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filthforfriends · 1 year

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Chapter 7

Alpha!Damiano x Omega!Reader

Time for smut :)

You skip social niceties, kicking off your shoes and going down the hall to find Damiano. He’s sitting on his bed, slowly peeling off his clothes. His movement is abnormal, a side effect of the medication to manage this episode maybe. You’ve seen Dami get undressed. Usually he just wrenches everything off in under a minute, standing upright.

“Let me help.” Damiano stops moving and allows you to pull his jacket off. The fine motor skills to remove his arms from the sleeves don’t come easy, so you assist with that too. Tripping over his cleats, you notice that Damiano managed to get his shoes and socks off by himself. The laces are pulled taunt in knots. Really, you should both shower, but being the same kind of gross means you’re not bothered by the others' lack of cleanliness.

Getting the t-shirt off isn’t hard. Shorts however, involve Dami raising his hips or standing up. You take your time working them off, pulling down the waistband a tiny bit at a time.

“Sorry,” he slurs. “I took a benzo so things don’t…lorazepam or klonopazam.” Once the shorts were off, Dami lay back at a snail's pace. He was blinking slower than usual, brain fighting to be cognizant enough to direct his limbs. You strip down to your underwear and climb in bed next to him, arranging covers.

“No, ‘s too hot,” he groaned, so you push all of the bedding to the end of the mattress. Dami had managed to get 100% of his body in the bed which was sort of impressive. Unfortunately, figuring out how to scoot up to the pillow was visibly vexing. His brow was furrowed with focus, as you lay down next to him.

“It wears off quick, ‘m sorry.”

“Shh, come here baby.” Simplifying the situation, you grab Damiano under his arms and haul him on top of you. He turns into a very uncoordinated koala bear, making little grunts of frustration in the back of his throat while attempting to orient himself. Your cheek ends up resting on Dami’s forehead whose face is against your scent gland. Your arms are wrapped around his torso and Damiano is attempting to do the same while also focusing on intertwining your legs to his desired specifications. He progressively starts giggling without prompting.

“What are you –”

“Boobies,” he snickers. You may roll your eyes, but internally you far prefer silly Damiano to agonized Damiano.

“Will you just lay down already?” He gives up positioning himself and splays out. One of your legs is slotted between Damiano’s. His arm is flung over your chest, palm facing down, hand relaxed. For at least an hour the room is silent, besides the sound of breathing. You intentionally keep your breaths calm and regular, silently repeating positive affirmations and hoping that energy reaches him. Damiano cuddles against you, so you kiss his moderately disgusting hair, but then he lets out a forlorn whimper.

“Baby? Are you –”

“My head doesn’t hurt anymore.” You sort of know how he’s feeling right now. The release of oxytocin at the skin to skin contact regulates your body's most basic functions: temperature, oxygenation, breathing, heart rate, even digestion. But you’d never experienced the cortisol spike Daminao had today.

The come down was so intense that when you felt his tears on your skin it didn’t startle you. Damiano took these gasping breaths that made him shudder as he decompressed. He’d tense and shift around, riding the waves of anxiety and getting to the other side in the support of your embrace. Other moments his hands would reach for something to grip and ball up into fists. Dami would literally white knuckle it for a couple seconds until things leveled out. Based on how his reactions evolved, you could feel that Dami’s basic instincts were growing less contradictory to his medicated state. There wasn’t a war inside him anymore.

“Oh my god,” he sniffed. “You have no idea how…I don’t even want to imagine today, without you.” You tug Damiano tighter against you, trying to get another square inch of your skin to touch his. A huge part of compatibility between alphas and omegas was biological. If a mated pair spent enough time together, the bacteria on their skin could become so similar that it was almost indiscernible. It's why loneliness was felt so acutely by alphas and omegas. They'd been biologically engineered to crave and adapt to companionship.

“How crazy is it that the surface of our bodies are gonna have basically the same pH?” you whisper, tracing a heart shape between Damiano’s shoulders.

“It's wild, but I can feel it. Like we’ve become less separate.”

“Yeah?” He nods in confirmation. Wrapping your legs around Damiano, you roll on your sides, hugging, foreheads pressed together.

“A year ago I hated the idea of feeling like a science experiment,” you confessed.

“And now?”

“I don’t feel like a science experiment at all.” You can’t kiss, because Dami’s lip isn’t healed, but the urge is there.

“The only reason I’m not frothing at the mouth is the androgen blockers I took at the amphitheater, just to be clear. And they’re wearing off too.”

“My confidence will survive you not lusting after me within an inch of your sanity, love.” By the time the “L” sound had slipped off your tongue, you were powerless to stop the rest of the word. Damiano didn’t falter. For the first time today, his smile reached his eyes. He didn’t have any smile lines. Damiano’s reputation of being mysterious and brooding contributed to his sex appeal. It was all just part of a carefully curated facade to keep anyone from getting too close, but you were his exception.

“Baby, I’m so sorry if I contributed.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” he shook his head emphatically. “Before you, all I knew was fear.” This proclamation has you reeling. What does a person say in response? Me too? Luckily, it didn’t seem like he was expecting a response. Damiano kissed just under your jaw and flipped over so you were on top, content with that information being received without rejection. Now you were left to process it, ear to his chest. You could hear his heart thundering away, as you had on Saturday morning.

“You deserve to know what happened today,” he sighs, burdened.

“So you were in headspace when you broke Julio’s nose?” Dami nods against you. “Do you just see red and lose it?”

“I wouldn’t say lose it.”

“Sorry,” you wince. He pats your shoulder, hushing you affectionately.

“No, no, it's okay love.” Love. That diminutive was not a part of Dami’s vernacular until you’d used it today. It would be cruel to mock you for the slip up and Damiano wasn’t cruel. Later in the evening, after he’d called you love at every opportunity, even in front of his parents, you’d be left with the conclusion that your stumble just gave him permission.

“If you touch something hot, you yank your hand away before you even feel the pain, right? So information goes from your hand,” Dami brings your palm to his face and kisses it, then traces up your back. “To your spinal cord, then up to your brain. With tissue damage, like a burn, your body reacts as soon as that information reaches your spinal cord and pulls your hand away” He strokes up your arm to your shoulder blade while narrating.

“Those are your reflexes, right?” Remembering a psychology lesson while being gently caressed by Damiano is nothing short of miraculous.

“Exactly, it's an automatic response built in to protect yourself from harm.” He sighs heavily. “In alpha headspace, self-preservation stuff that used to be a conscious choice using fine motor skills,” Damiano pats your head, then moves his hand to rest on your spine. “It almost becomes reflexive, not managed by our intellectual mind. Today I really did not want to hurt Julio, but he attacked me and I just reacted. It's called Alpha Dysregulation Type 2.” You are suddenly aware of how little you knew about alpha biology, growing up in a household without one.

“But…why didn’t Julio just turn too? Alphas are capable of switching into headspace outside of rut. You turn all the time when you’re with me.” Damiano clicks his tongue in thought and falls silent for a couple moments.

“Normal alphas reach headspace outside of rut a couple instances in their lifetime: marking, fighting, y’know. But it's a conscious choice. I’m just out of control.” You scoff in disbelief and sit up to meet Damiano’s eyes.

“Bullshit!” As an omega, you’d been surrounded by whispered tales of violent and careless alphas before you even reached puberty. Some of them were horror stories about omegan injury due to their mate’s recklessness. Sometimes it was just outright abuse or gaslighting about the implications of biology. You’d seen Dami in headspace a dozen times and he was so gentle each instance, so careful not to so much as pull your hair accidentally. Damiano knew the advantage his physicality gave him and displayed constant awareness in every tender touch.

“Look, I know that you’re probably in headspace more often than is normal. I’m not stupid, I just never looked into it.” Damiano’s brow furrows in surprise. Apparently he hadn’t taken into account that you spoke to your friends or that your friends had older siblings.

“Because it doesn’t matter to me! Nothing is wrong. I don’t need normal. You just shift according to whatever energy is in the room and you’ve never gotten stuck. You are not out of control!” When you finally take a breath after ranting, Damiano is smiling. The corners of his mouth are quivering like that smile could easily turn into tears.

“You’re right, I’m not. I’ve worked really hard to make my dysregulation invisible and to control it. Unfortunately, it's more complicated than going from zero to 100 when I should cap out at 15.” Damiano pulls you down to lay on his chest and feel you angst abate.

“Too much alpha hormones means you go Vampiriano way more often than you should and if you’re threatened during everything goes to shit?” He chuckles and this minutely moves your hand where it rests on his toned stomach.

“Stimuli perceived as threatening between Alpha Sapiens prompts irregular, excess production of adrenaline and testosterone. If the subject enters into an acute stress response a violent episode may subsequently occur.” He recites these words mechanically. “Geneticists really narrowed the margin of error with hormone production. The amygdala can’t take being drowned in alpha levels of stress hormones.”

“So you can’t regulate like in rut?”

“Mm mm,” he shakes his head. You readjust and Dami strokes your back. You kiss his sternum and taste salt, then leave a couple affectionate nips.

“If your body is forcing you into a state of hypervigilance, isn’t that a panic attack?”

“Yeah. It’s really similar, and the only way to calm down is to deescalate out of alpha headspace.”

“But how are you supposed to do that with no distress tolerance?”

“Oh, it's basically impossible,” he chuckles without humor. Every slightly hysterical syllable drips with bitterness.

“Hence, all the medications that force my nervous system to chill out.” Trying to find the right words, you kiss Dami’s chest. The pink spots from nipping him look like petals. They’re so beautiful that you leave a couple more marks a few inches up. It feels good to work his skin between your teeth.

“That is unless something shows up, manually replenishes my oxytocin, and jumpstarts my dopamine production.” You wrack your brain for what Dami could be referencing to, but after a couple seconds you still come up blank.

“Like what?”

“Like you, silly!” Damiano flips both of you over, so he’s pushing you into the mattress with his bodyweight.

��Oh!” He nuzzles your head and playfully snaps his teeth in your ear.

“Yeah, ‘oh’!” Also feeling mischievous, you bite Dami’s arm while it's placed near your mouth. He makes a noise that borders on a growl, which is really just asking you to provoke him further. So you do. This time he drops all his body weight on you, pinning you to the mattress. There's absolutely no threat behind his snarl and you wonder what it would sound like if you actually frustrated him a little bit. Arms against your sides, you flip over onto your back. Damiano allows you because he was expecting it. What he didn’t expect was for you to use all your strength to catapult him off the bed and onto the floor.

Immediately, Damiano’s head snaps up, eyes questioning. Because surely you didn’t mean to shove him off the bed, right? To make it very clear this was no accident you smirked, and looked down on him, cocking your head to the side. For a moment you just stare at each other, egging the other on. I fucking dare you to do something. There was a new electricity in your bond that made your hair stand on end.

Damiano attempts to clamber up onto the bed from the floor and you shove him again. Crouched on the mattress, you let out the sound that was raring at the back of your throat: a snarl of territorialism. This is mine. Of course it wasn’t. This is his bed, in his room, in his territory and you both knew it. The absolute disbelief in Dami’s face is very promising, especially when it turns to determination.

This time, when he tries to get up on the bed you don’t stop him. It’d be futile because now Damiano is prepared for your resistance, which is nothing compared to alpha strength. Not yet satisfied with the tension created, you climb off the otherside. After a moment of hesitation checking for dustiness, you crawl under the bed frame. Out of sheer luck, you manage to do so before Dami has clambered across the mattress, ready to leap onto the floor after you. He looks over the edge and you can hear him pause in confusion. The bed creaks as he checks the other sides. Another pause. When Damiano gets up you quiet your breathing, even though the excitement is unbearable. The floor creaks when he walks around the bed, perplexed.

“I know you’re in here, y/n,” he taunts. “I can smell you.” Trying to recede farthing into the shadow, you curl into a ball, breasts pressed to your legs. Damiano’s feet pad over to his closet and he checks both sides, then behind his desk. He’s out of hiding places except the one he hasn’t thought of yet.

“You’re a very clever kitten.” Of course this prompts the realization, because where do nervous kittens hide? Under the bed. Damiano drops to the floor, and his face lights up when he sees you. He shifts right before your eyes, canines coming to rest on his lip. It's absolutely thrilling. A pang of fear turns your blood to ice cold, instincts telling you to fucking run. Instead, you let out an angry hiss when Dami grabs you, which is made difficult by being curled in a ball. Still, Dami gets a grip on your forearm and hauls you out from under the bed, face twisted in determination. You bite him properly, but he doesn’t let go.

You know Dami wants to put you on your back in an act of discipline. So you let him, looking up at him with the sweetest, most submissive eyes. He immediately softens. You whine pathetically then avoid his gaze, pretending you’re overwhelmed with remorse for misbehaving. You don’t move a muscle, staying exactly the way you landed. Damiano yields, sitting back instead of holding himself over you. Meanwhile you make a mental note that you can get away with whatever you want.

The urge to kiss your alpha is so overwhelming that you settle on this to tic him off. Dami is surely not expecting you to lunge towards him, climb on his lap, and kitten lick his lips, living up to you diminutive. First he embraces you back the way he always does, then releases because he realizes you were faking subservience a second ago, then gets an even tighter grip to control the interaction. Damiano forces his tongue into your mouth, displaying dominance, and you taste iron. It’s easily recognizable as blood, but the flavor doesn’t disgust you. The warm, soft muscle of his tongue gesticulates against yours like an impassioned caress, and everything else is forgotten. That is, until the memories of the day catch up with you.

“Mm, your lip!” you yelp into the kiss. He ignores the protest, instead cradling your face in his hand, pulling you closer. Damiano puts his whole being into the kiss, letting out a hum of contentment. His fingers are curled around the back of your neck, index in your hair, thumb caressing your jaw.

“Dami, you lip!” you insist, mumbled against his mouth.

“Ugh, fine,” he groans in annoyance, pulling away. “Worth it. I haven’t kissed you all day. Even though you’re a pain in the ass.” He smacks your butt for emphasis. Damiano brings that hand up to his lip, but there's no blood when he pulls it away.

“You’re healing, already. Holy shit.” You turn Damiano’s face from side to side. He was visibly less swollen and the discoloration had faded. Sure being with your mate promoted healing, but this was on another level. Dami shifted out of headspace as the subject changed.

“Is it part of your Vampiriano thing? Super healing?” Damiano scoffs, but pauses in a way that indicates a forthcoming answer.

“One of the pills I took is to help with the recovery. But…yes. There’s a possibility that I have a slightly higher healing capability. However, it's not negligible enough to give me an advantage in sports.”

“Oh, well you know that's what I really care about” you reply, sarcastically. Then it hits you that as soon as baby Dami was diagnosed with this, he had to prove to everyone, repeatedly, that his medical condition shouldn’t exclude him from a normal life. It hurts your heart to imagine that now, but when he was a child…you couldn’t bear to think about it.

“It must have fucked with your head as a kid, feeling like a liability? Did you have any room for error? Like normal, human screw ups? None of it is even your fault.” Damiano sighs and you’re close enough that you can feel the warm hair hit your face. He rests his head against yours and goes so long without answering that you start to wonder if he intends to.

“Can I get a raincheck on having my mind read by you, love?” You curl his dirty hair around your fingers and nod, feeling bashful enough to chew on the inside of your lip. It was a beautiful testament to the emotional intimacy you shared.

You sat there, sexually pent up, gazing at each other hungrily, but also reflecting on the day's events. You kept running into the sensation that you were missing something. If Alpha Dysregulation didn’t affect the omega side of your relationship, then why had it dictated all aspects of your intimacy?

“So, just to clarify –”

“Mhm.”

“This doesn’t inhibit our sex lives?”

“Nope, everything works.” Eyebrows furrowed, you wait for Damiano to elaborate a modicum of reason. He directs a questioning gaze right back at you.

“I don’t get it.” Dami is immediately reassuring.

“It’s a ton of information at once. I don’t think any normal person would understand right away.” He runs his thumb along the back of your hand.

“No Damiano, I don’t get what this has to do with us. So what you shift more often? Did you really think I’d leave over that?” His face falls, not just his smile, but his eyes are downcast. It was a rhetorical question to make Dami see the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Never did you dream that the answer would be yes.

“Are you going to?” he murmurs.

“No!” You’re appalled. Has his faith in your feelings always been so fragile? The silence that follows is louder than any sound: any scream of anger, any outcry of betrayal. That silence echoes like it's ricocheting off the walls of some endless void.

“So all of those restrictions were because you weren’t planning on us lasting?”

“Not planning, just –”

“How long did you anticipate sticking around?” you spat, feeling your entire perception of reality crumble.

“As long as I could!” he shouts, welling up. “I needed to survive losing you and I won’t apologize for that! So…so is this it?”

“What the fuck do you mean is this it!?”

“Because you’re free to go. I made sure that – that you’d…I haven’t marked or mated or even knot – knotted,” Damiano chokes up. It was just as you had suspected: he craved intimacy even more than you.

“I’m not leaving. I don’t want an out,” you say, forcing yourself to be calm.

“That’s what it means to be a protector. It’s not a fairy tale,” Dami recites, visibly trying to convince himself. “It’s about sacrifice, about prioritizing your wellbeing.”

“Fuck your sacrifice! This fragile girl in your head isn’t me, Damiano. I don’t need you to make decisions for me.” He looks at the carpet in shame, pulling on each individual frayed thread with a vengeance. Dami’s words that very first day come rushing back. He’d insisted that there were things you needed to know, things that were the antithesis of romance, but he couldn’t be the one to teach you. It was ironic that the most confident alpha you’d met was secretly the most insecure. Damiano’s bravado was so well-cultivated that no one suspected it to be a facade.

“Why were you convinced I’d abandon you over this? The stress alone must have…” must have made it physically impossible to relax.

“You can’t be so sure right away,” he argues.

“Do not insult my intelligence by implying I can’t make my own decisions.” Damiano falls silent, then takes your face in his hands. He stares at you, searching for comprehension.

“This is permanent; I am defective. Diseased. Unfixable.” He’s waiting for you to realize the gravity of the situation, recoil from his touch. You attempt patience, knowing you’re battling years of self-loathing.

“You. Are. Not. Broken to me.” His expression grows angry and you realize you’ve gone deep enough to challenge his sense of self. Damano was furious at a body which robbed him of basic control and all in life that comes with that. There was no rationalizing, only balancing the scales. It was time to remember and channel every bit of affection you’d felt for this alpha. Living the past year of your life with a guardian angel that respected your autonomy more than any you’d met. Damiano had spared you of so much fear. Meanwhile he was battling ruthless demons inside his own head.

You climbed back onto Dami’s lap, and stroked his scowling face. He allows these things, hands yearning to hold you.

“Someday I will make you accept that the shiny exterior isn’t the only version of yourself that is lovable. However long that takes, I’m staying.” Dami’s chin trembles and a tear falls as soon as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I don’t understand why you’d stay,” he whispers, voice wavering. At this point you wanted to lobotomize yourself with an icepick. At least, after this mess, you’ll never have to feel insecure about being difficult in the future.

“Why would I leave, love?” There's that “L” word again.

“Because everyone leaves!” he bellows. Damiano’s volume actually startles you, as does the lack of his embrace. He just stares at you: guilty, tortured. You kiss him on the forehead lightly, then on his eyelids which fall closed.

“You are the same person you were yesterday. The label is meaningless. I want you just the same.” Damiano careens forward, wrapping his arms around you, pressing his face to your neck. He takes a heaving breath and so do you, rocking back and forth.

“Getting you to be transparent has been like using a nail file to open a bank safe that's welded shut.” Dami snorts and wipes his nose. You reach up and grab the tissues from his night stand. Damiano blows so hard that you’re surprised his nostril doesn’t resume bleeding.

“Gentle with yourself,” you murmur.

“I should have told you about this at the beginning, but families don’t let their kids date or befriend alphas with hormonal regulation issues. My parents hate that I hide it, but I’m selfish and when I realized I should stay away I just couldn’t. ‘Til your 16th birthday was mostly to buy time.” Having those last couple pieces of the puzzle that was Damiano David made everything else fit together right. It also began to lift the claustrophobia of a time restraint.

“Right, so we also need to talk about that.” You stand up from his lap and sit on the edge of the bed. If you tried to do this already wrapped around each other it would be an epic failure. Dami follows, sitting cross legged in the center, extending a hand out to hold yours. He plays with your fingers, clasps your hand in his, then turns it over to trace the lines in your palm.

“I ache for you, Damiano. I feel sick over it. I could barely get myself out of bed on Wednesday.”

“It’s unnatural, all my guidelines.” He begins nervously tapping the side of your wrist. “The physical progression of our relationship is easy and primal, but I got in the way. Plus your birth control and hormone suppressants, your body must just be,” he trails off, shaking his head. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” Fuck staying away. You crawl towards Dami so your foreheads are pressed together, both hands laced.

“I can’t wait until my 16th birthday. Even besides the sex it’s – it’s lonely. It feels like my molecules are screaming for you at night when things are totally silent. I want to like – I don’t know, walk to your house, climb in your window, or something crazy.”

“I know. Okay.”

“Nothing helps, Dami. Nothing. I’m on the verge of spraining my wrist and its so fucking frustrating because it doesn’t do anything. But, like, what else am I supposed to do?”

“I understand, love. I agree.”

“I’m literally drowning in my own libido and my instincts are –”

“Y/n, baby?” He gets your attention, looking into your eyes emphatically. “I won’t make you wait.” Your chest swells with butterflies so energized that you can barely contain a victorious shriek. You’d anticipated an hour of back and forth, but Damiano had simply agreed. All these things you’d lusted for, not available for another seven months, were possible. The warmth of his cum on your skin, felt from the inside. For days, traces would remain internally. If you had a semi-regular sex life you’d never truly have to be apart from Damiano again. Plus, you were both so close to nakedness already. The immediateness of your every fantasy was totally overwhelming.

“Y/n, you should know that your parents will interfere when I tell them. I can’t mark you and then not be allowed to see you. That will fucking kill me, please. Knowing that the mark is fading.” Theres that tortured look again. You hated to see Damiano at odds with himself.

“Well, then I won’t tell them.They barely see you and it took me three months to figure it out.” His face goes blank for a moment. He hadn’t considered the path of least resistance because it wasn't the nobel option. Damiano’s expression becomes concerned, probably dealing with the morality of withholding information.

“Hey, it's my job to tell them, so you’re free of obligation. Easy,” you shrug.

“That seems too simple.” Surely, no one has a tendency to over think like your boyfriend. He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back.

“I’d be honored to mark you, whenever that feels appropriate to you.” He barely has time to finish speaking before you’re overflowing with enthusiastic consent.

“Mark me, mark me. Baby, mark me. Please mark me. I’m yours, I am.” You get a hand in Damiano’s undercut, soft hair tickling between your fingers, and pull him so close your faces are pressed together. It feels like you might choke on the hope that's blooming in your chest.

“I promise that I’m yours. I’m yours, so mark me. Mark –”

“I know you’re mine.” Dami pulls you onto his lap sideways. One arm goes under your mid-back and your legs are draped over his thigh. He’s cradling you like a child. It’s not the feral, sexual dominence forcing your into the mattress you’d expected. This is way more intimate, looking up into your alpha’s eyes while he gazed down at you with so much affection.

