to screams of agony. Zola leaned in—feeding of the pain he inflicted.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be the best of you.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #ohtobeleah #marvel mcu #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan #tfatws #bucky barnes angst #bucky fic #bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x whimper

[aquarii-writes]

Memories (Foolish x GN reader)

Notes: heavily implied AFAB as well as Reader being given different variations of momma/mommy. This turned out a bit sadder than I intended fuckin hell

WARNING: Death, pregnancy/after birth

Genre: angsty

WC: 1,864

Memories meant the world to Foolish. The memory of meeting you, your first kiss, and when you first spent the night were ingrained in his head. They were everything to him; especially since one-day he knew you wouldn't be here again.

Though seeing you now with his son? This might be the most special yet. Your baby boy sat wriggling in your arms. His eyes had yet to open but Foolish could already guess that they'd be green like his.

The baby's skin was already shining a gold color once all the blood was wiped away from his body. Tears fell from Foolish's eyes as he got closer to you. Sweat lined your forehead but you couldn't have been more beautiful.

"Can.. can I hold him?" Your husband's voice broke as he spoke to you. With a gentle chuckle you allowed your husband to take the baby in your arms; your precious son.

Holding the bundle in his arms, Foolish swayed to try and get Jr to open his eyes. "Common buddy. Lemme see your eyes" Foolish cooed at his son.

Puffy attended to you. Your bleeding had yet to stop but so far it was normal, just needed a few stitches to patch everything back up.

Jr kept wiggling around in his father's arms. Poor thing just wanted his momma so he cried out for them. Jr's crying broke his father's heart, did the baby already not like him?

With a swift hushing Puffy pulled the baby boy away from his father and placed him back to his momma.

"Dad?" Puffy turned to her son, a curious look settled on her features. "Are they supposed to be this tired? I know birth is hard but-"

Puffy cut off her boy. "Everything (Y/n) is experiencing is normal bubs. They'll get their strength back in due time"

But that was nearly two months ago. You had suddenly grown weaker. Puffy couldn't find a reason nor could Ponk. The two of them checked you over and over yet still found no reason why you got so sick.

However your baby boy kept getting stronger. After you and Foolish were home and got back settled into a routine Jr quickly found comfort within his father's arms. Sweet thing was passed around between aunts, uncles, and grandparents but he would cry and scream towards everyone of them till he was back in your or Foolish's arms.

Though Jr seemed the sense that his momma was getting weaker. His glassy eyes would only stop when he found you.

Time seemed to work in Foolish's favor. He tried everything he could think of but nothing seemed to make you better. Till eventually just four months after Jr was born you started to finally get better.

So everything got better. You started to become yourself again and eventually the two of you had another child. A baby girl named Fin.

Jr was around a year and a half when his sister was born and the boy wouldn't stay still as he wanted to see you. Once everything was said and done Jr couldn't wait to see his momma and sister.

His jumbled sentences calling for Foolish to let him see momma. "Calm down we're gonna see momma" papa's chuckles made Jr smile. Once finally in the room Jr cuddled up to you and asked to see Fin.

Finley was wrapped in Jr's old baby blanket and small fins poked out from her head and back. Tiny little scales littered parts of her skin and looked like freckles. She looked more like a shark than a totem, but she was very much still Foolish's daughter.

A familiar worry bubbled up in Foolish's stomach. Would you get sick again like you did after Jr's birth? Birth will always be hard, but maybe it was easier this time now that Finley was a second baby.

Sensing his worry you waved for your husband to come over. "I'll be okay love-" the sweetness in your voice could've made him cry, "But incase something happens promise me that you won't neglect the babies. They will need their father"

Foolish's kisses lingered longer than he intended. Your two children were now asleep in your arms, but Foolish still worried. Your smile, albeit rather tired, was still bright.

"Can I hold her?" the line brought a sense of nostalgia. A gentle smile rested on your face as you held your daughter out to your husband.

"Of course my love"

Rain fell in waves as your daughter slept against her father. He held an umbrella over himself and Jr. The little boy didn't understand what was going on but kept crying that mommy wouldn't be able to get up if they were in the dirt.

While somber Foolish didn't let his tears fall till well after his children's bed time. Finny was only 4 months old and Jr was almost 2 a widow in just a matter of months.

The atmosphere was somber as Puffy picked up her grandson and attempted to explain that mommy won't wake up again, but just gave up in the end. Silent tears would just run down the rams face.

