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kurogxrix · 6 months

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Stomach Empty, Heart Full

Viking!Bucky x Wife!reader

IN WHICH you’re sick and refuse to eat, but it’s nothing that your beefy husband Bucky can’t help with.

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: vague mentions of smut, mentions of puke, beefy!bucky, INACCURATE VIKING UNITS, pregnancy(?).

A/N: my mom is the BIGGEST viking fan and yet idk anything abt em so…yes everything about this is inaccurate. From their beds to their huts but it’s fiction so who CARES.

A huge campfire was bustling outside your hut, that you knew. The sounds of men and women alongside their noisy children made the headache currently gnawing at your head just about 10 times worse. You’d been lying sick since this morning and if you were being honest with yourself, all you craved was for a good sip of water alongside the company of your dear husband.

Talking of, Bucky had been gone for far too long now. Even though he’d just gone on his regular routine as a fellow warrior, it helped that they’d only gone out to hunt that morning.

You suddenly winced as the high pitched wail of a kid adventuring far too close to your hut breached your ear drums, and from the thud that you’d heard a split second before, he’d taken a nasty fall to himself. It didn’t help that his father had chosen the front of your hut opening to reprimand his son, the headache feeling like it would burst out from your head and carve a hole through your skin at any moment now.

You couldn’t tell what sort of sickness you’d picked up on, but hell if you wouldn’t give up anything in your possession in that instant for an ounce of relief. Your stomach yelled at you for food, but the ache in your head only increased the growing nausea that came with your illness. You were sure that once you’d be healed and back on your feet, you’d kill whichever scum had passed on their bug to you.

Comfort only came as you curled over yourself, soft blankets warming you, the stitches and patches of soft furs from all sorts of animals that Bucky had hunted and skinned for you. You missed your husband so, so much more in your sick haze. Your eyes finally started to droop as you felt your body giving in to slumber, which was hard prior to the insane pounding at the far back of your head.

It didn’t take long for your vision to darken, your rumbling stomach being the furthest of your worries as a faint smile overtook your features as you felt the headache begin to dissipate as sleep pulled you in its arms. You could almost taste it, the sweet and victorious taste of relief, when-

“You are not joining us tonight?” And there it was, the pounding in your head almost immediately punched back to life at the loud sound of whoever that was that had breached your hut. You groaned in dismay, turning around reluctantly to find your sister looking at you in confusion. It didn’t help with the fact that she was your sibling, but at that instant you wanted nothing more than to rip her hairs straight from the root and craft yourself a rag doll with them out of spite.

“Get out.” you mumbled before rolling back, not missing the way her eyebrows furrowed at your rudeness. You’d treat her a little better if you felt a little better, but you didn’t, and to add to that the only person that you wanted with you right now was probably fighting off whatever beast was hiding in the forest.

She did, however, listen to you for what felt like the first time in your entire life as sisters. A content sigh left your lips at the newfound silence, as silent as it could be with a meal in preparation happening outside. Finally, you felt the warm arms of slumber welcoming you again in the embrace that you seeked so much, and it felt a little too good to be true. Maybe because you had a knack for jinxing yourself, but the sound of the hut door creaking again had you close to tears.

The sound of metal colliding against the floor however, gave you a brief idea that it was in fact not your sister. You didn’t have it in you to greet your husband, instead choosing to wallow in your pain as you held yourself like a dying child. You didn’t hear much from Bucky but the rustling of something that sounded big and meaty, probably a catch that he’d brought home to skin later.

On his side, Bucky was confused as to why you weren’t outside with the other people. It wasn’t that you didn’t know that the feast had arrived, and if you’d fallen asleep, the doubling in noise would’ve surely awakened even the deafest foe. He contemplated waking you up before his blue eyes fell upon the bucket of water by the door, as full as it was before he’d left home that morning.

With his eyebrow furrowed, Bucky kneeled beside you in all of his silence. You could hear the trinkets attached to his belt clanking against one another, his booted feet causing a heavy thud against the floor.