“I’ve done this once before and it was rushed, stupid, and not with someone I really care about.” He pauses for so long that you nod in understanding, in case recognition is what Damiano was waiting for. “But I really care about how this feels and I don’t want you to be self-conscious. Let your body do what it wants.” Technically, marking didn’t necessitate the involvement of more than an omega’s external scent gland and an alpha’s teeth. However, omegas naturally found their way to orgasam because marking forcefully stimulated their most sensitive erogenous zones.

“I’ve never been marked or knotted,” you pant. Damiano’s other hand is on your flank, steadying as you begin to tremble in anticipation.

“I know,” he answers, doting.

“No other alpha has seen me naked or kissed me.” Dami’s eyes switch and a primal rumbling emanates from his sternum. This was exactly the reaction you wanted, to spur Damiano into action. He puffed out his chest in territorialism.

“I’ve never even been touched by another alpha,” you whisper, trying to subtly redirect his hand between your legs. “Please ruin me for anyone else.” Emulating virginal sweetness, you shift your hips to bring Damiano’s hand closer to your cunt. Looking determined, he pushes you from his lap and crouches over your body.

“This is why I couldn’t be around you because you say things and I want to mate with you so fucking bad so no one else gets to touch you ever and I’ll be your only alpha forever you’ll be mine only so I can have you always and you’ll never belong to anyone else because you’re mine,” he snarls. Dami presses his face to your chest, licking between your breasts, up to your collarbones.

“I don’t know what anyone’s told you but this hurts, which is why it’s usually done during heat.” Even in alpha headspace, Dami’s expression is so obviously one of concern, rather than predatory. How could anyone have been terrified of him?

“I know, love.”

“We’ll start lightly in case it’s too much.”

“I wanna be naked. Both of us.” You don’t need to explain this compulsion to Damiano. Nothing is more satisfying and organic than skin-to-skin without barriers. He takes off his boxers first. Alpha cocks are always intimidating, even half-mast. Your pointer finger finds the ridge at the head of Dami’s dick and traces all the way around. This is the place that would swell to form a knot, temporarily making the two of you one. His member twitches under your curious touch and grows more erect as Dami fiddles with your underwear.

It’s objectively gross, the way your panties are saturated with slick all the way through. The fabric loses its warmth rapidly when not directly in contact with your skin. If you shifted ever so slightly the cold, wet gusset rubbed against your body dreadfully. When Damiano removed your panties and brought the garment to his face to smell, you audibly made a sound of disgust.

“Ick.” He licked his lips and smirked at your reaction, eyes closed as he breathed in deep. He cock pulsed when the moist fabric crumpled in his hand, brought back to his face for one final sniff.

“I’m keeping these.”

“Please do,” you quip.

“Hmm, but I’m never gonna wash ‘em.” He raises his eyebrows provocatively while you gag. “Which do you think is gonna smell better when it dries, your sweat or your slick?”

“I’ve changed my mind, that whole shape thing shifting is weird.” Damiano bursts out laughing while throwing the offending panties off the side of the bed. You’d never made him cackle while in headspace so his canines are on display, as if his smile couldn’t get any more beautiful.

“On your stomach with a pillow under your chest,” he instructs. You like that he doesn’t ask. Not just because the domineering is sexy as hell, but because it's what you would have chosen anyways. Only three months and your alpha can already read your mind.

“Actually wait.” You pause, sitting on your hip, about to turn over. Damiano begins finger combing your hair, dragging his nails across your scalp. The touch makes you shiver in delight. The point becomes apparent when Dami secures it with a hair tie. Your glands are now totally exposed and this makes it real. Marking isn’t just an act of intimacy, Dami has to pierce your scent gland, his saliva in the open wound changing your pheromonal signature.

Once you get situated, Dami puts his mouth on your skin right away. You freeze completely, only to feel the teasing brush of his canines.

“Relax love, we don’t break the skin until you want to.” You weren’t sure that you’d ever want to have your flesh pierced. It was an unfortunate responsibility. You’d hoped Damiano would give you a brief warning so you didn’t have time to overthink and do the deed of his own volition. Instead, he pushes a hand underneath your body and cups your vulva.

“You’re already so wet for me and so enthusiastic, love.” He rubs his erection against your flank, teasing. “I need you to know that if you ever want to stop –” You choke down the urge to protest, but it comes out as a dry sob when you don’t expect it. With your hips tilted dramatically, you could even rub your clit against Dami’s hand. Instead of moving it away, he provides generous resistance for you to rub against. It's such a gift. You test the boundaries, pinning his hand between your legs humping it gracelessly, using the edge of the pillow case as a gag. Rather than acting like marking and your sexuality were separate, he accepted this confluence. You kick your legs in response to even such minimal stimulation and whine loudly against the bedding.

“I know that feels so good baby, but I need you to submit.” You let out another gasping cry, because the world you had come to know wasn’t one where you could trust freely. You couldn’t help yourself from grinding back against Damiano’s rough palm, greedily. A sexual inertia had taken over your pelvis, seeking the satiation of a knot. Your body preparing to be marked was flooding with hormones that magnified every sensation and emotion. You weren’t unhappy, just so overwhelmed that it overflowed: in a couple small tears and in your movement.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he whispers in your ear. Now you understand why he kept reassuring you the first time, because this feeling was a possibility. Providing comfort, Damiano scents you just lightly enough that you can still think.

“I know it's intense, so let me be in charge.” Fists balled, you force every muscle to still. It takes so much attention because your brain is clouding from the weight of Damaino’s body, the warmth of his form, texture of his skin, and most of all his smell. It’s not that earthy aroma of springtime that you associate with his pheromones, detectable in his sheets. Damiano smells of sweat from practice, long ago overpowering any deodorant. He reeks of testosterone and a special musk emanates from his armpits and groin. Somehow, the combination of all these things makes you go limp with arousal.

Even as you can observe Damiano smells genuinely unpleasant, another sect of your sexuality is violently aroused. You want to give him a bath with your tongue, lick him clean. Only then do you realize what makes his scent so enticing: he smells like you.

“I don’t want to go into headspace yet,” you whimper.

“You don’t have to. Submit.” You take a shuddering breath, trying to find that place inside you that longed to be led, rather than lead.

“I’ll try,” you mewl, in your softest voice. You barely summon the strength not to beg for what you really want: a knot. There's a raging conflict inside you: the part that wants Dami to mark you with his cum and the other that doesn’t want to interfere with progress. What’s so excruciating is there will never be another first time. This moment is finite. You’re externalizing this conflict by squirming around underneath Damiano who can immediately sense your discomfort. Assuming its arousal, he presses a finger inside.

That driving inertia takes over and you’re pushing back against Damiano so hard that his muscles are straining. The meat of his hand is firm against your throbbing clit and it's glorious. You can’t get his finger deep enough to satisfy some demanding hunger you had no name for. All you could communicate was this wasn’t enough anymore by whining like you’re wounded.

“Baby what's happened? Lemme make it better.” Damiano had never seen your discomfort unshrouded. It was heart-wrenching to watch your face twisted in an expression that bordered between pleasure and anguish.

“Y/n, what can I do?” He adds another finger, hoping it's what you need. However, you already know that two digits isn’t substantial enough so you try changing the angle by turning onto your side. It knocks Damiano off of you.

“I’m in charge,” he reminds you. “If you want me to mark you like this, ask with your words.” No, this certainly wasn't the feral interaction you’d fantasized about, but it was exactly what you needed. Damiano’s tone had the patience of a caretaker, always giving you the benefit of the doubt. If he’d barked orders you would have burst into tears. He saw your vulnerability when you’d forgotten about its existence.

“I’m just tryna – I need, I need…” He begins moving his fingers back and forth, assuming that more is the answer you’re struggling to verbalize. While this isn’t the case, the new stimulation does feel amazing and you seek out his hard cock without thinking. When Dami scoots away from your body a couple more tears fall and those tears become a powerful sob. You’re just trying to do what’s most natural and he won’t let you. There's simply no alternative. Damiano is the stronger of you two, so no matter how much you seek him out, he decides.

You hate this very visceral reaction to fighting for your needs. Unfortunately, trying not to cry only makes the tears more numerous.

“Love, I need you to tell me how to fix it. I can’t watch you cry, lemme fix it, baby.” He runs a finger down your cheek and is riddled with insecurity about his role. There are no precise answers. Following instincts you’ve only just discovered is messy and you always live with such brazen commitment. This experience is equally raw and potent. Although Dami is aware this response is hormonal, your very visible discomfort is hard to stomach. He knows you won’t abandon him regardless of how this goes and that's what makes it scary. How many people in our lives will stay when we fail them completely?

After managing a few deep breaths, you ease back into position with the help of Dami. He gives you the best reward: a third finger. You relax completely and it goes in with an ease that others would want you to feel shame for.

“Good girl, y/n. You listened so well, being such a good omega.” You want to express gratitude, but what comes out is a tactless gargle of noise. Dami doesn’t laugh at you. The amount of arousal dripping down Damiano’s fingers is making squealing sounds as they thrust in and out of your body. He doesn’t mock this either.

“Taking three so perfect. Can I stretch you out, love? Is that okay?” You push your hips back. At first Dami just holds steady, but then he helps you integrate all three at once by using some force. When you get them all the way to the last knuckle, he growls in appreciation, scenting you again. It's that woodsy smell you’ve come to know and love with a Pavlovian level of intensity. When you’d gone for a walk with Gia in what used to be a Christmas tree farm, the smell of the pine made you feel euphoric because of the association with Damiano.

That euphoria had nothing on your experience now, being surrounded with the real thing. Slipping into headspace was nearly irresistible even though you desperately wanted to be present for the coming moments. Last time you’d made love, you’d worried about headspace, and Dami had kept you present. Maybe he could fix it.

“I don’t like this.” Gulp. “How do I –” Sniffle. “Make it stop.” Damiano sighs, gently kissing each freckle on your shoulder in consulation. He’s giving you every ounce of his body weight, even resting his legs on yours. A less experienced person would be afraid of crushing you. In reality the deep pressure prompted the release of dopamine. Dami’s cock is so erect that it’s a little painful against your back. You imagine his pre-cum trapped between his body and yours. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel your skin sticking together, like you’d never been separate beings to begin with.

“Do you know the science behind why this feels so good?” he whispers. “The bacteria on our gut is highly compatible. When our brain senses that about another body it releases hormones which are a huge part of what makes my presence so attractive.” You’re not sure why Damiano is telling you this, but the timbre of his voice makes it easier to breathe. “Smell is the only sense with a straight shot to our primal brain. So everything you’re feeling is normal.”

“But can’t you –”

“I can’t fix something that isn’t broken, baby.”

“Knot,” you finally break with a sob. “Gimme a knot. Knot me. Knot me, knot me, knot me, knot me. You wanna know what I’ve been thinking about Dami? What's been driving me up a wall?” He repositions and in doing so rests his forearm right above your head while getting his legs under him. You let out a pitiful noise at the loss of contact.

“Tilt your head to the side so you can breathe,” he replies calmly, adjusting the pillow so it’s under your chest. You scoot up, kissing Dami’s hand as a translation to licking his skin. It’s salty and you can feel each flexed tendon with your tongue upon moving down to his wrist.

“Turn your head,” he repeats. Your vocalizations have been so frustratingly ineffective that you resort to something more primal and nip the meat of his hand in retribution for disregarding your request. After begging, Damiano should at least extend the decency or a yes or no.

He tsks, scooting his arm up, almost out of reach. His quick movement triggers some primal response and you bite him to keep him close. Sure you could use your hands, but for some reason your jaw came to mind first.

“Y/n,” he warns. It feels strange to hear your own name because you don’t feel like y/n right now, you feel like an omega. To communicate this, you nibble gently on the base of his thumb, just scraping your teeth against the skin because that comes more naturally than lips. You switch to the middle of his forearm, which feels muscular and sturdy and allows you to use more force. Nipping turns into creating those petal shaped marks to adorn Damiano’s skin.

To his credit, Dami was expecting this. You’d been using your teeth to convey affection since gameday, probably unaware. Making out always included pulling his lip into your mouth over and over, almost obsessively. As if you were trying to eat him alive. Whenever you kiss his neck, shoulder, jaw, etc. Damiano could feel the hard surface of your teeth just under your lips. He’d tickled you on Sunday after you’d woken up, and you outright bit him over his sweatshirt. He’d been shocked while you giggled against his neck, totally unaware. It was so subconscious that he didn’t know what to do. It wouldn’t be fair to discipline you for urges beyond your control.

Daminao accidently scooted his arm another millimeter away. You mewled in disagreement and latched on. There was something so compelling about resistance of the muscular tissue. It was a texture thing, but also the warmth of his skin and the taste. Instead of attempting reason, Dami bit you back. It's a warning bite, not nearly as rough. The realization hits you that this is what you’ve been craving intuitively, for days, maybe more.

For these reasons, you expect it not to hurt, but the pain is searing. At the same time it's the most satiating thing you’ve ever felt. You hump Damiano’s hand manically, squealing into the bedding. You try to ask for another finger, having lost count at his point. The words don’t come out clearly so you wiggle your hips and arch hard. He releases his jaw, moving his lips against your skin. You can’t tune into what he’s saying, but are so sexually frustrated that you kick like you’re having a tantrum. Damiano heeds your unspoken request, working at a snail's pace. But when your physicality definitively reveals that yes, you do want another finger, he gives you a little help integrating it. It feels full enough that you can actually think.

“Kitten?” Dami’s cock jumps at your responsiveness, before concern takes over at your lack of communication. “‘Kitten? Hey, hey, hey. Ok, baby. Y/n?”

“Don’t call me that,” you whimper, as your eyes focus on the sight in front of you: Damiano’s arm, marked with various tooth shaped bruises. This is sufficient to land you back into reality and you gasp in horror, breathing in the bed sheet as you do. Dami gives up and physically turns your head to the side himself.

“Hmm, someone got distracted. You went a little feral there for a second, kitten.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Sometimes giving into instincts with Damiano is a little too easy.

“You need to be gentler,” he states, firmly. You’d hurt him. After everything he’d been through today, you’d hurt him.

“I’m really, really so – sorry,” you sniff, trying to hold back tears once again. It was totally counterproductive (again.)

“Shh, everything’s okay. It’s just your instincts wanting to mate, love,” he soothes. “It's okay to mark your territory in the meantime, but gentler.” Damiano referring to himself as “you territory” absolutely did something between your legs. Even though slick production was limited by hormone suppressants, it was still embarrassingly plentiful. Damiano could feel every pulse, every rush, every tense with the hand against your cunt.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers and you want to cry, because you’d spent your entire adolescence terrified of subservience to an alpha and this wasn’t scary at all. This didn’t feel like being forced into anything, it was meditative, safe.

“Why – why won’t you listen?” Your voice is so wobbly it's hard to hear.

“I was listening,” he murmurs, kissing your hair as his own falls in your face.

“No. No, you were –”

“Making sure you could breathe,” he interrupts. “Because your well-being is my purpose.” You feel small, immature. “Now what did you mean –”

“But I need a knot! Because, because I – it feels like…I just need it,” you finish lamely. What you wanted to say is I need a knot because everything inside me echoes with an emptiness that you were made to fill. Because you’re the flood that fertilizes the plain. Because you’re the salve that soothes the ache. Because you’re the seed from which the garden flourishes. Because you’re the warmth that turns shivers into peaceful sleep.

“I feel so empty and you can fix it so why won't you fix it?” Your plea is desperate, spilling out unfiltered. You’d think that getting fingered would satisfy that need to be filled, but it was deeper than that, past what he could reach with any appendage. What you ached for was the warmth of Damiano’s cum. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear.

“I promise you’ll get your knot, kitten.” Surely Dami can’t actually mean…

“Are you fucking with me right now?” you demand. That had come too easy for it to be true.

“No that’d be so cruel, love, I wouldn’t do that.” You burst out into heaving, ugly sobs, crying so hard that your hands come to your face. Your hips stop moving completely and your thighs relax. The relief of his statement feels better than some orgasams. It’s that same rush of happy chemicals so intense it feels like you're choking on the endorphins.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs in horror at your intense reaction. Dami wraps both arms around you, shifting onto his side. Accidentally, he nudges your glute with his erection. You move towards it, scooting up so the head is pressed between your legs. It's a challenge for Dami to maintain control because no matter how he shifts, there’s slick wetting his cock. Your cunt is so engorged that it pulses against the head and Damiano can already feel the urge to knot in his groin.

“Now, please,” you whisper, undulating your hips along his dick.

“Not while you’re crying,” he huffs. Despite Damiano’s insistence, his cock twitched as you slid it between your labia. Thighs squeezed tightly together, you bring his shaft right against your body. With just slight adjustments, the head was nudging your clit and you moaned quietly. Why haven't you done this before? Dami’s cock was warm, girthy, skin softer than you’d imagined.

“Baby, please, please, I’m begging you, I need to think.” You halt moving and his chest heaves against your side for a few seconds. You decide to speak up.

“I’m not sad. I know I’ll stop crying if you just –”

“Show me your face. I have to see your face.” You drop your hands and wipe your nose, looking over your shoulder at Damiano. He’s in headspace, you both are.

“Do I look different?”

“You smell different, like a little piece of heaven tailor-made for me.” His chest heaves and nostrils flare as Damiano tries to absorb your essence through each pore. Of course you both know the best way to do that, to fulfill that craving for sameness.

“I’m terrified that what happened before is gonna happen now and this is so important to me that…In my rational brain I know there's no issues but part of me is screaming that I’m about to destroy everything and if that happened I couldn’t live with myself,” he babbles. You bring a hand to his cheek and Dami stares back at you. He’s analyzing every inch of your expression for fear or disgust. His gaze is so intense that you want to shrink back, but instead you allow yourself to be seen.

Why use words to assure him when all he needed was to observe the way you look at him? It was so much more honest than concocting some personalized platitude. Dami already knew his fears were unfounded, but his insecurity still needs proof. After a thorough search, he of course comes up empty handed and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“There aren’t words to describe how bad I want this,” you assure. He unwraps his arms, moving into a functional position that allows him to watch your expressions. You look back, heart thundering when Damiano drops his gaze down to his cock.

“Our first time was like this, remember?”

“Of fucking course I remember,” he scoffs, kissing your shoulder. “I’ll always remember.” Damiano positions himself against your entrance, holding his shaft at an angle. When he pushes forward into your pussy, you tilt backward in equal measure. This both expedites the progress and communicates your enthusiastic consent.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you hissed as soon as the head of his dick was inside. Your hymen was a little sore, but it didn’t sting like it had in the past. You’d expected this to be the most painful penetration you’d experienced, but were determined to take every inch, no matter how bad it hurt. This was not the sensation you’d been anticipating with girth like Damiano. You moan again and he freezes.

“Mm, it's good,” you reassure. “Why is it easy? I thought it was gonna be…uh, mhm.” Dami gives you another inch, beginning to tremble.

“You’re really relaxed, because you trust me,” he pants. “And that helps, but we also just…just kinda fit.” You take a deep breath in, and he delivers another push on the out breath, whimpering.

“We fit,” you repeat, eyes fluttering, but mouth falling open in pleasure. “Yeah we – we ah ah, Damiano,” you squeal. A jolt of pleasure caused you to squeeze down on what could be a knot.

“Is that –”

“Just your g-spot, baby.” He gives you a couple shallow thrusts before pushing deeper in. “Scent glands,” he murmurs, a moment after which your spasm violently. No cock had ever properly stimulated this erogenous zone. The touch had always been so aggravatingly inconsistent and inexperienced that you recoiled. Whereas Daminao left you searching for something to hold on to all while a rush of slick moistened everything, half way down to your knees.

“Oh my fucking god,” Dami mewled, resting his face on your shoulder as you clenched down on his cock. His hips delivered short, rapid thrusts and Damiano threw an arm over to hold himself up. You squeezed down again and Dami made a sound like he was in pain, but his hips twitched just the same. It was then that you realized this movement was involuntary, the same way tensing was involuntary.

“Is that all of it?” you questioned, since he wasn’t moving deeper.

“Need a sec,” he pants, propping himself up.

“It's okay if you need to cum,” you reassure. Damiano snorts, cheek bone resting on your shoulder.

“My stamina is a little better than that, love.” He starts exploring what angle felt easiest before freezing completely. It’d been so long since he’d produced a knot. It happened sometimes in his sleep like nocturnal ejaculations, but it couldn’t be prompted with typical masturbation. The urge started in his groin, a suffocating pressure, that somehow brought relief and more unbearable intensity as it spread to the base of his cock.

Although everything felt the same, the sudden change in behavior tipped you off. Damiano pushed in until it was suddenly painful and you startled. His hips ceased forward motion. Instead, Damiano went back to searching for a more stable position, restless in a way that you recognized as mitigating discomfort.

“Just give me a sec and I’ll take all of it.” You focus on relaxing your pelvis, making room for the intrusion.

“That’s your cervix, love.” Anatomically, there was nowhere else to go, but still you yearned to have Damiano’s cock fully seated. This frustration was contained in a whine that became a high pitched growl.

“You took so much more than I thought you could, baby. Four fingers and almost all of my cock? You’re amazing,” he coos.

“Four fingers,” you choke, face burning with shame. What the fuck would Dami think of a someone who could take four fingers their first time? He might as well have fisted you. What did you have left to give?”

“Mhm, and moaned so pretty when I gave it to you,” he compliments. Damiano turns his face away when he grimaces, shifting around in discomfort at the pressure building at the base of his cock.

“Why would you give me four?” Your tone comes out more accusatory when that's not the intent.

“Because you asked for them, baby. You were enjoying yourself. Don’t feel embarrassed.” You try to let that self-consciousness go, because clearly Damiano had no problem. He propped himself up with one hand and wrapped his other arm around your stomach. Suddenly it took everything in him to hold back. Damiano strained, nose scrunched, eyes squeezed shut. You knew what was happening and your heart pounded in your ears.

“Dami, please –”

“Once I start I won’t have control,” he grunts.

“I’m sure about you.” Damiano recognizes those words, the very same phrase you used that first day. His features relax one at a time until his mouth falls open and a drop of saliva lands on your shoulder. You’d figured it’d be instantaneous, but you don’t feel any change. Damiano obviously does.

“Ti do il mio cuore,” he whispers. You’re trying to figure out if you’ve misheard him when Damiano’s hips spasam and his grip around you tightens. Dami scents himself, rubbing his cheek against your glands roughly. It’s a masturbatory act that shocks you, but the erotisicm turns you on many times more. Apparently he wanted your pheromones on his skin so badly he couldn’t wait for you to realize this fact.

Dami’s movement had changed where you felt pressure internally, stimulating your scent glands so directly that you yelped in surprise. His lips found your shoulder, gentle kisses to comfort and you realized his pelvis wasn’t moving at all. This sensation of pressure everywhere was a knot. Your head fell against the mattress, unable to hold its weight and mitigate all your were feeling, but smiling wide. Being released from all the craving and anticipation couldn’t be described as anything but unadulterated joy.

A stinging pain made you look up at your shoulder and found Damiano viciously working a hickey.. The vein in his forehead was prominent and his canines scraped your shoulder. He could have pierced the skin, but was choosing not to, or perhaps forcing himself not to. His teeth became more demanding and that sensation of widespread arousal behind your belly button turned uncomfortable, then achy.

You tried to scoot away, but Dami growled and yanked you back, snapping his jaw by your ear in warning. Pulling out during a knot never ends well. For many omegas it wasn’t even anatomically possible. You whine at the discomfort and Damiano begins thrusting in and out, dispersing the pressure. As he did this the knot thickened and you growled in frustration. Things had been going so smoothly before. Now you felt short of breath because of the intrusion. You’d anticipated it being a bit sore, but never that the pain wouldn’t be sexy.