Foolish wouldn't leave your grave for a while. His arms numb from holding his baby girl but she was still asleep; it was only her whimpers to the cold and rain did he think to finally return inside.

Once the children were down to sleep did Foolish finally let out a sob. Heart wrenching cries filled the living room as he poured his heart out to his hands. You had written a letter before you passed and he couldn't bring himself to read it, at least not now. Not after he had to bury you.

Memories meant everything to Foolish, and he didn't think that he could forget you any time soon. Though he could still see you from these memories and from your letter and he could still physically see you in your children.

Jr had your hair though it was much darker while Finny had your eyes. Beautiful (e/c) eyes always shined through the little girls iris'. He could see you in how Jr acted and the way he touched his sister; always so gentle just as you had taught him to be. Finny would always reach for the things she knew were yours.

It just brought him to tears however Foolish knew new memories would be made with you still in them. Your beautiful eyes and personality will always be present in your children.

After a few years, once he got a handle of caring for two children on his own, Foolish finally opened your letter. Elegant script was written on the page.

'My Dearest Foolish,

If you're reading this then I've died. Whether it be not long after I write this or after a long life I am still dead, though I have a feeling its the former. How have our children turned out? I don't know if Jr will understand and Finley will have no memory of me... Does Finny still have my eyes? Is Jr still gentle with Finny? I know little boys can be so rough..

But aside from such please know that I love you. If I held the choice I would've stayed longer, but I'm on my last life. Maybe Lady Death could give me a pass? Maybe I could come back and see my babies? Oh if I continue thinking like this I'm going to cry..

I love you more than anything in this universe and I love our children all the same. I know that some day you'll find another to love, maybe it'll be me reincarnated? Just.. don't dwell on my death too long, if not for me for our children. Jr and Finny deserve to see their father happy.

I do hope that the both of them know I love them very much.. I know memories mean everything to you so please make new ones with Jr and Finny. Let me live on through them.

Forever with love, your dearest (Y/n)'

Tears fell on the aged parchment. It had been weathered before, presumably from your tears, but new wrinkles formed. Foolish has new memories. Your children did keep you alive within them.

Finny's eyes, while hers, were still yours. Her eyes shown just as bright as yours once did. While Jr is as gentle as ever with his baby sister. Snowchester was a new home for them all when you died, but it now means so much to the babies.

Foolish covered his mouth as he leaned over the coffee table. He didn't notice the tiny feet padding towards him. Finley's small hands gripped at her fathers fore arm. Big (e/c) pools stared into him.

Acting as though he wasn't crying Foolish dried his eyes and picked up the little girl. "What are you doing here sweetheart?"

"I got cold" Finny mumbled to her father and curled into him. Her scales had turned a golden color after you had passed. It was a shame you couldn't have seen how pretty Finny turned out to be, even at 5.

"Where's bubbas then?" evening out his tone Foolish sat back with Finny. The snow outside had started back up again to add a new layer to the landscape.

"Bubba is playing with Michael still. Mr. Tubbo and Mr. Ranboo asked if I wanted to come inside, but I wanted to play with you" Finny looked up at Foolish. She was tired and wanted a nap so she cuddled further into her father.

"Well you look pretty tired, sweets, how about we just go to sleep?" Finny shook her head no and stared at the open letter.

"Why were you crying daddy?" Finny's voice was quiet. Almost like she wasn't supposed to ask the question.

"Well... I was remembering mommy and reading a letter she gave me.." squeezing his girl, Foolish rested his head on hers. Jr nor Finny had ever really asked about their mother.

"What was mommy like? Mr. Ranboo says she was really nice before she went to sleep for a long time.." Finny played with the ends of her hair as she spoke to her father. Memories of you flooded his mind. The most prominent thing was how loving you were. You gave up all 3 of your lives for people you cared for.

"Well.. mommy loved you and bubbas very much. She loved a lot of people. Mommy was also very kind and helpful.. She would do anything to make sure people were happy-"

"Do I look like Mommy?" Finley gazed at her hands. The golden freckles that glittered her skin were something she had seen on no one else.

"You look a lot like mommy, Finny" Foolish lied through his teeth. She had your eyes but looked very similar to him over all. But if his little girl is happy then what of it?

Seemingly satisfied with her prodding Finny became silent again, and soon enough her little snores alerted Foolish to the fact that she was asleep.

I don't think I'll ever forget you (Y/n), but Finny sure won't let me try

#mcyt imagine #dsmp imagine #foolishg imagine #foolish gamers #foolish x reader #foolish x y/n #dream smp #mcyt #dsmp #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader