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bucky-barnes-diaries · 2 years

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His Most Prized Possession

Pairing || Dark!Mob!Bucky x Wife!Reader

Summary || You’re the wife of the most feared man in all of New York City, James Buchanan Barnes, the mob boss of the biggest mafia in town. Your his—his girl, his beauty, his love, his property, his most prized possession. He will torture and kill anyone who dares to make any advances on his woman, and he won’t hesitate to show them who you belong to in the most sinful way possible before their end…

Word Count || 8876

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Smut, Angst, Dark Themes — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, slight dub-con, Dark!Jealous!Possessive!Bucky, angry/vicious!Bucky, soft!Bucky, mob/mafia business, mention of drugs/alcohol, violence, implied use of weapons, implied torture, blood, murder, crying, use of force, graphic/explicit content/language, pet names (doll, baby, babe, princess + others), unprotected vaginal sex, exhibition kink, forced voyeurism, daddy kink, spit kink, degradation & praise kink, use of the word whore, dom/sub dynamics, oral (m & f receiving), teasing, begging, face/throat fucking, gagging, fingering, spanking, choking, rough fucking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing, creampie, mention of bodily fluids, aftercare.

Authors Note || After a lot of work it’s finally done! I’m so proud of this! Please enjoy this twisted and sinful journey! Feedback would be so much appreciated on this piece <3 I want to know what you think!

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Mob!Bucky Masterlist

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The Underground Lounge

It was the most high-profile club in all of New York City. A place for criminals, the filthy rich, politicians and like-minded people to converge in secrecy for whatever they desire with no repercussions, whether that be alcohol, drugs, women, sex or just a fun time. Everything and anything went down here.

The club was nestled deep below The Blend nightclub, which acted as a cover for the underworld of crime below.

They were both owned by James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky amongst friends and loved ones. The most feared man in all of the city and the mob boss of the biggest and baddest mafia in town. He was also your husband. Your dangerous, vicious and sexy husband.

You and Bucky would usually be at the club on the weekends for some party and fun, which you were right now.

The VIP area that was only reserved for Bucky and company was slightly elevated over the rest of the club—giving Bucky the best view to look over his domain. It also showed the guests that they were nothing compared to the boss sitting on the high throne. The VIP area had an abundance of seating places—fitting several people. All compacted in a sizeable curved couch with a low circular table in the middle to put drinks on or other substances, for that matter. There was also enough space for Bucky’s security to keep a lookout over the club and its activities.

Today it was only you and Bucky attending. No friends, no other company, except for your security detail.

With a good percentage of alcohol in your system, you and he were all over each other—lips sloppily crashing into one another as you moaned and groaned into each other's mouths and hands roamed both your bodies.

You'd unbuttoned a few buttons of his white long-sleeved shirt—wanting to feel his collarbone and chest underneath your fingertips as you made out. His dark blue velvet dress jacket was tossed to the side long ago. Your other hand rested delicately on top of his covered bulge—palming him ever so often.

Bucky’s hand kept a tight grip on your naked upper thigh; the short little dress you wore barely covered anything, giving him easy access to your skin. His other held your throat gently in his grasp, making it impossible to move away from him not that you wanted to.

Ever so slightly, he inches his way higher up your thigh, hicking your dress up with his moves, as he caressed your delicate skin with his rough hands, making you moan and whimper into his mouth. His end goal was to get into your panties—wanting to force his fingers knuckle-deep into you and have you make a mess all over them.

It wasn't unusual for him and you to get a little naughty together in the club. On multiple occasions, you'd have his fingers deep inside your pussy or straddle his lap to grind yourself on his clothed cock. And occasionally giving him a handjob here and there.

You'd think he would be against having you so exposed to everyone’s prying eyes since he was always so protective and possessive over you in day-to-day life. But on the contrary, he loved showing you off here. It gave him the power to assert his dominance over you and make everyone know that you're his—his girl, his beauty, his love, his property and his most prized possession.

This was his club—his rules—his everything. Everyone knew not to mess with the mob boss's precious wife. Not unless they had a death wish.

Your body tingled in anticipation of having his digits buried deep inside you. You were so ready for it. So needy for it, but… God, did you really have to pee now, urgently.

“Bucky.”

His name came out in a moan rather than a plea for him to stop with his touches, making him think you wanted more. He swiped your damp panties with his thumb while his lips assaulted your neck with licks, kisses and bites, making you whine even more.

“Bucky!”

You placed your hands on his chest, shoving him lightly off you, making him stop with his kisses and retract his hand from under your dress.

“What!”

An annoyed tone was laced in his voice, but that quickly turned into concern as he thought something was wrong.

“What is it, baby?”

His thumb caressed your cheek lovingly as he tried to search your face for any discomfort. There was none, so he didn’t understand why you'd make him stop.

“I just really need to go pee.”

He nodded his head in understanding and was about to call for one of the security to accompany you, but you stopped him before he could.

“No! I can go on my own.”

“Doll…”

He cocked his head to the side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t want you going on your own.

Although the club was a safe space for you to wander around due to everyone knowing who you were and not daring to approach you under any circumstances, Bucky still wanted you looked after due to the reason that occasionally a rouge and unwanted person managed to get into the club, despite the tight security, and cause chaos and bothering the other club patrons. But that rarely happened, and right now, you just wanted to go on your own without having anyone on your tail all the time.

“Please, Bucky,” you pleaded with those puppy-dog eyes you knew he couldn't resist, “if I'm not back in 15 minutes, you can come and find me.”

“Alright, princess,” he pecked your lips, “but hurry back to me, baby,” and once more, “because I need to bury my fingers in your tight little pussy….”

He cupped your core harsh, making you moan out at the roughness. Bucky groaned out as he touched what belonged to him.

“... my tight little pussy.”

He growled in your ear, making the hairs on your neck stand and your core pulsate at his filthy words.

“I’ll be right back, babe.”

You gave him one last peck before you got up and fixed your dress—the material had bundled up your hips entirely. Bucky gave you a light tap on your ass before you walked away in search of the bathroom.

You did your business in the bathroom and freshened up before walking out to the club’s main area.

Bucky hadn't left his positing from the VIP area. His leg was crossed over the other, and his arms rested on the back of the couch while he looked calm and relaxed. You wanted to take advantage of your freedom and decided to get a quick drink at the bar before returning to him.

You made your way to the bar that was settled in the middle of the club while swaying your hips to the music playing. Luckily, the bar wasn't packed, so it should be a quick deal.

You order the drink and make yourself comfortable with your elbows on the bar counter, squeezing your breasts together, almost exposing them entirely. Your ass poked out behind you—the dress so tiny and short that it almost showed your entire ass.

You knew everyone had their eyes on you, thirsting and yearning for you—for something they knew they could never have, and that's what you loved so much about it. In this club, you loved being a little cock-tease to everyone—it made you feel powerful.

While waiting for your drink, you scanned and observed the club’s guests. Most of them you'd seen before and recognised—politicians with their mistresses, criminals making shady deals with each other, and some new faces you'd never seen before. Everyone looked to be in great spirit and having fun tonight.

“My, my… don't you look pretty tonight.”

A deep, smooth voice murmured in your ear, making you jump out of your skin a little at the roughness of it. You thought it was Bucky for a second, but the voice didn’t match quite right. When you spun around, you found yourself caught in an intense gaze by a man. Usually, you'd back away and decline any stranger like that, but something about him just made your whole being scream in need.

The man oozed danger, sex and confidence—all things you loved and had gotten so used to with Bucky. So you couldn't help yourself when you got ensnared in this stranger's trap. You knew you shouldn't talk to this man. Bucky would be pissed if he found out. But Bucky wasn't here right now, and the drink should be done any second, so you decided to play along and then would politely decline once it was time. Bucky would never know.

“Well, hello to you, stranger.”

You batted your eyelashes at him and gave him your most appetising smile and gestures you could muster up, popping your hip out and tilting your head to the side, wanting to play a bit dirty and rile him up.

“My, you're the prettiest little thing in this whole club.”

He came closer, almost pinning you against the bar with his massive frame. He licked his lips as his eyes travelled across your whole body. This man was playing a dangerous game in approaching you like that—intentions clearly sexual.

He presented his hand, and you took it gladly, shaking it.

“The names Roman,” he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it while maintaining eye contact, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Roman?

You'd heard that name before, but you couldn't quite put your finger on who he was. It was such an unusual name that you would think with such a name, you'd remember who it belonged to, but your mind was completely blank. It must be the alcohol and the intense surge of sexual energy you were experiencing.

“The pleasure is all mine, Roman,” you gave him your name, which made him smirk when he heard it.

“That's a beautiful name, princess. What brings you to this club, sweet thing?”

“Oh, I-”

The conversation was cut abruptly by someone grabbing Roman’s shoulder and pulling him away from you, turning him to face whoever it was.

You gasped.

Shit. It was Bucky.

His face was stone cold as he stared Roman down with absolute dark rage in his eyes. His fists clenched by his side—knuckles turning white.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Roman?” Bucky spat out while getting all up in his face.

Wait?

Bucky knew him?

Oh…

Oh!

Oh, no…

He was that Roman.

Shit. Now you remember.

He's the man that betrayed Bucky about a year ago and went to be with Bucky’s number one rivals instead. You remember at the time what kind of a toll it had taken on Bucky to be so gruesomely crossed.

This was not good. You felt so horrible and guilty now with the later knowledge of know this man was. How could you have forgotten him? Forgotten what he's done? You should have brushed him off instead of instigating his actions further.

You couldn't hear what they were saying because they were so up in each other's faces, but you could tell that it was a heated argument. You wondered what was being said. What kind of complications and events this would all lead to.

Suddenly, Bucky shoved him hard, and it looked like he would fight him right then and there. But he didn’t…

“You’re fucking dead, Roman,” Bucky uttered through gritted teeth.

Bucky came to your side and grabbed your arm hard. So hard that it hurt, and you winced and tossed to try and get out of his harsh grip, but he wouldn't budge. He pulled you back to the VIP area and ordered you to sit on the couch.

“Don't fucking move.”

His words were like poison, making you flinch at the absolute anger in his voice. Your eyes were becoming glossy—tears threatening to spill at any moment. You wrapped your arms around yourself for comfort.

How could you be so stupid? You should have just said no to Roman instead of acting like a fucking brat and whore—wanting to be a little cock tease for a man that wasn't even your man. You should have just been an obedient little wife and returned to your husband like you were supposed to.

Bucky was furiously talking to one of his men for several minutes. You saw how stressed, angry and fearful his demeanour was. His hand ran through his short hair multiple times. It was rare to see Bucky in this state. He was usually tough and determined, not bothered by what people said and did, and always in control of things. But it looked like Roman had really struck a sensitive nerve—said something that had put Bucky out of check.

When he was done conversing, he came back to you and took your hand, gently this time, and pulled you with him out of the main club area, not saying a thing. It looks like you were leaving. You went through the backdoor that was only used for you and Bucky and a selected few other people.

Once in the elevator, Bucky wrapped a protective arm around your waist and pulled you flush against his torso, still not saying anything. You wanted to say something. To plead for his forgiveness, but you felt awkward doing it in this tight place when you weren't alone. You would try and talk to him in the car when it was just the two of you.

Bucky ushered you into the backseat of the black luxury car, him getting in behind you. You weren't sure where you were going—home, most likely. The screen divider that separated the backseats and driver seat was up, so you were all alone, and you could finally try to talk to him.

“Bucky?”

You tried in a sweet and calm voice.

Nothing.

He pulled his phone out when it pinged with a message. His mouth remained in a thin line, eyebrows furrowed, with no emotions in his eyes as he typed on his phone before placing it inside his jacket.

“Bu-Bucky?”

Your weak voice cracked as his name came out in a sob this time.

“I-I’m so s-sorry. I-I shou-” You sobbed even more, unable to finish your sentence. You were about to cry any second, knowing that Bucky was mad and disappointed in you for being so stupid and reckless. You turned your head away from him, unable to look at his stern face.

“Doll…”

His voice was sweet compared to the poisonous one he used with you in the Underground. You thought he would yell at you once in the car. But it was the opposite. His loving and caring side surfaced—your wonderful husband that loved you beyond words.

“Baby…”

He grabbed your chin with his fingers and turned your head towards his. His eyes held nothing but love and adoration for you—his wife. His heart broke when he saw a few tears roll down your cheeks, your lips quivering.

“P-please d-don't be mad a-at me, Bucky.”

“Oh, baby… come here.”

He pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his strong arms around your waist. His head nuzzled in your neck as he laid tender kisses on the soft skin to try and soothe you,

“Mad at you? No, doll. I could never be mad at you, and I’m sorry it came across that way. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you like that, my sweet love.”

“Bu-but, you seemed s-so angry at me. Angry for what I’d done and who I was talking to. I swear, Bucky, I forgot who he was, and I-I just-”

“Doll.” He made you rest your forehead on his. His piercing blue eyes focused deep into yours—showing you that he spoke the truth. “I’m not mad at you at all. Please don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s not your fault. Not even the slightest, ok? I love you, babydoll.”

“O-ok. I-I love you t-too, Bucky.”

He dried your tears while giving you a warm smile. “My precious girl.” He cradled your face in his hands and laid a light, comforting kiss on your lips. The kiss slowly progressed to a more passionate one—neediness and love poured into it.

The moment was quickly interrupted by Bucky’s phone pinging with a message in his jacket. He groaned as he fished it out to read it. You caught a glimpse and gasped when you saw what it said.

It's done.

You knew what it meant. It was the worst possible outcome following the events that unfolded in the club.

“Is, is he d-dead?”

“No, no, doll. They only questioned him, that's all.” Bucky tried to reassure you.

You knew what questioned meant. It meant that they had beaten the shit out of him, almost to the point of death. And although Bucky spoke the truth that Roman wasn't dead, he would be soon. Bucky never let something like what happened at the club go unpunished—people trying to cross his line. Certainly not when it comes to you. He would torture and kill anyone who made any advances on you, especially when they were fully aware of who you were and belonged to. And Roman most certainly knew what he was doing when he approached you. He wanted to provoke Bucky and test his limits. And now he would pay for it.

Maybe he didn’t think it through enough? Perhaps he thought he was safe because he was under the protection of Bucky’s rivals?

But one should never underestimate Bucky. He didn’t give a fuck who anyone belonged to, enemies or friends. If provoked, he would have you severely punished or, in the worst case, killed.

You shook your head—not wanting to think about it anymore. Instead, you lay your head on Bucky’s shoulder and close your eyes for the remaining car ride. His fingertips delicately caressing your arm lulled you to a relaxed and sleepy state…

———

“Doll,” his soothing voice murmured in your ear, pulling you out from the light sleep, “baby, we’re here.”

You softly moaned as you lifted your head and saw that you’d pulled into the garage of your penthouse—you were indeed home now. Luckily, because you were ready to cuddle up with your husband in bed and go to sleep in his loving and protective embrace.

“You want me to carry you?”

“N-no, I can go on my own.”

Once in the elevator, Bucky pressed the button for the roof terrace, not the apartment like you thought we would. You looked up at him. A confused expression on your face—eyebrows furrowed.

“Are we not going to bed yet?”

“Not yet,” he wrapped his arms around your shoulder, pulling you close to him, and kissed your head, “I have something I want to show you.”

What did he have to show you on the rooftop?

When the elevator arrived, Bucky took your hand and led you to the patio overlooking the light-filled city. Nothing looked unusual. Everything looked as it always did. There was no thing to show. So why did he bring you here?

“Bucky, what are we doing here?”

“Come.”

He led you to the very edge of the fence and wrapped his arms around you from behind. His head rested on your shoulder, and you leaned yours on his.

“Do you see, doll?”

“See what, Bucky?”

“The city!”

“Your city, babe.”

“Our city, baby girl. All of this is for you. Everything I do is for you. You and my undying love for you influence every decision I make in life.”

“James… you know I don't need any of this. I appreciate it, baby, you know that, but… I just need you.”

“I know, I only need you as well, but I just wanted you to know that we’re in this together. We can always count on each other. We will always have one another. Our love is powerful and unbreakable.”

“You know it, Bucky.”

You stood for a while longer. Staring out over your city as you swayed to imaginary music. Bucky’s lips graced your cheek as he whispered sweet nothings that had your heart burst with warmth, love and security.

Words can’t describe how much you loved this man. This vicious, menacing, murderous, but also affectionate, warm and joyous man. One would think such words couldn’t be combined to describe a man—that it doesn't fit. But Bucky was all those, and you wouldn’t change him for the world.

Your sweet bubble was interrupted by another notification on Bucky’s phone, making him groan in annoyance. He held one arm around your waist while the other retrieved his phone.

You couldn't see what it said this time, but he let out a groan of approval and then pulled you with him back to the elevator once he read it.

“Where are we going now? More surprises?”

“We’re just going to our room.”

Ah, finally. As much as you loved Bucky for bringing you up here and expressing his undying love for you, you really just wanted to snuggle up to him in bed now.

But once you arrived at your room, one of Bucky’s men was waiting by the door, which was highly unusual. You wondered what was going on. It probably had something to do about Bucky’s recent text message. Probably an update on Roman and his current… situation. But no matter what it was, you hoped it would be able to wait till the morning. You just wanted Bucky all to yourself now.

“Wait here, doll.”

You stood in place while Bucky approached his man. He whispered something to Bucky, and Bucky nodded before he called you over. The man bid you good night, and then it was finally just you and your husband.

“What was that all about, babe?”

“My love…”

He lay his hands on your shoulders, staring deep into your eyes with seriousness written all over his face.

What was going on?

Why was he acting so… strange?

“Yes, my dear?”

“Do you trust me?”

“I do, Bucky, with my life.”

“Would you do anything I ask of you?”

You didn’t like to admit it, but you would kill for this man if the situation ever occurred.

“I-I… yes.”

“Then come with me,” he presented his hand, and you took it without hesitation, “don't be alarmed.”

Alarmed?

He opened the door to your shared master bedroom. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Although you trusted Bucky, his behaviour was more abnormal than usual, which scared you slightly.

You expected to be met with something significant while walking into the room, but there was nothing in the dim-lit room. It was a little hard to see with the lights out, so you scanned the entire space to try and find the abnormality—from the huge windows lining the outer wall, to the bed, and finally, the other side of the room. And that's when you saw it.

You gasped out loud in horror, eyes wide like saucers when you saw a person in the darkened corner of your room. It was a man—beaten, bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair. His scream was muffled by something shoved into his mouth.

Oh my god… it was Roman…

“B-Bucky, wha-”

What was happening? This was wrong. This was so wrong on so many levels. Bucky never brought any of his mob business into your home. He always tried to shield you from that gruesome aspect of his world as best as possible. So what was he doing?

You backed away slowly but were stopped by colliding into Bucky’s chest. He grabbed your upper arms to keep your shaking form in place. His breath fanned your face while he whispered in your ear.

“Don’t be scared, my love.”

You were very much horrified by the sight of a bloodied and bruised man bound tight in your room. I mean, who wouldn't be?

“Wh-what i-is going o-on?”

You contemplated screaming and running away. If that's what you wanted, Bucky would have let you go—he would never force you into doing something you absolutely didn’t want. But you didn’t move a muscle. This situation intrigued you. Bucky’s vicious and twisted mind fascinated you.

Although you were the innocent and sweet one in the relationship, you had a slight devious nature to you as well. So you wanted to see what kind of plans Bucky had in store for bringing Roman into your privacy. What kind of things does he want to do. So you let go of all your worries and went with the flow.

With Bucky’s hand secured around your neck, craning your chin up to make you look at Roman. Bucky spoke, loud enough for Roman to hear as well, the most sinful, possessive and immoral words he's ever uttered—making you shamelessly aroused and almost crumble to the floor.

“He’s gonna watch us, doll, all powerless tied up in that chair as I do with you as I please. He’s gonna watch as I undress you and expose your beautiful flesh to his eyes. He’s gonna watch as I kiss, lick, suck and bite all over your skin. He’s gonna watch and hear as I make you moan, whimper and scream. He’s gonna watch as I fuck you hard, my wife. Claiming your body and soul as mine, and mine only.”

Fuck.

You were all in.

Bucky circled his arms around your waist and brought you closer to his firm chest. Very delicately, he started leaving kisses on your exposed shoulder, making you purr in delight. His feather-light kisses made goosebumps erupt on your skin. You craned your neck to the side, giving his lips more space to continue their journey further up. A loud moan of satisfaction escaped you as he became rougher with it—licking and sucking on your tender sweet spot.

In a swift motion, he removed your little dress—leaving you in your pretty underwear. His hands started roaming all over your exposed body, paying close attention to all your curves with his fingers—hips, waist and breasts—especially your breasts. He palmed them in his grasp and pinched your nipple through the material of your bra, making you wince out at the slight pain.

While one of his hands palmed your breast, the other ran down your stomach and found its way into your panties, making you gasp once his expert fingers found your aching core. He ran his fingers through your slick folds, groaning deeply in your ear, making the hairs at the back of your neck stand.

“Fuck, baby, already so wet and messy for me, huh? Did that turn you on, princess? My little speech about fucking you and claiming you as mine while he watches all helpless?”

“U-uh, huh.”

You were revelling in the pleasure your twisted and loving husband provided you that there was no way to form any coherent words, let alone sentences. It made Bucky chuckle in a sinister way at how absolute speechless he could make you with such simple touches.

Then it all stopped—his touches and kisses. You whined out in protest and were starting to turn around to see what was going on, but he stopped you by grabbing your upper arms and turning you towards Roman again.

“Stay still, baby.”

Thankfully, his delicate touches returned to your skin. His fingers ran from your shoulder and down until they met the clasp of your bra—unclasping it with no difficulty. The bra straps ran down your arms and hit the floor with a soft thud. Your breasts fully exposed to the two men.

With Bucky’s hands caressing your waist, he descended to the floor behind you. His fingers hooked into your panties and pulled them down your legs. Now, you were fully exposed; your parts that Bucky was so protective and possessive over came to light.

He left a wet kiss on each of your ass cheeks before travelling the kisses upward your naked back—until he stood straight up and wrapped his hand around your throat again, making you yelp and pay full attention to the man tied to the chair. Bucky spoke loud again for him to hear as well.

“This here is all mine. My body—my tits, my ass, my pussy,” he groped your wet and naked core, making you gasp out, “Only I will get to touch and take all of her as I please. Isn’t that right, baby girl?”

“I-it’s yours, B-Bucky, I-I belong to y-you.”

He turned you around and pulled your naked body flush into his clothed one. His hand grasped the back of your neck and brought your lips to his—hungrily kissing you, tongues caressing one another as you moaned and groaned into the heated and needy kiss. His other hand took hold of your ass cheek—altering between squeezing hard and delivering slaps to the plump flesh, which made you whimper into his mouth each time he did.

While still keeping your lips connected, Bucky manoeuvred you to the foot of the bed and removed his jacket while you helped with unbuttoning his white shirt—tearing it off his muscular body.

You roamed your hands all over his hard chest and stomach, moaning as you felt every curve and dip of his delicious muscles. While you touched him, Bucky went to work on getting his pants off.

“Let me.”

You descended to your knees, finding a comfortable place on the marble floor, and helped him tug his pants and underwear down. A satisfied gasp slips from your mouth as his hard cock springs to life—slapping against his belly.

“This cock belongs to me, doesn't it, daddy?” You mutter as you take a firm grasp on his base, and kitten lick his tip while looking up at him.

Bucky chuckled at your possessive nature, licking his lips. You could be just as possessive over Bucky as he was over you, and he loved it. He belonged to you as much as you belonged to him.

“You know it does, baby,” his hand cradled your face, “all of me belongs to you, body and soul.”

You pushed him down to sit on the foot of the bed, his hands on the mattress keeping his weight up. His eyes were fixated on your kneeling form as you nestled between his spread legs. The palm of your hands caressed his thighs up and down as you stared at his entire cock—your mouth watering at how delicious it looked.

“I’m so hungry for your cock, daddy.”

“Yeah? You gonna show him what a little cock-whore you are, baby?”

“Yes,” a glob of your spit fell on him, making him groan as your hand jerked him and spread the saliva all over his length, “I’m a little cock-whore that wants your cock in my mouth.”

He twitched at your lewd words.

“Take all of me then.”

With his hand at the back of your head, he guided and encouraged you to take him whole. With no hesitation, you engulfed his length immediately—too cock-hungry to tease and toy with him until he begged for you. You desperately needed his length deep in your throat.

You gagged around him as he tickled the back of your throat. The vibrations made him shudder where he sat. With each hand cradling your face, he forced your head up and down on him, thrusting his hips upwards to meet your moves.

Tears pooled in your eyes, and saliva dribbled out of your mouth as he forced his way down your throat. It was so messy and erotic—sloppy sounds filled the room.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he concentrated on how your warm and wet mouth felt on his throbbing cock. Guttural groans rumbled in his throat.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well, baby.”

He removed you from him, which made you whine in protest—missing the feel of him choking you with it. Your hand wrapped around him and jerked his length in long strokes as you presented your tongue—showing him how absolute needy you were for his cock shoved deep in your cavity.

With his fingers holding your jaw, he leaned down till he was level with your face and gifted you a glob of his spit on your awaiting tongue. “Fucking whore, you know that?” You nod your head. The degrading action and words had your pussy flutter. You rolled your tongue into your mouth and leaned down to retake him, bobbing your head while Bucky supported his weight on his hands, allowing you to take control of his cock as he sat and enjoyed the lewd performance.

“I bet you’re fucking jealous now.” Bucky sneered at Roman as the corner of his mouth turned up in a sinister smirk.

Your hand accompanied your mouth—stroking his base while your mouth paid attention to his sensitive head—finding a perfect rhythm to bring Bucky over the edge. The other hand cupped his balls to fondle them.

“Look at me….”

You peered up at him through your thick lashes while you had your mouth and hands full of his cock and balls. Drool and tears covering all of you.

“...fucking shit, doll, you’re gonna make me come.” A few seconds later, he grunted as he reached his climax. His hand gripping your shoulder hard to brace himself.

Watching his face contour in pure pleasure, moaning, groaning and grunting while his thick load shoots down your throat must be one of the most pornographic scenes you’d ever witnessed. Your pussy fluttered at the sight and vocalisation of him—slickness running down your inner thighs.

Holy fucking shit.

You worked him thoroughly through his intense orgasm to make him feel as good as possible. Not letting a single drop of him go to waste—all of it trickled down your throat.

Once he had come down from his high, you pulled him out from your mouth, making his head leave with a pop. Bucky hisses as his sensitive cock is freed from your expert hold.

You were a mess—drool covering your face, hands and tits, but to Bucky, it was the most stunning you’d ever looked.

“Oh, baby. So beautiful and messy for me.”

With his hand holding your throat, he leaned down to give you a sloppy kiss which you whimpered into.

“Get on the bed.”

All giddy, you switched places with him. Your elbows supported your weight as you spread your legs for him, showing him your glistening and needy pussy.

“Fucking gorgeous.”

“Are you gonna fuck me, daddy?”

Bucky tugged your legs, pulling you further towards him—till your ass was right by the edge of your bed.

“Not yet, babydoll. I need to taste that pussy first.”

He finds a comfortable place on his knees between your spread legs so he can go to work in worshipping all of you, like the Goddess you are. His face is inches from where you so desperately need him, feeling his breath on you, making your pussy ache for him. You arch into his face, your hand running over his short hair, begging for him to taste you, touch you, do anything to you. To eat you out until he shatters your existence.

“Please, Bucky,” you pathetically plead.

“You want it, baby?”

The tip of his tongue flickers your nub. That simple touch has your whole body convulse on the bed and a soft whimper escaping you.

God, you were so needy.

“P-please.”

“I’ll make you feel so fucking good, princess,” he laid a simple kiss on your wet folds, making you convulse once more, “but first, I need to clean up this mess you’ve made, baby.” He was referring to the slickness that had spilt from you, running down your inner thighs.

While his hands caressed the side of your waist, making delicious tingles erupt on your skin, he went to work on cleaning you up with his tongue—licking up the mess you’ve made, moaning at your taste. “Your taste is outstanding, baby.” Your whimper in pain and pleasure as he nips the skin of your inner thigh with his teeth—his tongue soothing the sting after.

“You have the prettiest pussy; you know that, baby? I’m so lucky that I’m the only man who will ever get to see it, to taste it,” he licks your outer lips, which has you arch into him for more, “and to fuck this needy little cunt.”

Finally, he places his mouth where you desperately need it to be. He drags his broad tongue through your folds and flicks the tip of it on your clit. The action has you arch your back, and your eyes flutter shut.

“O-oh…”

A glob of his saliva hits your clit, trickling down your folds. He groans as he watches his mess mix with your own—making your pussy look like the most delicious five-star meal he’s ever seen.

“Look at him, baby. Look at him while I eat your pussy.”

You turned your head to look at the man bound in his chair. It’s fucked up to admit it, but it turned you on to have Bucky between your thighs while a beaten-down man watched. You could see him shaking in his chair, shock overloading his system while his bloodied face pleaded for mercy—for his hurt and misery to end.

Fuck, this was hot.

You moaned loudly as Bucky went to work on devouring your pussy like a starved man that hasn’t had a decent meal in forever. He drags his tongue through your slit multiple times to get all of your flavours. His groan against your pussy at the taste has you quiver on the mattress and a loud cry emitting from you.

He lewdly spits on your pussy to claim ownership over it before his lips wrap around your raw nub—altering between sucking and licking the sensitive nerve. You try to keep your focus on Roman, but your eyes flutter at the pleasure, your mind and vision becoming blurry.

Two fingers penetrate your velvet walls, stretching you out and reaching knuckle deep, making you wail out. Their tips brush against the spot that has you absolutely lose it, making you writhe on the bed. The other works your breast—palming the supple flesh in his grasp, pinching and pulling on your sensitive nipple. You're nothing but cries of pleasure—moaning, groaning and whimpering as Bucky works you to perfection.

You feel kind of embarrassed at how noisy and pathetic you sound, so you bite your bottom lip hard to try and keep yourself down. Bucky didn’t like that at all.

“No, no,” he releases your clit from his hold, “let him hear. Let him hear all your pretty noises, baby.”

He quickly returned his assaults on your swollen clit that throbbed in need. His fingers moved in and out of you at an expert pace, and his other hand worked your breast.

Upon his wishes, you let your cries of satisfaction flow freely—filling up the bedroom. Your breathing hitched in your throat as the buildup was nearing its breaking point, so close to shattering your whole existence—body and soul.

Both your hands are placed at the back of his head, keeping him there so that he cannot move away and deny you your pleasure under no circumstances. Your hips rock into his vicious mouth as you chase your orgasm—it’s right there, so close.

“Bucky,” you cry as you come hard, your toes curling and your whole body convulsing on the bed. You try keeping your gaze on Roman as the coil in your stomach snaps, but your eyes cross. The surge of intense pleasure on your mind and body is almost indescribable—you’ve never come so hard in your entire life. As stars blur your vision, you feel like you're floating on a cloud.

Bucky groans as he works through your orgasm, your clit throbbing in his mouth and your tight walls fluttering around his digits. He’s in awe as he watches you fall apart like you’ve never done before, and he doesn't stop pleasuring you until you are all but satisfied.

You sob from sensitivity as his mouth and fingers leave your used and abused pussy. You’re a panting and heaving mess as you try and come back to your senses.

“You have no idea how sexy and breathtaking you are when you come like that, baby,” he says before kissing your mound, making you twitch. He proceeds with his kisses up your stomach and gives each of your nipples a lick; each touch has you spasm on the bed at how overly sensitive your whole body feels. He comes to face you—gently laying a kiss on your lips so you can taste yourself.

“I really fucked you up, didn’t I? I’m the only one that can make you come like that, huh?”

All you can do is nod while babbling unfinished words as you still haven’t recovered from your high.

Bucky chuckled at your distant and fucked out state.

“I’ll fuck you up some more, doll. He’s gonna watch as I absolutely wreck you.”

He pulls you further up the bed until you’re both in the middle of it.

With his hard cock in hand, he taps the head on your swollen clit, making you twitch and sob; a weak no falls from your lips as you place your hand on his hip to try and push him off.

You can’t. You’re so overly sensitive that it hurts. You can’t take anymore. But Bucky didn’t seem to give a fuck. He wasn’t done with you.

“I-I c-can’t.”

“Yes, you can, baby.” He speaks through gritted teeth.

He takes your hand off him and pins it down on the mattress.

Again he taps your clit, pulling out the same reaction from you as before. He glides his leaking tip through your wet folds. Gradually, his cock gliding on your tingling nub feels fucking incredible, and you’re ready for him to wreck you with his length.

“Please, daddy, fuck me.”

He groaned out at your neediness for him and lined his tip with your quivering entrance. Slowly, inch by inch, he penetrates your tight velvet walls with his cock, making you whimper at the slight ache. His hands grasp the back of your thighs as he forces his way inside you, guttural groans rumbling in his throat as your warm and tight walls engulf him. The last bit of him he forcefully pushes inside you, slamming into your pelvis, making you sob a cry, and your eyes roll back—showing white. The feeling of fullness has you blabbering pleas for him to destroy and fuck you senseless.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight.”

His voice is so deep and husky, making your walls flutter around his length, pulling out a heavy moan from him.

“I’ll fuck you so good, doll.”

He pulls out and then forces himself hard into you again, making you jolt and cry on the mattress. He does it a few times, being rough and abusive with it, before he starts fucking your tightness in deep and powerful strokes, slapping his skin against yours.

He hoists your legs on his shoulder, pinning them against his front, as he thrusts into you, his tip brushing your sweet spot each time he reaches deep inside you. You’re nothing but a moaning, whimpering mess as you take it all. Your hands grip the sheets to brace yourself, your eyes cross as he fucks you into oblivion, and your breasts bounce with each abusive thrust he delivers.

“My pussy. Mine, mine, mine, mine,” he grunts between each hard thrust, watching his length disappear through your walls.

There's nothing on your brain other than his cock—nothing but earth-shattering pleasure that it's giving.

You convey that you want him closer with grabby hands as you’re entirely speechless with how he’s fucking you.

Answering your pleas, he drops your legs on each side before lowering his body till his naked chest meets yours, holding his weight up so he won’t completely crush your sensitive body. His forehead rests on yours as his warm breath hits your face.

“So needy for my cock, huh? So needy for all of me?”

You can only let out a sound of approval.

“Good fucking girl.”

With the rolls of his hips, he manages to reach even deeper inside you, making you wail in pleasure. You wrap your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck, clinging to him with your weak strength. The buildup was fast due to your last orgasm, and you were ready to explode with pleasure once more.

“I-I-I’m go….”

You couldn't even form a coherent sentence, making Bucky chuckle at how good he was fucking your brains.

“You gonna come, baby?”

“U-uh, huh.”

“Look at him, baby,” with his fingers on your jaw; he turned your head to look at Roman, “look at him as you cream and make a mess all over my cock, you fucking whore. Look at him while I stuff your little cunt.”

You try to keep your focus on him, but it was near impossible with the way Bucky was fucking you, clouding your every sense.

A few more brutal thrusts, and you come hard, toes curling, almost blacking out at the intensity. Silent noises escape your open mouth, and your eyes roll as you explode around his cock—your walls viciously pulsating around his length and making a mess all over him. Tears streamed down your face as it became too much, too hard, but you wanted more; you wanted his cum to fill you so badly, so you pulled him in tighter with your weak legs, wanting him to spill his warm seed inside you.

With a heavy grunt, he spurts ropes after ropes of his cum inside you, decorating your walls. His hips snapped rapidly against you as he filled you up to the brim, emptying himself entirely and not stopping until you were both fucked out and satisfied.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl taking all of me.”

He stilled inside once he was done, making a breath of relief and satisfaction escape you, and a deep groan came from him at the aftershocks. He peppers kisses on your clammy neck and collarbone, whispering sweet praises and affirmation after being so dominant and rough with you. You hold him close, nuzzling your face into his short hair as you hum and sigh in contentment at being stuffed full of his cum.

A whimper falls from you as his body leaves yours, leaving you cold, followed by a sob as his cock leaves your used and abused hole, leaving you unfulfilled.

“Look at that, baby,” Bucky was fascinated with his cum trickling out of your quivering hole, ”such a pretty sight.” He collected all of the cum with his tip and pushed himself hard into you again, making you squeal. After giving you a few more strokes, he pulled out, making the cum flow out once more. He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek, followed by some words that made your breath hitch.

“Stay still, baby. I need to show him.”

He what?

You were still and spread out like he requested, your body too sensitive and sore to move anyways. With hooded eyes, you watch Bucky’s naked behind as he walks away from you and over to the man bound tight in the corner.

Bucky removes the gag from Roman’s mouth, and you can hear him coughing blood and saliva as his voice is freed. He tries to say something, but it comes out as a gurgling sound.

“Did you really fucking think I would let you go unpunished from my club, you fucking filth?”

Bucky’s fist connects with Roman’s bloodied and bruised face—the noise of skin punching skin and the crackling of Roman’s teeth at the force of it is the most uncomfortable sound you’ve ever heard. You shut your eyes tight as Bucky hits him again, and then a last time.

“Did you really fucking think I would let you speak about my wife like that without me having your head for it?”

You still didn’t know what Roman had said to Bucky in the club, but it was obviously triggering. So Bucky had gone to this extent in showing him, and others for that matter, what happens when someone spoke about his possessions.

Bucky removed his restraints and pulled Roman by his hair over to you on the bed—propping him up so he rested on his knees, his bruised face close to your pussy.

You were lost for words at what was happening, at what Bucky was doing. You just closed your eyes tight and hoped that whatever was going to happen would be over soon.

“Look at that, huh. Look at it. Isn’t it so fucking beautiful?”

Bucky was referring to his cum seeping out of your quivering hole—making a beautiful mess.

Roman looked with hooded eyes and tried to say something, but his words came out strained and unclear.

“Fucking LOOK AT IT!”

Bucky yelled in his face. It startled you and made tears roll down your cheek. This feels so degrading… but my God, also so fucking hot at the same time—to have someone being forced to look at your most intimate part that’s just been used and abused and stuffed full of cum.

Roman looks with wide eyes now, well, one at least; the other one is too bruised to open fully. He makes a painful noise as Bucky pulls his head up by his hair.

“This is mine. My pussy,” Bucky spreads your lips, “this is my girl, my fucking wife, and that’s my fucking cum that’s claimed her. You will never ever get to touch her. Touch what rightfully belongs to me. How dare you come into my club and use your filthy disgusting words on my wife, especially after betraying me like that, you worthless piece of shit.”

Bucky tosses him to the ground, his body hitting the hard floor in a loud thud while he groans in pain.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky spat at him.

Bucky retrieves his phone from his jacket, and you hear his thumbs moving across the keyboard—typing a message. You’re unsure what’s happening and too tired and slightly traumatised to ask questions.

A few seconds later, there’s a knock on the bedroom door, and Bucky stands with his back, all tall and broad, to you, blocking your body so whoever is on the other end can’t see you fully exposed. Bucky doesn’t care about his own nudity in the slightest.

Whoever entered the room didn’t say anything, but you could hear them come closer and stop by Roman, waiting for Bucky to give them instructions.

“Dispose of him,” Bucky utters in a deep and sinister voice.

“Yes, Sir.”

You hear Roman getting pulled away, never to be seen again, and then a door closes, leaving only you and Bucky in your bedroom.

“Baby.”

His sweet and caring voice was back; his protective and warm touches were back—your loving husband. He cleans you off with his shirt and then cradles your body, making you sit on his lap as he wraps his tender, soft arms around your frame. You nuzzle your face into his sweaty neck, a tired sigh leaving you as his fingers run delicately on your clammy skin, soothing your aching flesh and lulling you to sleep.

“Are you ok, doll?” He takes your tired face in his hands, making you look at his concerned one, searching yours for any sign of stress or discomfort. “Was that too much? Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, doll, you had to see that, to hear that. That I had to put you through that.”

You honestly didn’t know what to say at what just unfolded—too tired and sore to process the whole event properly, but you were ok, for now. You were just happy to finally have your husband to yourself after such a pleasurable and vicious evening. All you wanted now was to fall asleep in his protective embrace.

All worries and questions about tonight could wait until the morning.

“I-I’m o-ok, James, just tired,” you yawn.

“Oh, baby…”

He scoots you up the bed—until you both rest your heads on the fluffy pillows, facing each other.

“... come here.”

You make yourself small and vulnerable as you nuzzle and cling to the embrace of your vicious lover and protector—his arms and legs holding you close. A content sigh breathes through you as your head tucks into his chest; listening to the calming beats of his heart—this was your home, where you wanted to be forever; despite Bucky’s brutal nature at times, you never ever wanted to leave his side.

Bucky’s murderous hands treat your skin like it's the most delicate thing in the world—softly stroking your back, making you shudder and purr in delight. Sweet words of affirmation are whispered against your hair, followed by a hum of a pleasant tune that slowly lulls you to sleep.

The last thing you hear are words that solidify your love and trust for your husband.

“You’re mine, mine only, my everything, and I love you beyond words, my sweet love….”

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

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deeper-x-deeper · 3 months

Text

I've recently been considering the potential of using hand signals as triggers for trance.

I already have a tendency to talk with my hands a little bit, but not in the way that most people think of it.

I've noticed a lot of people who "talk with their hands" mention they have this problem of being perceived as aggressive or angry from people who aren't used to communicating like that. their hands move with their passion and their emotion, emphasizing their point and helping them fully express themselves.

it's a little bit different in my case. while yes, I do use my hands to emphasize points and emotions, I tend to be a little bit more...flashy about it. I emphasize things with a flourish, bringing your attention to the motion of my hands, and how they move in time with the rhythm of my words.

no matter what I'm doing, I always do it with a little bit of style. a little extra twirl of a pen when I go to write something down, or a waggle of my fingers while I'm looking for the correct button to push.

some people who have known me say it's a leftover feminine trait of mine. I don't mind having it, considering those same people usually just assume I'm a cis gay man. it comes off as flamboyant in their eyes.

but what if it could be something else?

what if, once I have captured your attention with the way I use a wiggle of my fingers to enhance the punchline to a joke, I make sure you stay focused on my hands?

maybe I'm moving them rhythmically back and forth, like a pendulum or a metronome. your eyes follow the motion as you listen to the rest of what I'm saying.

maybe I'm moving them in circular, spiraling patterns, twirling my wrists to add a bit of dramatic flair to a parody impression of someone we know, though maybe now you've lost track of the topic and you're simply nodding along.

maybe now I'm moving them like a conductor, in time with the music in the background, up and down and back and forth and around and around and around in an endless cycle, forming more and more complex patterns for your eyes to struggle to follow.

maybe, once my hands have your full attention, all it would take to pull your mind away from you would be a little crook of my fingers, as though I'm beckoning you forward, but instead I'm pulling your mind out and into my own hands, dropping you deep to be gently remolded.

but it could potentially be a lot more forceful. a sudden gesture pointing down, taking your mind with it, bringing you to your knees in obedient submission, awaiting your next command.

can you imagine being so deeply conditioned to respond to my commands that I don't even need to speak them anymore?

where all I would need is a gesture, a distinct but silent signal, to prompt you to return to your rightful place in trance, under my control, exactly where you belong.

I imagine it would be like having your mind on an invisible leash that I can tug and pull whenever I want to make you heel to your handler.

no gimmicks, no rambling on and on, just a single motion that rips your conscious mind away as though I'm reaching inside you to take it myself.

#i talk sometimes #hypnosis #idk where all of this is coming from but I really enjoy writing these

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thursdayisfriday · 3 months

Text

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ!⋆˚♡˖° (1)

⤑ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Doctor!Yandere!OC x Nurse! GN! Reader

⤑ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: None really? (( This character is an Oc of mine, please don’t steal! :/ ))

⤑ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Doctor Sho checks on your ankle to make sure it’s not broken, but he can’t let you leave before giving you a proper checkup~

(This is a connection to my last yandere story, so please go check it out first!)

https://www.tumblr.com/thursdayisfriday/724479546712309760/%EA%9C%B1%E1%B4%9B%E1%B4%80%CA%8F-%E1%B4%A1%C9%AA%E1%B4%9B%CA%9C-%E1%B4%8D%E1%B4%87%EA%9C%B0%E1%B4%8F%CA%80%E1%B4%87%E1%B4%A0%E1%B4%87%CA%80?source=share

(Idk How to change it ≡(▔﹏▔)≡)

“Is it broken?”

You sighed and you looked down at the purple haired man as he examined your ankle. Sho held your foot in his hands, caressing it softly. A red mark was left on the side of your ankle along with a bruise hand mark. With every rub you bit your lip trying to stop yourself from whining. Finally Sho made a small hum sound as he rested your foot down. “It’s not broken, more like bruised” He said reassuringly. His eyes met yours with a small grin. He turned to a cabinet and grabbed a roll of bandages and kneeled down before you again. “You’ll have to keep off your foot though”. Sho wrapped the bandages around your ankle quickly, not wanting to hurt you. “I’ll give you some crutches and prescribe you some medicine to help with the pain”. His eye’s flickered to yours and you swear, his brown eyes just looked dark. Like he was angry. But for all we know it could just be a figment of your imagination.

“Thanks…and sorry for bothering you so late at night” You said embarrassed, your eyes traveled to your fingers wanting to look at anything but him. But Sho only smiled. “Please, I’m glad to help you anytime”. Once he was finished, you wiggled your foot a little, feeling slight pains but not too much. “Thanks again-” You were about to slide off the bed but a pair of hands hit the bed next to you suddenly making you jump. Sho’s Arms trapped you between the hospital bed and him and his chest stayed solid, blocking you from passing. His warm minty breath hit you head softly as he looked down at you like you were his. Again, darked eyes stared at you and his mouth still curled into a smile, only this one looked more sinister than the last. “Sho-” “I'm not finished” His now husky voice cut your sentence off sharply. “Get on the bed,” Sho commanded.

Your breath was somewhat shaky but you nodded as you struggled to pull yourself back onto the bed. Sho noticed this and held your waist firmly and picked you up with ease and rested you on the bed. As if a switch went off in his mind, Sho smiled softly again. “I have to give you a quick check up first before you go, silly” Sho stated before grabbing his stethoscope. You let out a shaky laugh and smiled nervously, nodding in understandment. “Lift up your shirt for me a little”. Following his instructions, You raised up your shirt, gasping a little as he pressed the cold circular part of the stethoscope to your chest. “Take a deep breath in, then out”. Closing your eyes, you followed his instructions. His hand rested on your waist as he moved up to your collar bone then lower to your stomach.

“Hm” He hummed again and stood up. You felt his eye burn into your body as he moved to your back. His body leaned against the bed and his hand rested on your hips this time, as he slowly lifted you your shirt to reveal your back and bite his lip. You felt the cold part of the stethoscope touch your upper back making you jump again. Sho only chuckled at your antics and lowered himself closer to your ear. “Too cold?”. You nodded your head hesitantly, but didn’t dare utter a word. His hand massaged your side as he kept moving the stethoscope. “The patient who twisted your leg, do you know their name by any chance”. A hint of anger was held in his voice but was drowned out by his smile. “Um…patient 106 I believe” You said rather quickly, staying still as he examined you. “Why?” You dared to ask.

Sho paused his motions but quickly resumed. “Nothing..just- you know, people like that are dangerous to be around”. His eyes traveled to your neck. “They just become so obsessed with something they’d do anything to keep their obsession with them….” He sled the stethoscope lower, listening to your heart quicken. “Even if it means hurting that thing-”

“Doctor (Y/N)?” You two both looked up abruptly as The door swung open revealing a guard. The guard looked to the side respectfully, seeing that some of the buttons on your shirt were undone. “U-uh..Doctor Chris is looking for you”. You sighed in relief, an excuse to get out of this room! “I'm coming..” You said quickly and sled off the bed to leave, but not before turning to Sho. “Thank you again…Please just send the medication to my room” You limped rather quickly and wasted no time before the door closed behind you with a slam.

. Sho was breathing heavily as he bit his hand, drawing some blood. ‘Their body Is so much better up close~ I almost couldn’t stop myself from biting them right there and then!~

I hope you enjoyed (⁠人⁠⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠ﾟ⁠+

#x reader #x male reader #fanfic #x male y/n #anime #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #soft yandere #yandere male #tw yandere #tw yancore #male yandere #yandere imagines

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flwrbo · 1 year

Text

if you’re going crazy just grab me (and take me)

kendall roy x f!reader (smut) 1.7k words

(summary : sometimes, he really needs you to need him.)

You get no context from your boyfriend as he pulls you through the halls. His hand swallows yours while you speedwalk to keep up with his long strides. A few strange looks are thrown your way from workers at Waystar as the CEO’s stoic son keeps you hot on his trails. It takes everything in you to maintain a straight face, avoiding shrugging at the worried onlookers. The older Roy is sure he’d be reprimanded for his actions by his father but in this moment, he can’t bring himself to care. He can barely focus on anything anymore, red-hot anger taking over his sight a long time ago. In moments like this, it’s almost as if he has tunnel vision.

Only able to see you, pass himself off to the only person he trusts enough to take it out on; The one who can hold him in her hands, and fill him with a need and pride he can’t get anywhere else. All he can focus on is the silky fabric of your dress swaying against your thighs and the way your cheeks are appled from the size of your smile.

The two of you make it into a tiny room, storage of sorts with old desktops and dust files layered about. “I just about, uh, twisted my ankle,” Kendall exhales a small, tension-filled chuckle, pulling you into him with his hand on the small of your back. The adorable sound of your laugh brings a tiny smile to his lips, widened as he kisses you breathlessly.

“We’ll never hear the end of this,” You pull away, face hot. “Roman was already starting before we even left the room,”

The older man shrugs a little. “Let him publicize,” His fingers trace the hem of your dress, teasingly sliding it upwards. “I’ll just deny it all,”

You scoff, “As if we didn’t just run past a few dozen of your dad’s workers. That’ll be a little hard to sell, Ken.” He sighs into your neck, something along the lines of you being ‘so dramatic’ before leaning over to pepper kisses on the side of your throat.

“Fine,” He begins. “Let me worry about that…” Kendall begins walking you backward, slowly leading you to some old desk in the corner. “And you can focus on something else for a little bit.”

Once again, overexcited giggles drop from your lips as your boyfriend hoists you onto the wood. You feel his fingers trace over your dress hem again, breath hitching at the slight tickle. Deep brown eyes stare into yours, calculating every reaction as he slowly reaches the apex of your thighs.

“Tell me. Tell me you want it,” He commands you with his gaze and his words, pinning you to the table.

“I want it. I want it, Kendall,” You whisper, leaning your head down to watch where his hand is hidden beneath the skirt of your silk slip dress.

He moves slowly, so slowly as he drags his fingers over your covered cunt, inhaling sharply at what he feels. “Do you always walk around this fucking wet?” Kendall spits out, as if he’s angry. “Just always fuckin’ ready for me, huh?” His forehead settles against yours as the two of you watch together, his covered hand. He pushes the fabric of your panties aside, allowing the pads of his fingers to swipe against your clit.

He feels your gasp more than he hears it, despite the proximity of your faces together. His bottom lip gets caught between his teeth as he focuses on how to angle his fingers. You breathe deeply as he rubs your clit in the sweetest circular motion. Nothing around you matters as you close your eyes, leaning into the feeling of your boyfriend’s hand in your underwear. “Open your eyes,” He gruffs out, taking hold of your jaw in his other hand. How can you not obey his command immediately? He stares into you as he pushes his fingers inside of you, pushing so perfectly deep. “Tell me you need it,” He begs, curling his fingers in a come-hither motion.

Jaw hanging open in his hand, you let out the sweetest moans as he sinks in and out. You focus on the pleasure, unable to think about anything other than how good he is making you feel. He’s not a fan. Your face gets shaken in his grasp, attaining your attention once more. “Tell me you fucking need me.”

The words spill out of you, begging and pleading. “I need you so bad, Ken, please, fuck me, please,” His fingers pick up motion, the squelch of your wetness filling the air as he stares down into your eyes.

“You need me.” He promises, almost to himself, before kissing you harshly on your open mouth. He swallows your moans, still focused on curling his fingers just right for you. You kiss him back, sloppily, reaching for his belt.

“I need you,” You whisper back against him. “All of you,” The sound of his belt unclasping and your breaths intermingling in the air are heard throughout the room. You sharply inhale as he pulls his fingers out of you, reaching down to pull himself out of his pants. Using the wetness from your cunt, he runs his wet fingers over his cock.

“Spit on it,” He commands, watching as you purse your lips together to drop your saliva on him. He pumps himself a few times, before falling to his knees in front of you.

You’re surprised as he pulls you suddenly to the edge of the desk, hands gripping your plush thighs tightly. “What are you-” You’re cut off by a moan when you feel his mouth suddenly enclose over you, tongue sliding through your folds. You can hear the wet schlick sound of his hand jerking over himself as he messily lapped at your pussy, and for a moment you wonder if any of the Waystar assholes can hear your boyfriend fucking you inside this small, stuffy supply closet. The thought is knocked out of your head when he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks with just the right amount of pressure.

“Kendall!” You cry out at the sudden spike of pleasure, feeling his grip on your thigh tighten as a warning to lower your voice. “Please, fuck me, please, please…” You whine as you hear the pace of his hand pick up from below the desk.

He raises to full height above you, shoving the dress up your hips before meanly hiking your legs up. He uses one hand to shove his work pants a little lower down his legs, before gripping his cock, leading it to your pussy. He pushes the blunt head to you, slowly pushing into you. A free hand comes up to cover your mouth, just in time, to drown the muffled cries that escape you as he reaches the hilt.

He breathes harshly, eyes screwed shut as you drag your fingers down the back of his work button down. You whimper beneath his hand, making his cock twitch inside of you. “I’m gonna move, baby, you have to be quiet,” He slowly pulls all the way out, before steadily pushing himself back in. He feels you nod your head as if promising your silence, and he allows himself to pick up speed.

Your cries are muffled under his big hand, covering half of your face. Your watery eyes look up at him like he’s a God as he pushes his hips back and forth against yours, the sound of skin clapping loudly through the room. The feeling of the old desk moving inch by inch as he piledrives himself into you doesn’t deter him. If anything, it makes him go even harder.

The look of adoration in your eyes makes his head a little dizzy as he continues to fuck you, training his hand down to play with your clit. You need him.

His other hand slowly moves from your face, down to your throat where he squeezes just hard enough to make you squeak a little. He can’t help the wide grin that takes over his face, angling his hips to fuck you perfectly into your sweet spot as he deprives your pretty little head of oxygen. Just a little, though. Just enough to get you to come apart on his cock.

He feels you slowly start to build, and he works hard at making sure not to change a single thing about what he was doing to you. You feel your climax slowly build, struggling to breathe through it under Kendall’s heavy palm. A tear slides down the side of your face as you whimper pathetically around his dick, causing Kendall to rut his hips even harsher into you. He chases his climax, abandoning your throat to use your hips as handlebars.

The two of you stay where you are, slowly breathing one another in, still a little dizzy from the pleasure you just peaked from.

You press a kiss against his forehead sweetly. “I love you, Ken. I love you.”

He pulls his pants back up, bucking his belt before letting his legs finally rest, sitting on the floor. Your dress gets pulled down, and panties fixed into place.

The sexual tension leaves the room, replaced with a different kind of thick air. Wordlessly, you slip down onto your knees, straddling his hips.

Kendall catches his breath, head tipped back with his eyes closed. His hands come back to rest on your hips, softer this time, almost apologetic. You press your face into his neck, inhaling his expensive cologne before pressing kisses sweetly, slowly treading from his neck to his cheeks, over to his nose, and up to his forehead.

He cracks his eyes open after, feeling his heart warmed at the amount of love he can feel rolling off of you in waves. “What happened, Ken?”

He stares at you with unreadable eyes, before shaking his head softly. That’s okay. He’ll be ready to talk about it later, once he’s wrapped sweetly in your arms in your plush bed. He kisses you, gently, filled with as much gratitude as he can pack into a singular gesture.

Your nod is soft and your words are even softer. “Okay. Let’s go home, my love,”

He nods back, but when you go to move, his arms tighten around you.

So you sit there in his arms, holding the breaking man in your gentle palms for just a few moments longer.

#kendall roy x reader #<3.k.l.r #<3.kendall roy #kendall roy smut #succession x reader #succession smut

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straykids-gives-me-life · 1 year

Text

Straykids when you feel uncomfortable around a guy at a bar

⩤ Chan ⩥

i feel like most people forget how much chan actually cares about people.

so when it comes to you, the second you say you feel the slightest bit off, he wont leave your side.

"which guy, baby?"

when you've pointed him out, chan will be sending him death glares the whole night.

when he gets up to go to the bathroom, he'll take his drink and "fall" near the guy, spilling beer all over him.

"oh! so sorry about that mate"

comes back over to you with a proud smirk on his face.

⩤ Minho ⩥

this man will go from having the biggest smile on his face to the most angriest frown you've ever seen.

you'll tell him that his looks are making you a little uncomfortable and he will go full on protection mode.

he won't be afraid to speak to him either.

and by speak to him I mean hurl insults at him across the bar.

"hey asshole! stay away from my girl, alright?"

will not let you out of his sight for more than five seconds after that.

⩤ Changbin ⩥

changbin would go over and have the most aggressive conversation of his life with that guy.

if he still carries on staring at you like he was, changbin will have no problem with grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yelling in his face to leave you alone.

"look at her one more time, you're dead. understand?"

that guy would go on to never spare a glance at you again :)

to changbin, that's the mission accomplished.

⩤ Hyunjin ⩥

would get super pissed but be more subtle than maybe changbin and lee know.

i mean, hyunjin would feel the need to go over and gouge his eyes out with a teaspoon for making you feel uncomfortable but unfortunately murder is illegal so 🤷‍♀️

he would stare into the back of the guy's head until his eyes started to water.

when the man would turn to look at you again, hyunjin would simply click his fingers and spin his finger in a circular motion, telling the guy to turn right back around again because you were his and wanted nothing to do with him.

and that's on having a hot asf and chill ass bf <3

⩤ Han ⩥

pre-debut han would make an appearance.

this man would feel so awful for not noticing but then so angry that it happened.

especially to you.

he would, with no hesitation, go over there, sit next to him and scream in his face for like twenty minutes before coming back over to you and the guys and acting like nothing happened.

and trust me, if that guy did it again, his head would end up in a cement wall :)

⩤ Felix ⩥

would spend more time comforting you than actually staring out the guy but oh well.

we love a caring bf <3

if he himself caught the guy looking at you, he would do the tongue thing where he puts his tongue behind his cheek and ughsfsfssfssjafgiasbfia.

^sorry that just makes me feel some kind of way.

he hates yelling at people so he would try and stay calm but the more that he does it, the angrier felix gets.

he eventually goes off and gets you all kicked out but oh well.

better than being perved on.

⩤ Seungmin ⩥

he would be so fucking sassy oml.

would sit directly behind the guy so every time he goes to look at you, seungmin will come in with:

"can i help?"

he would be sending him so many dirty ass looks.

seungmin would definitely go up behind you and stand directly in his line of vision to piss him off even more.

"turn the fuck around. pervert."

he slays tho tbf.

⩤ Jeongin ⩥

he'd go from innocent to defensive real quick.

his hands would go even veinier and he would be pushing his hair back every five seconds.

this man would be so fucking annoyed that he would start snapping at all of the guys.

it's not like he meant to it's just he hated how that man was looking at you.

he wouldn't be able to resist not going up.

jeongin would instantly grab the guy by his shirt, pull him up out of his seat and drag him out, shutting the door on him.

"you even think about her again and I'll kill you."

A/N: my ask me anything is always open to pls pls pls send in requests for these or any ideas for the skz fake texts. i'd love to hear your ideas and it would rlly help me out. love you all sm and have a good day <3

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tonixe · 1 year

Text

"Whats your favorite scary movie?"

n.o.t.e.s - 🌊Randy is seriously underrated, like give him some love <3

w.a.r.n - 🌀 penetration, oral (m receiving) p in v, creampies, non-con to dub-con, protected sex.

p.a.i.r.i.n.g - 🌠Randy Meeks x Ghostface!female reader

w.c. - 1.7k

The phone ranged throughout the Meek's residents. Randy was home alone, the perfect time for you to sneak up on him and ruin his geek logic.

It was the perfect time to use your new voice changer to suit your character; it was easier than the boys. It was a more feminine, high-pitched voice, but it was still tangible to hide your identity and gender; it was sexier. It suited your character. Billy and Stu were questioning the change, but you managed to persuade them.

It was the perfect time to at least kill him but in a way that he'll never forget; you were gonna wear black lingerie over the already black cloak, and the mask would be better soak in his dork blood.

You hid a hunting knife to a butcher knife inside your cloak, turning on your voice changer.

As the phone ranged, you saw Randy pick it up, muttering a "Hello?"

"Hello, handsome!" you said seductively through the line as you saw him puzzled by the simple that came out of your mouth.

"Who's this?" Randy asked curiosity evident in his voice.

"Your secret admirer," you said, as you played with the phone cord, "My secret admirer?" he repeated your sentence.

"Your more handsome than you think, baby~."

"Is this a prank, Stu," he dismissed whatever you said as you saw him got angry through the window from his stance.

"I'm not Stu, darling."

"I swear to god Stu, if this a fucking prank, I swear"

"IM NOT FUCKING, STU DUMBASS," you yelled through the phone, "I'm more than that, Randy."

"Whatever, I'm just gonna hang up the phone-"

"Hang up the phone, and I'll slice your throat open just like fucking Casey."

"Wanna play a game?"

"Do I even have a choice?" Randy muttered

"You don't, baby~" it was amusing seeing Randy in fear; it made you feel arousal.

"I'll make the genre about Horror movies, since your such a horror geek"

"Question 1, What is Danny's nickname in the shinning?"

"It's Tony"

"Wow, You really do know your stuff."

"Question 2, In Sleepaway Camp, What was Angela original name?"

"Peter"

"Oh my, I can see why they can you such a geek," you giggled,

"Okay, Last Question Mister, Where am I?"

"Wait what?" you heard the fear evident in his voice, "Where am I Randy~"

"How the fuck did you know my name?" he asked as you saw him looking around him and in the rooms.

"Answer the fucking question, Randy."

"I don't know where you are, psycho. Whatever it is, I'm calling the police"

"They will never make it in time, babe."

That was the last time you said before hanging up the phone. You pulled down the generator, cutting off all the light sources in his house. It was an eerily sight; you saw his face plastered with fear.

The perfect opportunity to kill; everywhere was dark, pitched black.

You grabbed your knife, doubled, wheeling both of your weapons, walking down the hallway; it was obvious that your little Randy was hiding.

You walked into the living room, wheeling your knifes in a circular motion. "Come on, Randy~."

"Where are you?" you spoke through your voice changer; turning your body around, you heard his heavy breathing. Stepping forward near where he was.

"I found you, Randy~," you said, throwing one of your blades at Randy before he dodged it and started running off. You pulled off the thrown knife that landed in the wall, forceful with your leg.

"Come on, Randy. I don't like to play with my toys before killing them~" you cooed out. You followed him upstairs, quickly looking around at the surrounding before destroying some doors.

"Come on, Randy. I don't wanna fuck around, just come out and fight like fucking man," you yelled, your voice getting erratic by the second. You started chopping down the doors, turning around before your lungs were contradicted from oxygen, as you turned your head around to see Randy; he was close to unmasking you before kicking him in the knee, taking him by surprise, and then kicking him in the face.

Successfully getting him on the floor, straddling him with your legs, before swinging your knife at him, before he dodged your violent strikes, kneeing you right in the abdomen, making you fall on the floor, dropping your weapons.

Holding your abdomen, groaning in pain. "Y-you bastard" Before you regain your balance, He pins your arms on the floor.

His heavy breathing on your cheek, you straddled him between your legs, trying to get him off you. "I-i'm going to fucking kill you," you barked at him.

"Not when your in fucking jail," he yelled out.

"Like hell," you manage to knee him, picking up your weapons and straddling him forcefully, "Im going to make sure you'll have a horrible death, putting up your guts like Christmas lights, bitch" holding up your knife over your head.

Before you could, you felt something hard on your nether regions. You were taken back and lowered your weapons. "You're getting hard off of this you sick bastard," you said with a smile in your voice.

He didn't respond to your teasing; you saw a faint blush on your cheeks.

You hooked your weapon back on in your cloak. "If you do a favor for me, I'll keep you alive," you lean in, whispering into his ear, grinding down on him.

He remained silent, the tension between you both growing by the second before he hesitantly shook his head.

"Good Boy~" you cooed at him

You slide back, pulling down his pants, getting a glimpse of his hard cock and wet stain staining his briefs. "You really did get hard off of this" you teased.

His face was red, pure red.

Before pulling down his briefs, his length sprang up, his precum dripping down his shaft. He was medium size, not average though, but overwhelming big.

"I wasn't expecting this from a virgin, big though~," you said, cocking your head to the side getting a glance at his red face and whimpering.

"Close your eye, Randy, don't peek. You don't want me to kill Ran" Your comment seemed to bring him back, as he immediately closed his eyes from the threat before you wrapped a blindfold on his face.

You took off your mask, laying it on the side. Combing back your hair with your fingers. Jerking him down and up, his whimpering coming out of his lips. The pace of your hand was unbearably slow as more whimpers and moaning came out of his lips.

More precum was drooling out from his length before you started playfully licking the tip of his cock. Sucking on the tip, swirling your tongue around it.

Before you took him inside your mouth, swirling around before bobbing up an down on his cock, holding his hips down.

"F-fuck" he moaned out.

You forced yourself down, gagging on his length. Your eye is watering before withdrawing. Your saliva connected to the tip of his length before unbuttoning the top of your cloak, unclasping the top of your bra.

Putting your boobs between his length, holding both sides of your tits, lapping at his length, sucking down on him, before jerking him off with your tits. You glanced up from him, and through your eyelashes, you saw him gripping the carpet, the feeling between your legs pulsing.

His legs were trembling, and you felt his cock twitching inside your mouth before you felt hot, salty liquid flowing into your mouth, before swallowing down his cum.

As Randy groaned out from his orgasm. You still felt his length still hard after his orgasm. "God, your still hard?" you smiled.

You took off your panties, positioning yourself over him as you sink onto his length. As his cock split you open, Randy groaned from tightening cunt.

You placed your hand on his shoulders, riding down on him, as you rocked your hips on his. You bit down on your lips, hiding your moans from being audible. Leaning down on holding his shoulders, biting on his neck, your bites blossoming into fresh love bites.

"D-damn," he groaned.

"You feel better when you are inside of me," you purred; you felt his hand around your hips, and your hips and his collided as he plunged his dick inside you.

As his pace turned erratically, feeling his balls slapping onto your ass as he thrust in, as you broke out from biting your lips as your moan ranged out. Feeling twitching inside you, you felt your orgasm near, his hands gripping onto your hips, forcefully thrusting inside you.

You felt warm liquid pouring into you as your sense of relief washed over you, seeing white.

His groaning and your moaning came in sync, as you took out his limp length from you, his cum escaping from your cunt. "God, you did well" you cooed, as you put on your panties back on.

Buttoning on your cloak, wearing back your mask, Crouching down to his level, "I guess you broke a rule; you had sex~" you smiled as you took off his blindfold from him; his face was still fully red; you got up and broke the window jumping out of the house, giving him a wave.

Randy's face was still red, as he just thought what he just did.

Walking down the school hallway wearing your backpack, going to the area where your friend's group was, near the lockers. "Wassup guys," you said gleefully.

You saw Billy glaring at you, maybe because you went off the plan; Stu was busy flirting with Tatum. You glance to the side, seeing Randy plastered with a smile, "Whatcha smile for Ran?" you ask, cocking your head.

"Did you finally get a girlfriend~" you teased, pointing at him.

"Kind of" He rubbed the back of his neck; after he said, everyone got silent just staring at him. "Randy got a girlfriend; how much did you pay her" Stu teased.

"Nothing, dipshit," Randy snapped, getting a laugh from Stu. "I'm surprised you got someone, Randy," Tatum said with a surprised face.

"Surprised as to what he does in his free time," Billy muttered, earning him a nudge from his girlfriend, Sidney.

There was tension in the air as you broke the ice, "Well, it's good that Randy is finally being a man," you said as you ruffled his hair. You glance to see him with a red hue on his face. I guess he still remembers that night.

#randy meeks #randy meeks x reader #randy meeks x y/n #scream #scream 1996 #stu macher #billy loomis #sidney prescott #tatum riley #randy meek imagines #randy meeks x fem!reader #casey becker #scream 1 #scream movie #scream franchise #randy meeks x you

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pennyserenade · 3 months

Text

snapshot

pairing: sejanus plinth x reader

warnings: smut, mentions of death, depression, angst. hurt/comfort

a/n: this was a very spontaneous drabble and i don’t have much to say about it. it’s a short little thing and i hope you enjoy it <3

sejanus plinth. you’ve never met a lamb so hellbent on the sacrificing of itself. some days you want to ask him why? he makes you a disquieted mess, full of worry, consumed by love. he is audacious, brave, foolishly stubborn. religion is a thing of the past, a concept learned more than a practice, but you understand enough of it to know it when you see it. his bread crumbs and the burning embers of his rage. his myopic beliefs. his warm hands and delicate whispering. he kneels at the alter of people he’d scarcely be able to recognize passing on the street and he says he would die for them. this is a sentence he’s uttered to you. it was a self evident truth.

you don’t ask why. it’d be a fruitless endeavor, a circular fight that would only break your heart. with sejanus its best not to consider all the ways in which he is a ticking time bomb. he is a snapshot and you hold the camera. witty and brilliant. kind. curly hair, doe brown eyes, a mole on his cheek. full lips. best not to remember the way rage fills him. best not to remember the thrown desk, or the tribute named marcus, or the weeks he wasted away from grief and a defeat that reeked of finality. worst of all would to be remember the arena because then you remember: i would die for them. the self evident truth of your self sacrificing lamb.

your camera lens mind focuses, shutters down on this: he is beneath you, bare, full of devotion. you rock into him, draw out a sharp gutural moan that vibrates into your soul. the afterschool special, he jokingly called this. your red school uniform abandoned at the foot of his gaudy bed. his hands on your breasts. his mouth. oh, his mouth. warm and wet and loving. it is hard to imagine in moments like this how angry he can get. hard to imagine that half the time he is a fire pit of sorrow and steely determination and bitter anger. you are full of him, above him, and all he appears to be is wanting, pleased, loving. you pin his curls back from his forehead and grind into him. he can get no deeper and yet you try anyway, because he is sejanus plinth and there are a million ways this can end and only a few are ones you can stand. maybe, you hope against hope, if you fuck him good enough then he will be sated. maybe love will be enough. it’s something he’d like to think. you crush your lips against his and he digs his fingers into your hips.

tomorrow you lose this man to district 12. they will shave his hair and feed off his fury. you know he hasn’t thought about it, not the way he should, but there is coriolanus, all alone, shipped off, and sejanus plinth’s love knows no bounds. he’s so excited about the surprise. he’s going to take him his mother’s cookies. you don’t ask why. you ought to be brilliantly angry with him. you should. explode, your mind pleads, but you rock your hips into his again and your heart soars. you don’t ask because you know why. you know why: because coriolanus snow. because he would die for them. because he is sejanus plinth.

you will remember this boy. your snapshot lover.

#sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth x you #josh andres rivera #josh andrés rivera #the hunger games #tbosbas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #sejanus plinth smut #sejanus plinth fanfic

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henrioo · 6 months

Note

i’m physically ill, how do you think sanji would be with a s/o that’s sick— english isn’t my first language, i hope its okay i ask for a story or an ask like this! - 🏅

°•*⁀➷ SICK MORNINGS: SANJI

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : "When you don't wake up feeling well that morning, your boyfriend Sanji's only choice is to take care of you until you feel a little better, this leads to some cuddles and fun stories about his past."

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : GN! Reader,neutral pronouns, sick reader (not serious but unspecified), pillow talk, established relationship, Sanji speaking French, brief mention of Sanji's traumatic past (no description or spoilers), English is not my first language!

꒰ WC ꒱ : 2k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : I know it took me literally months to deliver this and I have no morals with asking anymore, but I swear it won't happen again and it was just a situation where I was really bad. Thanks for the ask and I hope you enjoy it!

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

The sun came through the circular windows of your room, you huffed irritably as you covered yourself with the sheets and turned to the other side trying to escape the light that took you out of your dream kingdom. A few minutes later footsteps were heard in the hallway and then the door was gently opened, that loving and quiet whistle invaded the room and you immediately knew that Sanji, your boyfriend, had entered.

"Good morning mon amour" he smiled and walked over to sit on the edge of your double bed. "You seemed tired from yesterday's fight so I let you sleep a little longer, but now it's almost lunch time and you haven’t gotten up yet… Aren’t you hungry?” He asked with that worried but gentle tone, showing that he wasn't angry.

"Where are the others?" You mumbled groggily and tiredly as you turned to face Sanji. The ship was quieter than ever and that was definitely important.

"They went out exploring right after breakfast, I decided to keep watch just to make sure you got something to eat when you woke up…" he smiled and walked over, climbing into bed and laying down so he was close to you.

Immediately his body crawled close to Sanji's body, like a magnet you stuck together whenever you were close. You relaxed against his chest as he continued singing and stroking your hair.

"Are you good?" He asked, getting worried about his silence, even if you weren't a morning person you weren't that reclusive.

"Just… tired… And feeling a little bad, I guess" you sighed as you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him tighter, scared of him leaving.

"Feeling bad? What's wrong?" Sanji hated seeing people sick, but seeing you sick he hated fifteen times more. He quickly placed a hand on your forehead, cheeks and below your neck, trying to find any obvious signs of your condition "you're hot, very very hot, that's not good" he knew the basics about illnesses, thanks to the classes Chopper gave to all.

"Uhum…" you agreed, your body felt warm although you felt a little cold "My stomach feels weird too…" you listed the symptom that bothered you the most.

"That's not good… I'm going to look for Chopper, he shouldn't have gone very far into the city" The blonde man spoke worriedly and tried to get up, but his arms remained firmly around his waist, preventing him from getting up completely "Angel?"

"Stay with me" you asked slyly as you whimpered "Please… I don't want to be alone"

Sanji immediately melted with your request, no matter how many weeks, months or years you two were in a serious relationship, every time you showed love, showed need and real desire to want him, want his presence, he fell a little more in love. Of course he would never deny you a request, so he just smiled and lightly stroked your sweaty hair.

"Sure honey… Just, let me get you some freshwater at least, then I'll come back and take care of you until the others get there, okay?" He tried to offer a deal, he knew how stubborn you could be sometimes, so he used his gentle and sweet voice to have a better chance of convincing you.

You looked at him with an irritated pout and upset at having to let him go, but the promise of a glass of freshwater that could alleviate some of the heat that seemed to consume your body to the point of nausea seemed too good to refuse, so you reluctantly she let him go and lay back down on the bed "Okay… but come back soon!" You demanded like an abandoned puppy that couldn't bear to be separated from its owner.

"I'll be back before you can miss me" he said smiling and placed a brief kiss on your sweaty forehead, making you let out a small giggle and settle better into the pillows and covers as you waited for your handsome prince to return.

You couldn't really tell how long it actually took, since you closed your eyes hoping the headache would subside a little and then when you opened it Sanji had already returned, at least he really was right about you not having time to feel that you miss him.

"I brought some things..." he said smiling and sitting on the edge of the bed, he had a tray in his hands with some items that you analyzed tiredly. A small pot with various cut fruits, a glass of crystal clear water next to a towel and a bowl of water, probably to calm your body temperature.

"My hero" You smiled teasingly at him, but you were truly grateful that he put so much effort into looking after you in this time of need.

"Everything for you" He quickly handed you the glass of water that you desperately drank from, the relief of the cold liquid making your entire body relax immediately. You fell back onto the bed and Sanji quickly wet your towel in the water and placed it on your forehead, silently hoping that it would give you some relief and lower your temperature.

"You're so...perfect" You smiled, feeling relief fill your entire body, receiving love and care from Sanji seems to be the perfect medicine for your condition.

"No more perfect than you... Do you want to sleep a little longer? Maybe eat some fruit? Chopper left with Luffy so as soon as that clueless guy gets hungry they should run back to the ship" He said calmly, one hand still in his thigh making a gentle caress, lovingly comforting you.

"Not very hungry, my stomach is too upset and I don't want to risk it" You sighed tiredly "I think sleeping is good... I still feel tired"

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" He asked calmly, but you could feel the sadness and worry of leaving you alone. Sanji might have a very calm aura and seem to handle pressure situations well, but you knew that when it came to his loved ones it was a different story. You had already seen your boyfriend get feral or worried to the point of collapsing when one of the crew got hurt, so even if a cold wasn't anything serious, you knew he was extremely worried just because he loved you. The thought of you being hurt hurt him.

"No... I don't want to be alone" You said a little embarrassed, but being sick makes you need affection even more than usual "Just... stay here with me and talk a little about anything... Just until I fall asleep, please?" You asked shyly, hearing Sanji's voice always helped you calm down, every time you got ready for bed you had a good pillow talk. Usually talking about what they did that day and their plans for the week, you usually fell asleep faster while listening to Sanji talking gently and stroking your hair. So now you were sure that the best way to fall asleep and get some rest until Chopper arrived to take care of you, was nothing less than listening to your handsome boyfriend rambling about anything until you fell asleep, lulled by his angelic voice.

"What do you want me to talk about?" He moved closer to your lying body, now using his other free hand to stroke your hair and placing the other on your stomach, this hand you quickly grabbed to trace imaginary circles on his soft skin. He smiled lovingly at you in a way that made your whole body fill with a funny feeling, a strange embarrassment and at the same time a warm and calming emotion.

"I don't know... tell me about..." You thought for a few moments, you and Sanji talked a lot so you weren't sure if you didn't already know everything about him "About Baratie" You smiled tiredly, Sanji loved talking about the restaurant and his beloved family.

"I think I already told you everything about that shitty restaurant" He laughed, you knew that his aggressive and indifferent way was just trying to create an image of a badass without feelings, in the end that restaurant was still Sanji's house and she loved her immensely.

"Tell me about the beginning, when you opened it and you were still just a kid" You loved Sanji's stories, but you liked his stories as a child even more. You knew that Sanji's childhood was complicated for various reasons and traumas, so you liked to listen and show your support, show him that regardless of everything he went through you would continue to be by his side. Plus, it made you feel really important that he trusted you so much to tell you such a sensitive part of his past.

"Right, the opening isn't it? I remember that day well actually" He laughed awkwardly and his cheeks got a little red, it seemed like an embarrassing memory and that only made you more curious "It was a real mess" He said and he laughed embarrassedly.

"Why? I thought you already had experience having worked in a restaurant before" You said, becoming more and more curious.

"Experience in the kitchen and cleaning to be more specific, but I've never been in the salon, it's one thing to cut vegetables and another to deliver dishes to the table" He explained calmly "And in my case I definitely didn't know how to deliver dishes when I was a brat "

"Did you deliver it to the wrong table?" You deduced, there were many possibilities for confusion just due to Sanji's lack of experience.

"Also, but that was easier to solve, the biggest problem that day was when I spilled wine on a woman in a white dress" He sighed and his face had a nostalgic look, as if he could remember exactly piece by piece of that memory.

"Oh...that's pretty bad, what happened next?" You were worried that this was a particularly sad memory, Sanji never refused to tell you anything, even whatever were bad memories that still hurt him. So every time you asked about his past, you were doubly careful not to ask about something traumatic, now you were nervous about reminding him of something bad.

"I... well... it's shameful to admit but I wasn't very brave as a child..." He sighed and you felt that there was something there that made this fact much deeper, but that wasn't the topic for that moment " So when I spilled the wine and the woman screamed in shock, my first action was to start crying and the second was to run away" he laughed nervously and looked away, he always did that when he was afraid that you would judge him.

"Poor thing... you must have been so scared and nervous at the time" You smiled and caressed his hand, trying to comfort him and show him that there was no reason to feel ashamed of that "You were just a child after all, it's normal San"

"Yeah... it seems like it... but it didn't stop me from being overcome by fear and running away immediately" He sighed sadly and looked back at you.

"And then?" You asked fearfully, you weren't sure if the story ended in a sad way, but you wanted to know better so you could comfort Sanji and reassure him that everything was okay.

"I hid in one of the pantries, I sat on the floor and cried until my eyes were swollen" He laughed "Then the shitty old man appeared, he knelt in front of me and put his hand in my hair" He said and now the tone sad had been replaced by a loving tone with a hint of longing "He told me to breathe and when I calmed down he said that mistakes were common, that no one was capable of learning without making mistakes... And that if I wanted to one day be the best cook on those seas, I would still make a lot of mistakes and spill wine on more customers than I could count on my fingers"

It was your turn to laugh, you hadn't gotten to know Zeff but everything you heard about him only made you sure that you would love to meet him in person one day "And you saying that he doesn't know how to be kind..."

"He knows how to be kind, he just doesn't want to" Sanji laughed even more "Then he said that real men face their mistakes and failures with courage and not shame, because making mistakes means that you have the capacity to try and trying will always be the act bravest thing a person can do" He was silent for a few seconds "Then he told me to go back there and be a man, apologize to the client and admit my mistake... or he would throw me in the ocean" He totally laughed accustomed to the threat.

"Now I know where you got this habit of threatening people from" You laughed, remembering all the times Luffy was threatened with being thrown into the ocean when he tried to break into Sunny's kitchen.

"Yeah... I think I ended up getting it from him" He smiled satisfied and his face was lighting up, Sanji was always happy to be compared to Zeff "So I went back there and apologized, I thought the woman would freak out but she just laughed and said I was really cute for working so hard to help my dad..."

You remained silent, your eyes were already getting tired and you started to feel the sleep settle into your body.

"At the end of the day I realized that it hadn't been so bad... After all, the old man was right, I had no experience and I would still make a lot of mistakes until I got to where I wanted... I think that day I learned that I couldn't give up trying, regardless of how many times it would fail" He said, finishing the story, telling you that it seemed to have reminded him of a very important lesson he had learned... A lesson that he always carried with him in memory of the person he cared so much about.

Sanji noticed that you had been silent for some time, when he turned to you he found you sleeping peacefully, you were holding his hand with little strength and had placed your head against his side. You were breathing softly and your tired face was already gaining a little more color, which meant that you were slowly getting better.

He smiled lovingly and thanked the heavens for giving him someone so perfect to love and be loved in return. He quickly placed a brief, tender kiss on your cheek as he softly whispered "Sweet dreams mon ange"

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

#one piece x reader #one piece #one piece x you #one piece imagine #imagines #onepiece #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #sanji x reader #sanji imagine

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roses-dreams-andthorns · 4 months

Note

MC insisting that Azrael needs a bath in the washing mashing but Grim doesn't want to because he doesn't know if he'll get damaged in the washing machine?

Love your writing!!!

Thank you friend!!! Ur request is cooking :3

MC x Grim

(His real name is used in this fic, so please be aware of spoilers.)

☆☆☆♡♡♡☆☆☆♡♡♡☆☆☆♡♡♡☆☆

"Casper-" You begin, but he cuts you off.

"No! Azrael cannot go in the washer! He'll get destroyed!" He argues, pouting as he squeezes Azrael in his arms for dear life. "The washing machine is far too dangerous!"

"Casper, the tag on him literally says he's Washing Machine safe." You sigh, facepalming. "He needs a bath, Casper... He's dirty! You dropped him in the mud yesterday!" You cross your arms. You have the circular door to the washing machine open beside you.

"Nuh uh! He's not that dirty!" Casper continues to argue to prevent putting Azrael in the washer, even though Azrael is clearly the dirtest dirty could get. Disgusting, brown, wet mud dripping off of the little Axolotl plush, getting on Casper's clothes too.

"Casper... You're getting mud all over your clothes. I'll habe to wash those too now." You sigh again. Casper has never been this pouty and angry, but its cute, in a way.

"You can take the clothes, but you will never take Azrael alive!" He yells, as he takes off his dirtied, oversized T-shirt and throws it at your head, running off with Azrael in his arms like a little kid.

"Wha- Hey! Casper!" You yelled, not angerly of course. You threw his T-shirt in the washer, and ran after him. You checked all around your apartment, the kitchen, the bedroom, even the closets... he's either hiding, or... he ran outside, shirtless. Though you'd doubt that second option. It was then you heard a noise under the bed. You kneeled down to check... low and behold, theres your little reaper. Shirtless under the bed with Azrael in his arms still.

"Found you, little reaper." You said as you took his arm, dragging him out from under the bed. He keeps pouting and holding onto Azrael with his free arm.

"Hmph..." He grunts. And look at that, now he has mud on his bare chest from Azrael being so dirty.

"Oh! Now you need a bath too." You look at him with a slightly dissapointed yet soft expression, he still pouts.

"I refuse to leave Azrael." You sigh at him for the third time today. This man is like a child sometimes, despite being literal death incarnate.

"Then how about you bring Azrael in the bath with you then? I can bathe you both at once." you suggest, trying to reason with this child-like grim reaper.

"...Fine." Casper grunts, as he stands up, Azrael still squished and dirty in his arms. Finally, you thought, you got him to co-opperate. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tags: @nicotheghoul, @cozynspookyvibes

UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHSGfjhdfhejfb this one is kinda short bc I'm losing motivation again HELP ME

#casper #adatewithdeath #grimreaper #grim reaper #a date with death #fanfic #faniction #silly little guy #silly grim reaper #babygurl #babygirl #husband material

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wearesociety · 4 months

Text

Day Five: Lovers to Enemies

She lives in a paradox. It’s the only thing Bonnie is sure of these days. Which should be a painful admission on its own and yet she doesn’t feel the burn in her chest.

Bonnie has a theory. It comes to her slowly as she comes to, muscles aching, a burn between her legs and a flood of memories of last night. This is the moment she should jump from the bed as though it burned her and find her scattered clothes but all she does is pull the white sheet higher over her chest and ignore the goosebumps that rise on her skin. She tells herself the first lie of the day— It’s because of the autumn breeze the morning brings and not the man next to her. It’s foolish thinking. Well. Bonnie is a foolish girl these days.

Her theory is th—

Klaus stretches and captures her. As if this is normal. As if this is something he’s done for years.

She wants to be angry. But all she does is sigh and allow him to spoon her. His neck settles against hers, his warm breath skating across her skin. The act awakens her— the beast— all over again.

Flashes of light hit her. Of the first awakening of the beast, as she calls this want she has for him. Her, pressed against a wall of the seedy bar. Him, lowering his face to her ear, his sweet wolfish voice capturing her all her attention.

Klaus lets out a self– satisfied groan, his hand setting on her stomach. Her breath catches, a want swirling in her stomach. “Go back to bed.” His low gravel voice sends a shiver down her spine. Which causes him to chuckle— so condescendingly.

Hot white angry cloaks her. “It’s morning.” She deadpans.

Bonnie is more angry at herself— well her body. It acts without her instructions. Any little thing Klaus does, her body must react to. She’s not used to someone having this type of control over her.

Least of all him.

Klaus bites down on her ear. Bonnie yelps from surprise. “I see I haven’t tried you out enough.” He says, a hint of knowing in his voice. He palms her stomach in circular motion.

Bonnie's eyes flutter slightly and she releases a soft sigh. It is a whir of emotions colliding all at once. She’s aware that he’s lulling her to a comfortable state.

His hand goes lower, until his fingers brush against the stripe of hair on her mound. Bonnie grips his forearm.

Klaus tsks. “You did so well last night.” He kisses her pulse. “Remember how you opened for me, allowing me in, inch by inch.”

Her body acts on his words and her legs open wider. His fingers comb through the fuzzy patch of hair until he goes lower, gently opening her wet lips.

Bonnie bites down her bottom lip. An act of defiance, the last she has. She desperately clings to it. That only makes Klaus work harder.

He knows she hates how she responds to him, how she actively fights against moaning at how he touches her. She’s the first woman to not melt against him.

Klaus slips his finger inside her, deep and brutal.

Bonnie gasps, her fingers digging into his skin. “Fuck.”

While last night was a haze of emotions exploding all at once, he was still gentle, coaxing orgasm after orgasm. This is anything but that. He sets a brutal pace with his fingers. Bonnie has no choice but to succumb to the constant wave of pleasure that hits her.

“Oh—God.” Bonnie whines as his thumb strums against her hardened clit.

Klaus kisses her shoulder. “Can’t fight it can you, love?” He says, softly. It’s the softest she’s ever heard him. He works his fingers deeper, never relenting in his pace, her legs shake.

Bonnie clenches down. Klaus groans but still continues his pace. “P-please Klaus.” Her voice cracks. Her orgasm is building nearing its peak.

“It’s right there. I know. The world on your shoulders. Villians to slay. Damsel’s to save. But this—” He pulls his fingers out just to push them back in. Bonnie mewls. “— this is for you.”

His words bring her to life. Her hips start to move against hand as she starts to ride his fingers. “Yessss. Mine.” Her toes curl. Bonnie’s entire body locks, a white hot pleasure crashing into her as she explodes.

Even as she’s drenched in her orgasm she still hears his voice clear as day. “There’s a girl. Did so well for me.” He praises.

Maybe it’s his fingers that lazily rub her clit or his words but she shakes with aftershocks and cries out.

That only Klaus can truly hurt her. And yet it seems like he’s the only one that can give her this type of pleasure.

Fuck.

#klonnie #bonnie bennett #klaus mikaelson #anti tvdu #klonnie fic #klaus x bonnie #bonnie x klaus #klonnieweek2023 #a lil smutty treat

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mortal-kombat-shitposts · 5 months

Text

Just some thought NSFW

@boomclowntown as I told you I would. Part two of two @mammaonii @mangos-other-corner

Imagine teasing rain all day on to pin him down and out a vibrating cock ring on him and then loving fucking his cute ass till he practically begs to cum, tears running down his face, cock angry and red from being denied that lovely high, only to pull his hair and snatch his head back and tell him to beg hard. Unfortunately you break a table but my gods when you do let him cum it thick and theres so much of it. Even better is you used the cock ring to tease him thought out the day before bending him over the table. Even better if he reminds you once he's collected and after care has happened that this is a two way street. Your turn next, round 2? Fight.

Also don't imagine biting his shoulders, making hand prints on his ass or biting his back just to hear him actually moan and not hide his voice. "say it louder zef~fee~ro, I can't hear you darling. Stop hiding that pretty little face sweetheart in want you to see your own face and hear the wonderful voice." It just a mirror in front of whatever you decide to fuck him on so he can see how fucked out he looks, at just black pupils staring, now brown in sight, he might have just cum from your teasing just now but he's no less hard then when you started this game.

Imagine adding someone else to amp it up.

"look at you all you had to do was behave, now you get to watch as I fuck the good boy over there. Now stay still and keep this warm for me."

He would try to behave but he just can't seem to. Acting out for your attention. Even if that means your strap/cock is in his throat most of the time. He knows he needs to keep it in his mouth but sometimes he's a brat the keeps only the smallest bit in cause technically it's still in there.

Better yet when you treat him to body worship and force him to look you in the eyes as you kiss, nip and bite every part of him, just to hear him hold back his whimpers and moans. You could break him doing this till he's a begging mess for you to just touch his cock or something then the little kisses he's receiving. "Darling please I... Need more, anything please, I can't take much more." His cock would be leaking something fierce. If you do give in and end up jacking him off it doesn't take long for him to cum, it will spill everywhere, if you blow him, its gonna leak out the sides. No joke his hands will be gripping the sheets, not your head cause he knows you don't like that but it'll be tempting.

This man imo is a switch, that being said he would look so damn good riding your strap as you lay back and guide his hips up and down, possibly in a circular motion just so it hits different points. Honestly might be the loudest you'll ever hear him is when he gives in and up to your will and accepts all the love you have for him. Bonus points if you have one of the one that do fake cum son you can fill him too. Maybe asking to keep all inside him as he goes about his day.

That is all for now I'll add more later reblog it with more spicy.

#rain x reader #rain smut #havik writes fanfic #mk smut #mortal Kombat smut #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #husband liquid

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oc-porn · 1 year

Text

Thomas x sub top M!Reader

WARNING: Smut, alcohol consumption, decapitation, mentions of pedophilia, vaginal sex, degradation, leash & collar, chest play

You walked through the cold, snowy wasteland, hoping to find the beast no human dared to disturb. The Frost Giant. You'd heard tales and songs about the beast. About how his white fur glistened like snow, about how one look into his ice blue eyes could freeze a thousand men. According to antient stories, not even a hundred armies could defeat the beast and it still lurked in the coldest place on earth, one where no human dared to enter. You, being the brave man you are, entered the icy haven, you planned to bring the head of the beast to your village.

After hours of looking, you'd find a large cave. 'This is where the beast must be.' You thought to yourself as you entered the dark, stone cave. There were runes everywhere, it was warm. You'd thought those runes might have something to do with it.. You looked around the cave, there were many crystals and even stolen items. There were the dresses of maidens who'd try to defeat the mighty frost giant, ripped and frozen on the floor. There were skulls and it reeked of death. You decided to look around, feeling the smooth cave walls under your hands as you moved through the cave. It was then you heard a loud crash and scream in the distance. You wielded your sword of silver and walked into the darkest part of the cave.

You followed the sounds of the screaming, a light up ahead. you saw two men. Confused, you hid behind the wall. You watched as a tall, thin man with white hair, Juggalo face paint, and elf ears beat an older, fat man to a pulp, calling the old guy every name under the sun. You looked at the man in face paint, his white hair had fallen into his face. He looked angry. You sighed as you began to walk out, thinking you'd found the wrong cave until the man screamed for mercy from the.. frost giant? you whipped around and there was a wolf, tall as a castle where the Juggalo once stood. The icy claws of the beast raising and about to slash the man before you foolishly stepped in, sword in front of you.

"Mighty Frost Giant.." You started as the wolf lowered its claw. "How could you kill an innocent man?" You asked. You saw the wolf turn back into the Juggalo, now completely naked. He didn't have a cock, which surprised you, but you still held your ground. The man cackled, wiping a faux tear from his eye. "You think this man is innocent?" He asked, his voice cold and gruff. He had a British accent and his voice was laced with malice. "I saw him lay with a child. Where's the innocence in that, foolish human?" Stated the tall man. You looked back at the beaten man and that's when you recognized him as a sex offender who'd been released from prison a week ago and went missing. You lowered your sword and looked to the naked man once more. He had his arms crossed as he smirked, you could see a gap in his teeth and on was chipped.. it was kind of cute.

"Are you going to kill me too?" You asked, fear suddenly surging through your veins. "I may, you come here, pull a sword on me and accuse he of torturing an innocent man." Listed the werewolf. He got closer, towering over you. "Then again.. you are kind of cute.." He thought out loud, making your face redden. He touched your cheek, skin as cold as death, making you flinch a little bit. You looked into his eyes, his pupils mismatched, one looked like that of a cats, slim as a toothpick, and the other was circular, like a wolf's. His irises were purple as lilacs, drawing you in. You were lost in his eyes, not realizing you were staring until he'd turn away.

He grabbed a large axe and swung it hard and fast, you ducked. You felt something roll next to your foot. You looked and saw the severed head of the man who was once behind you, There, a look of shock frozen upon his face as he looked you dead in the eye. The Juggalo looked proud pf what he'd done and put his axe back on it's stand attached to the wall. He turned on his heel and walked out, you foolishly following close behind. He brought you into a bedroom, a stone door losing behind you as you two walked in. He sat in an office chair, manspreading. You got a full view of the man's cunt when you sat upon his bed. You couldn't help but stare at his body.

"Are you here for my head?" He asked, getting a couple glasses of wine for the two of you. You reluctantly nodded after taking a sip of the alcohol. He rolled his eyes. "Well, you'd need to do better than a flimsy, silver sword." He drank. He looked you up and down and set his glass down, getting up and eyeing you. "Stupid, little, pathetic human." He spat, stopping in front of you. He grabbed your shoulders and pushed you to the ground, stepping on you. "Little boy thinks he can hurt me?" He cackled and kicked you in the face before sitting back down and manspreading.

You didn't know why, but you had the urge to obey the werewolf, you wanted to please him. You crawled over and put your head on the chair, in between his knees. He smirked as he felt you put your head on his chair. "Pathetic." He said, anger and lust filling his eyes. You felt yourself twitch at the name. You whined when he got up, and watched as he left the room. He soon came back though, his face paint washed off. He had a leash and collar. You watched as he slipped the collar over your head and tightened it. He attached the leash as he went to manspread upon his chair once more.

He yanked the leash, pulling you towards his dripping cunt. "Lick it." He demanded. You obeyed him, licking the area, earning a small, pleasured groan from him. He pet you gently, nibbling his lip. "That's a good doggy~" He groaned. You kept licking him, you licked his clit and felt him jolt a little and start moaning. "Why don't we see what the cock can do.. huh? You stupid, little whore." He growled the name and pulled you to his bed, picking you up and throwing you. He pinned you down and kissed you hard, his lips chapped and cold.

He soon pulled back, earning a pathetic whine from you, a string of saliva the only thing connecting the two of you. He snorted at your whine and shook his head before kissing your neck gently, fondling with your nipples under your shirt. You moaned softly and felt him start stripping you, licking a line up your stomach. He unzipped your pants with his teeth after unbuttoning them and took them off. You were extremely hard, your cock longing to be free. He slowly pulled back your underwear and out sprang your cock, leaking precum atop your stomach.

The man smirked at your size and gently ran his fingers along the prominent veins on your cock. He spat on it, jerking it for a little and got into position, shoving himself down your shaft and moaning loudly. You bit your lip and groaned at his tightness, surprised he didn't need to prep himself. He rode you hard and fast, his cold pussy feeling orgasmic on your warm cock. The trans werewolf's cunt was so wet and easy to fuck, you loved it. After about thirty minutes and 4 cumshots later he finally cam with a loud moan. That night was restless, you two went for several rounds after that.

The next day you awoke to the smell of bacon. You looked at yourself and saw you and the bedsheets were clean. You then looked around and saw a pile of folded clothes with a note that read; 'Once you're done getting dressed come downstairs for breakfast, XX, Thomas.' You smiled at the note and even more that you finally knew the man's name. 'Thomas'.. It rang in your head a couple of times before you snapped out of it and got dressed. You went to the open door and walked through, stepping carefully down the stony stairs. soon you got into a cozy living room area. It was attached to the kitchen and dining room. You could see Thomas, fully dressed and cooking. You wrapped your arms around the taller's hips and kissed his shoulder blade. The turned to you and smiled. "Come, let's sit." He said. You went to sit down and he gave you some food, which you happily ate.

Later, you two decided to watch TV. You were on his chest, cuddled up under a warm blanket as you watched 'Friday The 13th'. Every time you'd jump, he would kiss your head and rub your back gently, laughing softly. You two spent the rest of the day cuddling happily, just enjoying each others company.

#OC x male reader #Smut #gay #transmasc #trans #oc smut #some fluff #werewolf x human #sub male reader #male reader smut #top male reader #dom character

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scarredlove · 7 months

Text

Across the Waves

I wrote this... then stopped... decided to come back to it at midnight... whoops

Sun got a fic from me so... who's next~?

Forgive any mistakes or weird phrases

Even the night was gloomy. Not even one sparkling speck in the sky.

Your sandals separated your feet from the now cold sand, but didn't stop the few strays from sticking in between your toes. "Moon?" You called out, looking out at the span of the beach front, black waves washing the shore to your right, large rocks and trees lining your left.

Today, all of the boys had wanted out of the tank and to stretch their legs out. Eclipse wasn't always the most talkative, but as the biggest out of the lot (and the most stern), you had no worry when he ventured out by himself. He certainly had a presence to not be messed with. However, Moon was different.

Not that he couldn't take care of himself, being the most sneaky out of the trio had it's advantages... Until it pushes Sun a bit off the bend and he accidentally dirties his brother's bright yellow garb. If it had been Eclipse, or even reversed, it probably would have just made the whole event funnier. But not when one of your slugs was the largest germaphobe you'd had the pleasure to meet.

"Moony?" You called again, still no obvious 7ft slug man in sight. Of course, you didn't blame Moony. You did try to warn him that your drink was on the edge of the stout coffee table but by then, it was too late. The Hypselodoris Obscura startling its brother back and knocking the drink in the process.

An incident like this was very much like any regular family, a small thing blown out of proportion. But until it was clean enough again, Sunny wouldn't be able to return the water. So as much there was slight tension, you'd quickly thrown it into the wash before coming out here to hunt the culprit. You knew it would be fine, and so did Sun (behind all the frustrated grumbles). Now time to reassure blue boy.

A gentle hum reached your ears. Or at least, within your mind. You looked over to the trees and caught the faintest speckled glow. They were certainly not there a second ago. Chuckling softly, you made your way to the sulking incarnate of the moon, the musical mumbles growing in volume. Behind the scrawny trunks, Moon was crouched down to the half grass, half sand ground, both arms wrapped around his torso.

"Hey there." Though he already knew you were there, it never hurt to inform him that he was indeed found. He didn't look up to you, the back of his cloak losing its glow to return hidden in the shadows. "You ok, big baby?"

The bells on the large hood rang as he turned his head slightly to you, though you still couldn't see him. "Is Sunny angry?" He asked solemnly. Stepping around the train of his coat, you knelt down beside him to see he'd bent down before a little pool of water. You weren't sure if anything was within it, but didnt chance dipping your fingers in.

A small laugh left you. "You know he can never stay angry at you." You thought for a second. "At least, until he gets to scold you for being a menace to his wellbeing." A raspy chuckle was your response. Good. "So, am I going to have you drag you back, or do you want to stay here a bit longer?" Moon outstretched a hand to glide over the small pool before you both, the circular movements almost hypnotic.

Moon said nothing, though did return to his melody. It was a gentle song, he would hum it on occasion but it was always welcomed. And every time he did, you would catch his shoulders loosening up, the tension easing from his form. Seeing his back droop a little bit, you rose a hand and pressed it to his back, rubbing up and down for a few moments, a sigh leaving your sweet Obscura. "Sorry." The hood murmured, his face still hidden. "Knocked your drink." He elaborated.

"It's ok, Moony." You shrugged. "It'd probably been cold for ages. May as well be poison by that point."

He chuckled again, the tone not as croaky, and leaned into your touch. "Then I'm not sorry. I saved you."

A gasp left your lips in return. "What a generous hero you are!" Your free hand rose and pressed against your chest for added theatrics. "You should be rewarded instead!"

Red eyes turned to meet yours finally, the off-white glow of his pupils soft like his namesake. There was a charming grin on his face but you could see tiredness in the expression too, the mental strain of an internal war having taken its toll on him until he clawed back to himself. From him shifting, the hand on his back moved to his shoulder, cupping him whilst rubbing small circles with your thumb like his fingers across the dark liquid.

Dropping the arm from his chest, his hand moved to lay over yours on his shoulder, scooping up your dinky digits in his much larger hand and nuzzled his cheek over the knuckles, eyes closing as he red against them like a tiny pillow. "Warm." He noted softly, moving to press the back of your palm to his chin. "My sweet sea star..." His voice echoed in your head, making you sigh gently.

"C'mon..." you started, "we should get home before the other-"

He tugged you into his chest. Face planting into the ruffles of his gown. His hand leaving yours to secure your middle to his. An arm wrapping around your shoulders... Which all sounds nice enough... Until you feel wet fingertips rub the back of your neck. Body temperature falling drastically as stray droplets worked their way down your back. "MOON-!"

He ripped away from you just as fast as he pulled you in, leaving you stretching and almost scratching the coldness away from your throat as quickly as possible, though making you look like a maniac in the process. He was giggling and cackling to himself, standing back up on his feet though not too far away for you to see his face and glare at his betrayal.

"Alright boy. That's it." He stopped his laughter, the grin was still etched on his face as he watched you slowly take off your sandals and rise, the sand smooth against your toes. "You better run before you have to face both Sun AND my anger!"

The laughing resumed and he ran away as you gave chase, though, the way he was 'running' was more like a weird crab scurrying away. Making him looking like a little gremlin in your eyes. But he never outrun you. Always remained the same distance as you both ran back home. Where Moon was promptly scolded by his sunnier twin before being welcomed back home.

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daechwitatamic · 1 year

Text

III. So I Speak Your Name || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

You and Namjoon bond over literature and alcohol.

Section Warnings: language, drinking, drinking games, bar scenes, pov switches between OC and Namjoon a few times

WC: 7.5k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Tuesday October 9th

On Sundays I visit graveyards, paying my respects to the many words that have died on my lips.

On Sundays I leave flowers commemorating each admission that I struck down before it could reach you.

On Sundays I leave stones atop marble markers to memorialize those that you and I chose to leave unturned.

They say you only exist as long as someone remembers you, so I speak your name like my own Hail Mary full of grace.

You scratch out the last four lines and read it back. Then you change your mind, decide you like them, and add them once again at the bottom.

The final so turns into an and. Then you change it back to so. You sigh in frustration, closing your eyes.

“You sound angry,” someone says, and you nearly leap off the stool in your kitchen. Namjoon stands in the doorway, holding a grocery bag, a carton of eggs sticking out the top.

“Why did I choose a writing degree when I’m so bad at writing?” you ask him plaintively.

It’s a little more honest, a little more personal than you two have been before. It just sort of slips, honestly, your head still a bit stuck in the world of words and phrases instead of in the present.

He smiles ruefully and moves into the kitchen, starting to put away his groceries. “I know that feeling,” he admits. Then, not looking at you, he adds, “I didn’t know you were in the writing program. I did it, too, for undergrad. You have Jemisen?”

“Really?” you ask. “How did we live together for a month and not know that? And yeah, Jemisen.”

Namjoon chuckles lightly, and you catch yourself watching his shoulders move as he reaches high in a cupboard to put a box away. “I guess we don’t talk that much,” he admits. “Are you doing fiction for your thesis?”

“Poetry,” you tell him.

He turns to look at you over his shoulder, clearly surprised.

“Wow,” he says, brows furrowed. “Really?”

You laugh a little at the circular nature of your conversation. “Yes, really,” you say, smiling. “Though I will admit to regretting that decision on more than one occasion.”

“Again,” he says, finally folding up his reusable grocery bag and stashing it between the fridge and the counter, “I know the feeling.”

“Are you doing writing for your grad program too?” you ask, suddenly curious.

He nods, leaning back against the counter. It’s that magical golden hour in the apartment, your favorite, when the outside light comes in orange and glowing. It casts a honey tinge over Namjoon’s skin, a softer brown showing up in his dark hair. There’s something sharp in his gaze suddenly, something that’s not usually there - like he’s honing in on something for the first time.

“Fiction?” you prod. This is more interesting than your poetry homework, for sure.

“Unfortunately,” he jokes. “So, poetry? My buddy did that track, he said it was hard. I thought about it, but I didn’t want to give up on fiction entirely, and I knew I couldn’t handle both. Plus my poetry’s pretty bad.”

“So is mine,” you grumble, eyeing your notebook grumpily.

Namjoon gives a sigh and moves towards his room. “I have class tonight,” he tells you, “but if you want to order extra dinner and leave me the leftovers, I’ll pay you for it.”

“Sure,” you say easily, glancing at the clock. You hadn’t really thought about dinner yet, but you’ll need to soon. “Text me what you want. I’ll probably get our usual.”

It strikes you, suddenly, that you two have a usual. It’s early October, the leaves barely starting to turn. It’s the part of fall where you’re too hot when you walk in the sun, and chilly when you walk through the shadows. You’ve only lived with Namjoon for about a month and a half, and somehow you have a usual takeout order.

It’s strange.

But you don’t hate it.

Namjoon leaves a few minutes later, a brown cross-body bag settled against his lower back. You sit at the breakfast bar, your poetry notebook closed in front of you with your pen marking your page, and wonder about your mysterious roommate. You wonder what his poetry is like, what it would tell you about him if you ever got the chance to see it. You wonder if his fiction writing is what keeps him holed up in his room day in and day out, the lights low.

About an hour later, you text Taehyung to see if he wants to come eat dinner.

“Can’t,” he answers. “Already have plans for dinner. Sry!”

You sink onto the couch, grimacing. “Already have plans” means a date.

The thing is, you know you could ask Taehyung to take you to dinner, and he’d do it. Hell, you could probably even say, “Take me on a date,” and he’d do that, too - wear something nice, spray on a more expensive cologne, open the car door for you and pull out your chair, all that shit. He’d do everything exactly right.

He’d do everything for the sake of irony.

That’s what it boils down to, and you know it in your bones: intention. Taehyung could spend all twenty-four hours treating you exactly how a boyfriend should, but at the end of the day his intention was not romantic, and there was nothing you could do to change that.

You turn on the tv, determined not to waste your night wondering how his is going.

Thursday October 11th

Thursday marks nearly the middle of the month. It’s unseasonably warm when you walk to class, but you carry a jacket, knowing that when you leave the bookstore after your shift, the chill will warrant it.

You have a bullshit class, one that doesn’t apply to your degree concentration, something that the university requires for everyone. The only saving grace is that it’s short.

When it ends, you have some choices. You don’t have to be at the bookstore until three. You could go back to the apartment. It’s certainly enough time. Or you could get lunch on campus and handle any academic errands you had, as it were.

And, you sort of had an academic errand swimming in the back of your mind.

You head to the building that houses the staff offices for the writing and literature professors. They’re all tucked away in a little wing back behind where the classrooms are. You’ve been there a few times over the years - twice to talk to your academic advisor about your upcoming schedules, and once to help a professor carry her armload of papers and her laptop back from the classroom.

You scan the names on each door until you find Jemisen, and knock tentatively. He turns, surprised.

“Y/N,” he says, and then glances at his computer, as if trying to determine if you’d scheduled a meeting and he’d forgotten.

“I wasn’t sure if it was your office hours,” you say quickly, to let him know he hadn’t made a mistake. “But I had a quick question about my last assignment, and I was already over here on campus…”

“Ah,” he says, understanding. “Well, it is my office hours, but it just so happens that I was called into a last-second budget meeting, because how we spend our money is certainly more important than my students’ academic success!” He looks at you, seeming to think belatedly that this little sarcastic rant might have been better staying in his head. “Anyway, I have a TA here who could help you look at it? I trust him implicitly.”

You’re a little uncomfortable with the idea - Professor Jemisen has been reading and working with you on your poetry for over a year; you don’t want to work on it with a stranger.

“Oh,” you say, “I’m not - I could -.”

A body comes around the corner. “I heard TA. Have I been summoned?”

It’s Namjoon.

You want to vanish through the floor.

“I’ll just -,” you start to say, but Professor Jemisen cuts you off, collecting some papers off of his desk and reaching for the jacket he’d placed on a hook beside the door.

“This is Y/N, she’s a senior in my poetry thesis class,” he tells your roommate. “She’s looking for help reworking a stanza on her last submission, right, Y/N?”

You bluster, you struggle to make words. You want to shake your head no, but your body isn’t cooperating.

“I’m happy to help,” Namjoon says to you. “My office is two doors down.”

Professor Jemisen is already through the door, clapping Namjoon on the back in thanks as he goes. This gives you the chance to collect yourself, jump-start your brain again.

“You get your own office as a TA?” you ask wryly, one eyebrow lifting.

Namjoon smiles. There’s something different about him here, an easy confidence you don’t see him exude when he’s just at the apartment.

“Come on,” he says, and you walk out into the narrow corridor. Namjoon closes Professor Jemisen’s door behind you and leads you to his own space.

“To answer your question,” he says, still smiling sort of sheepishly, “no, TA’s do not get their own offices. This one was empty because Bianca - Professor Whyte - retired and they haven’t replaced her yet… I sort of commandeered it. I share it with two other grad students, technically. Just until the university hires someone.”

He sits at the desk and motions for you to take the chair next to it. The office is clean and pretty empty - a tall bookshelf holds only about half a dozen books, taking up just a small section of one lone shelf. There are two small potted plants on the windowsill, and a coffee mug shoved behind the computer monitor. Otherwise, the room seems unowned, devoid of any identifying artifacts.

“This is very weird,” you say, because you have to say it.

“What is?” he asks absently, his eyes on one of the windowsill plants.

“My roommate reading my poetry,” you say flatly. “My roommate workshopping my poetry with me.”

He turns to look at you, surprise and perhaps a touch of hurt flickering across his face. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can ask someone else to work with you, or you can wait for Professor Jemisen. I didn’t realize…”

You sigh inwardly. You hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. “You don’t think it’s weird?” you challenge, trying to keep your voice light.

He shrugs. “I’m just doing my job. I’m on the clock. But like I said… if you’re uncomfortable, then let’s find a Plan B.”

“You’re Plan B,” you grumble. “We’d need to find Plan C.”

You kind of want to take his offer of walking away. But you’re already here, and you don’t want to hurt his feelings worse and make things weird at home.

“Here,” you say, rummaging in your bag. “Just don’t, like, peer into my soul or anything.”

Namjoon laughs like he’s surprised by this. “It’s poetry,” he says, grabbing a pen and turning to see what you put on the desk. “I don’t think that’s optional.”

You slide your notebook over to him. “Professor Jemisen hated the second stanza,” you say.

He looks at you, eyes wide. “He didn’t say that.”

You chuckle. “No, but it’s still true.”

Namjoon reads the poem to himself silently, lips moving with the words.

On Sundays I leave flowers commemorating each admission that I struck down before it could reach you.

“Okay,” he says finally, “I think you should keep the top line of the stanza the same - to keep the pattern.”

You nod, listening.

He presses his pen against his lips, eyes narrowed as they scan the lines again. “I think the word admission is too chunky,” he says. “In the second line.”

“Confession?” you supply. “Commemorating each confession?”

“That gives you some nice alliteration,” he notes, nodding.

“Does it flow better?” you prompt.

Namjoon repeats the first two lines to himself, under his breath. “On Sundays I leave flowers, commemorating each confession. Yeah, I think it does.”

“I’ll change it,” you decide, and he does it for you, scratching out admission and writing confession next to it in red ink.

“The third line sucks,” you muse, reading over his arm.

“It doesn’t suck,” he says mildly. “What were you trying to say?”

You think about this. “That each admission - confession, whatever - that the speaker didn’t voice…it’s almost like those words were trying to reach their recipient, but the speaker shot them down in flight, you know? Does that make sense?”

Namjoon ticks his head to the side, thinking. “It makes sense,” he assures you. “I’m just thinking about how to say it.”

You both peer at the stanza in silence, thinking.

“You’ve got this imagery of shooting something down mid-flight, like you just said,” he murmurs, eyes on the page, “but in the first stanza, you say the words die on the speaker’s lips, meaning they never get said in the first place. Maybe you need to change the imagery to holding it in instead of stopping it once it’s out?”

You scan the first stanza again, nodding slowly. “Commemorating every confession that suffocated beneath fresh-packed earth,” you say, voice almost a whisper as you listen to how the phrase would sound.

Namjoon chuckles darkly. “Buried alive? Harsh.”

You tap the page, finger on the bottom stanza. “The confessions - the words - are what died and got buried. But then, in the final stanza, she’s saying she keeps him alive by remembering him, but maybe she’s keeping her confessions alive as well. Like, she’s continuing to give them life by continuing to speak life into them. It works on two levels.”

Namjoon nods, letting out a quick, impressed breath almost like a laugh. “That’s good,” he says, sliding your notebook over to you. “Write it down before you forget.”

You scratch out the second stanza and write in the space next to it,

On Sundays I leave flowers commemorating every confession that suffocated beneath six feet of fresh-packed earth.

“I like it better,” you say, reading the whole thing back to yourself.

“It’s definitely better,” he agrees.

You put a hand on the page, ready to slide it completely away from him, to put it back in your bag.

Namjoon places his fingers on the page, just inches from yours. His index finger strokes the last line, where your hand had pressed the pen to the page and placed there, Hail Mary full of grace.

“What would happen if you stopped visiting?” he asks, voice very low. He’s leaning forward, his shoulder close enough to yours that you can feel the heat coming off his body.

“Excuse me?” you snap. This was exactly what you hadn’t wanted - interpretation, application to your real life.

“The speaker,” he corrects quickly, eyes flicking down to the page and then back up to meet yours again. There’s something gentle and coaxing in his voice as he continues. “What would happen if the speaker decided to spend their time elsewhere? Wouldn’t it be better for them to just… let the dead stay dead?”

Goosebumps cover your arms, but you’re also suddenly pissed. “I don’t have an answer to that,” you say firmly. “It’s poetry, it’s not real life.” You slap the notebook shut and toss it into your bag, tugging on the zipper like your life depends on it. You stand, hiking your bag onto your shoulder.

He’s still looking at you contemplatively, leaning back in his chair, long legs stretching under the desk. Then, he seems to snap out of it, and he peers up at you apologetically. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m used to that kind of thinking and response from my grad classes. But you’d already expressed that you weren’t comfortable… I should’ve left that alone.”

You shift from foot to foot, still stinging. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “Thanks for the help. I’ll resubmit this version.”

“Y/N,” he calls, stopping you in the doorway. You pause, turning to look. “Would it make you feel better to see a really personal one of mine?” His smile is rueful, his dimples teasing.

You exhale on a laugh. “Only if I get to question your poor life choices when I’m done,” you say.

He laughs at this. “I accept,” he says seriously, a smile still tugging at his lips. “In exchange for your forgiveness.”

You slap your palm lightly against the wooden doorframe, twice. “It’s a deal,” you say, and disappear down the hallway.

–

He sends you a screenshot two hours later. Before you can enlarge it enough to read anything, he sends, “Good GOD this is bad. Enjoy!”

I love you by pressing my fingertips into soil. Is it too dry? Can it go another day? I love you by pushing ceramic just two inches to the left where the sunlight hits at exactly four pm. I love you by wiping dust from leaves just how I'd wipe tears from cheeks. I love you by admiring each new bloom as it appears.

And when I’m thorn-pricked it doesn’t hurt because my only expectation was for it to grow.

You read it twice, then a third time.

[3:22 PM] You: that is NOT bad omg [3:23 PM] You: i need more context so i can mock your bad decisions [3:23 PM] You: that was the deal 😤 [3:27 PM] Namjoon: haha stop it. [3:28 PM] Namjoon: i cringed so hard when i read it again [3:29 PM] Namjoon: but i hope you actually forgive me now

Friday October 12th

‘-yet with everything left unsaid, still they said goodbye.’

Namjoon pounds twice on his desk in victory as he rereads the last line of the chapter he’d just finished. It’s good, he thinks. It’s actually good, the whole chapter. Not perfect - nothing ever would be - but good enough that he feels excited to send it to the cohort and get some feedback.

There’s a noise from his doorway and he spins in the chair, minimizing the document out of habit.

You smile at him from the door. “It’s going well, huh?” you say, a little playfully.

Namjoon feels something like cold run down his legs. It’s the absolute horror of being known. “What are you talking about?” he asks, voice even.

You fold your arms over your chest like you feel defensive. “You hit the desk when you’re happy about it,” you explain.

Namjoon stares at you, absolutely dumbfounded. He hadn’t realized you even knew he was writing, let alone that you’d been tracking his habits well enough to pick up on little things like that. He’s always kept his writing - and his behavior as a writer - pretty private. The only person who had ever seen behind the curtain, so to speak, was Elyse. And look how that turned out.

Namjoon decides to side-step this. He doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he goes with, “Did you need something?”

He knows it’s cold. He doesn’t even mean to be cold. But something about this interaction has all of his mental alarm bells ringing - telling him that this might be inching towards dangerous territory.

Territory he’s been in before. Territory he clawed his way out of.

“Oh,” you say, a little taken-aback. “Well, yeah. I was trying to see if anyone would be into the idea of a game night this weekend? What do you think?”

Namjoon’s about to answer that he doesn’t mind when his conversation with Yoongi and Hobi floats into his brain. He remembers their bony chins digging into his shoulders as they read your texts and affirmed that, yes, he’d hurt your feelings by leaving last time.

“Game night,” he repeats slowly. “Care to elaborate on the plan?”

This makes you smile again, like you’re pleased that he’s entertaining the idea. “Smaller crowd than last time,” you say. “Game categories up for discussion - could do board games, drinking games, video games… maybe a rotation?”

“A rotation,” Namjoon repeats flatly, not sure if you’re joking.

Your smile widens, eyes crinkling. It had been a joke. “We can decide what we feel like,” you say. “I was thinking maybe Saturday night?”

“Okay,” Namjoon says.

“Okay I can plan it… or okay, you’ll be there?” you ask, chewing lightly on the inside of your cheek.

Namjoon feels himself smile despite himself, despite the alarm bells, despite your dead-on observation of his habits. “I’ll stay,” he promises.

Saturday October 13th

The night actually does rotate. Or, rather, you all start with a board game and it delves soon into drinking games. Namjoon finds himself sitting on the living room floor, a whiskey and soda in his hand, watching across an abandoned game board - pieces still laying sideways, forgotten - as you giggle into Taehyung’s shoulder after being brought down by a very targeted round of Never Have I Ever.

(Never have I ever… worn a bra. …used a curling iron. …put on mascara. …cried to a Hallmark movie. The guys went right down the line, 1-2-3-4-5, you never had a chance.)

“You have to drink, Y/N,” Jungkook says, poking you with his socked foot.

“Get your toe-socks off of me,” you try to snap, but you’re still fighting giggles and you sound as menacing as a puppy.

“I think we need a no-targeting rule,” Yoongi says fairly, watching as you dutifully down your cup and rise to mix yourself a new one. “Or Y/N will end up in the hospital tonight.”

“I am not holding your hair this time,” Taehyung shouts into the kitchen. “Once was enough!”

“It was enough for me, too, believe me,” you answer him seriously, but your mouth twitches. You’re still fighting giggles.

“He’s right,” Jimin speaks up. “No more targeting - not just Y/N, for anyone. It won’t be fun that way.”

“Should we switch games?” Hobi asks. “How about Kings?”

Namjoon groans. “I’m not drunk enough for that.”

“Then get drunker,” Taehyung tells him, nodding towards the kitchen bar - littered with half-full liquor bottles and various mixers - where you’re still standing with your cup.

“I’m working on it,” Namjoon tells him, lifting his nearly-empty cup as proof.

You settle back onto the floor across from him, carefully holding your freshly filled cup so that it doesn’t slosh over the edges. “What’d we decide?”

The game of Kings begins harmlessly - Jungkook picks an 8 and chooses Jimin to drink whenever he drinks, no surprise there. Jimin picks a 4, and everyone slaps the floor - Yoongi is last, so he drinks.

Then Hobi picks a King - make up any rule, any rule at all - and his eyes sparkle with unspilled mischief.

“T-Rex arms!” Taehyung shouts. “T-Rex arms for the rest of the night!”

“Funny accents for the rest of the night!”

“You have to drink every time you say someone’s name!”

“You have to drink every time anyone says ‘what’!”

Everyone shouts their suggestions, but Hobi waves his hands to quiet them.

“If you say someone’s name,” he begins, and everyone leans forward, interested, “they get to tell the group some tea about you.”

Everyone lets out an ooooh of appreciation.

“That’s gonna get messy,” you observe, eyes wide.

The game continues, everyone being careful to tap each other’s knees to get their attention instead of calling their names. But as the hour grows later and the alcohol flows, you all forget to be so careful. When Jimin gets up to grab another drink, Jungkook calls, “Jimin, will you bring me a beer?”

“You said his name!” Nearly the whole circle shrieks it at once, pointing sloppily at Jungkook in accusation.

“Ji- I mean, sir in the kitchen, you get to tell us some tea about Jung- I mean, this one,” Hobi says, correcting himself around a series of belly laughs.

Jimin grins like the cat who ate the canary. “He’s the one who broke his good headphones.” He points at Yoongi to indicate which his he means since he can’t say Yoongi’s name.

“Hyung!” Jungkook cries, betrayal written all over his face and voice.

At the same time, Yoongi’s head whips around to look at his younger friend in accusation. “You owe me money for those! They were my favorite!”

“I told you,” you say, your voice carrying sweetly over the din. “Messy.”

The game continues, pausing when Yoongi misses his turn as he’s too busy looking up how much his headphones cost so he can show Jungkook.

Without thinking, Namjoon lazily says, “You’re up, Yoongi.”

Everyone looks at him, grins growing like predators who have discovered injured prey.

“Oh, damn,” he sighs. Yoongi looks up from his phone, eyes glinting.

“Well,” he says, clearly enjoying his audience and the chance to embarrass his best friend, “when this friend was getting over Elyse, he played Davichi’s Beside Me on repeat for hours at a time, and I know for a fact that he still knows every word.”

Namjoon’s not sure how to name the emotion that surges from his stomach up to his face; mortified, sure. Angry, a little. Everyone around the circle is laughing - Jimin’s even wiping a lone tear from under his eye. Is it funny, from the outside? He guesses it is. He feels a little detached, a little floaty.

“Oh shit, Elyse!” Taehyung sort of shouts, sitting up a little. “I forgot about her!”

“That’s cute,” Namjoon says. “Wish I could.” Even he can hear how bitter he sounds.

“What ever happened with her?” Taehyung asks, more musing than actually directing the question at Namjoon, or anyone.

“Tae!” you scold, elbowing him. “You’re such an insensitive ass, do you know that?”

To his credit, Taehyung looks abashed and backpedals immediately. “I mean - sorry - I’m just curious. Didn’t mean to put you on blast.”

“It’s fine,” Namjoon says, but he’s dying to get out of that room, out of everyone’s sight, away from the fading laughter and from the sideways, searching look you’re giving him. He stands, tries to keep his face passive. “I’m gonna… go pee.”

He slides into the dark of his room and heads for the bathroom. He doesn’t even need to go, he just needs it to look like he left for a reason. Behind him, he can hear Yoongi despite his purposely lowered voice as he says, “She left him back in June. Same shit as always - he loved her way more than she liked him.”

Namjoon wishes he could refute this. Even if he’d been out there to defend himself, he couldn’t. Yoongi knew every detail about Namjoon’s last relationship and the break-up that ended it, and his assessment was right.

Namjoon had liked her - loved her - more than she liked him. His expectations were too high for what she could give him. Sometimes he wondered if she was the problem, or if he was. Were his expectations for a partner too high in general? Was he asking too much, wanting someone to care for him the way he cared for them?

When he comes out of the bathroom, Yoongi is leaning against his desk waiting for him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “The song part is funny - I was thinking about it because you were humming it in the library yesterday. I didn’t think about the… Elyse of it all. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you. Especially in front of…” He trails off. But Namjoon knows where the sentence was going.

He doesn’t even have the oomph to argue it.

“I know,” he says simply. “It’s okay.”

“If we hadn’t been drinking…” Yoongi says, voice a little thoughtful. “I mean, I’m not trying to make excuses. I just would have considered my words a little more carefully.”

“I know,” Namjoon says again, insistent. “It’s okay, hyung. I’m not mad at you. Let’s go back.”

When they return to the group, it seems that in their absence you had organized the board game again and gotten everyone focused. He wasn’t sure if you’d done it on purpose, diverted their attention to rules and set-up so they wouldn’t look too closely at his face as he took his spot again, but he appreciated it regardless.

Taehyung catches his eye, grimaces in apology. Namjoon gives a shrug and a headshake, letting him know they’re alright.

How can he be mad? Are they supposed to pretend his mistakes don’t exist? He can’t impose his own rules on others, it wouldn’t be fair.

Friday October 19th

The week passes in a blur. Namjoon works on his book, workshops for his classmates, goes to class, attends his TA hours, eats, sleeps, walks outside when he can. You exist in orbit around him, sometimes communicating in passing - but only in passing. You spend no time together, have no conversations, share no text messages or meals.

It’s starting to feel safe again, Namjoon thinks. Those alarm bells have quieted down. Now they act more like disgruntled guard dogs who think they saw something in the yard; they keep their narrowed, suspicious eyes on the gate, giving unhappy grumbles now and then.

Of course, the universe never lets him rest for long. On Friday night, Hobi texts him at eight, “Bar! You have two hours to mentally prepare! I will see you there or else!!!”

Namjoon texts back, “you need to calm down with the exclamation points”. But he still turns to eye his open closet, pondering what to wear.

–

Sometimes, Namjoon just watches people. People watching is a thing, right? He catches himself at it all the time - at train stations, on campus, in malls, and here - now - at the bar.

He watches throngs of young women mix onto and away from the dance floor, ebbing and flowing like high and low tide, like they obey the moon too. He watches men his age eye the scene like hawks.

He watches the bartenders hustle from one end to another, hands in constant motion as they exchange money, clutch shakers, wipe out glasses, open beers. He watches the bouncer sweep his gaze over the crowd, like a seaside lifeguard.

He watches Hobi and Yoongi bend their heads together, talking animatedly over something on Hobi’s phone. He watches Jungkook and Jimin dance near the edge of the crowd, peeking surreptitiously over their shoulders to see if any of the girls near them are looking. He watches Jin throw his head back in laughter at whatever the pretty girl before him has said.

He watches you lean forward on your elbows, eyes on Taehyung’s face like they’re magnetically drawn, as he talks to you. You both laugh at something; you finish your drink. Namjoon watches as Taehyung leans over to say something to you, slides off of his barstool, makes his way towards the dark hallway that houses the restrooms. You flag down a bartender, ordering a new drink.

You aren’t watching Taehyung make his way back from the bathroom, but Namjoon is. He watches as Taehyung is intercepted by a beautiful, dark-haired girl who stands only as tall as the middle of his chest. He watches as Taehyung stops in his tracks, a grin slowly growing across his face, starting sly and ending open and friendly. It’s deadly, and Namjoon knows he knows it.

Namjoon sees it happen when the girl cocks her head towards the front entrance, sees it when Taehyung nods and leans down to say something to her before zig-zagging his way through the crowd back to where you sit, waiting for him.

Namjoon sees it when your smile crumples, when you quickly stitch it back together and nod eagerly, when you wave goodbye. He sees it when Taehyung and his date slip out the front door, sees it when you let your head drop to your hands, shoulders heaving with one single deep breath.

When you raise your head again, your eyes meet his.

And he sees it - all of it. He sees the crushing disappointment, the resignation, the acceptance.

He’s moving without making the decision to move, his beer glass cold against his hand as he makes his way to the empty spot next to you.

“Sorry,” he says, not hiding that he’d seen exactly what happened, had witnessed Taehyung abandon you for preferred company.

You give yourself a little shake and give him a tiny smile. “Don’t be,” you say easily. “Good for him - I wish I had half his luck.”

Namjoon wouldn’t say he knows you that well if he was asked, doesn’t think himself an expert on your personality. But he knows it’s bravado. He can just tell.

But he’ll let you save face. He’d want the same.

He struggles to find something to talk to you about. His brain goes empty, like static, the second he relies on it. Finally, as you stir the ice cubes around your drink, trying not to look as dejected as you feel, he asks, “How’s senior thesis going? What are the criteria for poetry students?”

You perk up, sitting up straighter and releasing the plastic straw you’d had pinched between your fingers. “It’s going okay,” you tell him, glancing over sideways at him like you want to make sure he’s actually interested in the answer, not just asking to be polite. “The criteria? It’s half a written portfolio, half an author study.”

“Who’d you pick?” Namjoon asks, taking a sip of his beer and finding it low.

You smile at him mischievously, eyes sparkling a little. “Guess,” you challenge.

He feels himself smile in return. “Rumi,” he shoots out.

Your laugh bursts from you, surprising both of you. “That’s your first guess?” you laugh. “Seriously? Going straight to Rumi?”

“Am I wrong?” he asks, chuckling.

“Yes,” you insist. “Try again.”

He ponders it for a second. “Whitman. Yeats. Eliot.”

“Absolutely not,” you say. “Quit naming dead white dudes.”

Namjoon laughs again. “Poe?”

“Still a dead white dude!”

He stops, thinks again. “Olds,” he finally guesses.

You raise your eyebrows. “Wow, obscure.”

He shrugs. “She seems like your type.”

You laugh at that, a peal of laughter that has you hunching over your drink. “You’re not wrong about that,” you admit.

“I think you need to just tell me,” Namjoon admits.

“Surely you know more poets than that!” you tease accusingly.

“Of course I do,” he allows. “But I think this little game could go on for a very long time.”

You laugh again, and Namjoon feels a smile tug at his lips.

He growls a mental shut up at the part of him that wants to keep making you laugh.

“St Vincent Millay,” you say, caving.

“Wow,” he says, just a bit struck dumb. Because what are the odds you’d pick her? “A favorite.”

You smile at him, eyes crinkling. “You know hers?”

Namjoon is pretty sure he has a copy of Alms stuffed between pages of his favorite notebook, a memento to his post-Elyse days, when he was - yes - listening to Beside Me on repeat and reading every heartbreak poem he could get his hands on, all in the name of feeling understood. All in the name of feeling less alone.

“My heart is what it was before, / a house where people come and go; / But it is winter with your love -” Namjoon quotes from Alms instead of answering.

You keep your eyes on him, steady, as you finish in a quiet voice, “The sashes are beset with snow. Alms? I wrote about that one for my thesis the other day.”

Namjoon catches the bartender’s eye. “If I get a few shots, do you want one?” he asks, looking over at you. You nod, he orders something cinnamony, and then he returns to your earlier conversation. “Alms is one of the only ones of hers I can quote off the top of my head. But it’s… my favorite of hers.”

You give him a sly smile. “I argued in my thesis that Alms is a diss-track.”

Namjoon splutters. “What?” he demands.

You grin, loving this. “It is winter with your love? Like, tell me your lover is cold without telling me your lover is cold. Plus, all those lines in the middle about how she tends her plants in winter? Of course that’s your favorite.”

As the bar-tender pushes filled shot-glasses towards him, Namjoon just stares at you. You have this uncanny way of knowing things about him, and it’s unnerving. Partly because he doesn’t know that much about you, and partly because he hadn’t realized he was so easy to read.

You each take a shot glass, clicking them together before knocking them back. The burn of alcohol in his throat urges him to speak up, to address it.

“You remember how you mentioned that I tend to hit the desk when I'm happy with what I wrote?”

You frown with your whole face, brows and all, not following his line of thought at all. “...Yeah…” you say, voice wavering with uncertainty.

Namjoon looks away, at the wood of the bar beneath his fingers, at the crowd of people shouting their conversations around them, at the empty glasses waiting to be whisked away. “What else do you know?”

He’s not sure what makes him say it. Maybe he’s tired of you dropping these little observations here and there and wants them all out at once.

You trace a whorl in the wood with your pointer finger. Thoughtfully, voice sounding somewhat far away, you tell him, “You pace when you’re stuck. You listen to rap when it’s flowing and classical when it’s not.”

Namjoon lets out a single, shuttering laugh, barely louder than an exhale. “I’m trying to think of a less rude way to ask this, but why - how - do you know this stuff?”

You twist your mouth sideways into the cousin of a smile, self-deprecation written all over your face. “I spend a lot of time in the living room,” you say defensively with a bit of a laugh. “I can’t help but notice. You’re not very secretive.”

That’s the thing. Namjoon thought he was.

You sit in silence for a minute, the loudness of the bar’s music and chatter flowing around you. Then, completely unprompted, you add, “I know that poem you sent me is about your ex.”

Namjoon’s head snaps up, his eyes finding yours. He searches your face for anything unkind, anything mocking. Elyse had made him feel stupid - something he had very little experience with - and he was evading that feeling every second since. But there’s none to be found as you look back at him patiently.

“Y/N,” he says finally, “don’t take this the wrong way, but what the fuck.”

Once you’re sure he isn’t going to get mad or defensive, you relax, shooting him a knowing smirk. “Please,” you protest. “The line about how you can’t get hurt because you had no expectations? A juxtaposition to when you have certain expectations of a partner, and how it hurts when they’re not met. Like expecting someone to love you back, and then they don’t.”

“I think I need to be rescued from this conversation,” Namjoon jokes, pretending to look around for a life-line. “Quit it with the direct shots!”

You shrug innocently. “I’m not making any judgments about it. Just saying I understand the message.”

“How many drinks have you had?” Namjoon demands.

“I don’t know… three or four? Why?”

He can’t say because you’re saying very honest shit and people are usually polite enough to not do that. “You’re just… dropping words like juxtaposition and I…. truly don’t know how to handle it.”

You give him a wide smile, proud and teasing. “Just admit that I have a big, sexy brain.”

If this is the game you want to play, he thinks, he can play it.

“Well,” he counters, “I know that your poem about the graveyard is actually about -” He snaps his mouth shut, sober enough to know a mistake when he’s shin-deep in it, buzzed enough to fail at stopping his gaze from flicking over to where Taehyung and that girl had disappeared through the front door.

He watches - literally watches it happen - as a wall crashes down over your face. The open, teasing expression flattens into dull nothingness, your smile melts into a thin line, your eyes leave his and settle on your hands.

Namjoon opens his mouth to apologize, but the heavy weight of someone’s arm across his shoulders distracts him.

“Are you two talking about poetry?” Hobi asks, voice a touch too loud. “We already have a resident nerd, Y/N, we don’t need another.”

You grasp at the interruption desperately. “Not just any poetry. His poetry.”

Hobi gasps dramatically, clutching at his chest like a wounded man. “He let you read his own poetry? My God.”

Namjoon sits back, allows Hobi and Yoongi to incorporate themselves into the conversation, lets the moment slip away. He zones entirely out of the conversation, lost in his own thoughts, letting the others pick up his slack.

He’s thinking about Alms and thinking about Elyse, thinking about how St Vincent Millay’s line “But it is winter with your love” had rolled around his brain for a solid month as he was wrestling with the insecurity and pain of loving someone who just didn’t feel it too. Elyse hadn’t been cold - at least, not until the very end. Yet, even still, it had never been… enough.

He’s thinking about the way you just noticed things about him, the way you made him feel seen when he was used to feeling the opposite.

He’s thinking, and it’s probably a little fucked up, that Elyse had lived with him for over three months - sharing a bed, even - and had never picked up on his mannerisms this way.

He keys back into the conversation when he notices you signing to close out your card.

“Are you going home?” he asks you, the first words he’s said in a while. Both Yoongi and Hobi turn to look at him, as if they, too, forgot he was sitting there.

“Yeah,” you tell him. You meet his eyes, but your voice is still a little flat. “I was gonna Uber.”

“Wanna share?” he suggests.

You look at your hands again. “You don’t have to leave just because I’m leaving,” you say.

Hobi and Yoongi swivel their heads back and forth in silence, watching this conversation like a table-tennis match.

“I’m ready to go. But I can get my own ride if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No,” you say quickly. “I’m not. That would… that’s fine.”

You say goodbye to the guys and Namjoon follows you through the bar. He’s tempted to reach out a hand and guide you, help you navigate the drunken, dancing crowd. But you aren’t his to protect, and he’s just this minute starting to examine where the urge comes from, what’s blooming here, a tiny bud forming seemingly overnight.

Outside, the silence hits him like the slap of an ocean wave. The night is warm, despite it being late October.

You walk silently towards the curb, phone in your hand. You don’t look back at him.

“Y/N,” he says quietly. You glance over your shoulder, frosty, but you soften almost instantly when you look at him. The apology must be clear as day on his face. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

You sag with a sigh. “No,” you say. “I asked for it. I started it. You’re not supposed to dish it if you can’t take it, or something.”

Namjoon doesn’t agree or disagree, doesn’t shake his head. He just keeps his gaze on you, heavy and serious, and repeats, “I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

You drop your eyes again - he’s noticing you do that when you’re nervous, unsure of your words. Then, eyes on the road instead of on him, you say, “Assuming I was right about… you know, the poem… I’m sorry you went through that.”

Namjoon raises his eyes, up past the bar’s neon sign, up past the yellow-lit apartment windows above it, up past the fire escape and the rusty rooftop structures. He finds stars, glinting and joking from behind swiftly moving wisps of clouds.

“Thanks,” he says. That’s all.

“It’s hard when the people we love…” you trail off, rub your hands up and down your arms as if to ward off chill on a definitively unchilly night. “It’s hard when they disappoint us. For whatever reason.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says. The Uber pulls up, and you check the license plate against what’s on your phone screen before reaching for the back door. He’s got that same urge again, to reach out and guide you into the car. He shifts his hand into a fist, wills himself to get his shit together. As you slide over to make room for him, he lets one last breath out towards those same stars. “Yeah, it is.”

–

Inside the Uber, you scoot to make room for Namjoon to slide in next to you, folding his long legs in behind the front passenger seat.

The ride begins in silence, except for the driver’s music, which currently plays an advertisement in a language you don’t speak and can’t even identify.

You feel a little dizzy, maybe from the drinks. Maybe from getting vulnerable with your roommate. You lean your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. You can feel the heat from Namjoon’s side, can sense him, solid, less than a foot away.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, to keep the conversation as close to private as possible.

You open your eyes, looking sideways at him. He looks back at you, searchingly. You’re struck for the first time, here in the back of a stranger’s shitty Kia, by how pretty his eyes are - full of warmth and depth, but also something sly, like he constantly knows something you don’t, yet.

Looking at him, you’re tempted to lean against him; the desire comes out of nowhere, comes from the surety you feel that he would feel… safe. Protective. You feel sure he wouldn’t move away.

What is this? you wonder. It’s just a moment, just a fleeting thing that will be gone by the next red light, but as tiny as it is, there’s a voice in your head pointing out that you haven’t felt this kind of anything for anyone in your whole life except Kim Taehyung.

You fold your hands in your lap, turn to look straight ahead through the windshield. You can’t lie to him while looking at him.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m fine.”

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thank you so much for reading!!!! we're past the set up, stuff is movin!!!! please consider some type of feedback, even just 'loved it!' or a keysmash lets me know it's not hot garbage!

Section IV will post on Friday, February 3rd. I hope to see you there!!!!

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