Damiano’s thrusts were frenzied, his knot massaging your g-spot then brushing your scent glands unevenly. He grunted during each pass, until those sounds turned to moans.

“That’s all,” he slurs. All that delicious and excruciating pressure had abated and now Dami could piece together a thought. You try to to relax, try to enjoy it, but you’re so fucking cramped. His cock was already more than you tried to fit before, but this was unattainable. All those omegas who talked about getting a knot whenever possible had been bullshitting. Sure, they hadn’t been lying about the pleasure, but they neglected to describe an ache so intense it negated everything good. How the fuck do people reach orgasam like this?

Noticing your distress, Damiano slowed his thrusts and kept them shallow. When that wasn’t effective, he figured that maybe the knot was more comfortable deeper inside. So Dami shifted to little thrusts, nearly to the hilt then halfway out. Still, your hands were balled into firsts. So he moved even slower which seemed to make this worse. Cumming was the only solution to lose the knot, but he couldn’t even get close to the edge seeing how much you weren’t enjoying this. So Damiano stopped, thinking maybe some cuddles would help you relax. He could manage gentle touch if you needed him to.

“This isn’t working for you.” You whine in displeasure, trying to figure out how knotting was supposed to soothing. It occurred to you that laying on your side probably restricted your pelvis more than any other position. Just trying to open up your hips and create room, you place your top leg on the mattress and naturally extend your arm out for the sake of balance.

Dami follows this time instead of stopping you. Internally he’s kicking himself, because of course you’d want to go on your tummy. It was always the position you naturally took with him. Damiano had been so focused on seeing your face that he’d ignored preferences your body had made blatantly obvious. Helping you along, he grabbed your extended leg under the knee and pulled it just below a 90 degree angle. His cock sank in with far less force. You let out a happy hum and he looked up to see your face relaxing the more you rocked your hips to get comfy.

“Like this? Not your tummy?” Rather than answering, you encourage Damiano by rocking your hips against him instead. This new position had totally changed the sensation and the angle felt less confined too. The pressure of his knot was still intrusive, but not unwelcome. You time your breathing with Damiano’s thrusts, which are tame and careful. He’s wrangled that out of control, frantic desire. It’s a relief, but you can feel the inertia in his groin, wanting to thrust to the hilt forcefully.

Checking if he’s bored from all the time it’s taking you to acclimate, you focus on Dami. His eyes are fluttering as he tries to watch you, but becomes overwhelmed by sensation. When he realizes you’re staring, Dami smiles drunkenly, breathing hard as he drops his lips down to your shoulder and rests his cheek there. You’ve never seen him more relaxed. He moves into you with his entire being, upper body surging forward with each thrust. It’s instantly better with his skin touching yours. Dami must feel it too, because he rests on top of you.

Every time your heart hurt like an open wound, craving all of your alpha with no barriers, had led up to this. Damiano’s warm cheek gave way to his bare chest, to his quivering stomach, to his muscular thighs, and you were denied what lay between. Now, you could trace every place you’d ever begged for more down to where he pulses inside you. There is no stopping point. He’s yours entirely. No tiding yourself over with pieces and fantasies that left you with a gnawing sexual frustration.

The only issue is Damiano’s weight pressing you into the bed. You had to keep your muscles actively engaged, so you didn’t end up flat on the mattress. The position felt so good that readjusting your leg constantly was worth it, but it also meant you couldn’t rest.

When Damiano realized this he grabbed a pillow, stuffing it right under the hinge of your left hip. This of course also positioned it under your cunt and you feel a bout of insecurity. You’d never been knotted, had no idea how much slick should result from it. What if it was too little and Damiano was insulted?

“I’m gonna wreck it,” you squeak.

“We’re gonna wreck it,” he corrects. “Relax.” When you stay frozen he presses his lips to the shell of your ear. “That wasn’t a suggestion,” he snarls, sending a shiver down your spine. You disengage your muscles, and the pillow does its job, holding the position for you. Ever so slowly, Damiano sinks in until his cock is fully sheathed. Just resting his body weight against you is enough, skin against skin everywhere it's possible. Gravity does the rest of the work. When Dami finally gets to laze against you it's euphoric. His cock twitches inside when you moan quietly, shifting your hips some more.

Damiano drags his canines along your shoulder, focusing on marking now that you’re enjoying yourself. All the hair stands on end in anticipation and a healthy dose of fear. You tilt your head to the side, making your left scent gland accessible. He can see that you’re nervous, but still compiling, trusting.

“Starting small so you’re not frightened,” he narrates. He bites down as he had earlier, roughly working a hickey into the base of your neck where it can be covered. You’re shifting around again and he looks down to discover the real issue. Your clit is pressed into the pillow and you’re struggling to hold back because you haven’t been permitted to use it this way.

“Oh, omega wants to rub herself on that huh?” You look down to the pillow guiltily. “Do you think that’d feel good? Go ahead,” he encourages. The case is medium blue and made of thin cotton. If you did this it’d be unusable, but the fabric is so soft and the pillow plump enough for some resistance.

Thing is, you hadn’t been holding back for Damiano’s sake. You’d devoted your adolescence thus far to not being this omega: ruled by an insatiable sexuality that compelled them to be depraved things like hump pillow cases or the arms of couches. The present issue is that Dami’s knot has rendered every erogenous zone in your groin highly sensitive. So while your clit is throbbing so hard each beat aches, and while your heart flutters at the thought of grinding your pussy against that pillow, initiating the stimulation is intimidating. Sure the sensation will probably be far better than holding back, but you’re not willing to sacrifice this last bit of control to find out.

“Go ahead, love,” Dami repeats, assuming that you hadn’t heard him. You whine, trying to hide your face in shame.

“What if it hurts?” you whimper.

“It’s not gonna hurt,” he soothes. Damiano kisses the back of your neck, gives you a genius amount of time to comply.

“I don’t wanna,” you try.

“Do. Not. Lie to me,” he snarls and you cower against the mattress. He delivers another warning bite, except this time it's more like a retribution bite. Damiano means to hurt you a little. Discipline isn’t supposed to be enjoyable. It makes you squeal and your hips quiver against the pillow. You know that the pain has been intentionally administered and that's why you like it so much, because it demands subservience.

Dami bites you again, but it's loving, a painless nip. He noses around your scent gland as you come out of your shell, finally relinquishing control. He lets out a rumbling hum, and with every molecule of your being you know its praise. So often it felt like you could do nothing right, or to other people’s standards. But just now you’d made a mistake, taken a correction, and your mate was showering you in recognition. Dami licked your neck in all the best places and his hand found your nipple to play with.

“Good omega,” he soothes and tears sprang to your eyes. All you've done is not fuck up further. But Dami was rubbing your nipple between his pointer finger and thumb in a way that made your peripheral vision go fuzzy. He administered a couple more love nips on your upper back and pressed his face against your skin, purring. So really, heeding his request was the most natural thing in the world.

“We’re going to try together,” Damiano orders. He presses you against the pillow and slowly drives forward, dragging you clit across the entire length. You’re trembling beneath him, crying. These aren’t the same tears you’d shed earlier, they were tears of pleasure. Even though Dami just meant to get you started, you stay with him as he repeats the motion over and over, dragging your cunt back and forth.

“When was the last time you did this?” Self restraint was odd behavior for the situation.

“Never.” Your voice is so low it's barely audible.

“Why not, baby?”

“I don’t know how,” you plead. The act had always been too intimidating. Even as you say the words, your hips are finding their own speed, one much faster than Damiano’s. He was glad you couldn’t see his face of genuine confusion. You loved friction: his hand, the crotch of his jeans, his thigh. Even when Dami administered touch you’d rub your clit up and down the pad of his finger rather than letting him do the work. Did you even know your own preferences?

Now that you’ve allowed yourself, the movement is messy and embarrassing because it's desperate. Grinding your pussy against the pillow is intuitive and your alpha is just following to the best of his ability. The grunts and broken moans you’re letting out aren’t pretty or feminine. It was apparent that you desperately needed to orgasam this way, but refused to give yourself permission.

“You’re gonna cum on my knot, omega.” Damiano decides for you. Searching for assurance, you reach out and hold his hand. Dami squeezes back, recognizing the way you’ve begun to tense and tremble. Even when he’s not doing much, you always have the most intense orgasams about your alpha. This one feels like hot coals turned inferno and you desperately want to finish because it's insupportable.

Climaxing while knotted is easy, but you’re crying in overwhelm, then choking on your own air. Damiano scents you while also squeezing your hand rhythmically, slowing his thrusts even though it’s less pleasurable. He becomes your metronome and your entire body falls in sync. Dami keeps you from crash landing on the other side of your orgasam. Instead, you both intuitively find each other in the middle with an untaught movement neither has to think about. It’s not quite thrusting, but your bodies roll together in a way that falls organic, like the beating of a heart.

“You can bite me harder.” Your orgasam had prompted a wave of courage. Damiano moves his mouth closer to your neck and bites again. The pain is white hot and you’re kicking so hard that you kick him. In any other state of mind, the collision of the top of your foot with his shin would have gritted your teeth in pain. Right now that sensation has nothing on the throbbing bite mark. Yet, when Dami releases his jaw you miss the pressure of his teeth.

“Again,” you request, breathless. Damiano bites down and a very primal part of your mind that’s been awaiting a mark confuses all that adrenaline from pain with pleasure and gives you a powerful rush of oxytocin. With your bond it’s not really necessary though. If Damiano had told you to take it, even though it hurt, getting to appease his request would be enough to offset any discomfort.

Things start to blend together: fear and arousal, pain and orgasmic pleasure, where Damiano’s knot ends and your vagina begins. Of course you know that you're separate beings, but there's no discernable evidence, just the reassuring ache in your core. Already traces of Dami were collecting inside you, every bit of pre-cum preserved. You hadn’t lost a single drop of Damiano and that fact made you tear the fitted sheet off of the corner of the bed in ardor.

You’d been moaning so loudly and so often and Dami quickly realized you weren’t even conscious of it. He should probably tell you to quiet down, but he’d never consider interrupting whatever you were feeling right now. Your eyes rolling back in your head in response to the biting was equal parts relief and turn-on. You were arching up towards him with every part of your body, trying to get closer and holding his hand in a vice grip. He literally pins you to the bed, which causes things to shift and reveals a long, wet streak on the pillow.

“Mm, mark me. Ma – mark me,” you stutter. Dami takes a shaky breath and bites your scent gland. There’s pressure, but not the blazing agony you were expecting. He was hesitating, not wanting to injure you. At the same time Damiano’s canines craved burying themselves in the muscle of your neck. He couldn’t help but admire your tender expression: slightly drooling in relaxation, cheeks flushed, sweat, stray hairs stuck to your forehead.

Damiano had thought that your yearning for this was uninformed, but at every turn you’d welcomed and adapted. Trusting, so fucking trusting after seeing him totally loose it today. He could just as easily pierce your jugular and you’d be dead in 60 seconds. You both knew he held your life in his hand, and could close his fist at will, but you lived in the certainty that he would never harm you. Your unwavering belief that he was fundamentally good made Dami a better person.

“Break the skin,” you whine. “God, please break the skin. Please, please –” Outright begging, Damiano finally gave himself permission, and you do feel the exact moment he pierces your scent gland. Dami has to bite down hard and the sensation of breaking flesh is immediately pleasing, even though the taste of blood is not. Pheromonal excretions flood his taste buds, both sweet and musky. It's the strongest dose he’s ever gonna get and he doesn’t want to let go. Dami is aggressively snapping his hips against yours before he can stop himself, aroused beyond comprehension.

The force makes you yelp then go pliant, as do Damiano’s vicious growls which have taken the place of moans. Your brain kind of turns to static, like changing the channel to one that has no programming. The TV is still on but the signal isn’t reaching anything. The inertia in your pelvis demands that you rut against the pillow harshly, disregarding Dami’s pace. His teeth do tug at the skin painfully while you move, but you reach orgasam so easily that it's irrelevant. Your climax takes the form of a full body shudder where everything tenses momentarily then relaxes so completely you can’t move. Behind your eyes rays of white hot energy all band together as you peak in the most intense orgasam of your life. This very visceral visual fades into warmth that travels throughout your entire body, fingertips and toes.

Meanwhile, Dami forces himself to release his jaw. The small, narrow crescent shaped hole of your scent gland is inflamed, but not bleeding. One of his front teeth landed directly on the gland, which explains the burst of excretions in Damiano’s mouth. The two puncture wounds left by his canines on either side are a little bloody, though. Damiano’s front teeth have left deep marks as well, but everything else is bruising deep purple.

You’re squirming beneath him, probably in tremendous pain. Your face scrunches in tension, then releases completely.

“Kitten? I need you to use your words right now.” It takes you a second to remember how to speak.

“M’ here,” you reply. Damiano’s stomach rests on our tailbone. The amount of slick on your thighs is absolutely horrendous and the sensation makes you grimace.

“How much pain are you in, love?” Dami scolds himself for not looking up how deep a bite was needed for effective marking. This had to be excessive.

“M’ not,” you murmur, thumb stroking the back of Damiano’s hand. Even though he knows this to be temporary, Dami is so relieved that he peppers kisses across your face. The sensation makes you smile and wiggle around adorably.

“Wha’ ‘er you doin,’” you giggle. Your legs are basically adhered together by slick and it stings when you move. Your nose wrinkles in displeasure and it makes Damiano worry.

“Why the face?” You groan in annoyance at the necessity of speech.

“Slick.” You shift around some more, trying to find comfort and realizing the position itself wasn’t comfortable. You decide on having both hips propped up so you don't feel so uneven, extending the hand holding Dami’s all the way out and following it with your upper body.

Although he’s surprised to feel you moving so soon after getting marked, Dami heeds your instincts again. Watching the way you slowly shift, stretching every muscle as you move is so sexy. When you release his hand, after one final squeeze, Damiano gets on all fours. He tries to pull the pillow out from under you so you can lay flat like usual, but you growl at him. Daminao instead tries putting it squarely under your hips, earning a hum on contentment. Chest to the mattress with knees bent allowed you to be an active participant. Instead of having this be something done to you by your alpha, each undulation you rock back and forth together.

After getting marked and cumming twice with a knot, Damiano is unsure how your body will respond. He carefully sinks his cock inside, paying attention to if you’re arching back or pulling away. The position allows him to get deeper, a lot deeper, in fact. This was the only orientation so far that had permitted him to really thrust, building momentum. Directly on your side was awkward and tilted was exhausting.

“Deeper,” you demanded. Experimentally, Damiano gave you every inch of his cock, making sure you could take it. You whine in impatience and he wants to eat you alive. Angeling his dick towards your belly, Dami pulls back fully then thrusts until his pubic hair is tickling your glutes. These long strokes are getting some primal, happy noises, but it's not the drastic reaction he wanted. Damiano focuses on stimulating your scent glands, but there's a place further inside that aches for attention. Maybe it could only be reached by ejaculation, or maybe if you arched hard and thrusted back harder, the tip of Dami’s cock could get there.

So on the next pass you drive back against Dami forcefully. He’s about to scold you for damn near knocking over when he feels your feet pound against the mattress and your cunt clench in pleasure. On the next thrust he holds your hips steady and grinds against you, getting that extra quarter inch you need to squeal his name.

“Dami, Dami! Oh my fucking god,” you mewl.

“You want me to touch your a-spot, sweet girl. Did you even know that’s what this is called?” You shake your head, slamming the palm of your hand against the bed. There was no way to find this with your own fingers, Damiano realized. Yet, your instincts couldn’t have chosen a better position for this particular stimulation.

“Knew exactly what you needed, didn’t you?” Damiano hits a really steep, invasive angle as he finishes his sentence. You surge backwards, whimpering at the gentle touch that accompanies such a jarring sensation. Damiano runs a calming hand up your back while shortening his thrusts. He pulls halfway out then plunges as deep as possible.

“That,” you pant. “That, that, that!” At first the sensation was strange.You weren’t sure what compelled you to change position for this. But after a couple thrusts the newness was gone and replaced with complete satiation. It wasn’t the electric stimulation of the g-spot, but made everything feel full and effortless. Only the head of Damiano’s cock could reach which meant that his knot was rubbing against the top of your internal scent glands. The stimulation itself was really, really deep. You hadn’t even known your vaginal canal went back that far, but of course Damiano did.

“Whatever you just…again or…or more, or…fuck something,” you moaned, lost for words at the change in sensation. Dami shorted his thrusts even further, seeing you grab handfuls of the rumpled bed sheets.

“Ah, uh god! Dami!” you shriek. He smiles at your visceral reaction, happy to get it so right the first time. After tearing into your neck with his teeth he wants you to feel amazing and clearly it's working because you’re dripping onto the bed. He’s not gonna announce that because you’ll get self-conscious. Damiano is also not about to tell you how damn loud you’re being, because you’re enjoying yourself too much and he doesn’t particularly care if it annoys his brother.

“Turn your head, love,” he gently coaches.

“M okay,” you answer. Dami shortens his thrusts even further and you bite down on the sheet and mattress cover while squealing. This motion is actually easier for Damiano, and allows him to consider his own orgasam. His bollocks were tight against his body, heavy and aching with his seed.

“More that,” you murmur, struggling to form words. Damiano switches to just pulsing against your a-spot. He only pulls out a half inch then grinds hard, tilting his hips at a downward angle as much as possible. It barely counts as thrusting, so he’s expecting a correction.

“Oh please! Just please, please, please,” you wail, stilling your pelvis and finally letting him do the work. It's the catharsis of a craving that's been haunting you for weeks, in waking hours and in sleep.

“This what my omega needs?” You try to answer, but the title just makes everything fuzzy and warm. Damiano filling you up in every way possible exacerbated the instinct to submit. You hoped he didn’t think you were ignoring him as your eyelids grow heavy. Right now your internal scent glands were a headspace button and Dami was rubbing his knot up and down, up and down.

“Kitten? Kitten?” Damiano threads his fingers into your hair, which has mostly fallen out of its updo. It's just another glorious sensation to layer on top and you try to thank him, but it comes out as a hum in the back of your throat. Damiano turns your head to the side, speeding up his pace since the limited motion was so manageable. Your eyes roll back in your head then fall close. Dami reaches to caress your breast, feeling your chest heave. He tries to figure out how close you are to orgasam or if that’s what you’re experiencing right now.

You look peaceful, and when Dami realizes you’re purring, he knows everything is okay. He keeps up with that thrusting pattern you like, not wanting to stop stimulation you’d collaborated so well to find. However, he was positioned on all fours, and you lay on the bed, which left a distressing distance between your bodies.

“Y/n? Omega?” You could perceive the warmth of Damiano’s voice, but identfying the words was a challenge. It was comforting just the same, since you recognized the vocal tone as belonging to your alpha. His hand was in your hair again, pushing it from your face, massaging with his fingertips. Dami was trying and failing to get your attention, discerning if he could find his own climax. Thinking of your pleasure only for so long had tested even Damiano’s excellent compartmentalization. Behind his wall of focus, Dami’s orgasam had been building and now waited to crest like a great wave, a tsunami.

A knot wasn’t enough physical intimacy. Damiano flattened himself against you, face nuzzling your untouched scent gland, trying to cover himself in your smell. On the instroke he was cumming, mouth on your scent gland, trying not to use his teeth this time. It was excruciating to resist the fantasy that any alpha who got close enough to touch you would also be close enough to see you covered in his bite marks. Releasing rope after rope of cum made it impossible to remember that these bites Damiano used to communicate his unspoken love had a physical toll on you. He shook and clung to you in the final moments of his orgasam. Damiano cried out, guttural and passionate, right next to the shell of your ear.

You reached out for Dami in the dark. Hand crawling across the bedspread, you got lucky and found his grasp. The reminder that you were right here with him had Damiano releasing a groan that turned into a growl of desperation, his hips jerking against yours once again. Dami’s second orgasam came quickly and he collapsed on top of you before it had even peaked. His legs were placed on the outside of your own, squeezing down like that could make the tensing of your walls a palatable sensation. Bearing down was the instinctual reaction to feeling Dami’s hot cum coat your walls, splashing on your cervix. You wanted to hold him infinitesimally close somehow.

His second release was more plentiful than the first. Damiano pulled out halfway, hoping that your reaction wouldn’t be so visceral in a shallower spot. However, each rush of jizz landed on your scent glands and that had you bordering on overstimulation. Dami was considering his third orgasam when he noticed you’d stopped purring and were strangling his hand instead.

“I know,” he huffed, out of breath. “Uh, fucking fuck,” Damiano groaned, aftershocks making his cock twitch. When you winced again, he knew integrating all this stimulation had gone from pleasurable to overwhelming. It brought some bodily awareness back and Dami realized he was squeezing you every place he possibly could, trying to pull you closer subconsciously as if this wasn’t intimate enough. He forced himself to begin letting you go. After having you so completely, it was fundamentally counter-intuitive. Dami wanted to wrap you in all four limbs, biting and knotting until he was too dehydrated to produce anymore semen and saliva.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your hair. He strokes it carefully, wanting to get you purring again. That'd been such a beautiful sound.

“You’re mine. You’re mine. Your mine,” Dami chokes up. He relaxes his head against your shoulder and tries to collect himself. It's hard because he’s spent the last year worried about what might happen when you’re separate from him and right now you’re the same person. You’re safe, tucked against him, flooded with happy chemicals.

“Hey,” you rasp, moving beneath him. As Daminao lost his knot, you surfaced out of headspace. You detangle your hand from his, propping yourself up and taking some deep breaths. Awkwardly, he pulls out, resting beside you. As he shifts Dami realizes that he’d marked you on both sides, accidently. He carefully examines the bite mark on your right side, which thankfully didn’t break the skin.

“How do you feel?” he murmurs, looking at you differently than he did earlier today.

“Honestly, it's nice to only have my organs inside of me,” you joke.

Notes: Taglist to be added tomorrow <3 Tell me your favorite part this was a labor of love. Thanks for voting on the cover!

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jupiterwrites99 · 1 year

Text

You're On Your Own, Kid

Chapter 4

“Guys this is Sage, Sage, this is the pack.” Sam introduced her from next to Paul. Their large figures keep her out of sight. As soon as they had pulled up to the house, Sage could hear the many voices inside. Paul had griped about the ice cream melting, coaxing her out of his car while handing her the bag with the things that he had picked out for her. Including his favourite cookies.

Sage didn’t move from her spot behind the hulking men, though she peaked around Paul to see a group of oversized men and Leah staring back at her. She looked down at her feet with a frown, it reminded her so much of home. Or what used to be home.

“Um, maybe just give her space until she gets used to all of us.” A soft female voice sounded. She didn’t recognize it, it didn’t belong to Leah or Emily.

“She’s like a scared little puppy,” One of the boys crooned and an unexpected growl escaped from Sage’s throat.

I’m not a puppy, her wolf moaned in annoyance.

Paul turned to face her, a cocky smirk on his face, “That's just Quil. Trust me, you could take him in a fight.”

Boisterous laughs rang out around the small living room as well as many agreements with Paul's statement. A sheepish smile graced Sages lips as Paul moved forward into the room, leaving her exposed to everyone.

She looked wide eyed at all of them, joking around like a giant family. Her heart began to race and she was the most overwhelmed she had been in years.

They reminded her of her own family.

The family she was never going to get back.

She noticed Leah slipping out the back door and quickly followed in her footsteps, hoping no one would notice, or care.

“Why are you following me?” Leah asked without turning around, she continued walking towards the trees.

Sage didn’t answer her. She didn’t exactly know what to say.

The older girl stopped abruptly, looking over her shoulder. She could see the hardlines on her face, though they didn’t look like they were caused by anger. More so sadness. Leah sighed, “You can’t come with me.”

Sage frowned, “Being unwanted isn’t exactly a new thing for me.”

Leah's face instantly softened at her words, a look of understanding washing over her face, “I have to go to work, Sage. If I was allowed to, I would bring you but..”

“It’s fine. Where’s the beach?” She waved off the short haired girl before her. Paul had promised to show her later, but her patience was wearing thin and being stuck inside that small cabin with all the huge men wasn’t exactly inviting.

Leah pointed towards a rocky path just behind the house, “That will lead you to Third Beach, not many people go there but I’m assuming that's what you’re looking for.”

Sage nodded gratefully, giving Leah a small smile before leaving her to head to work. Whatever work it was that she did, considering she was walking towards the treeline barefoot.

Finding her way to the beach wasn’t hard, the closer she got the more she could smell the fresh ocean water and hear the calming waves. Sage had taken off her shoes and socks that Emily had given her to feel the cool sand between her toes, a sensation she had never guessed she would have missed. But she did.

“Sage?”

She perked her head up at her name, completely forgetting about the shells and rocks she had been sorting through.

She breathed out a sigh of content as her eyes found Pauls, “Hi.”

“You hungry? Em is almost done with lunch.” He mentioned, sitting on the opposite side of the driftwood she had claimed as a seat. The many seashells and rocks, along with the flowers she had picked earlier placed neatly in separate piles.

“Is it that sandwich again?” She asked, crinkling her nose in disgust.

Paul laughed before shaking his head, “No. It's pasta. She's got some muffins too if you don’t like pasta.”

She nodded, looking back down at her findings, “Maybe later. Where’d Leah go?”

“Patrol.” Paul answered honestly, “We all do it to make sure no threats get onto our land.”

“Vampires.” Sage noted. She had come across quite a few, their stench was worse than the sandwich Emily had given her.

Paul cleared his throat, and she figured the topic made him uncomfortable, “Yeah, we uh, killed the one that attacked you. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“I wasn’t worried.” She said bluntly before curiously asking, “Do you live with Emily and Sam?”

Paul shook his head, “No.”

“Oh.” Sage frowned. He was there every morning and night, only disappearing for a few hours during the day. “Is Emily your sister?”

He chuckled at her question, “No.”

“So, why are you there all the time?” Sage asked quietly. It was like he never left, everywhere she turned, he was there. There was no way that couch he had been sleeping on was comfortable for him, he was practically falling off of it the other night.

“We’re a pack. We always spend time together.” He answered, avoiding her gaze. She had heard his heartbeat pickup at her question and felt as though he was lying.

If he was going to lie about something as simple as why he spent so much time at Sam and Emily’s, what else would he lie about?

“Wasn’t like that back home.” Sage remarked, before turning her attention to the rising tide.

“What?” Paul asked.

The young wolf sighed, she was hoping that the conversation wouldn’t have happened this soon. It's not like she was planning on ever going back, even if Sam decided she couldn’t stay any longer. Turning her attention back to Paul, she explained, “My pack, we weren’t like this at all, but we had a lot more wolves than yours does.”

A look of shock crossed his face, “You have a pack?”

“Yeah?” She furrowed her brows, not understanding why that was so hard to believe, “Every wolf has a pack.”

Paul's features switched from shock to annoyance, “That would have been nice to know earlier, Sage.”

She shrugged, “They’re not my pack anymore.”

“How old were you when you shifted?” He asked curiously, completely ignoring what she had said. It was as if he has now felt the need to question her and everything she had said to him. Sage frowned at the thought, she would never lie to her mate.

“Twelve.” Sage answered honestly, “I was a late bloomer.”

“How old are you now?” He shot off another question.

“It's 2023?” She asked for confirmation.

“Yeah,” Paul nodded.

“Twenty Two.” She thought about it for a moment before admitting, “I was seventeen when I left.”

Paul's eyes narrowed at her and it made her squirm. It was a look of distrust, and her thoughts were confirmed as he asked, “You left your pack?”

“Yeah,” She spoke grimly, not wanting to get into the nitty gritty details. It was the best decision she had ever made for herself. The only decision she made for herself prior to leaving.

“Sage, if they come looking for you--” Paul started.

“They won't.” She cut him off abruptly, “I have no reason to go back there.”

“Okay,” He nodded.

Sage let out a small sigh before turning the focus on him and asking, “How old are you?”

“Twenty Six.” Paul replied, a small smirk forming on his face as she looked him up and down.

“Hm.” She hummed. Paul did not look twenty six to her, though she didn't exactly look twenty two herself. Sage was always told that wolves who don't phase as often age the same as humans would, but those who did, or stayed as their wolf like she had, age slower.

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow before asking, “Is that a problem?”

“No, I just thought you were older.” Sage shook her head.

“Well, I’m not.” He snipped, “Phased when I was sixteen, from then on I’ve looked older than I am.”

“Sixteen is really late.” Sage commented. Twelve was considered uncommon in her pack, most of her friends had phased by the time they were ten. Though she never really was one to follow the flow of her pack, much to her parents dismay,

“Most of us were sixteen.” Paul remarked.

“Weird.” Sage commented, “Ten is the usual.”

“Ten years old?” He asked, shock written all over his face.

Sage rolled her eyes, “That's what I said, isn’t it?”

“Let's get back, I'm starving.” Paul pushed himself up from the log, “And you need to eat something.”

“I’m fine.” She waved him off. She didn't want to get involved in their pack activities, meals together included. She preferred life on her own compared to the pack dynamic she had chosen to leave.

“Do you always argue like this?” Paul huffed. He looked down at her in annoyance and she only grinned back.

“Yes.” She said, before jokingly adding, “Why do you think they kicked me out?”

“You said you left.” He remarked. She grimaced, she did say that. But it was technically a mutual decision. Sage had been given an ultimatum, which she chose not to take, thus resulting in her heading off on her own. It was as simple as that.

Sage stood up, grabbing her shells and rocks before quickly pocketing them. She avoided Paul's gaze as she said , “Same thing. I didn't want to be there and the alpha didn't want me there.”

She was glad the older wolf did not press the subject anymore, instead, he reverted back to the topic of his growling stomach, and the lack of food she had consumed. He cockily said, “Alright, well, I don't care how much you stomp your feet, you’re coming back with me, princess.”

“I said stop calling me that” She shoved him, he grabbed her arms and pulled her close. The scent of his cologne was dizzying to the younger wolf. Her inner wolf was practically drooling at the smell. As if she wasn’t already drawn to him enough as it was to conclude that Paul was in fact her mate, this solidified it for her. The R rated thoughts she was concocted forced her to bite her lip before she said something out of line.

“Whatever you say, little wolf.”

“I can take you.” She growled out. Just because they were destined for eachother, doesn't mean she was going to bow down to him. She may not be stronger than him, but they both knew she was faster, even if he didn't want to admit it. They had a hard time catching her with a broken leg, it took all of his pack to do it.

“Paul!” A woman's voice called his name before he could respond. She stood with her hands on her hips as they both turned to her and she asked, “Can we talk?!”

Sage pushed down the rumble of her wolf's disapproval. It was clear that this woman was not a wolf, which only meant one thing. Human girlfriend. Her pack was not allowed to have relationships with humans, friends or lovers. It was a risk to the pack, whether that be by being found by hunters or killing their bloodlines. Sage yanked her arm out from Paul's grip and snarkily said, “Your girlfriend wants you.”

“She's not my girlfriend.” Paul smirked wolfishly, leaning down to her height to whisper in her ear, “You’re cute when you're jealous.”

“I’m not,” Sage shot back, though she was lying through her teeth.

“No?” Paul waved Rachel over, and a small growl bubbled in Sage's throat. He looked back down at her, a small smirk, “I’ll meet you back at the house.”

#twilight wolf pack #paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x oc #paul lahote smut #paul #paul lahote imagine #twilight #twilight wolves

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mellowsadistic · 2 years

Text

The Halloween Spirit - Part 3

Katie strode down the street angrily, sneering at the ridiculous decorations adorning the houses on either side of the road. Fake cobwebs, bedsheets made to look like ghosts, and those horrible jack o’ lanterns sitting outside every front door with their stupid, leering faces. She hated Halloween. Children knocking on everyone’s doors, students dressing up in dumb costumes and making lots of noise while everyone was trying to sleep, her boyfriend trying to coax her into being more ‘festive’. It wasn’t like it was Christmas! It was just some dumb excuse for supermarkets to sell lots of sweets!

“Happy Halloween!” said a man who was passing her.

Katie scowled back at him, and when she came across a pumpkin sat on the pavement a few yards later, she gave it a good kick. It caved in with a satisfying crunch, splitting its sinister grinning face in two. And as Katie walked on, she didn’t notice the shadow that crept after her along the pavement.

The twenty-five-year-old barely noticed the changes at first. Her gait widened a little. Her walk seemed to become slightly more unsteady. But she put it down to the gin and tonics she’d had earlier. How else was she supposed to get through this stupid holiday? But the puffiness was growing between her legs, getting thicker and thicker, until Katie realised she was practically waddling as she walked. She stopped dead in her tracks, wondering if she’d somehow gotten more drunk than she’d realised, but then she heard the crinkle, and she looked down at her waist.

She gasped. Something big and bulky was bulging out from under her pants. What the hell had happened to her underwear? She ducked behind a large plastic skeleton propped up by a stick standing in front of one of the houses and, glancing around to check there was nobody nearby, she pulled her trousers down over the puffy thing that had appeared somehow beneath them.

Katie’s eyes went wide, and she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Then she felt the heat rising in her cheeks. The underwear she’d put on that morning had gone. Instead there was an absurdly thick, old-fashioned cloth nappy around her waist, held in place by two oversized safety pins and covered in pair of orange, semi-transparent plastic pants, decorated with little ghosts and bats.

Katie stared down at the enormous diaper she was wearing for five whole seconds before she came to her senses. She didn’t know how this had happened or who could have pulled such a trick on her, but the fact was she was out in public with a huge towelling nappy on her bottom. She couldn’t let anybody see her like this! She had to get home right away! But when she reached for her pants to pull them back up over her newly padded rear, her hands closed around thin air. Peering over the bulging white cloth around her waist, she saw that they had gone. She was wearing nothing below the waist except her shoes, socks, and her giant nappy and Halloween-themed plastic pants.

Katie let out a squeal and started toddling as fast as she could back down the street, heading for the apartment she shared with her boyfriend. Her face turned scarlet as she passed a group of teenagers, who burst into laughter at the sight of her, but it was nothing compared to how hard she blushed when she felt a dribble of pee begin to leak out into her nappy. She squealed girlishly again, trying in vain to clamp down on her bladder – but it was as though she had no control at all! Tears began to spill down her cheeks as she toddled along, feeling her diaper slowly filling up with her pee-pee. It soaked into the thick cloth so slowly that Katie could feel it sloshing about in her pants as she ran, and the sharp ammonia smell reached her nose and made her screw up her face in disgust. Worse, she felt a sudden cramping in her stomach, and then without warning, she let out a loud, rumbling fart. She sobbed. What the hell was happening to her?!

Katie hurried home as fast as she could, ignoring the laughter and the stares, the looks of concern or even pity, and soon she was standing in front of her apartment with her face streaked with tears. She hastily unlocked the door and rushed inside, slamming it shut behind her. Then she reached desperately for her nappy, intent on tearing it off and sprint to the toilet. But it was too late.

“Hi, sweetheart!” her boyfriend called, walking into the hall just in time to see her body drop into a squat.

“Unngghhhh!” Katie grunted as she started pooping in her pants like an oversized two-year-old. She screwed up her face as he body strained, totally beyond her control, to push an enormous stinky load into her ludicrous Halloween diapers.

It seemed to take an age, but once the final wave of disgusting mush had entered the seat of her nappy, she looked up at her boyfriend tearfully to tell him what had happened, to plead for his help. Only the words didn’t come out of her mouth.

“Goo goo ga ga ba ba pffff!” she babbled instead, a little bit of drool spilling from her lips.

She gaped in surprise, and felt a cold chill run down her spine. Why couldn’t she talk? But more frightening still was her boyfriend’s expression. He was smiling at her in amusement.

“There’s my little darling,” he said sweetly, in the voice that adults reserved for very young children. “It looks like someone made a Halloween present for her Daddy!”

“Ah ba ba goo ga ga ba!” Katie babbled, the meaningless prattle spilling from her lips without her consent.

She could only stand still in horror while her boyfriend turned her around and pulled out the back of her nappy and plastic pants to peek inside.

“P-U!” he exclaimed. “Such a stinky girl! My little Katie-poo really filled up her pumpkin pants, didn’t she?” He turned her back around and wiped the tears off her face. “But that’s okay, princess. Daddy’s here to get you all cleaned up.”

Katie was too shocked and confused and afraid to stop him as he laid her down on the floor and started tugging her plastic pants over her diaper and off her legs.

“Let’s get your special Halloween pants off, sweetie,” he cooed gently, “but don’t worry, you can wear them again in just a minute!” He put them to one side and undid the comically large safety pins holding her nappy in place, careful not to prick her as he did so. “There we go. Good girl for sitting still, sweetie!”

Katie let out a soft whine. She felt like she was going mad. This had to be some sort of nightmare. That was it. Or maybe someone had spiked her gin and tonic. Surely she wasn’t really getting her nappy changed by her boyfriend on the floor of her own apartment? This had to be a hallucination.

She felt the front of her diaper getting pulled down, and she couldn’t help but look at it. It was stained yellow, clearly drenched with her pee. Her nostrils were assaulted by an increase in the smell of her piss, and something yuckier. She clenched her eyes shut before she could catch sight of the horrible mess she knew must be sitting in the seat of her pants, and tried desperately to will herself to wake up while her boyfriend lifted her legs into the air by her ankles and worked away at her filthy bottom with a pack of baby wipes.

“Daddy’s gonna get you all nice and clean,” her boyfriend cooed in a sing-song voice, “and then it’s time for din-dins! Daddy bought dozens of jars of pumpkin flavoured baby food for his little princess. Yes he did! I know it’s your favourite, sweetie, and I got enough to last weeks and weeks!” He slid a fresh cloth nappy, just as thick as the last, beneath her bottom and started to seal her into it. Before Katie knew it, he was sliding the orange plastic pants back over her bulging diaper butt. “And I’ll let you wear your pumpkin pants tomorrow too, baby” he promised, with the air of someone offering a special treat. “And the day after. And every day after that, I expect, unless they need cleaning.” He chuckled and tickled her under the chin. “Daddy knows how much you love Halloween!”

All Katie could do was cry. Her life was pumpkin themed from that day on. Everyone seemed to see her as a baby – her friends, her family, her boyfriend. And although they all had different ways of treating her (some liked to pinch her cheeks, others liked to bounce her on their knees), they all knew one thing for certain. Baby Katie loved Halloween.

#mellowsadistic

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adelarsims · 11 months

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Jeb is probably the only character whose outfits i don't change without the storyline reason for him to get them, because unlike others whose clothes are just clothes and they probably have the whole wardrobe waiting at home, Jeb's outfits are very telling

look how few clothing items he actually owns and how bad mutli-purposing them gets sometimes. he works out in his summer shorts, and then he swims in them, too. that's pretty disgusting. he sleeps in his workout t-shirt. gross.

he wears his "party" pants in winter because they're the thickest pants that he owns. or should i say that aside from shorts and pajama pants, they're his only pants?

things that he wears to both party and formal events are apparently his most fancy clothes. to be really "formal", he wears shoes. let's not dwell on the fact that those are sneakers and he doesn't have socks, at least they're some sort of shoes.

he also wears the same sneakers in the middle of winter. doesn't sound warm. his winter top is unique but it's not actually cold weather appropriate as well, if you check it in in CAS.

wow, he has a whole summer tank top that he doesn't wear everywhere! (he should work out in it, not in his sleeping tee, at least)

his choice of absolutely colorless grey and black clothes at all times make me think that either he tries to be less noticeable, or he gets sensory overload from bright colors, or his parents don't care. even if he himself insists on wearing the same clothes everywhere for the sense of familiarity, they could at least make sure he wears something warm in winter?? a coat, a jacket, anything?

now look at his bag expression. he's unhappy throughout the day regardless of the weather. he's confused on events. the only time when he feels fine is when he's sleeping and not actively present in his life. wow. how cool is that?

sigh... i just want to kidnap my precious baby and give him a proper care and proper clothes.

#jeb harris #adelar’s storytime #ts4 #the sims 4 #simblr #sims 4 townie

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nolan-chance · 3 months

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I'm bored so I'm gonna rank Nolan's styles according to my absolutely disgusting personal taste

1.- Default Nolan (green): I like green, I just love him despite the fact he looks like he's wearing some secondary school uniform with tennis. The white stripe in his suit makes it worse/better gives him a very dynamic look, that's something you don't get in stores, I'm sure he asked for those strips to be added.

I also love the tiny orange details (in his belt, vest, clock and soles). It took me awhile to get used to his shoes, I don't like white but I've learned to love the way it looks on him. Not gonna lie, I hate he's not wearing socks (?).

Also love his hairstyle, I bet I'd hate it if someone had it IRL but he's fictional so that's OK. There's something about the way he wears his suit that is just 💕. Overall, he looks casual/comfy and ready to get the job done, I love him! 11/10

2.- Formal heist: Just look at him! The other but better! Still, I have mixed feelings because, as stated earlier, I don't like white (despite not being pure white) . He does look formal, also like taken straight from Saturday Night Fever (But I love his non-voluntary disco vibe! (?)) . I love way his upturned collar makes his face stand out, better than his white shirt. The golden vest and accessories really make the skin something special!

Also, his ¿platinum blonde? hair looks good! I think it doesn't fit very well with brown eyebrows but I'll let slide that. Also, I didn't mentioned it before, but I loove his skin tone (he's not as white as, let's say, Jonesy).

Feels like you're on an important mission when using him! 10/10

3.- Tactical Nolan: I like him, he looks so fine, and he's buffer than his other two versions, thing of which I have mixed feelings about. I love him skinny, but I'm not gonna lie telling you he doesn't looks good with such big arms and chest 💕. And his mask, oh boy, it makes him look mysterious, way more serious than he is! White hair? Yes please, it looks very good too! I'm still deciding if its better than his platinum blonde style.

Love the orange straps, belt and details, also this big boots! His gloves help a lot with the outfit, I don't think he would look as good with his arms naked. I don't quite like the asymmetrical armor piece in his leg, but as far as I can recall his NPC version had a sniper rifle, so I guess it makes sense for him to protect his beautiful knee (?).

I played only ONCE using this skin and I won so I guess he brings good luck! 9.5/10

4.- Tactical Nolan without mask: WHY IS HIS NECK SO LONG?!/10

#nolan chance #fortnite #rambles #Nolan posting

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voraciousvore · 6 months

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Big Corp Inc. (8/43)

Chapter 8: Consequences

Candy was horribly sore all over when she woke up the next morning. Her feet, particularly her heels, had blisters and sores and red rub marks, not to mention the swelling. Clearly, there was no way she’d be wearing those high heels today. In fact, her whole work outfit was thoroughly disgusting, reeking like the inside of a Giant’s mouth mixed with stale coffee. She had been so tired, she hadn’t bothered to do a load of laundry to freshen them up for her next workday. She would need to find alternate clothing options.

Candy had to admit, though, that she was clean and dry. She had the luxury of a shower, a bed, and a safe, dry place to sleep. She wouldn’t get any of those amenities living out on the street. She decided she’d try going to work again. Perhaps her crazy day yesterday had just been a fluke. Plus, she was still alive and unharmed. Her fears may have been magnified in the moment, but she felt better after having some distance from the Giant workplace. She didn’t think she’d really get eaten by a Giant. If Giants were in the habit of gobbling up humans, they wouldn’t hire humans at Giant businesses, right?

She scrounged through her closet to find clothing that at least somewhat resembled her work clothes. She didn’t have any shirts that were so low-cut, or skirts that short, but she did the best she could. After bandaging up her feet, she slipped on plushy socks with her trusty old sneakers, which were far more comfortable to walk in. She packed up a lunch and ventured forth, ready to face the day.

The morning was crisp and bright after the evening rain. The air had a fresh smell to it that invigorated Candy. She began her commute without the usual trepidation, admiring how all the Giant buildings glistened in the morning sun. Maybe wearing her own clothes made her feel like a normal person in control of herself, rather than a sexy doll for her Giant boss to play with.

Her stomach twisted up when she was reminded of her boss. He had mentioned previously that the work uniform was required, but there was no way for her to wear those trashed clothes now. Besides, with her miniscule form, the shoes were simply not practical. She couldn’t walk miles and miles in heels. She prayed he would have some understanding, but thus far he had been quite callous to her needs, to the point of cruelty and perversion. He was remarkably self-centered, to say the least. Candy hoped she wasn’t inviting his wrath to strike her down.

Her initial optimism was draining away, to be replaced with dread. She wasn’t sure if he was just joking when he referred to punishment, but what if he wasn’t? What sort of punishments would he inflict on her for breaking his rules? Candy felt sick when imagining potential scenarios. She would have to try to lie low and avoid him if at all possible, but her close proximity to his office would pose a challenge.

Thankfully, Candy made it all the way to the third floor without incident. She was lucky in her elevator adventure today, and managed to hitch a ride without having to ask for help or draw attention to herself. She waved to Bianca as she trekked to her desk. Bianca waved back with a smile, but her expression turned to horror when she saw what Candy was wearing.

“Candy!” the Giantess hissed. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you wearing the uniform?” Glancing around nervously, she scooped Candy up off the floor and darted into the privacy of her own cubicle so the little human wouldn’t be spotted.

Candy was startled from the sudden jarring movements but replied, “My work clothes were trashed yesterday so I couldn’t wear them.” The tight feeling in her gut grew worse when she saw Bianca was obviously panicking.

“Shit,” Bianca mumbled. “Shit shit shit. We need to fix you up before the boss sees you.” She rifled through her desk drawer until she found a gigantic pair of scissors. The blades were massive, long, and sharp.

“Whoa! What are you doing with those?” Candy cried out, taking a step back.

“We need to modify your clothes. Maybe if you get lucky, Mr. Hardon won’t notice, or he’ll forgive your mistake if he sees you tried to rectify it,” Bianca explained. “Now hold still while I cut. I don’t want to accidentally slice you up.”

Candy paled. “Is… is this really necessary?” She squeaked in fear and jumped back as the Giantess lowered the huge blades near her neck. “No no no, we can’t do it this way, you’ll cut my head off!”

Bianca furrowed her brow in thought. “How about I’ll mark your clothes with a pen where we’ll need to cut them, and then you can take them off and I’ll modify them that way?” Candy found this arrangement acceptable, so she allowed Bianca to draw on her clothes with a felt-tip pen. She took off her shirt and watched as Bianca hacked off a big chunk of it with her scissors. She put on the shred of a shirt she had left, which barely covered her bra. Next went her skirt, which required at least a good six inches sliced off the bottom. As the Giantess cut through the fabric, both women started as they heard Mr. Hardon dangerously close by.

“Bianca!” Mr. Hardon sang. “Biancaaaa!” Seconds before he emerged from around the corner, the Giantess grabbed Candy and without a second to lose stuffed her in her cleavage so she wouldn’t be seen.

Bianca tried to act casual as she felt Candy squirming to get in a more comfortable position while sandwiched between her giant boobs. “What’s up?” she asked innocently, covering up her jiggling breasts with her arm while twirling a strand of her long black hair around her finger.

“Since you’re right by the elevator, I figured I’d ask you. Have you seen that little caramel-flavored cutie around the office anywhere? Mr. Hardon questioned. “She’s going to be late if she doesn’t show up soon, and then I might have to give her a spanking!” He chuckled and winked. Bianca felt Candy go rigid with fear against her warm flesh.

“Oh, you mean Candy? Um... I think she went to the break room. With how small she is, I hope she didn’t get lost on her way there, haha!” Bianca lied.

“Never fear, if she’s lost I’ll be her Giant knight in shining armor and rescue her!” Mr. Hardon skipped off, calling, “Caaaaandy! Where are you, sweet little snack of mine?”

Bianca sighed with relief and fished around in her enormous bra until she found Candy and pulled her out. “Sorry about that, Candy,” she apologized. “I didn’t have time to think of a better hiding spot.”

“It’s... it’s okay,” Candy gasped, flustered. “At least you bought me some time.” Bianca set her on the desk so she could put on her newly modified skirt. “How do I look?”

Bianca scrutinized her outfit. “It’s a bit rough, but better than before. We can’t do anything about your shoes, but maybe with your feet being so small, he won’t notice. He’s more into tits and ass anyways.” She gently lifted Candy up and placed her in her palm. “Here, I’ll take you to your desk so you don’t have to walk so far.”

“Thanks for looking out for me, Bianca,” Candy said, leaning against her fingers. “I’d be in serious trouble without you!”

“Of course! Us ladies have to stick together when we’re up against a monster like Dick Hardon!” Bianca proclaimed. “Although, don’t let him hear you call him Dick, he really doesn’t like that! Even if the name suits him, and everybody calls him that behind his back.” She giggled, and Candy joined in. “Good luck today, Candy.” She placed the human on her desk, then snuck off to her own cubicle before the boss caught sight of her. Candy booted up her computer and got to work. Confident that she had dodged another disaster, she typed with enthusiasm, dancing over the keys with her pen tips. Her arms were sore, but she was determined to get ahead today. She couldn’t afford any more mistakes.

She became so absorbed in her tasks, in fact, that she failed to notice the inevitable approach of her Giant boss, until his dark shadow graced her desk again. She paused in her effort to drag her mouse across the mousepad and gazed up at his towering form nervously.

“Candy,” he said in a serious tone. “I’m glad to see you.” She looked up at him but didn’t say anything, waiting to see what he wanted from her. He sat his enormous bulk in the Giant chair and leaned his elbow on the desk, with his chin resting on his hand. Without being conscious of her action, Candy backed up a step. “I was a little worried, when I didn’t see you this morning, that I scared you off.”

Candy fidgeted with her hands. “I have to admit, I had some serious reservations about coming back. I almost didn’t, but I decided to give this place another chance.” She didn’t directly acknowledge the incident that had occurred yesterday, when he had been gross enough to lick her from her knees to her forehead. The whole thing was just too bizarre for her to talk about out loud. He seemed like he was on the cusp of apologizing; if he did, Candy decided she might be inclined to forgive him and sweep it all under the rug, with the condition that he restrain his urges from then on.

Mr. Hardon, however, did not have a shred of integrity in his heart to offer any sort of apology for his intrusive, lascivious behavior. He believed himself to be entitled to do as he pleased within his kingdom of the third floor of Big Corp Inc., where he was lord and master over all. The women all belonged to him, in his eyes. He cupped his huge hand around Candy and drew her in closer. She stiffened but couldn’t resist against his superior strength and size. As he moved his head down to get a closer look at her, he squinted and frowned.

“What’s with your outfit? That’s not the work uniform.” Candy froze up. He had noticed. “And those shoes... didn’t I tell you those weren’t appropriate for the office, and I didn’t want to see them again? Are you deliberately disobeying me?” His eyes narrowed and his lips curled.

Candy gulped. “No, Mr. Hardon, I can explain-” She didn’t get a chance to finish as his huge fingers coiled around her, smothering her with the force of his iron grip.

“Candy, I’m going to have to punish you!” he declared, his voice raising with anger. She writhed fruitlessly in his fist, too out of breath to make a sound. His fingers were crushing her lungs. He stood up out of his chair. From her position in the boss’s fist, Candy happened to spot Ronny a few desks over, sneering hideously at her with sadistic satisfaction. He knew what was coming next. Candy was terrified. Mr. Hardon transported her into his office, slamming the door behind him.

Chapter 9

First Chapter

#g/t #g/t writing #giant/tiny #giant #tiny #size difference #giant tiny #big corp inc #giantess

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moonlight-cp · 2 years

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Proxy in Command (Creepypasta x Reader) Chapter 12

Series Masterlist

The following morning I had to take Derek's shirt and pants off to make sure last night would be more believable. I made sure to take a shower inside the penthouse before he woke up. I wouldn't want him to join. After all, I never wanted to take this course on the mission that involved me seducing Derek.

I didn't pack the appropriate clothes. I also had carried a backpack instead of a suitcase which limited the amount of clothes I carried. I pulled out a pair of black leggings and a white hoodie, almost like Jeff's outfit. I was inside the penthouse so there was no need for shoes, just socks.

I sat on Derek's bed crossed-legged, waiting for him to wake up. I had no idea what today would include, but today I had to find out more information about his secret organization especially about the "shipment" the girl referred to.

The sun-rays from the window on the left side had hit Derek, causing him to stir in his sleep. In a matter of seconds, he woke up and greeted me with a warm smile.

"Morning beautiful," he greeted me with his morning voice while he shut his eyes closed.

"Good morning handsome."

He opened one of his eyes to look at the clothing I had worn. "You woke up early and took a shower without me? I'm hurt."

I rolled my eyes, "Not my fault I'm an early bird."

"I am too, but I enjoyed myself last night. I guess that's the reason why I slept in." He then sat up and stretched his arms.

I wanted to smirk so badly. Offender's venom had indeed worked, making my mission easier.

"Well, I'm going to take a quick shower before we start our day." He gave a light peck on my forehead before going to his closet.

"You know you're kissing a stranger. We barely have known each other for 12 hours," I reminded him

He turned to look at me with a pair of black sweats and a white hoodie in his hands. It had matched my outfit.

"I'm well aware of that darling. After today, I don't think we'll be strangers but something more." He then proceeded to walk to the bathroom. He had turned on the shower faucet which made me feel relieved.

I stuck out my tongue in disgust at the choice of words I used. Handsome? I barely have met the guy and he's already kissing me.

I detangled my hair in distress. I had to remind myself that this mission was temporary and as soon as I know it, I will be back in the mansion doing regular missions.

In a matter of 10 minutes, he had finished and had worn the outfit he picked.

"You know I'm glad I finally met a girl who doesn't expect me to wear suits and expensive clothing just because I'm rich. I haven't worn a pair of sweats in ages." He was about to grab a pair of shoes but stopped to look at me. "What shoes are you wearing?" I raised both of my eyebrows.

"White converse, why?" He smirked and pulled out a pair of white converse.

"You want us to match that bad?" I chuckled.

"Can't I?" He then noticed my black backpack which worried me if he was suspicious. "That's all you have?"

I shrugged. "What can I say? I was verbally abused by my grandparents after my parents died and I had to leave as soon as possible." I explained. "I didn't bring much because I only had a backpack."

His expression saddened. "Well, I'm taking you out shopping today."

No, I just want to learn about the stupid secret organization

"You don't have to. I'll just get a job here."

He shook his head. "No. I don't want you to work because the men here aren't respectful towards women. I want to keep you safe." He sat on the bed while tying his converse. "Besides I want to spoil my girl- uh."

"Girlfriend?" I asked.

"Well maybe after today's date I'll be lucky enough to call you my girlfriend." He focused on tying his other shoe which allowed me to roll my eyes. This guy is crazy.

"I thought we were going to talk about the organization last night?" I tried to change the subject. He stood up and grabbed 2 pairs of sunglasses from his nightstand.

"Well I canceled the meeting for today so I could get to know you better. You'll join tomorrow. " he hands me a pair of black glasses. "You'll need those when we go out."

"Why?" I asked as I placed them inside my hoodie pocket. I went to my backpack to grab my white converse.

"Well, my parents were well known and rich. Now that they died and I got their money, the public likes to gossip a lot."

He stood up from the bed and waited for me to put on my shoes. I grabbed my phone just in case and went downstairs to the living room with him. Immediately I remembered last night. Some girl came to inform Derek about a shipment. I was debating whether or not to tell him.

"I forgot to tell you but someone came and told me to inform you about a shipment. Apparently, it arrived." I told him as he placed his hand on the doorknob. He turned around with a smirk forming on his face.

"Perfect. That means we're a step closer to getting rid of Slenderman." He opened the door for me to go out.

"Care to elaborate?"

He shook his head as he pressed a button to summon the elevator. "You'll find out more tomorrow."

We both entered the elevator and waited for it to take us to the lobby.

"I recommend you wearing your sunglasses right now," he said as he placed his. I nodded and placed mines.

The doors opened and Derek held my hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze as soon as we were about to leave the hotel. Two guards had opened the doors and I was met with flashing lights. People kept taking pictures of us as we walked straight inside to his limo.

"Derek is it true you left in the middle of your masquerade ball for a stranger?"

"Who's the mysterious girl?"

"Is she your fling?"

Derek had opened the door for me to get inside before he got in and slammed it shut. He threw his glasses off before fixing his hair with his fingers.

"I apologize for that. I'm always in the public's eye and it's so annoying." He took off my glasses before wrapping my waist with his left arm. I leaned my head on his shoulder as the limo drove away from the paparazzi.

"We'll probably need the glasses if we're going out to eat breakfast, shopping, and dinner." He was twirling his finger on my hair which made me feel uncomfortable.

/~~~/

"Absolutely not"

"Come on Masky, we could text her to know if she's alright!" Jeff pleaded.

Masky had just gotten out of his room but Jeff and Ben were waiting for him outside. They had been bothering Masky to give them Y/N's phone number.

"What if she's currently in a difficult situation and we blow it off? You heard Offenderman, her life is at risk during her mission," he exclaimed.

"But what if she needs our help?"

"Don't be ridiculous. We all know she's a badass. She can take care of herself." Masky opened the door to the dining room. Every Creepypasta was there besides Slenderman and Sally.

"Faceless dude hasn't woken up yet? Damn, I'm surprised." Jeff made his way towards his seat forgetting about his conversation with Masky.

Ben, however, had an idea of how he was going to get her number despite Masky not wanting to corporate.

"If Slender heard you, you would have been dead," Offender chuckled.

"Jeffrey does have a point. Slender isn't the type to sleep in." Splendor pointed out.

"My name is Jeff, not Jeffrey!"

Immediately Slender teleported inside the dining room with Sally in his arms. He gently placed her on her seat even if she was awake.

The pastas grew silent, watching the scene unfold. His brothers had not expected their brother to show an act of kindness, especially towards a human girl.

"How did you spend the night Sally?" Splendor asked her as he recalled what he had seen last night.

"I had a nightmare and Slendy helped me!" She explained with a huge smile on her face.

"Slendy?" L.J laughed but stopped once he realized Slender was still in the room.

"No one in this mansion is allowed to call me that besides Sally. She's a child."

"How about Slender? It's shorter for Slenderman." Jeff pointed out.

"To be fair with you, brother, we call you Slendy or Slender. At least let them call you that" Trender suggested. Slender looked at his brother for a few seconds before sighing.

"Fine but I don't want to hear the name Slendy in this house again."

/~~~/

Derek had taken me to a breakfast place. I didn't bother to check the name seeing as I just wanted to eat. I haven't eaten food in 24 hours. He ordered a strawberry waffle with hot chocolate while I asked for (breakfast choice and drink).

"You know I could get used to this. Wearing comfy clothes and having a simple breakfast." He said before taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

"Then why haven't you?" I chuckled.

"The stupid media. They will post a rumor stating that I unwisely spent my money which resulted in me wearing simple clothing and me having simple meals."

I took a bite of (food choice) before looking outside towards the window. I was lost in thought until I heard my phone buzz on the table.

Hi Y/N it's Ben. How's your mission going?

I turned my gaze towards Derek and saw him eyeing it.

Fuck.

"Who's Ben and why is he calling Y/N?" He asked before biting his piece of waffle.

"You can read upside down?"

He nodded. "And what's the mission he's talking about?"

"Ben was my high school friend. He knows I believe Slenderman is real so he likes to call me Y/N based off Y/N L/N. He knew I wanted to talk to you about the organization so I guess that's why he called it mission seeing as he thinks I wouldn't be able to talk to you." I explained.

I am so going to kill Ben once I come home.

"Can you hand me your phone real quick?" He asked me.

I hesitated but obliged. I saw him type something before giving my phone back. His message was still there.

"What did you do?" I asked him.

"I was going to say 'hey it's Derek Hilton, (Random Name) is here with me so I would appreciate if you stop calling her Y/N but I ended up not doing so," he explained.

I slowly nodded before putting my phone in my pocket.

"Are you not going to reply to him?" He asked. I just shook my head.

"I want to cut him off my life. Our friendship was toxic," I lied.

"Good. I blocked him from your phone. Now I don't feel remorse about it."

I smiled at him while giving myself a mental note that I should unblock him first before replying. What Derek had just done was completely unacceptable.

"Well, shall we head to the mall, my dear?"

I looked at his plate and saw he had finished his waffle. I was almost done with my meal.

"Let me just quickly finish this."

/~~~/

"You hacked into Masky's phone!" Jeff yelled. Ben and Jeff were both in Ben's room with the door open.

"You fucking idiot, let's hope no one heard you!"

"Who hacked into Masky's phone?" Puppeteer asked as he entered the room.

"Who invited you to my room?" Ben asked while glaring at him.

"No one but ourselves," LJ answered as he entered the room. Ben rolled his eyes.

"Geez, just close the damn door before Slender or the proxies hears us." L.J closed the door and made his way to the group. Ben had been sitting on his rolling chair in front of his computer with the guys stalking him behind.

"So I was managed to get Masky's number thanks to Toby so I hacked into his phone and got Y/N's number. I'm about to send a text," Ben explained.

"Are you certain it won't alter her mission? We don't want to put her in trouble." Puppeteer reminded him. Ben shrugged.

"Well, you only live once." He tapped send and waited for her reply. In a matter of seconds, he had gotten a reply.

Listen here, Ben. If I find out you're texting R/N, I will personally get my men to hunt you. She's taken by me. ~D.H

"That son of a bitch," Ben muttered.

"Wait he said R/N. Ben, you got the wrong phone number," L.J laughed.

"It can't be. I remembered I read Y/N's name on Masky's contact for this number. Something isn't right here."

Ben had typed "fuck you" on the chat but an error message appeared.

"That motherfucker blocked me on her phone!" Ben exclaimed as he slabbed his fists on his desk.

"Nice going hacker!" Jeff laughed

"SHUT THE FUCK UP JEFFERY"

/~~~/

"You know you didn't need to have to buy me clothing," I spoke out. Currently, it had been 8 at night and we were going to a restaurant to eat dinner.

"Well I wanted to," he insisted.

No, you literally didn't have to. I'm going to kill you and I can't carry all the clothing you brought me.

"We arrived, sir," the chauffeur announced. He got out of the limo and opened the door for us. Derek got out first but held my hand to help me get out.

We went inside the restaurant with our glasses and got greeted by a young man at the reception desk. He gave us a bad look before talking.

"I apologize but this restaurant is a luxury one for the higher class unlike you two." He snarled.

Derek took off his glasses and glared at him. "Do you not know who I am? I am Derek fucking Hilton and I made a reservation a few hours ago!" He fumed.

"I-I apologize for s-sir. Follow me p-please," the guy stuttered.

"See love? Just use my last name and it will unlock all of your doors." Derek gave a gentle squeeze on my hand as we followed the receptionist. I swear this guy is so full of himself.

The receptionist lead us to an elevator and pressed the 3rd level button. Once the doors opened, we were greeted with a pile of rose petals that were laying on the golden floor. They lead to a white-clothed squared table with two nude parson's chairs that were facing each other. Ironically, there had been 2 candles lit on the table.

"Derek? What is this?" I whispered as we slowly made our way to the table. A piano was being played which made me focus my attention on him. A man in his 50s had been playing it.

"I wanted our first official date to be romantic. I'm going to pretend our breakfast date wasn't one," he chuckled. He helped me sit on my seat before he made his way towards his.

"I remember how you said you prefer wine over champagne so I thought why not have you try my father's famous wine. " He snapped his fingers and soon a waiter came to serve our cups.

I had to be careful not to drink as much to be able to be sober. If Derek consumes too much, it will be a problem.

We ordered our food and sat in silence for a few minutes. I thought this was the perfect time for me to get information out of him.

"I know you told me your parents died but do you have any siblings or cousins?" He randomly asked me. I took a sip of the red wine while shaking my head.

"What about you?" I asked

"I have an older brother called Damian. He's 5 years older than me which makes him 28."

Wait a minute. Slenderman said Derek was 21 but Derek is hinting he's 23.

"You're 23?" I asked to be sure.

"Yeah, what about you?"

"I'm 21," I lied. I couldn't tell him I was 17, a minor. "Do you guys talk often?"

"Damian and I don't have a good relationship. When my parents died, they gave all their money to me instead of Damian. He was an alcoholic during his late teens and early 20s so they knew Damian would waste it. I was a straight-A kid who wanted to go to a good university so I was a good choice," he chuckled.

"Does he believe Slenderman killed them?"

He shook his head. " He called me insane and suggested I needed help. I think we haven't spoken in 5 years?"

"Does he know about your secret organization?" I asked with my palm under my chin. I needed to know if Damian would be a threat.

"He does but he doesn't participate in it. There's only 6 including me in the organization. Well, 7 now that you're here."

I smiled at him but in the inside I was freaking out. Slenderman had given me 5 days to murder Derek and his two associates. Turns out there's 5, scratch that, 6 people I need to kill in 3 days.

In less than 5 minutes, the waiter arrived with our food. We ate in silence. I couldn't enjoy eating my food knowing Slenderman had given me incorrect information. I needed more time.

After we ate, the waiter came to pick up our plates. Derek asked if I wanted dessert but I said no. Either way, he ordered chocolate covered strawberries.

“R/N, I was thinking of what we were.” He broke the silence. “I know it’s only been 24 hours but I’m certain about what I want. I want us to become an official couple. I want you to become my girlfriend.”

I faked a smile and nodded my head. “Yes, Derek. It would be an honor for me to call you my boyfriend!” I exclaimed

(...)

Derek had finished the wine bottle while I barely had half a glass. He kept stumbling but seeing as I wasn't drunk, I had to help him walk to his penthouse.

"Did I ever tell you you're so beautiful?" He asked as he hugged me from behind while I tried to open the door.

"Yeah, so you could stop saying it."

"Can't help it, love." He started to kiss my neck which made me widen my eyes. He noticed my reaction and chuckled. "I love how sensitive you are~"

He tried to kiss me again but I pushed him away. "Let's get you to bed," I suggested as I helped him go upstairs.

"One condition. *hiccup* We sleep together," he winked at me.

I slightly pushed him to the bed but he was managed to grab my wrist and land on top of him. He started to kiss my neck which made me shut my eyes, wishing him to stop.

"I'll be right back" I blurted out as I stood up and went to my backpack.

"Oh, you're on your period? I don't mind doing it." He smirked.

"No, I'm not, I just need to do something," I walked to the bathroom with a small black backpack. As I shut the door behind me, I covered my mouth to not make a noise. I felt water threatening to come out of my eyes while my heart kept beating fast. For the first time in my life, I was scared.

After a minute of me trying to control my feelings, I got a syringe and filled it with Offenderman's venom. I needed him to pass out immediately. I placed the syringe in my hoodie pocket seeing as my leggings didn't have pockets. I took a deep breath before opening the door and seeing his disgusting smirk.

"What took you so long?" he asked. I rolled my eyes as I walked next to the bed.

I sat on his stomach as he laid down. I needed to get access to his neck but his hoodie was in the way. What I was going to do next disgusted me, but it was necessary.

I slowly leaned onto his ear and whispered, "I'm going to be the dominant one for tonight." I slowly took off his hoodie and started to kiss him on the jawline. I was about to grab the syringe but he flipped us over, making me on the bottom.

"Sorry love, but I'm in charge here." He closed his eyes and started to trail kisses on my jawline.

I glared at him before getting the syringe out and injected it on his neck. He widen his eyes before passing out on top of my body. I pushed him away before getting up. I felt my tears coming out again as I covered my mouth. This mission was too much for me

Slenderman's words echoed through my head which made me remember a scenario in my life.

Slenderman had taught his 7-year-old proxy on how to punch the punching bag for 3 hours. She kept using all her strength to throw a punch but it resulted in her hurting her fists.

She started to cry, " My hands hurt so much! Can we stop!"

"No Y/N, remember what I told you. No matter what pain you are dealing with, physically or mentally, keep it to yourself. Don't let the enemy know that you're weak. That means showing emotions!"

For years she was reminded emotions played a huge role in weakness. That resulted in her keeping a straight face most of the time.

"Keep your emotions to yourself" I repeated while I went to the bathroom to grab my bag. I looked straight at the mirror to look at my eyes. "Don't let the enemy know you're weak even if they're asleep," I closed my eyes again and waited for my breathing to calm down again.

I knew I wasn't going to be the same person after this...

Series Masterlist---Next Chapter -> (Chapter 13)

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buck-yyyy · 2 years

Text

ew ew ew i’m just trying to get comfortable in bed so i can go to sleep but my hair is rubbing on my ear and i HATE IT it feels so gross and makes my brain go EUGH, and i can’t put my hair up because i also hate sleeping with it tied back, and just. my sensory issues can suck my dick, i swear to fucking god- i’m so fed up with it. all of it.

i hate it!!! i hate that i have to wear shoes and socks, because while i know they’re important, if i’m not actively walking or doing something in them make my feet feel like they’re gonna throw up- most shoes are tolerable, and it goes away after a while, but DOC MARTENS ARE HORRIBLE FOR IT (i still wear them anyways because they were expensive and also i need every other gay person in a 90 foot radius to know be hat i am also gay lmfao)

socks are NOT to be worn unless i am wearing shoes as well. the second i take off my shoes and get back to my room, the socks go into the laundry basket, because otherwise i will LOSE IT (fun fact, im so used to not wearing socks that ibe learned slide super far on hardwood floors without them- it’s a special skill of mine that absolutely blew my 12 year old cousin’s mind lol)

i hate that there’s a huge list of foods that i don’t like, solely based off the texture. beans, mashed potatoes, actually just potatoes in general, fatty steak, tomatoes, etc etc, because it’s so limiting and i’m judged by everyone around me for being a picky eater even though it’s not my fault

i hate that certain sounds make my brain short circuit; that there’s a particular pitch of voice that, if the person talks too loudly for too long, starts to physically hurt me. i especially hate that my mom has that exact pitch- because it means i just have to grin and bear it.

i hate that i can hear electronics buzzing at night, because i have led lights above my bed and chargers right next to my pillow and sometimes they’ll start to buzz and it’ll drive me nuts- but i can’t unplug them, because i have to charge my phone

i hate that the sound of blowing a raspberry with your tongue makes my entire body recoil and my mouth feel absolutely disgusting. it’s the most physical reaction i have to any kind of sensory input, and it’s horrible. you know that feeling when you eat way too much super sweet frosting and your whole mouth feels tingly and gross? that’s the best way i can describe it. it’s mind-blowingly terrible.

i hate it, i hate it, i hate it so much and i wish it would go away.

#sensory issues

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triggeringbitch · 2 years

Text

100 Reasons to Lose Weight

I won’t sweat in summer.

I won’t sweat in winter.

I won’t be the biggest female in my friend group.

I won’t be the biggest sister.

I won’t be the biggest child.

Having people telling my friends/family members I’m the “hot one”.

I’ll take up less space.

My hair will look longer.

My skin will be clearer.

My eyes will appear bigger.

My cheekbones will be more prominent.

My lips will appear fuller.

My jawline will be sharp instead of rounded.

No more double chin.

My piercings will look better.

Necklaces will be lost in the dips of my collarbones.

My shoulders won’t look as broad.

My arms will be more slender.

My tattoos will look better.

I’ll be able to wear more bracelets.

Rings will fit easily.

I can finally get bellybutton/nipple piercings.

My ribs will jut out.

I’ll have a more prominent hourglass figure.

I’ll finally have a flat stomach.

No more muffin top.

I’ll get full easier.

I’ll actually be able to see my hipbones.

No more love handles.

My thighs won’t squish out when I sit.

No more thigh rash when I’m walking.

I’ll have a thigh gap for once.

I can actually fit my cute socks because my calves won’t be too big.

I can actually wear anklets.

Flat shoes will add to my style instead of making my legs look huge.

I can finally wear heels and not look like there’s two tree trunks carrying me around.

I won’t have to worry about clothes fitting me.

Fitting rooms won’t make me want to cry.

I’ll be able to wear all my cute dresses.

All my time spent not shoveling food into my face can be spent running errands, doing hobbies, etc.

All the money I don’t spend on food can go into furthering any skills/hobbies, be put into savings, paying off debts, etc.

I can actually be picked up bridal style, piggyback, etc.

My boyfriend’s clothes will be way too big.

To look amazing in baggy clothes and a messy bun instead of looking like I’m “sloppy” and “don’t care”.

I can sit on people’s laps and not worry about hurting them.

All the compliments I’ll receive.

I’ll be able to eat “fatty” foods and people won’t think I’m disgusting.

I can share clothes with skinny friends.

I won’t be as self-conscious.

Sheer confidence.

The before and after photos will be astounding.

I won’t have to suck in.

People will be jealous of how I look.

I’ll actually look good in a bathing suit.

I can wear lingerie and know I look good.

“Have you lost weight?”

“You’ve gotten so tiny!”

“How did you do it?”

Instead of hearing I’m “thick/thicc”, I’ll hear “you’re so skinny!”

People telling me I need to eat.

Tell people how much I weigh without batting an eye.

Tell people how much weight I’ve lost and feel proud.

Reduce health issues.

Hopefully fix some mental issues as well.

To improve my overall mood.

I’ll prove everyone wrong.

To be excited to go clothes shopping.

All the crop tops I can wear.

To work out in just a sports bra and leggings.

It’ll take less time to shave.

I’ll finally smile at my reflection instead of shying away.

Eating to live, not living to eat.

For the astonishment from former classmates/coworkers.

So I can work out without looking like I’m trying too hard.

So only my boobs/ass jiggle and not my whole body.

To look and feel younger.

To be able to find my own clothing style instead of wearing what “fits me” or “covers problem areas”.

I’ll have more energy to do things.

Sleeping better.

It’ll improve my sex life.

I want to be in control of my life instead of feeling like life is controlling me.

To enjoy cooking healthy meals instead of reaching for that easily accessible snack cake.

I want to feel good and not sick after I eat.

It’s important to overcome the looming diseases/health problems that run in my family. I’m not immune.

I want to focus on my relationships instead of focusing on when/what I’m eating next.

I have plans for a family. I don’t want to be overweight/obese when that time rolls around.

I don’t want to feel like how I look is a factor for me not getting a job, someone not liking me, etc.

I want to break my addiction of comfort eating.

To improve my flexibility.

Apparently building muscle also builds brain cells (or at least increases their capability).

To feel the extra pep in my step.

To be a role model.

To enjoy going for walks/bike rides instead of doing it to lose weight.

To not be blamed when food goes missing.

No more settling for second-best because I think I deserve it.

No more broken New Years’ resolutions.

Life is short.

Realizing I’ve achieved something I’ve thought was unattainable my whole life.

I’ve wanted this for years.

I’ll FINALLY be HAPPY with MYSELF.

#mine #this is my own list i made from my mind #long post #pinned post

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luveline · 2 years

Note

could we have Peter with an s/o who is very insecure about her body and appearance? maybe he finds her picking at her face in the mirror or comparing herself to other girls they see in the street and he just comforts her a lot - lots of cuddle and reassuring words?? i'm self projecting massively here

thank you! love your work!

thank you for your request!! <3 hope this is okay <3

"I think," Peter says gently, words drawn out and almost melodic, "that there's something we need to talk about."

You raise your eyes to his in the mirror, deep brown and edged in lashes that twitch when he smiles reassuringly. "Nothing bad, sweetness. Promise."

Sharp insecurity like hot pinpricks of a needle in your chest. You return his smile, though you're less convincing, and move from the mirror.

He's leaning in the doorway, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants, worn shirt wrinkled and soft at the neckline. You're reluctant as he holds out his arms, but he's so warm and pretty that you indulge him anyhow, rewarded by his big hand stretching over your shoulder.

He squeezes. "Your face is bleeding."

"Don't look," you murmur, mildly distressed, staring down at his socks.

"What'd you do?"

"Zit."

"Ahh," he murmurs in suit. "I see."

"Sorry, it's disgusting."

"You're never disgusting," he says sincerely.

You tense up under his hand but say nothing. He sighs and stands at his full height, taller than you, his cologne mixed up with the smell of sleep encapsulating you. He kneads your shoulder until you squirm.

"There. Got you, bub," he says, fingertip pressing into the corner of your smile. "You're pretty all the time, but especially when you smile."

"You're pandering."

"Define pandering."

"You're saying what you think I want to hear."

"Do you want to hear it?"

You frown deeply and skirt around him in the door. "We're gonna be late for the movie," you say. You want to call him something nice, handsome or baby or my love. But sometimes, just sometimes, you worry that he might laugh at you. For staking a claim, thinking that he's yours.

You know that it's stupid. Peter is yours and you're his, evidenced by date night, by his hand pulling you down the street, how he stops to tie your shoe for you. You shift your purse on your shoulder and twirl one of his curls around your finger as he hums something under his breath.

You look across his stooped body into the window of the department store beside you, grimacing at your windblown reflection. Peter stands up and you're too slow in looking away. He mistakes your looking for something else, says, "You want to go in?"

You say yes. Better he thinks you're staring at a dress rather than yourself. He's caught you too many times like this, morose, viewing your reflection in contempt. He must think I'm self-obsessed, you think, following him through the sliding door and around the corner.

He locates the dress you were staring at fast. It's a display. A model wears its twin in a banner across the wall. You stare at her and frown.

Peter picks a dress up in your size deftly and holds it up to your body, turning your gaze from the model to the mirror.

"There," he says, looking at you from behind your shoulder. "It's almost as pretty as you. You'll look beautiful, don't you think?"

You feel the fabric of the skirt between your fingers and your eyes flick against your will to the model on the wall. Peter follows your gaze and you watch his smile fade, then reappear twice as wide.

"You wanna try it on?"

You turn to him and frown, blinking as you confess. "No, Peter. I don't."

"A different dress, then."

"Peter."

"I saw the daintiest little blue thing on the way in that would suit you, baby."

"It won't make a difference."

"But if you-"

"Stop," you say, turning away from him. "Just- don't."

The metal sound of the dress being hung up again. His footsteps. He stands at your side without touching, and you breathe through the upset with him steadfast at your side.

"Maybe we should skip the movie," he suggests.

"Yeah. Okay."

And so you walk home in silence. You can feel his eyes on you as you go, and you feel guilty, but you can't bring yourself to speak even when the door is closed behind you and he's helping you out of your coat and placing kisses in a stretch across your forehead.

You go straight to the bedroom. Peter fusses around with the door lock and the windows, the lights. You listen and dread his approach, hiding under the duvet still fully clothed.

He flops down in the bed at your side. His quiet is unnerving.

"Do you want to hear it?" he asks finally, a copy of his question in the bathroom. "Do you? Because if I'm not telling you enough, I'm sorry. I'm… I'm so sorry, bub."

You peel the sheets off of your face. "What?" you ask, croaky, throat burning with the want to cry.

"You're beautiful. You are."

"It's not you."

"Isn't it?"

You don't know what to say. Peter tugs the covers from underneath his legs and pulls it over his head, tenting the sheet over your heads, dark now in the shield blocking the bedside lamp.

"Can I have a hug? Please?" Peter whispers, like a secret.

You open your arms and he shuffles over, wrapping you up in a hug. You lean your forehead against his chest as he brings his hand up to the back of your head, stroking your hair.

"You're so pretty," he continues his whispering.

"I'm sorry for being sulky," you say back.

"It's okay. Thing is, you're the kind of pretty, even with a frown you look like a dream."

You shake your head into his chest. "Awful. Boo."

"I'm not kidding!"

"You should be. That's corny at best."

"And at worst?"

You grumble and wiggle closer, tilting your head up so your eyes are level with his as he looks down.

"You're everything," he says, hand cupped behind your ear. "Pretty, beautiful, radiant. Look it up in the dictionary, babe. Pretty. Adjective. 1. To look like my love, Y/N. Example: 'Peter Parker is one lucky son of a bitch, his girl is so pretty.'"

You groan aloud and try to steal a kiss before he makes himself laugh too hard.

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Text

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Tuesday

Monday Wednesday Thursday (Part 1) Thursday (Part 2) Friday Saturday Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: anxiety, doctor’s offices, taking pain pills (not sure if I need to tag that, but just in case), stalkers, blackmail, swearing, non-consensual taking pics of nudes, slight body dysmorphia, self-loathing, toxic friends

Word count: 5,326

(A/N): another long chapter, my little wlw heart loved writing this chapter! Also holy shit I was not expecting the first part to blow up, thank you to everyone that read it! Gosh, it’s enough to make a grown woman cry :’)

You cracked open your crusty eyes to Wilbur poking his head into your room. “(Y/n), Dad wants you.”

You groaned rubbing at your eyes in an attempt to get the sleep out of them. “I’ll be down in a sec.” Your voice was scratchy and thick with sleep.

He closed the door silently and you heard his socked feet thumping down the hallway. Your pain faded slightly into soreness, but your shoulders and upper back were slightly stiff. After you drug yourself out of bed, you shambled down the stairs to see your family at the table eating breakfast. Your stomach growled loudly, making you blush slightly in embarrassment.

Your eldest brother snorted. “Hungry (y/n)?”

You slumped into your seat next to him slowly shoveling food into your mouth. “You have no idea.”

“You wouldn’t be that hungry if you ate dinner when you got home like I told you to do last night, young lady. You better eat every single thing on that plate.”

There was no arguing with a stern Dadza, so you reluctantly complied. Meanwhile, Tommy and Tubbo were telling Wilbur about your match animatedly.

“And the ball was like fwoosh and she- the ball and-and-”

“And she hit it and Haley hit it to the other side! It was so cool!”

Wilbur merely smiled listening to them ramble about how badass you were last night. They made you feel genuinely happy that they admired your volleyball abilities; they were probably your biggest fans and that made your day most of the time. You remembered the first match they came to during your freshman year, they had run up to you right after the end-of-match whistle blew to spew about how good you were on the court. They met the team that day. Your team adored having them at your games, over the years they slowly replaced your school’s mascot. They played a huge part in morale boosts before and during matches.

He looked over to you, “I didn’t know my little sister could be so badass.”

You felt your cheeks flare up. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before. It really wasn’t anything special.”

“(Y/n),” Philza pursed his lips, “you did all that with a bruised back, I’d consider that something special.”

“Wait (y/n), you’re hurt?” Tommy and Tubbo looked at you with wide concerned eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s not that bad. I can still move and stuff.”

Techno rolled his eyes, “it’s bad if you’re going to the doctor for it.”

“Eh, it doesn’t hurt as bad as it did yesterday, so I’m not worried.”

“You’re deadass wincing everytime you move your arm,” WIlbur deadpanned, “it clearly still hurts.”

“Well yeah, I didn’t say the pain went away completely. Fuckin’ dumbass.”

“Language,” Philza glared at you two, gesturing to the two fifth graders watching the exchange with interest.

You and Wilbur resumed eating and murmured out a defeated “sorry Dad.” You both glared at Techno when he huffed in amusement.

“If you three keep bickering, you’re going to be late to school. Remember, you two have to drop off Tommy and Tubbo today cuz I’m taking your sister to her appointment. Now go get ready, I’ll take care of your dishes.”

Your brothers took off up the stairs, each competing to get to the bathroom first. Occasionally, you would hear shouts and slapping noises. You felt glad you didn’t have to deal with that today. Judging by Techno’s gruff voice laughing and an explosion of loud complaints from the rest, you assumed that he won today. “I swear, they’re gonna put me in an early grave.”

“You and me both Dad, you and me both.”

You went into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of pain pills from the junk drawer. Various bottles of Motrin and Advil were scattered around the house because when you live with a rambunctious family like this one, people are bound to get hurt and headaches are common. Popping three into your mouth, you washed it down with a glass of water. The sound of the running water faucet and the slight splashing of water filled the silence of the room.

“How’s your back? Does it feel any better?”

“Kinda, today it just feels more sore than throbbing, my headache went away mostly, and my shoulder doesn’t feel any worse, so that’s better I guess.”

He shut off the water and reached for a towel to dry off his wet hands. He moved over to the freezer and grabbed a frozen package of peas that your family never ate. You all used it whenever one of you would get a bruise. He moved behind you and held it against your back without warning. Flinching forward from the unexpected temperature change, you winced with the wave of pain moving brought you.

“Shit, sorry.”

“You’re good. Just give me a little warning next time,” you chuckled. He gently placed it back on your back and you sighed from the slight relief that it brought you. You leaned into the peas and closed your eyes. “That feels amazing.”

“I bet. That bruise was pretty bad yesterday, can I look at it again?”

You reluctantly left the sanctuary that was the medical grade frozen peas and leaned forward, moving your hair out of the way for him. “Knock yourself out.”

He made a hissing noise as soon as he moved your shirt out of the way. “Dad, it probably looks worse than it feels.”

“...Have you seriously not looked at this yet? It looks pretty bad, hun.”

“Well, sorry I can’t move to look at my back without being in pain. I’ll try harder next time.” You snarked him.

“Hey, watch the attitude. Here, I’ll take a picture so you can see how bad it is.”

You heard the rustling of fabric as he fished his phone out of his pocket and the obnoxiously loud click of his camera app. You turned around to look at the damage. You squinted at his bright phone screen. Your entire back was swollen in some areas and was covered in ugly reds, blues, blacks, and purples. You made a disgusted noise in the back of your throat and cringed away from the screen. You always got nauseous seeing injuries.

“Yikes.”

“Yikes isn’t the only word I would use, it’s bad (y/n).”

“It looks worse than it feels, I promise. I’m gonna go get ready so we’re not late to my appointment. It sounds like the boys are finally done with the bathroom.”

You hobbled up the stairs slowly and made your way to the bathroom. The door was wide open ready for you to use. Turning on the light, you closed the door in a hurry so that your brothers wouldn’t try to get in again to hog the bathroom like they usually did. You frowned at your appearance. Your hair was sticking up in every direction and you had dark eye bags around your dull looking eyes. A few pimples dotted your skin like constellations in the night sky, but much uglier and more out of place. Turning your body, you scanned your figure. Your eyes watered as you realized that you had gained some weight. Adrian, Sammy, and Annie were right, you looked like garbage all the time.

You ripped your eyes away from yourself in the mirror with disgust etched deep into your features. You were disgusting through and through. Ripping your brush through your hair, you winced at the pain emanating from the back of your head. You deserve the pain for letting yourself go. Once you were slightly more satisfied with your appearance, you stepped out of the bathroom and quickly changed into the clothes you would wear today. You decided on a hoodie and a pair of tights. You didn’t feel like dressing yourself up.

You once again walked down the stairs and slipped on your shoes to meet your dad in his car. You idly scrolled through your phone while you waited for him, looking at your notifications for the first time that day. You had ten texts from the group chat that you were in with Adrian, Annie, and Sammy.

Sammy <3

(Y/n) where the hell are you?

Adrian <3

Do you guys think she ditched us?

I knew she was ignoring us

Sammy <3

Who ignores their friends?

Annie <3

(Y/n) apparently.

She has more important things to do ig

Oh my god

Do you guys think she skipped school?

Adrian <3

I wouldn’t put it past her

Maybe she finally gave up

(Y/n)

I’m sorry guys, I just have a doctor’s appointment today

I would never ignore you

Sammy <3

Yk, it’s hard to keep defending you when you keep ditching us..

(Y/n)

I’m not ditching you!

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys about my appointment

I’ll make it up to you guys

Adrian <3

How?

You’ve already skipped out on us enough already

Annie <3

Oh ik!

She can write our final research paper for us Dri!

I haven’t started it yet lmao

Adrian <3

Saaaame lmaoooo

Sammy <3

Guys, what about me???

Adrian <3

Idk, figure it out yourself

Sammy <3

Rude!

Uhhh

Ur gonna put together my final presentation for us history

(Y/n)

Alright, I can do that for you guys

Sam can you pls send me the rubric?

Annie <3

Thanks love ;)

(Y/n)

No problem, I like doing things for friends

My dad’s coming, I gotta go

Talk to you guys later

Adrian <3

Byeeee (y/n), ur the best!

(Y/n)

: ) <3

You put your phone down as your dad started up the car and pulled out of the driveway. The drive was quiet as you stared out the window and thought about how much work you now had to do. On top of your own classes, you had two more to write and a presentation to make in a class you hadn’t taken since the first semester in your sophomore year. The research papers had to be at least four full pages long with a minimum of ten sources each due on Friday and you had no idea how big Sammy’s US history presentation has to be or what it’s even about. But that was fine, you’d do anything for your friends.

“So, who were you texting? Your boyfriend?” He asked jokingly.

“Oh, just Adrian, Sammy, and Annie. I don’t have a boyfriend Dad,” because you were a closeted lesbian, but you wouldn’t tell him that anytime soon. “You know that.”

“I know,” he chuckled, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen them. How have they been?”

“They’re good. Adrian got a job at the diner, he’s a host. Sammy and Annie have been focusing more on raising their grades.”

“Good for them! You should invite them over for dinner sometime.”

“I was actually thinking that I could maybe go hang out with them on Halloween...?”

“(Y/n), the family was going to take Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating.”

“I know, but there’s always next year. Plus, we haven’t been able to hang out in so long! We’re always free at different times.”

“I don’t know (y/n), what if they don’t want to trick-or-treat next year? What were you planning on doing with them?”

“We were just gonna hang out at Annie’s house and watch some horror movies,” you lied. He would never let you go if he knew you were going to a party. Especially one where alcohol would be involved and hormonal teenage boys ran rampant actively scouting for an easy lay.

“...I’ll think about it.” The car pulled into the doctor office’s parking lot.

“Thank you Dad! It’s been a while since we’ve all hung out together.”

He chuckled as you both walked into the lobby, checked in, and waited for your name to be called. About ten minutes later, you were summoned by a nurse so you went into the back leaving your dad to wait in the lobby. The nurse recorded your height and weight (much to your dismay, you gained four pounds) and asked you the standard questions about your injury and uncomfortable questions about your overall health. The clacking of her acrylic nails on the plastic keyboard filled the awkward silence.

Once that was done, she left and you had to wait a little bit for the doctor. After slipping into the backless gown the nurse left, you mindlessly scrolled on your phone. Jumping when someone knocked on the door, you looked up to see your family’s doctor smiling at you.

“Hello (y/n), how are we feeling today?”

“I’m alright.”

“I hear that you had quite the fall onto some concrete, is that true?”

“Yes, I landed on my back and the back of my head.”

She reached over and squirted hand sanitizer onto her hands, rubbing it in and looking back at you. “Can you please lay on your stomach so I can take a look at your back?”

You nodded, shifting on the uncomfortable paper covered cushioned table onto your stomach. You felt her cold hands gently graze your bruises before she pulled out her stethoscope. “Can you take a good deep breath in for me?”

You complied and she instructed you to let it out. Doing this multiple times along your back, she put her stethoscope away and continued prodding at your exposed back.

“There’s definitely some swelling in multiple areas… It doesn’t feel or sound like you cracked or broke any ribs, which is excellent… Do you have any pain deep in your shoulder when you move it?”

“Yes, I landed on it wrong last night at my volleyball match.”

“How would you describe your pain? Stabbing, sore, throbbing…”

“More sore, but a little stabbing pain when I move my arm.”

She moved her fingers to examine your shoulder. “It doesn’t sound like a sprain or fracture, can you move it up and down for me?”

You moved your arm up and down, front and back, and side to side. “You still have a full range of movement, that’s good. Can I have you sit back up again?”

You sat back up and she started testing you for a concussion. After passing her tests, you were cleared of having a concussion. “Alright (y/n), it appears that you only strained your deltoid and teres muscles and you have severe bruising along your back. Make sure you ice your back and, if you have one, wear a shoulder compression sleeve. Anti-inflammatory medications such as Ibuprofen will help with the swelling. Other than that, you have a clean bill of health! You can still participate in volleyball practices, but you need to take it easy. Don’t do anything that will strain the muscles any further.”

“Thank you Dr. Samson,” you smiled at her.

“You’re welcome. I’ll leave you to change back into your clothes and you’re free to go! You may leave the gown on the table.”

She left the room and you redressed yourself. Walking out to the lobby, Philza’s head perked up when he heard the door opening. He stood up and walked over to you with a slightly worried face. You both walked back out to the car.

“So?”

“Dr. Samson said that I don’t have a concussion, sprains or broken bones. She told me that I just strained my shoulder muscles and I need to keep ice on my back.”

He visibly slumped in relief. “Thank god. What’d she say about volleyball?”

“She said that I could keep playing, but I have to take it easy.”

“Good, wouldn’t want you missing finals on Thursday. Do you know if the team you’re playing is any good?”

“Dad, of course they’re good, we’re the top two teams in the area.”

“I bet their setter is nowhere near as good as you are and I bet the setter and spiker aren’t as synced as you and Haley are. You two make a good pair.”

“Yeah we do, don’t we?” You looked out the window and smiled a little and felt your ears turn red. The very mention of Haley’s name was enough to make you feel like you were on cloud nine. The car fell silent again as you neared your high school.

In your AP world history class, the class was looking at the test you had taken yesterday. Surprisingly, you got a 74% on the multiple choice part and a 50% on your essay portion, so that landed you with a just below passing grade. You thought you completely flunked that test yesterday, so that was a pleasant surprise. It took a good portion out of your overall grade in the class, lowering it from a comfortable A- to a slightly alarming B. You supposed it could’ve been a lot worse. Besides reviewing your tests, the class didn’t do much except starting the reading for the next chapter.

Your psychology online class went like it usually did, however your phone blew up with texts about midway through the block. Glancing down, you saw that it was Haley. Shouldn’t she be in class?

Hales : )

(Y/n) meet me in the locker room right after school

I need to talk to you before practice starts

It’s an emergency

(Y/n)

What’s going on?

Hales : )

I’ll explain after school.

Can’t talk about it over text

(Y/n)

Alright, see ya then ig

You felt your gut twinge. Something’s wrong, but you didn’t know what. You were worried about Haley, usually she was really bubbly. You’ve never seen the senior act so strange before. You could only wait the block out until the bell would release you from the confines of the library and into the locker room. After sending a quick text to your brothers that you were going to stay after school for your practice, you stared blankly at your laptop’s clock as you counted down the minutes left in the class period. Ten minutes. Eight minutes. Four minutes. Two minutes. Thirty seconds-

You shot up from your seat as the bell rang. Pushing past some groups of freshmen that congregated in the hallways, you made a beeline for the locker room. In the locker room, you found Haley sitting on the metal bench on the opposite end of the locker room with her back facing the last row of lockers and facing the brick wall. She was clenching her phone in her hand with an iron grip. You hurried to sit next to her.

“Hales, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

“It’s bad (y/n). Like, really bad.”

“What’s bad? You’re worrying me.”

Wordlessly, she unlocked her phone and handed it to you. On the screen was something that you weren’t expecting to see. You scrolled through the contents and felt your stomach drop with each scroll; someone took pictures of you and Haley throughout the match last night. Every picture was a violation to yours and Haley’s dignities, they had gotten zoomed in pictures of your boobs and asses. Deeper, there were even pictures taken of you changing into your volleyball uniform through your open window. You were only in your underwear. Haley had a similar picture that you scrolled past as fast as you could. Scrolling to the bottom of the text message thread, the person that sent Haley the pictures added a caption to the last picture. It was a picture of you and Haley together celebrating your match, her arm slung around your shoulder with your mouth open mid-laugh.

Unknown

I’m sending these out to the entire school unless you stop hanging around her.

If you tell anyone, the pics will be printed off and put in every single locker and bathroom the school has.

You’ll be the sluts of Klinkver High.

Cut all ties now. You have two days.

Do not try me.

“Jesus christ Haley. Who the fuck would do this? This is sick.”

She took her phone back and locked it without looking at the screen. “I don’t know (y/n). I wanted to tell you not to openly talk to me for a few days. We don’t know who took these, we don’t know what they’re capable of. I don’t wanna risk angering them.”

“We can find them! If we look close enough, we might find a few clues where they were sitting. Do you remember seeing anything suspicious last night?”

“(Y/n), our best option is to leave it. We just can’t talk in person anymore; we can still text each other.”

“Hales, how are we gonna not talk? I’m your setter.”

She ran a hand through her thick black hair. “I don’t know (y/n). Just-just don’t talk to me anymore, I don’t want your pictures leaked.”

“I don’t care about my pictures. My name’s been drug through so much shit this past year that it won’t affect me. I don’t want your stuff leaked.”

She gave a watery laugh, “you care too much, I love that about you…” Glistening eyes turned to look deep into your own. “I’m so scared (y/n), I don’t know what to do.”

You pulled her into a hug, wincing slightly when she squeezed her arms around your upper back. She buried her face into your shoulder and started shaking with muffled sobs. “Haley, I promise I’ll catch whatever sick bastard is doing this to you. You don’t deserve this.”

She said nothing as you rested your chin on the top of her head and started to rock her back and forth slowly. You two stayed like that even after her sobbing resided, finding comfort in each other’s presence. Glancing at the clock, you realized that you two have been in the locker room for an hour. Practice was set to start in fifteen minutes, people were going to start coming into the locker room soon.

You reluctantly pulled away from the hug and looked Haley in her bloodshot eyes, “I’m not going to let those pictures of you get leaked. I swear on my-”

The door to the locker room swung open and loud laughter echoed throughout the room. Haley pushed you away and speed walked off to a bathroom stall, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Damn (y/n), what’d you do? She’s pissed.”

“It’s none of your business, Zara.”

“Oh, so it’s a lover’s quarrel then~” She cackled, her hair bouncing slightly with each heave of her shoulders.

“For the love of… Haley and I aren’t dating, we’re both straight.” She’s straight.

“Mmhm.” She brushed past you to go to her locker. You followed her, your locker was in the grouping next to hers. You shared the area with Haley. You changed as fast as you could so that Haley would have time to change before practice starts. Speed walking into the gym, Zara was hot on your trail wearing a shit eating grin.

“Why are you in such a rush? Giving your girlfriend the silent treatment?”

“Zara. We aren’t dating. For the last time, we’re both heterosexual, not homosexual!” You wildly gestured with your hands to emphasize your point, your voice being amplified by the vast gym. Coach Williams gave you a confused look from across the gym.

“You just keep telling yourself that.”

“I’m serious.”

“Hi serious,” a soft voice replied from behind you, “I’m Jazzy.”

You groaned at the pun at the same time Zara started cackling, giving the short libero a high five. “Nice!”

“That was so bad, Jaz.” You couldn’t help the smile that found its way onto your face.

Zara poked your cheek with a wide grin. “C’mon, you’re smiling!”

“I am and I hate it.”

Your bickering continued with Jazzy watching you two with a content smile. The remaining members of the team (Haley, Marlene, and Zuri) filed into the gym right as Coach Williams blew her whistle.

Practice went by slowly without Haley talking to you. Sure, you had the rest of the team, but it didn’t feel the same with you guys ignoring each other. If the team or Coach Williams noticed you two not talking to each other, they didn’t say anything. By time practice was over, you all went to the locker room to change. After slipping into your fuzzy pajama pants, you sat on the bench and texted Wilbur to come pick you up. He was supposed to pick you up after practice today because he and Techno took the car home after school. Five minutes passed and he still didn’t reply. He probably won’t see the text until you got home from walking.

You sighed, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned forward. One by one, the girls left the locker room until it was only you and Haley left.

“Do you need a ride (y/n)?” She asked gently.

“But what if the person sees us together? I can just walk home, it’s not really a big deal.”

She rolled her eyes at you. “It is a big deal. It’s cold and dark out. You could get kidnapped or something. You don’t even have a coat with you. I’m giving you a ride whether you like it or not.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at her and stood up to walk next to her, “okay, mom.”

“Don’t give me that attitude young lady.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, you’re not my real mom!”

She gasped and lightly smacked the back of your shoulder, “I married your- are you alright? Shit, I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“No, you’re good. It’s just this damned bruise.”

She moved her hands and frantically turned you around to pull the neck of your shirt down. You two stood in front of the school’s main entrance with the nauseatingly bright fluorescent light bouncing off the reflective surface of the tiles. The orange tinted street lights lit up the sidewalk outside.

“(Y/n)-”

“I know what you’re gonna say.”

She scoffed, “oh really? What am I gonna say then, o wise one?”

You turned around to face her, “‘oh, this is bad, yadda yadda yadda.’ Everyone’s been saying that about it. Honestly it looks worse than it feels. Tis but a scratch, m’lady.”

She snorted and covered her mouth, “never call me ‘m’lady’ ever again.”

You started to walk to her car in the empty parking lot. “Or what? What’re ya gonna do?”

“I swear to god, (y/n), I’m gonna leave you here.”

“Do it, pussy. Bet you won’t.”

“You really wanna bet?”

You grinned at her, “hell yeah.”

She broke off into a mad dash to her car, laughing freely into the night sky. You chased after her trying not to move your arms much, your laugh mixing with hers like a perfect symphony composed of the world’s best musicians. The sound of your rubber soles slapping the pavement resonated throughout the parking lot as you quickly gained on her. Reaching out to grab her shirt, she smirked at you and sharply turned to the right into the grass.

You grinned as her pace slowed down slightly. You’d be able to catch her at this pace. You pushed your legs to move faster as she looked at you from over her shoulder and shrieked in surprise at how close you were to her. You cackled at her reaction, reaching out once again, you grabbed her hand. She was stopped dead in her tracks as your shoulder was yanked with the sudden momentum, making you hiss in slight pain. Despite that, you didn’t let go of her soft hand.

You both stood there under the moonlight and the soft orange street lamps trying to catch your breath. The slightly damp blades of grass tickled your ankle as you shifted to face her better. Through gasping breaths and a dopey grin, you said “you… lost, pussy.”

She let out a breathy laugh as she pulled you to her car. “Shuddup.”

“Make me~”

She opened the passenger side door for you and got into the driver's seat. Her car smelled like vanilla and citrus. “Oh, you will later when I make you do more sets in weight lifting tomorrow, hurt shoulder be damned.”

She turned on the ignition and the car revved to life, soft indie pop wafted from the speakers. She backed out of the parking space and sped off to the main road. “You wouldn’t…”

“I’m your captain, (y/n). I can make you do whatever I want.” You felt your cheeks heat up a tad. You were happy that she couldn’t see you.

“Naw, you’re too much of a softie for that. Admit it, I’ve got you wrapped around my little finger.”

She chuckled as she pulled into your driveway and put the car in park. “...Alright, maybe you do. Just a bit.”

She turned to look at you. She looked stunning with the shadows accentuating the contours of her face perfectly. You found yourself glancing at her lips and leaning slightly towards you. To your surprise, she started leaning into you as well. Before your lips could finally mesh together, she pulled back with a sigh and ran her hand through her hair. You felt a rush of disappointment and fear course through your veins. She didn’t like you like that, you should’ve known better. You were so stupid. So, so stu-

“I can’t (y/n). I want to kiss you so bad, but we can’t. Not yet at least. Not until we find the pervert that took those pictures of us.”

You sighed, “right.”

The car was filled with awkward silence. Not even the soft music streaming from the speakers could alleviate the awkwardness. God, you really screwed up your friendship, didn’t you? Sammy, Adrian, and Annie were right; you messed up everything you touched.

You coughed, “I think I’m gonna…”

“Yeah…”

You grabbed your bag and walked into your house, the smell of chicken slapping you in the face instantly. Without checking in with your dad, you hurried up the stairs, desperate for the warm comfort of your bed. That, and if you wanted to get Sammy’s presentation and Adrian’s, Annie’s, and your research papers done by Friday, you had to start as soon as you could. You were going to skip dinner for tonight, you’d just grab more breakfast tomorrow morning.

You plopped on your bed and got started on your research paper. Luckily, you already had all of the sources you were planning on using and the rough outline of each body paragraph, so writing the actual paper wasn’t going to take long. You worked until you heard a knock at your door.

“(Y/n),” Techno’s monotone voice called out, “dinner’s ready.”

“Tell Dad I’m not hungry. Practice’s got me beat, I’m going to bed soon.”

He grunted, “you know he’s not gonna like that right?”

You felt frustration start to swim circles around your chest, “Techno, just tell him that I’m not hungry right now. Please.”

“Damn, you don’t need to be like that. I’ll tell him.”

You heard his stomping footsteps thumping down the hall. Shit, you pissed him off. You were a terrible person, he was just trying to get you to eat something, Pushing back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes, you forced the panic that was starting to swirl around your body in laps deep into your being. You didn’t have time to deal with your failures and stupid emotions, you had to get this done. You didn’t have time to think about Haley’s warm breath ghosting across your lips. You didn’t have time to think about how she probably regretted almost kissing you. You didn’t have time to fall into an anxiety spiral, you needed to focus if you wanted Adrian, Annie, and Sammy to forgive you. You ruined yours and Haley’s friendship and did the same to yours and Techno’s. They were the only ones you had left. You needed to be a better friend.

Taglist (comment if you want to be added or if I missed you, it won’t let me tag some tumblrs :((( ):

@immadatmostthings @thaticecreambish @hee-hee-haw @dearnataliealoveletter @wasteofspacze @dcml04 @bbigbbrainn @dirtydiavolo @vanhakirja @rinzyx05 @misselsbells06 @ialexabsuniverse @im-a-depressed-gay @energy-drinkk @mothra-main @i-need-hugs @dragons-lurk-here @katj733 @m4r-s @vievi @dykeragee @waterstrawberry @aplaintart @kakamiissad @myunfinishedsymphony @nagitokinnieissad @autumnpleaves @justanothergirlwithdemons @zachariethememerie @moon-asia @m0on-blue @strawberrysodababy @akikko-yataro @haikkeiji @shiningsunrises @cinnamonmochi @queen-turtle-boiii @imanewsoul @sparkling-gayyyy @angelicaschuyler-church @vixenfoxpup @ella-ivanov @shio-yuki @mosstea-png @ijustshatbricks

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mingis-lightbulb · 2 years

Text

8:40pm

Warnings: Yandereness, death, use of a gun, twisted relationship, suggestive themes.

Taglist: @kimroieho @mingissoggywaffles @damissub @wooyoungsbae @yungisstar1117 @yunhomocide @beomnoi @blessednhighlyfavoured @do-you-actually-care @soft-teddybear @captainjoongiekissme @hijirikaww @staymiracle @gay-for-gaon

Tags not working: @joti17 @winterciella

"I'm sorry I didn't know!!!"

"Yet you still decided to waste your time and confess you dumbass bitch."

The poor girl backed up against the alley wall as the (h/c) female sauntered closer, gun drawn closer and aimed at her head. The girl wanted to feel brave, make it seem like she didn't go down without a fight. So she tried harming the (h/c) with words.

"Seonghwa doesn't even like you!! You're just a weirdo that lusts after him!!"

"Hes disgusted by you!!!"

"HE HATES YOU! YOU'RE-"

A loud bang ran out, bouncing off the dark alley walls. The girl slumped down against the ground, nothing but the soft sound of her blood hitting the ground could be heard as (Y/n) walked away. She wipes off her gun and removes her gloves, wrapping the weapon and placing it in a bag.

Suddenly her phone began ringing, making the girl pull it out and answer. "Hello?"

"Hey Baby! I was calling to check on you!"

"oh Hwa! I was just heading over~"

"Already? The door should be open! The guys just left."

(Y/n) hummed as she listened to the male ramble in about his day, what did he do with his friends and various other little activities he'd done. (Y/n) smiles as she hangs up, reaching his apartment. She pushed open the door and walked inside, kicking off her shoes. "Hwa~! I'm here!" She calls out, watching as the adorable male oops his head from around the corner.

His beautiful jet black hair was parted beautifully, his playful brown eyes shining as they land on her frame. He was wearing a matching couples sweater with matching skinny jeans and socks. Seonghwa walks up to her and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her into a quick kiss.

"Welcome home! I went out shopping with Joong and Yeo, they told me to tell you hi-" Seonghwa suddenly stopped before gripping her bag, feeling the heaviness from it. "Babe...." He started only making the (h/c) girl look away sheepishly.

(Y/n) puffed out her cheeks.

"The bitch had it coming."

"(Y/n)!! I told you I would handle her!"

"I didn't like the way she was eye fucking you right in front of me." She said pouting and Seonghwa sighed placing a kiss on her cheek. Seonghwa took her bag and placed it on the chair.

"did you take precautions?"

"yes I made sure I used gloves, one bullet to the head, made sure no one else was around."

"Good~, I can my babygirl has been listening to me." Seonghwa walked back over and lifted her chin. "Maybe she needs a reward~" he teased watching as her cheeks heated up.

"H-hwa-"

"Ah ah ah..come on, maybe we can awake the neighbors with your pretty moans~"

"Seonghwa!!"

"What?~ Bring your cute ass over here, that's what you get for disobeying me. "

(just a little random thing I had in my head, it's nothing really big.)

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfics #ateez fanfiction #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #yandere reader #yandere seonghwa #yandere seonghwa x reader #Yandere reader x Seonghwa #seonghwa drabbles #park seonghwa drabbles

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

The Perfect Fit | Bucky Barnes x reader (part 2)

(part 1)

summary: after getting fitted by you, bucky’s going to try on the custom-made suits he’s bought. unless he makes his move now, he may not get to see you again, and he can’t let that happen.

word count: 6.5k

warnings: smut!!, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), a little d/s energy, mirror kink, stomach bulge kink, slight pain kink?, creampie kink, pussy spanking, light bondage, bucky being jealous

Bucky had a bone to pick with Tony, which was usually true but this wasn’t work-related for once. It wasn’t hard to find him in the same place he’d seen him last— eating his lunch in the kitchen, with Sam nearby chowing down on lo mein with a spring roll.

“Hey lefty, what’s cracking?” Tony greeted, mouth full but talking loudly anyways.

"I went down to that tailor you recommended—" Bucky began, but Tony was quick to interrupt.

"You went there? Dude, it's a really nice place, you can just call and she'll come to you instead, way more convenient."

"So now you say 'she'?"

Realization dawned on Tony’s expression. "Ahh, I get it. You're not used to a female tailor. Adds a little spice to getting fitted, huh?" he grinned, elbowing Bucky playfully.

Bucky’s throat felt a little dry when he heard that. "Don't tell me that's why you use her…"

"Hey now, I'm not a creep, I use her cause she's the best, and those house calls are great for discretion— you know, being a celebrity and all. The eye candy part is just gravy."

"Gravy candy sounds disgusting," Sam chimed in, missing the point entirely.

"Yeah, well, she mentioned some stuff that sure made you sound like a creep."

"Okay, well, you can't blame me for getting caught staring when I'm surrounded by fucking mirrors. Makes it hard to be stealthy."

"You could try not staring,” Bucky suggested flatly.

"Is that what you did?"

Tony smirked when Bucky failed to reply immediately. "Okay, so it's easier said than done,” Bucky admitted with a frown, “but still, I hope these house calls were strictly professional."

“What’s it to you, man? I think somebody’s jealous,” Tony purred.

“What? No, it’s not that,” Bucky denied.

“You love her,” Tony sing-songed, completely ignoring Bucky. “You looooooove her!”

"You are so immature," Bucky rolled his eyes, even though his heart was racing and he was pretty sure he was blushing.

"No, it's good for you! She's a catch, you're all brooding and stuff— maybe she can melt the Winter Soldier's frozen heart, hm?"

Sam laughed heartily. "Stark, you read too many comic books."

"You're saying you don't wanna see Icy Hot here shoot his shot with my tailor?" Tony asked, turning his attention towards Sam.

Sam pondered that, much to Bucky's dismay. "Depends. How hot is she?"

"Mega," Tony smirked confidently. "Legs for miles, and she wears these skirts that make her ass look—"

"I think I've heard enough," Bucky groaned. "I'm leaving. And don't ask when I'm going to see her again," he instructed, interrupting Tony just as he'd opened his mouth to speak, "because I won’t tell you.”

As Bucky left, he could hear Tony calling out into the hall: “But I’d be such a great wingman!”

Truth be told, Bucky had put off mastering the use of his smartphone. It wasn’t just that new technology made him feel old, but that he knew nobody would be calling or messaging him anyways; if the phone didn’t work, he would spare himself the embarrassment of waiting up for nothing.

But once he knew you were going to call? Suddenly, he was motivated to figure the sucker out.

A few hours later and now all he had to do was stare at it to make sure he wouldn’t miss you. Luckily, you didn’t make him wait too long. He recognized the number and decided to let it ring a few times before picking up, so it would seem like he had other things to do besides talk to you.

“Hello?” Bucky asked when he answered, so it would seem like he had other people calling him besides you.

You introduced yourself so formally that he was a little afraid that all that fun energy between you two would be gone. Thankfully, once he asked what you were calling about, you were back to being cheery and casual again.

“I was just calling to schedule when I could come by with your new suits!” you explained, sounding chipper.

His fingertips were a little tingly just from hearing you talk, nervousness making him antsy (in a weirdly good way). “I know you said it’s a one-person operation,” he responded smarmily, “but I figured you would outsource delivery.”

You scoffed, though it sounded more amused than irritated. “It’s not just delivery, I have to check the fit and make sure everything’s exactly to your liking.”

“Oh, well, I’m free all day tomorrow— and I think you already know my address.” Was it too forward? Too obvious? And why did Bucky spend half the time when he was talking to you second-guessing himself?

“Yes, Stark Tower is a relatively common destination for me. If he doesn’t mind us using it, Tony has a dressing room with plenty of mirrors so you can get a good look. But, I’d be happy to just go up to your quarters if that’s easier.”

He was not at all ready for you to see his room. No way he could clean it enough in the next twelve hours; and even then, lots of the team had made fun of how empty and plain it was, so he knew it would just make you think he was boring.

“I’m sure Tony won’t mind you using his dressing room, but he might mind me using it,” Bucky chuckled.

“Well, if he makes a fuss I’ll be sure to set him straight,” you decided confidently. Somehow, imagining you cursing out Tony was almost hotter than imagining you doing anything else. “Be sure to bring down your dress shoes so you get the full look and everything.”

“Uhhh…” he trailed off as he scratched the back of his head, trying to remember if he owned anything other than combat boots. “Not sure I still have those, to be honest.”

"Okay, you'll need shoes too,” you noted aloud, your voice a little distant; he figured you were writing things down, which was why you sounded distracted. “What size are you?"

"Thirteen."

"I'll bring a selection tomorrow,” you announced firmly. “And socks, of course. And some watches, maybe? And pocket squares."

"Is that it?" he asked sarcastically.

“Oh right, I’m bringing the ties you picked out, too. I’ll throw in some alternates in case your original choices don’t match the way you were hoping.”

“You really are full-service,” he chuckled.

“I get that a lot,” you replied, a hint of coyness to your tone.

There it was again; that jealousy. He hated it because he knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop it either. As much as his mind was completely aware that you were an independent, modern woman capable of handling herself, his heart was equally determined to protect you, and spoil you, and do whatever was necessary to make sure you were safe.

Worse, his gut was less innocent. Mine, it demanded, all mine. Nobody else’s.

He pushed it down and just tried to get through the rest of the call without saying something he’d regret. You confirmed the date and time with him, and he tried not to be too aggressive when he said he was looking forward to it.

He hung up his phone and sighed, staring off into space. Now all that was left to do was wait, and be overwhelmed with anxiety. Thankfully, he was good at the second thing.

"So, what do you think?"

I think you look so damn good from every angle. I think I might spend all my money on suits just to be sure I can see you again. I think you need somebody to love you the way you deserve. I think you’d look like an angel waking up in my bed.

You waved your hand in front of his face for a moment, calling his attention back to reality. “Helloooo?”

Drawn out of his trance, Bucky finally looked in the menagerie of mirrors surrounding him and admired his reflection, amazed by the perfect fit of his first suit. The difference in quality between this and something off the rack was beyond apparent. Most of all, your talent was undeniable. "I think it's beautiful."

You smiled proudly. "Of course it is, but do you like how you look in it?"

"Honestly? I feel a bit… out of place. I'm obviously not classy enough for a suit like this."

"Oh, nonsense," you dismissed.

He frowned, convinced this was all flattery. "No, seriously, this is… maybe I should just wear tactical gear to every event."

"Well, you'd still look good, but you're not always a soldier. Sometimes you're only a man. And every man should own a fine suit."

It was much too profound of a thing to say while you casually straightened his jacket, only to pop out from behind his reflection to smile at him in the mirror.

“Let’s get the next one on you,” you decided, helping him lose the jacket but having him move into a private dressing room to switch trousers and shirts. “I put a turtleneck in there instead of just a regular button-up,” you explained through the door as he changed, “in case you wanted to see it that way.”

Once he’d put it on, he stepped back out and you were looking at him so proudly— well, you were looking at your handiwork with pride, really, but he could pretend it was for him and hope actually impress you that much one day.

“I went with a shawl lapel on this one, as opposed to the last one which was notched,” you explained as you traced the line with your finger. “Spoiler: the next one has a peak lapel. But enough about that one: what do you think of this one?”

“This looks like something my friend Sam would wear,” Bucky decided as he looked at himself in the cranberry suit and black turtleneck. The shoes you’d had him try on with this were intricate as well, with subtle stitching in the leather and a shine so immaculate he could almost see a reflection in them.

“Well, is your friend Sam stylish?” you asked.

“He would certainly say so,” he smirked.

“I’m inclined to agree, because you—” you gave him a thorough glance up and down, so thorough in fact that he felt a bit exposed under your gaze, “—look marvelous.”

“Not pretentious?”

“No, no, it works on you,” you assured, “you’ve got the looks for it.”

“And what looks are those?”

“Um… good? Good looks?”

He definitely remembered a time when that seemed like the obvious answer, because he had relied on being good-looking for a lot of things in life, but that felt very far away now. Maybe it was just that people who didn’t know what he’d done could still think he was good looking, but everyone else saw the evil within beginning to leak out the way that he did.

But you knew what he’d done, didn’t you? You had to. You knew Tony, you were here at the Tower… unless you were intentionally not up-to-date on current events, you must have heard of the Winter Soldier.

“Don’t act so surprised,” you huffed, “as if it’s a big secret or something. You’re obviously very attractive.”

Bucky cleared his throat nervously. “Uh, thanks.” He wanted to return the compliment, but thought it might be inappropriate or rude somehow. You broke the silence quickly as you held up two pocket squares in front of him.

“Which of these do you prefer?” you prompted. He selected the solid gold one, making you smile. “I knew you’d pick that one.”

“How?”

“I dunno, just fits you,” you shrugged as you folded it and gently placed it in his pocket. Even through so many layers, your touch on his chest made his heart flutter. Your fingers brushing over his as you slipped a watch onto his wrist was enough to cause palpitations.

He looked better in this ensemble than he expected. This version of himself looked much more likely to be invited to parties than any other version. If only he actually wanted to go to parties.

You put him in the pinstripe suit last, after putting a few pins in the cranberry suit to indicate minor changes you would make later, and stepped back to ponder your work.

"Hm, unbutton those top two buttons for me?" you requested with a raised eyebrow.

I will if you do, he thought to himself, but silently unbuttoned his own shirt anyway.

"I mean, it definitely works like this, but I wanna see you in a tie. And I've got juuuuust the one," you smiled. Soon you were approaching him with a red paisley tie, and helping him button up his shirt and tying the tie for him— you explained something about how it was a unique knot he likely couldn't do himself, but he was too lost in having you so close to notice. It would be so easy to just reach up and grab your waist, pull you into a kiss, finally tell you how bad he wants you.

Well, it would be physically easy, but it would be very scary. Just imagining it had his heart racing.

“I heard from Tony this morning,” you informed him suddenly, slipping the tie around his neck and popping his collar up for him.

“Really? Is he in need of a wardrobe update?”

“Yes, but he hasn’t realized that yet so that wasn’t what he called about.”

He laughed a little at the jab, though it also made him a little worried what secret opinions you held about his own style (or lack thereof).

“We talked about you, actually,” you added.

“O-oh,” Bucky stammered, “uh, he’s not exactly my biggest fan. So whatever he said probably isn’t true.”

“He said that you have a crush on me,” you replied nonchalantly, not even looking up from your work on his tie.

Bucky gulped, and he knew you saw the bob of his Adam’s apple because you were staring right at his neck.

“Like I said, Tony isn’t a very reliable source,” Bucky replied, but his voice cracked in the middle and he cringed internally.

“I’ll write it off as another one of Tony’s off-color jokes then,” you dismissed, perfecting the knot of his tie and stepping back to observe him. He always felt nervous when you looked at him like that, like he couldn’t hide anything from you.

“What… what did you say, when he told you that?” Bucky asked nervously.

“I asked him what he was smoking and if I could have some,” you laughed. “I thought it was totally impossible— and don’t worry, I didn’t tell him that you got hard when I did your inseam.”

Bucky’s throat became dry at the same moment that his palms got clammy.

“I— um, I was just—”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you dismissed quickly, still talking about this all so casually which only made him even more confused, “you’re not the first, it happens.”

“I’m not the first?!”

“Yeah, if anything you were one of the few who didn’t say something creepy about it, which is always appreciated. It’s just a bodily reaction, you can’t control it.”

“Did Tony ever say something creepy?” Bucky pressed, his hands involuntarily tightening into fists— another bodily reaction he couldn’t control.

“You know, Tony said you were really worried that he had been inappropriate with me, or even that he and I had a fling or something,” you added as you stepped back, giving him a quizzical look, “and now it’s sort of sounding like he was right.”

“No, no, it’s not that, I just—”

“Was he right about anything else?” you pressed, raising an eyebrow.

“I was being nosy, I’m sorry,” he sighed, “it’s just that… and I know it’s none of my business, but the idea of him and you… it isn’t a pleasant mental image.”

You laughed a little, in a way that made him feel kind of small. “Why not? You know how he is. Definitely has a wandering eye… and occasionally a wandering hand.”

Bucky winced. “I swear, if he ever put his hands on you, I’ll go find him right now and beat him senseless.”

“What if I wanted him to?”

He nearly saw red, but he knew he had no right to be angry. You were a grown adult and he had no ownership over you… he just sort of wished that he did.

“So it’s true then? You and him…?”

“No, Bucky,” you laughed, “it’s not. Nothing’s ever happened between us. I generally don’t get involved with clients like that.”

“Generally? Is there an exception?”

You chewed your lip, seemingly a little thrown off by his question. “Uh, I mean, no— I’ve never been involved with a client, no, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why would you say ‘generally’ then?”

“Uh, I guess I just… I wouldn’t want to rule anything out, that’s all. Never say never.”

And for a moment he almost wondered if you were flirting with him. Certainly not, with him having come across as both a jealous hot-head and a bumbling dweeb who pops a boner faster than a randy teenager, but just for a second the way you looked at him was… questionable.

“I mean, who knows,” you continued, “what if, hypothetically, some gorgeous guy walked into my store one night— a sensitive guy, who made me laugh and put up with me rambling about ties for the better part of an hour— and I was supposed to dress him up when all I wanted to do was undress him?”

Your finger started to trail down his chest lightly, tickling his skin through the dress shirt.

“I wouldn’t want to think he was off-limits just because he’s a customer… right?” you asked quietly, looking up at him and biting your lip.

He was afraid to make the wrong move, but he really really hoped this was flirting.

“I don’t think anyone would object to being dressed or undressed by you,” Bucky responded, hoping he could stay neutral until he was sure what you were talking about.

You chewed your lip, looking away as if you were thinking about something.

"I know I certainly haven't. And wouldn't," he added, feeling the need to say something.

You nodded, placing his tie inside his jacket and seeming happy with your work.

“You know, the fit looks great," you announced, "but I’m a little worried that one of the measurements was wrong. Mind if I do your inseam again?”

His throat was dry all of a sudden, but he responded quickly anyways. "Uh, go ahead…"

You looked up at him as you started to sink to your knees, very slowly. That little move looked real good in the mirror behind you. “Last time I did this, there was something getting in the way, made it difficult to know if I was doing it right…”

"M-my apologies," he whispered.

"Oh no, I'm not complaining," you purred as you slowly began to run your fingers up the side of his leg, keeping searing eye contact until his knees felt a little weak.

When your hand reached the top of his inner thigh, the back of it brushed against his balls and he shivered. Delicately, and so excruciatingly slowly, your hand moved higher and gently rubbed his erection through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

It must have been all the anticipation that made it so intense, made shivers run up his spine every time your hand moved over his length, made his toes curl inside the ridiculously fancy shoes you’d put him in.

“I’m gonna take it out now, okay? I promise I won’t measure you here,” you winked.

"You can if you want," he shrugged, deciding now was the time for feigned confidence if there ever was one. “I mean, if you’re worried about fit…”

You bit your lip, and he was proud to see the effect his words had on you. “I’ll be honest, I am a little worried it won’t fit…” You were quick with his belt, but slow with his button and fly, apparently having more fun teasing him. “Fuck, Bucky,” you groaned softly as you took his cock out.

“Don’t look so excited, doll, you’ll give me an ego,” he purred.

“Can’t help it,” you sighed, “looks delicious.”

You licked a long wet stripe up from the bottom all the way to the tip, making a show of licking up the bead of pre-cum before taking his head into your mouth, and Bucky blinked a few times to be sure that this was actually happening.

"Been wanting to do that since I first saw you," you admitted, grinning as you stroked him right beside your face, which only helped to illustrate how big he was compared to you.

"Dirty girl," he praised with a smirk.

Flirting, he wasn’t so good at. Conversation in any form typically stressed him out. But this? This he was still pretty good at. And he’d never wanted it so bad before.

When you took him in your mouth again, you didn’t stop until you started to gag; he couldn’t stop himself from moaning through his teeth when you did it.

"Look up at me, princess," he instructed softly, grinning when you obeyed quickly. "Now look over there at that mirror. Look how good you look on your knees for me, choking on my cock."

You moaned around him when you made eye contact with your own reflection, and it felt so fucking good he almost lost it right then and there. He held your jaw, almost too tightly, and guided you as your head bobbed on his length. Your mouth was so warm he thought he would burn up— and it only got warmer the deeper he managed to get. God, he was so ready to pump his load right into your throat, but he wanted to do so much more to you first.

In one quick motion, he pushed you off of his cock, pulled you up to face him, and flipped you around, holding you to his chest with the metal arm and letting the flesh one start rubbing your thigh. This way, both of you were looking at the mirror in front of you, and he loved watching you gasp and moan as you felt and watched his fingers move higher and higher.

“I think it’s time to find out if you really are ‘full-service’,” he purred right against your ear, making searing eye contact with you in the reflection. “You’ve seen so much of me, but I haven’t seen nearly enough of you yet. Been daydreaming about what you could be hiding under these tight little skirts.”

As he pulled up the plaid-patterned fabric, he saw that you were wearing white, lacy panties and he groaned deeply.

“What are you wearing these for?” he teased, rubbing along the edge but never getting where you wanted— and he knew you were getting desperate, because your hips were starting to buck up into his hand. “Were you expecting something would happen today, sweetheart?”

“I— I was hopeful,” you stammered; instantly, he slapped you right on your barely-covered pussy, just hard enough to make you yelp and squirm in his grasp.

“You’re so shameless,” he chuckled darkly, “and I love it. I just hope this isn’t your usual routine— acting all innocent and batting your eyes so your clients will fuck you.”

“No, I swear, it’s just you, Bucky,” you whimpered, “there’s nobody else, please…”

“Please what? Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to… to touch me more,” you whispered, as if it was a secret and not patently obvious.

He slipped two fingers underneath the thin fabric, finding your clit right away (not difficult at all with how swollen it was) and rubbing it in gentle circles.

“Oh god,” you sighed, “Bucky…”

WIth his hand on your hips, it wasn’t hard at all to push you back into him so he could rub his aching cock against you.

"What material is this skirt made of?"

"It's a silk blend," you answered breathlessly, "about 30% cotton."

"It's soft," he purred before yanking your skirt up higher and pressing his cock against your ass instead, "but not as soft as you."

Next to go was your blouse, which he tore open to the sound of buttons flying every direction and bouncing off of the mirrors and floors.

"Bucky!" you yelped, but he could see your nipples harden through the lacy white bra. If there was any doubt that you had intended to seduce him today, the matching undergarments dispelled it.

After teasing your nipples between his fingers for a moment, he reached back down between your legs— and when his fingers slipped through your folds and moved down to your opening, he actually moaned just from how wet you are.

"Fucking hell," he growled, "you are drenched, princess. You liked sucking me off that much?"

"Not just that," you clarified, "you look really good in my suits."

He gave you a toothy smile in the mirror, using it to nibble on your ear a bit. "You deserve most of the credit for that," he purred.

"No, no, I don't," you whined, "you'd look sexy in a paper bag, honestly… you turn me on so much, Bucky."

“Did you… think about me? After I left your shop the other night?” he asked playfully, already foreseeing your answer from the way your thighs clenched and your lips let out the subtlest gasp.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“You’re smart enough to know I want you to be more specific than that,” he chuckled.

“I thought about you that night… after I got into bed…” you elaborated slowly, clearly distracted by the way he was moving his fingers: delicately, but with obvious intentionality. “I thought about what it would’ve been like if you had grabbed me and kissed me, shoved me against the wall, fucked me right there on my desk… in front of the glass wall, where anyone could’ve walked by and seen you claim me…”

His cock was throbbing, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the image itself or from the knowledge that you’d been fantasizing about it. “Were you touching yourself?” he growled.

“Yes,” you sighed, your thighs starting to visibly shake, your knees bending towards each other in the mirror.

“Show me how,” he demanded. “Show me exactly how you were playing with your needy little pussy while you thought about me.”

Your hand found its place on top of his, your fingers starting to move his to the specific place, guiding his movements to be faster and rougher.

“Oh, I see,” he grinned, “you don’t like to tease yourself, do you? You like to jump right into it, come as many times as you can and rub yourself raw in the process?”

You nodded feverishly, panting and whining and writhing in his grasp.

“You’re so desperate, honey… such a shameless cockwhore for me.”

“For you,” you repeated through your trance, “Bucky, ‘m close… keep touching me, please…”

He kept his thumb on your clit but gently slid one finger inside you, both of you gasping at the sensation (if for different reasons).

“So tight,” he hissed, already pulling it back out, “fuck, and just for one finger…”

“More, please,” you begged mindlessly.

“More? Sure you can take it?”

You bit down on your lip as you nodded, and he pushed a second finger in beside his first. He felt you struggling with it, both in your walls and in the way you winced a little, but you softly begged him to keep going so of course he couldn’t stop. You adjusted quickly, your wetness starting to run down his hand.

“Fuck me,” you whimpered, “now, please, can’t wait anymore.”

“Yes you can,” he encouraged, “and you will, cause I need to taste you first.”

Pulling his fingers out of you, he flipped you around again, finally kissing you the way he’d been dreaming of since he first saw you. It was intense but not too dominating— in spite of everything. It was a romantic sort of kiss, maybe too romantic for the situation (that being his cock out and hard and pressed against you, and his fingers covered in your arousal) but perfect nonetheless.

“That’s not what I thought you meant when you said you wanted to taste me,” you giggled when he pulled away.

“No, I meant it the other way,” he smiled, “I just wanted to do that first.”

He picked you up suddenly, making you gasp a bit, but knelt down to lay you on the floor pretty soon after. You looked up at him with wide eyes as he lifted your leg and kissed his way up. He could smell your need, and he worried it would drive him wild before he reached his destination.

Pulling your soaked panties aside, he realized he could probably come just from looking at you. “Such a gorgeous pussy,” he growled his praise, leaning down to plant a few more teasing kisses over the inside of your thighs. Finally, he started with one long lick, just like you had with him, but you weren’t so patient to tolerate it. Nearly instantly your fingers pulled his hair, clearly trying to guide him to tease you less, but he couldn’t be swayed to go easy on you.

“I hope you’re not forgetting who’s in charge,” he smiled hungrily.

“And what if I am?” you returned, clearly looking to get on his nerves so he’d get rough with you. He was happy to oblige.

Bucky sat up and loosened his tie, slipping it off of his neck with a smirk. "Now, this is 100% Venetian silk, so it should feel nice around your wrists," he cooed. You offered your hands willingly, and he got a chance to show off a few complex knots of his own. "Now be a good girl and keep those hands above your head, alright?"

You did as he asked, freeing him to hold your legs open as he devoured you, alternating between teasing your bud with the tip of his tongue, and fucking you with it.

"You taste like heaven, doll," he growled when he came up quickly, "and the way you moan when my tongue's inside you? I swear I could die happy right now."

"I wish you wouldn't though," you whimpered.

He laughed a bit before he got back to it, letting his tongue focus on your clit while he filled you with his fingers again. Your walls clenched down on him occasionally, and when it became more frequent just as your moans became louder, he knew you were close.

"Stop, stop," you sighed suddenly, pushing him away.

"Are you alright?" he asked, nervous he'd done something wrong.

"No I'm fine, I just… I don't want to come yet. I want you inside me first."

"And what about what I want, hm? What if I want to watch you come just from my tongue?" he offered instead, though he was definitely still very persuadable in this regard.

"I know you wanna fuck me, Bucky, don't make me wait any longer,” you moaned, your back arching up a little from the floor.

Not needing to be told twice, he flipped you onto your elbows and knees, making sure you could support yourself with bound wrists before letting you go. His hands running over your exposed ass and thighs made you shiver, and he smiled down at you. At this point, he was probably more desperate than you were, but he was doing a much better job of hiding it, even taking the time to reach up and undo a few of the buttons of his shirt, because wow suits are warm and not meant for his level of physical activity.

Still, he figured he had waited long enough— he needed to fuck you while he still had at least a shred of patience left. He was going to need it if he was going to give you time to adjust to him.

Holding his cock and rubbing it through your folds, he chuckled when you whined and dropped your head down in a pout. He loved watching your expression shift into a gasp as he pushed in.

He went slow, but he didn't stop either. He wanted to test you just a little. He wanted to stretch you open.

"Fuck," you cried, "god, you're so… you feel so…"

"Look in the mirror," he instructed coldly, although the coldness was just a front for the way he was holding himself back as your body swallowed him so beautifully.

You moaned again, higher-pitched and weak, just as he finally got all the way in. He waited until he felt your body relax a bit before he asked if it was okay for him to move yet. You answered with a quick nod, a breathy "please," and he didn't need any more encouragement.

It was probably too fast to start off with, but god, he'd been waiting so long to fuck you like this.

"Baby," he whispered, "you're so perfect."

He held you steady and thrusted deep, so deep that it made you gasp each time. You looked incredible, and you felt incredible, but the way you sounded was just… divine. He could never have imagined the beautiful way you would sound when he was bringing you pleasure like this. Having heard it, he wanted to make you sound like this as often as possible from now on. Technically he couldn’t even be sure he’d get another chance to, but surely sounds this perfect meant you had to be having a good time, right? Ideally a good enough time to call him again?

He was snapped back to focus when he saw your eyes flutter shut with pleasure.

"Don't look away from that mirror, honey," he growled, "don't close your eyes. Look how pretty you look like this."

He could tell you loved it from the way your channel fluttered and flexed.

"You like watching yourself get fucked, princess?"

"Yes," you sobbed as he grabbed your hips harder, hoping to leave a bruise, "it feels so good, Bucky, please don't stop!"

"I won't stop, pretty girl. Not until you cream on my cock," he grunted.

"Fuck, I'm close," you whined, "Bucky, I'm gonna come— oh god right there!"

And he was sure it couldn’t be fake from the way your body tightened and released so many times, the way you quivered and your breathing seemed to stop for a moment. Even though he could barely take it, he kept fucking you through it until you were shaking so violently that he worried about your health.

“You feel so goddamn good when you come, princess,” he moaned softly. “Tryin’ to milk my cock for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

You laughed a little, sounding exhausted, but as he kept fucking you he could feel how sensitive you had become. When he reached down to push your skirt back up to your waist after it had started to fall down a bit, he felt his own movements in your gut and it took so much not to lose his cool in that moment. Instead, he pulled your upper body into his so that you could see in the mirror the way your lower stomach was bulging a bit each time he pushed in all the way.

"F-fuck, Bucky," you whimpered.

"Anybody ever been that deep inside you before?"

"No, not even close," you moaned.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked gently, kissing up and down your neck slowly to match his lazy, teasing thrusts.

"A little," you admitted, "but it feels good. Don't stop."

He wasn’t so brutal with his thrusts, still deep but with a patient, measured pace. It staved off his orgasm a bit longer, and it made you moan all slow and throaty which was not better or worse than the needy, high-pitched moans, but enjoyably different. You didn’t sound as desperate anymore (probably because you’d already come), instead seeming relaxed and calm— if still arching your back and biting your lip nonetheless.

"I wanna come inside you," he whispered right against your ear; he could feel the way you shivered as a result.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Is that what you want? Wanna be full of my come?"

"Yes," you sobbed, "yes, please Bucky I need it so bad!"

"Fuck, gonna fill you up so good, doll," he promised gruffly. "Want me to make you mine, beautiful?"

He knew it was a risky thing to say, but his risks had paid off so far, and he wasn't in his most cautious mood.

"Already yours, Bucky," you sighed, "I'm yours, please come in me…"

It hit him suddenly when you said that, and harder than he expected. He hadn't come like that in… he hadn't come like that ever. He preferred not to think about the sudden, wavering moan he let out in that moment because he wondered if it sounded unsexy, but thankfully his mind was distracted by the overwhelming sensation of his softening, sensitive cock still within you.

He managed to maneuver you in the way he needed as he pulled out, leaning you back into him and holding your legs open to the mirror in front of you.

"Look in the mirror, sweetheart,” he instructed, his whisper a little labored as he was still catching his breath, “watch my come leak outta your pussy."

You seemed to be in awe of it, despite it being the obvious outcome of what had just happened. To be fair, he was in awe of it in a sense, too; a thick, slow stream of sticky white come dripping down from your swollen hole and onto the floor… it was mesmerizing.

Your body was limp in his arms as he finally allowed you to rest, your eyes falling shut as you melted into his embrace. He took a moment to untie your wrists, tossing the garment aside with an exhausted sigh. “Bucky…” you mumbled sleepily, apparently just to say his name.

“Was that… sort of what you were hoping for today?” he asked softly, kissing your temple.

“And more,” you giggled. “Oh my god, I… I don’t even know how to describe that… you’re so… fuck, I don’t know, my brain is totally jelly right now.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

He smiled, admiring your vacant-yet-pleased expression and feeling satisfied with his work. You turned over to lay your head on his chest, and he gladly draped his arms around you in response. Holding you like this felt so purely right, in a way so few things did to him. Funny enough, even just having fucked you on the floor and already holding you afterwards right now, he felt nervous again that he would say something wrong. You were a modern woman, after all, and maybe this was this ‘hook-up culture’ he kept hearing about.

“Was that true what you said, doll?” he asked gently, feeling you stir a little and slide a leg up to rest over his. “Did you mean it when you said that you were mine? Or was it just, you know, the heat of the moment…?”

You smiled a little, looking kind of embarrassed. “Um, yeah, I meant that… I’m yours, if you want me to be.”

He didn’t feel as guilty for feeling so possessive over you now. Clearly it was appreciated, in the right context. And he was now at least 75% sure that this wasn’t a hook-up. “Well, I’m yours, too,” he replied with a soft laugh, “whether you want me or not.”

“I want you,” you confirmed.

You laid in silence together for some unknowable amount of time, but it was a purely unawkward silence. A peaceful silence, and one filled with possibilities, but not uncomfortable. Maybe it was uncomfortable in the sense that the carpet, while still being very plushy and expensive, was still the floor and not as forgiving as a bed… but it was completely worth it.

Part of him feared to ruin the moment by speaking, but much more of him feared that you would slip out of his grasp if he didn’t say something. "This may be the wrong time to ask this— or maybe just the wrong order to do this stuff in— but I wanted to ask if you'd like to join me for dinner sometime."

You laughed, but cuddled deeper into his chest. "Um, yeah, that would be nice."

"I just hope I'll find something nice to wear," he grinned.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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