“You haven’t drunk, you haven’t eaten.” he stated as a matter of fact, and your undying silence threw him off. He’d been your husband long enough to know that you weren’t sleeping, eyelids shut as a decoy more than anything. The beefy brunette sighed at your actions, eyes flickering between the abandoned wooden plate that harboured his food, waiting for him in all of its loneliness. The cut of meat had his mouth salivating for a taste, after all he had been gone all day to bring back food for his people, why shouldn’t he enjoy it?

Yet, he just couldn’t get himself to as he eyed your curled figure. There must’ve been a reason why you hadn’t bothered to take care of yourself today, of course there must’ve been one, and as your husband - it was all the more his duty to care for you. There was no resentment or obligations in his actions, only love.

One of Bucky’s palms slid under your cheek, disconnecting your face from its warm place upon the layers of furs. You whined in dismay, but Bucky didn’t falter. His huge palm covered half of your face, his thumb rubbing at your cheek with inclination. You felt your body relax once more as he slowly let go, as much as you’d normally complain, this time you felt happy as your cheek made contact with the blanket once more.

Your peace didn't last long, not when you had a burly husband who had enough force to take down a 300 pound beast on his own. You gasped suddenly as you felt his arms wrapping themselves around you, before pulling you into the warmth of a familiar torso. You wasted no time getting comfortable, you head pushing impossibly further into the firm flesh of his chest to serve as a pillow. It didn’t faze Bucky, blue iris simply gazing down at your slithering form.

“You haven’t eaten today,” he states again, and this time you’d actually taken the courage to look up at him, eyelids pushing away from each other painfully slowly as you tried to adjust to the dim light of the oil lamps burning by the side of the hut. You could feel his warm palm slowly inching itself into caressing your back through the material of your dress, the beaded necklace that you wore squished between the both your bodies.

Bucky didn’t ask, he could tell that you were ill and you had no intentions of talking if you didn’t feel well. So he did what he could, a hand digging into the meat in his plate to rip a fat piece off. You watched in dismay as his hands dragged to your mouth, pausing before you closed lips as you refused him access.

“You’ll be even more ill if you don’t eat, come on.” his gruffly voice sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the ends of his long, auburn hair tickling your cheeks as the wind whistled past the cracks of your shared hut. Your nose involuntarily scrunched at the smell of the meat before you, which you normally loved like all people in your village. Bucky took notice of your discomfort, lowering his hand slightly to prevent you from puking all over him and the place.

You made a sound of frustration, sick and tired of being sick and tired. You simply wanted to eat and all the more drink but your body just wouldn’t let you do any of it. So sick that tears pricked at your waterline again, resurfacing the throbbing headache that'd been killing you since this morning.

You couldn’t even have told when the sob had burst through your mouth, but it had apparently and it didn’t fail to startle the hulk of a man you were lucky to call your husband. In a split second, the food was dropped back in the discarded plate, and his hands were quick to carelessly wipe clean against his cloak with little to no care for it.

Bucky’s heart was hardened from the series of events that’d turmoiled his life from his birth, being a viking was anything but easy. He’d bathed in blood, his own like not, he was scarred mentally just as physically. Yet, he was fierce with a shell as hard as rock to carry his sorrows in. Despite all, nothing hurt Bucky like seeing you upset, or even worse in this scenario, hurt.

Cradling your head to his chest, he tilted your head softly towards his own as you cried upon his chest. It was weird seeing a woman such as yourself cry over something that couldn’t be seen, yet enough described because your words wouldn’t even allow you to. So to say that Bucky was worried was an understatement, you’d never cried over something so minor, best to deduct that it wasn’t.

“I’ll go and fetch the lach, better hope that Thyra has the herbs to fix you a remedy.” he spoke more to himself than to you, referring to the village healer. You didn’t want him to go though, you’d spent enough time on this miserable day away from the only man you’d wish to see, so you weren’t about to let him go.

“No, I can handle it until daytime. I just want to eat…I’ll try the meat again.” Bucky looked down at you in hesitance, remembering the way you looked so sick at the approach of his food. Nevertheless, he brought the food back up to your mouth, and you had to fight the inner battle to not throw up now and then. He could see your struggles, yet he only focused on your determination.

You chewed slowly so as to not upset your stomach further, giving Bucky the time he needed for him to get a taste of his own meal as well. Sure, the cut was barely enough for a man of his size but at least he’d get you to eat, he could always go out and get some more once you were satiated. His hand that wasn’t busy feeding the both of you was still glued to your back, keeping you flushed against his chest as he sat legs crossed amongst the many blankets.

You couldn’t help with the way your heart soared at his worry, at his care, and at his love. Sure he wasn’t the most verbally expressive man, but his actions meant more to you than any I-Love-Yous. The way his fingers curled against your side as a measure of extreme protection had you weak in the knees, and that said a lot considering you weren’t even standing.

By the time you’d both exhausted whatever food was on his plate, Bucky’s skilled hand worked for water. Grabbing a cup from the side, he sought water from the bucket by your front door. He took a drink first, draining the cup in two quick gulps. You watched as he served himself another cup, a drop of water dribbling past his beardy chin and onto the defined curve of his Adam's apple.

Fuck and if he didn’t just look so hot, you’d really gotten the finest pick of all men in your village. You lifted an unsuspecting hand up to his cheek, the prickly feeling of his beard against your palm made a shiver run down your spine. So much for all the days he’d spent buried between your legs, you felt a ghost of the burn you’d feel on your inner thighs at the friction everytime.

The sounds of water sloshing around brought you out of your daydreams, finally receiving the end of the cup as he lifted the edge to your lips. You liked everything about this, getting pampered while laying in your husband's arms. You couldn’t possibly have gotten two sips down your throat before-

“Maybe I should call the midwife to check on you tomorrow.” Bucky randomly blurted out, and you swore you’d never accidently taken a gulp of water this big before. The choking came first, then the excessive coughing fits before the headache resurfaced again. Now maybe you’d rethought everything, maybe you didn’t want to spend the rest of the night with Bucky anymore.

His hands quickly abandoned the cup to rub at your back, some silent apology of some sorts for surprising you, and eventually causing you to choke.

“You don’t think…” you looked up at your husband after you had calmed down, expectant baby blue iris staring right back at yours. Your lips were slightly parted in the confoundment of his words, you found yourself unable to speak past your sentence. You didn’t know any contraceptives further than a remedy of herbs, spells and whatnot the untrustworthy pull-out method. Yet even if Bucky had been very obedient when it came to following that way, there were some days where he just couldn’t help himself.

His silence made you sigh to yourself, but you didn’t feel like speaking further yourself. The hut fell into a peaceful silence as you both wallowed in the other's presence, soaking each other's affection through soft touches and occasional prayers.You closed your eyes once more for the night, allowing yourself to fully sink into your husband’s burly arms.

Bucky didn’t complain, waiting for your shoulders to fall limp in indication that you’d finally submitted to the slumber you so craved. Now that you were sleeping, tucked and fed, he could finally go out and reach for a serving more appropriate for a man of his size. Though he staggered for a second, kneeling besides your sleeping form along the blankets that he’d arranged over you.

He moved the blanket properly after noticing that you’d already managed to mess up the ‘bed’ despite being dreams deep into your sleep. Bucky allowed his hand to hover over your stomach, before providing extra heat to the area that crossed his palm. He watched as your lips twitched into a smile in your sleep, his thumb uncontrollably caressing at the clothed area at the sight of your delight.

A rare smile tugged at the corner of Bucky’s lips, something that only you and his family had gotten to experience more often. His hand left your stomach as he rose to his feet, a distant dream of an infant swaddled by green cloth burning by the back of his mind. He didn’t turn back as he left the tent, stomach empty but heart full.

i’m working on 2 requests rn but i’ll be busy all weekend so expect a fic by next friday‼️

#IM SO TIRED!#sped ran this fanfic i’m so sorry #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #viking!bucky #viking!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #husband!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x wife!reader #husband!bucky #bucky barnes oneshot

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norrisleclercf1 · 10 months

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Forever Mine

Pairing: Mafia!Charles x Reader

Rating: R

Words: 2.6K

Warnings: Charles gives us whiplash with his emotions, hinted of kidnapping, smut, nothing crazy descriptive, p in v, drugging, Charles thinks about killing so no one else can have you

Requested: Yes/No

Request: Could you do mafia Charles but he’s like obsessed with reader and maybe kidnaps her or mafia dark obsessed ex Charles who finally found her after reader ran from him?

Synopsis: You had no idea who your boyfriend is

A/N: I did not edit this because I’m exhausted and just didn’t feel like doing it

The buzzing on the nightstand has Charles smacking his phone. Grumbling in annoyance, he pats around for his phone; grabbing it, he squints at it.

3:12 am

"Qui que ce soit, il a intérêt à mourir." Charles snarls, hitting the green button, pressing the phone to his ear. (Whoever this is, better be dying)

Charles fully expects it to be one of his men, instead a sob rattles his chest as your voice fills the other end. "Can you please come and get me?" Words catching as you hiccup on a sob.

He doesn't think twice as he jumps out of bed, hissing as the stitches on his wound stretch and burn. Ripping up his pants he keeps his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder.

"Que s'est-il passé ? Quelqu'un vous a-t-il touché ? Je vais les jeter à la mer avec les autres." Charles hears sniffles, booming music, and people probably drunk laugh around you. (What happened? Did someone touch you? I'm going to throw them in the sea with the others)

"English, Charles." You whimper, yelping when a body crashes into you. He swears red filled his eyesight when he hears you whimper, rushing down the stairs. Ignoring the private doctor that just finished stitching him up. "I'm sorry Mon monde. Where are you?" Heading straight for his signature Ferrari.

"I don't know, some club." He tries very hard not to snap at you. How could you go out? Without telling him? You're crying, clearly terrified in his own fucking city. "Y/n, listen to me. What do you see, anything familiar?" Voice calm, but that deadly calm that'd seen grown men cry.

"Um, oh I see the port. Your yacht I can see it." Calming slightly as you move away from the club towards the comfort of something familiar. "Go there, some of my me-" He stops knowing that you know nothing about his life. "Some people I know and trust are there. I'll be there in 5 minutes." He hangs up.

"You're 20 minutes away." You whisper, staring at your phone confused. Now that you knew where you were, you stumble your way to the gorgeous yacht owned by your boyfriend. "Who are you?" A deep pissed off voice has you jumping, looking up at a giant man tattooed and buff.

"Charles, he said to come here and wait for him." You whisper, clutching your phone to your chest. "Listen, if you're one of his who-" He stops talking when a shrill ringing sounds. Grabbing his phone he answers it.

You watch as color drains from his face, eyes wide as he stares at you. "Yes sir, she's here. Yes, sir. I apologize sir." Hanging the phone up the guy clears his throat, sliding sideways. "Come in." Voice softer as he helps you step onto the deck.

No one talks to you, the sound of a roaring engine has the 3 men around your straighten up. "Where is she?" The accent is like ice filling your veins. He's furious. "She's on the deck with the others." The scary guy from earlier answers.

Thundering feet has you lifting your head, looking right at Charles. "What the fuck were you think?" Mouth open, Charles stops you. "No, you know what? You weren't fucking thinking! Do you have any idea the type of men or women that live here? What'd they do to you? DO YOU?" Curling in on yourself, vision blurs from the tears pooling.

He's never yelled at you like this. A harsh tone, a look, he refuses to even touch you without your permission. So, to have him snap like this has you....scared.

"You're scaring me." Hoarse, that's what your throat is after all the crying you've done. Something in Charles, breaks. You're the one person he's never wanted to scare you. And here he was, showing that one side he's never wanted to show.

Dropping to his knees, he gathers you in his arms. Body shaking, Charles whispers secret apologies, hands running all over your body. "I'm sorry, fuck. I'm so sorry." Nose burying in your neck, smelling the slight hints of sweat, his body wash, and alcohol.

"I didn't do anything wrong, why are you yelling at me." If that didn't sound like such a childish excuse, nothing will. To him you did something wrong, went into his city without telling him. "You scared me, do you know what type of people live here? They're not good people." He whispers, leaving the words I'm not good on his tongue.

Charles chose to leave you in the dark about his secret life. All you knew is that, he has money, people respect him, his name carries some type of power. You've questioned it once, Charles snapped and said for you to never ask him again.

It's a constant tension between you two.

"Come on, we're going home." An edge to his tone, trying to keep that shadow in him tied down. "Just take me to my place." Charles was scaring you more and more by the minute. This was not the man you love.

The sweet giggles, soft touches. How his voice warms you, treats you like his queen. This wasn't the man before, it's a shell of him.

"No, we're going to my place. End of discussion." He gathers you up, standing as he carries you off the boat. Face hidden in his chest, your heart thunders in your throat. You want to argue more, but your scared that it might set him off. "Okay."

Bright lights flash, a beep and you're placed in the black leather interior of his Ferrari. Clicking the door closed, he might as well slammed it with the echoing silence of the car. Even with how scared you are, you can't help but admire his beauty.

The way he slides into the car, his hair pushed in different directions. So enraptured with him, you miss the wincing he does as he sits in the car. Purring of the engine is the only sound between the two of you. It's like he's daring you to say the first words, to submit and explain what you were doing.

He wins.

"It was a friends party." White knuckling the steering wheel he remains quiet, leaving you to further explain. "It got out of hand, got scared. I called you. Should've called Pierre instead." The last end of the sentence a whisper.

Smoke and tires screech, flinging you forward a scream is ripped from your mouth. "What the fuck!" You gasp, chest hurting from the seatbelt that dug into your chest . "Call him." Whipping your head to the side, mouth open in shock.

"What?" Confused by his action. "Call him. You wanted Pierre more than your boyfriend. Call him, see if he's willing to come here and pick your ass up on the side of the road." His voice held no anger, nothing. Utterly emotionless.

"Charles, are you seriously kicking me out of your car?" This sobered you up quickly, the words sucking it right out of you. "I don't know, am I?" The fucker was challenging you, testing you almost.

"I'm drunk and tired, are you really going to holds my words against me?" Forcing yourself to look small. It's a reflex now. Whenever Charles got mad, your body reacted and would submit while your mouth raged to fight back.

His whole demeanor overpowered yours. A tiger and it's prey, the way his eyes bored into you. Waiting to pounce or see if you run.

"Yes, I will. Especially when the woman I fucking love, wishes she called my best friend than me." If you could, you'd slap the shit out of him. Charles is an enigma if you knew how he'd react you'd do it. He was constantly changing, new sides and reactions each time you did something. One thing never changed though.

His jealously.

It's a raging storm, once caught your never free. "Charles, take me home. Please." A soft beg, you just wanted to go home, didn't matter if it was his or yours. The engine purrs back to life, seats shaking softly as he pulls back into the road.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"We're here." He startles you, it's the first thing he says to you after his little stunt on the road. You don't answer him, flinging the door open. Heels click on the pebbled pavement that leads to the front door.

How he owns a mansion in Monaco is beyond you, living in the outskirts of the city.

The door slams, rattling the car an Charles with it. "Putain de salope, tu devrais t'enchaîner dans la cave." The hiss of French makes your ears burn. He knew you didn't speak it, and here he was speaking it. "Fucking English, Charles! You know I don't understand!" You hollar slamming the front door open. (Fucking bitch, should chain you up in the basement.)

Unlocked. Why the hell is such a fancy house left unlocked without a care in the world. As quickly the thought comes it leaves, hands wrapping in your hair yanking you into a chest.

"Listen here," Charles voice deep, like thunder whispers in your ear. "I will speak the language I want. Now, stop being a fucking brat and go take a shower." His hand slips out, leaving a sting in your scalp that has you seething.

Stomping up the stairs, Charles storms to his office slamming the door. Heavy breaths pass his lips, trying to calm himself down not wanting to do something drastic.

"Sir?" 3 taps on the door has Charles gruffing out a 'come in'. The doctor from earlier steps in, asking how his wound is. Charles furious with you, forgot about opening his wound slightly opening when he rushed to your side.

"It's fine, get everyone out of the house. Now. I need to do something what I've been putting off." Nodding, the doctor slips out of the door. The soft taps of feet against the marble floor and echoing click of the door lets Charles know, everyone has left.

He makes his way through the empty, cold house following the sound of running water. He doesn't head straight to the bathroom, going to his liquor cabinet. Pouring himself some whiskey he sips on it, watching the outline of your body in the foggy mirror.

"Tu aimes faire croire que tu as le contrôle, je vais te prouver que tu as tort." Charles sighs moving to the bathroom, you knew he was here. The air growing stiff the feeling of eyes on your body let you know that Charles was the one watching you. (You like to act you're in control, how wrong I will be proving you)

"Can I join." It was meant to be a question, with him though he was going to join you wither you wanted him to or not. Sitting his glass down, he undresses not caring if you see his wound or not. A gush of cold air hits your back, pushing you further into the hot water.

Jumping when icy fingers touch you, they quickly remove themselves from your hip. "Fuck.....I've fucked up haven't I?" You hate the way his voice sounds so broken, even worse the way your heart aches hearing it. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? What it's like getting that call in the middle of the night? It terrified me." He whispers.

You hate yourself for turning around, for seeing the way his head is down. The utter disgust deep inside you for wrapping your arms around his neck pulling both your naked bodies close.

"Just kiss me." He wastes no time granting your wish, lips soft press against yours. Hands trailing over your back, fingers moving around your curves. His tongue gently prying your lips open, slipping past he doesn't speed anything up.

He takes his time, remembering every inch of your body. He knew after tonight you'd never remember him the same nor let him touch you. Tonight he was going to relish in this.

"Je t'aime." Air catches in his throat, hearing those soft french words pass your lips. Looking in your eyes, it's like your soul is ripped open showing him the love, trust, hopefulness. "Je t'aime." He repeats, nudging your legs open, stepping between them.

He takes your air, sinking into him your lips move across one another. This time it's not so soft, he's kissing you like it's the last time. Like he's a dying man gasping for air.

"Charles." You whimper feeling him rub against you, he can't help the smirk that grows against your lips. "What is it love?" Voice teasing as he thrusts his hips up forward again you drop your mouth open.

"Take me to bed." Hands move to your ass, lifting you up legs wrap around his waist as he lays kisses over your chest. "Always." Stepping out of the shower the two leaving a trail from the shower to the bed.

Giggling as Charles drops you on the bed, you finally take notice of the fresh wound. "What happened?" Body shrinking in on itself when your fingers ghost over the stitches. "Work injury, no need to worry. It'll heal." Covering your naked body with his, he nips at your breast.

"Mhgm." Unable to help the sound that passes your lips, as his lips warp around your tit the other being twisting and pulled between his pointer and forefinger. "I love you, you know that right?" A lick to your nipple as his eyes bore into yours.

"I know that." His fingers move under your knees lifting them up as he spreads them, making sure he doesn't hurt you. "Ready?" He asks, lining himself up, you nod. "Always." You repeat pulling a smile out of him.

Slowly he slides in, watching the way you swallow him. "Shit." You gasp, the way he stretches you always feel so damn good. Charles says nothing as he takes deep breaths through his nose you wrap your legs around his waist.

Moving his hips back and forth, he can't help but watch the way your face contorts with pleasure letting yourself go completely. How easy it'd be to just take the life out of you right here and now.

End his suffering, the end the constant terror gripping him that someone will take you from him. He refuses to let anyone else own you, to make you moan, see your body like this, anything. He'd kill you before anyone could have you.

"Charles, fuck right there." Biting your lip, Charles moves deeper keeping the same slow torturous pace as he angles his hips to hit that one spot that makes you see stars. "Right here? Hm?" Charles asks moving his hips faster which has you gapsing.

"Fuck yes, right there." Fingers digging into his back as you drag them down leaving your mark on him, it hates how he wants it to hurt to remind him of the pain he's going to be causing you.

The two of you lose yourself in each other chasing your own highs. "I...I'm fuck." Legs tighten on his waist locking him in as you come Charles pumping into you a couple more times before he shudders placing his weight on top of you.

"You'll love me forever, right?" Charles's question shocks you out of your euphoric high. "What?" You can't help the little giggle that escapes you. It dies fast when you see the harsh stare of your boyfriend.

"Of course, Charles." You sit up sliding out from under him. "You're the love of my life. I'm never leaving you." He nods, but hands move around reaching into his nightstand he nods. "I don't believe you." He whispers hand wrapping around what he was looking for.

"Charles, how could you say that? I love you, I will always lo-" Eyes widen feeling a little prick in your neck, Charles staring at you no emotion displayed. "You can say it all you want, but this is the only way. Only way I can keep you. You're either mine, or no one's." He whispers watching you fall back into the pillows.

"The only way, only way."

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myfictionaldreams · 1 year

Text

You Belong To Me // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: These girls knew you were dating Steve and Bucky, so why is it that they thought it was ok to have their hands all over them?

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, threesome, smut/angst/fluff, Dom/Sub, role reversal, possessive sex, jealousy, threats of violence, size difference, car sex, rough sex, riding, multiple orgasms, cum shots, creampies, breeding kink (kinda), handjobs, oral (m and f receiving), body worship, praise kink, marking, begging

Words: 8.9k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

“A strong woman may remain silent when people talk behind her back. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t notice. It simply means she chooses not to waste her energy on foolishness. She has more important things to do”. ~ A quote by someone much stronger than you that was for damn sure.

Anger was an emotion that you didn’t experience often and why would you? You were in a happy and safe relationship with two of the most powerful men in Brooklyn, the biggest inconvenience in your life was whether you had pasta or potato for dinner.

Today however, you felt an unstoppable rage that curled in the pit of your stomach, your blood pumping violently through your veins as it felt like you hadn’t blinked in over 10 minutes, jaw now aching from how hard you were clenching it.

“You look like you’re about to rip someone’s head off, Boss Lady. Do I need to be worried?” Sam Wilson asks as he leans against the bar next to the stool you were currently sitting on.

You didn’t rush to reply to your bodyguard, instead lifting the glass you held firmly in your grip to your lips, sipping the alcohol that was strong enough that it burned as it passed down your throat and into the infernal rage in your stomach. Your nostrils flared as you rested your glass back into your lap, trying to take a deep breath as you watched the scene in front of you.

There were two of them. Two women that knew that Steve and Bucky were both your partners, in fact, you’d been introduced to them as Mrs Rogers-Barnes as per Steve’s request, even though you weren’t married, it was just his way of showing who you belonged to. Especially as you were in public and there was nothing more public than the party you were all attending as guests for Steve’s good friend and ally Thor.

The blonde, long-haired giant was very much a lady's man and seemed to have invited half of the female population of Brooklyn. Not that this was an issue, it was actually nice to spend some time with women as you spent so much time around dangerous men and you also felt confident with Steve and Bucky around women, they never even glanced away from you, EVER.

So this was why you had left with Sam to go and get another drink, already enjoying the alcoholic buzz in your veins and wishing for it to continue, however, this gave the perfect opportunity for these two women to flock to your boys.

It had been funny at first, seeing them being completely ignored by your two hulking boyfriends, their back turning as soon as the two girls approached. But this didn’t seem to affect their confidence, persistence and audacity to then lay hands against Bucky’s arm and Steve’s back. This was where you had reached your limit and then when they physically pushed between your boyfriends so they had to look at the girls, well now you were seeing red.

Steve and Bucky were YOURS. Even though you could see them continue to try and move away, how dare these girls, - who knew that the boys were taken - continued to flirt and talk and touch what was yours and just how far they would actually go to get the boy's attention, you didn’t want to find out.

Finishing your drink in a single swig, you placed your glass back onto the bar, slightly surprised that it didn’t smash with the force in which you placed it, before sliding down from the stool. However, a firm hand wrapped around your upper arm, halting your movements as you turned your violent gaze away from the girls and up to Sam.

“What?!”, you asked, voice dripping with poison and promises of fury. Sam’s eyes widen slightly having never heard this tone from you before and you instantly felt remorseful, muscles in your shoulders relaxing slightly, “sorry”, you apologised for your tone.

“I know you’ve got some evil mastermind plan to go over there and whack them one, but don’t do anything out of anger. I’m more than happy to shoot my way out of a situation for you but we’re in a room half filled with gang members that won’t hesitate to shoot if there’s suddenly a fight”.

You released a heavy sigh knowing he was right as you glanced back at the girls, seeing them laughing obnoxiously whilst trying to push their bodies closer to your boys who still continued to try and step away. “Fuck, I want to punch them so badly”, you huffed under your breath.

Sam chuckled deeply, having never seen you this angry before, usually in these sorts of situations you’d be completely overwhelmed, anxious and upset. Clearly, the alcohol was acting as a liquid courage, your anxieties were pushed to the back of your mind.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do”, Sam continued, feeling uncomfortable with the way the girls were acting, noticing the way Natasha was now trying to move them away as she was the boy’s bodyguard. “I’m sure that Boss and Bucky would love nothing more than to see you be their knight in shining armour but I’m just saying - be careful for me… please? Make my life a little easier”, he joked, not letting go of your arm as he tried to catch your eye.

The corner of your lip quipped up slightly, looking up at him, his kind eyes meeting yours, “And what do you suppose I do? Let them continue to touch MY boyfriends? They’re mine!”

You’d never been this verbally possessive, never having been in this mindset before.

“You can do whatever you want Sweetheart and I’ll be there to back you up, no matter what, I’m just saying to take a breathe and think about what you’re doing”.

Sam was right, he always was so you took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth and straightened your spine. Sam seemed to believe that you’d calmed enough as he released the grip on your arm.

“You good?” he asked, resting his hands on your shoulders, giving you a little shake.

“Yeah, I’m good”, you responded.

Turning on the spot, you looked back towards Steve and Bucky who were now looking at you with a quizzical expression, eyes brightening as you finally approached where they were. However you didn’t stop directly next to them, no, you strutted straight for the girls who were a few feet away now thanks to Natasha’s perseverance but they still looked over towards your boyfriends.

You hoped you looked as deadly as you felt, a sly smirk on your lips, shoulders rolled back as you stopped in front of the two girls who were taller than you but this didn’t knock your confidence, as you spoke loud enough that your voice cut through the music, keeping it in a sickly sweet tone. “I see the way you’re looking at them”, you pointed your head in the direction of Steve and Bucky who were watching the exchange intently, Natasha to their left with a proud smirk plastered to her beautiful face and you could feel Sam close behind you still.

The girls looked up and down your body, their eyes full of judgement and disdain, one of them sucked on their teeth, tilting her head to the side, “And who are you supposed to be?”

You looked her directly into her soulless eyes, “Oh you know exactly who I’m supposed to be”. This confidence was something you’d never experienced before, gone was the timid, highly anxious girl, when it came to your boyfriends, no one would get in the way of your protection even if they didn’t necessarily need it. To be disrespected in front of you with the lack of shits given by the two girls, you weren’t going to let them get away with it.

One of the girls, who sucked her teeth stepped forward so you were only a foot away from each other, “and why the fuck would we give a shit about that?”

You didn’t back down, stepping close enough that you could smell her rancid cheap perfume, the tips of her shoes grazing yours, “Because then you’d know that they are taken. Do you both understand what the means? Get. Fucking. Lost. They are mine”.

The girls both choked on a laugh, “You don’t fucking own them, maybe they want a taste of us, I can guarantee they’d be begging for more”.

Now it was your turn to laugh at the sheer audacity of these girls. It wasn’t a dainty laugh either, no, it was one that you had to hold your belly because of the ache, drawing other people’s attention from around you. Trying to take a deep breath to gather yourself, wiping away at the corner of your eye to the tears that had gathered there, you could see that your laughing had hit a nerve as both of their girls’ jaws were tensed.

Good, you thought. It wasn’t the part about ownership that had you laughing, in fact, Steve and Bucky had made it more than clear that you had their whole heart but it was the part about begging for more. All it would take was a single look and you knew your boyfriends would be begging for more, to touch your body, to kiss your lips, to hear your moans, these girl's naivety was truly baffling.

Returned to look them both in the eyes, your orbs flicking from one face to another as you returned to your natural calm, words spoken lowly with every ounce of promise that you could muster. “If you touch or even look at either of them again, I’ll break your fucking hands. You don’t know what the fuck I’m capable of”.

Turning on the spot, officially finished with the conversation, not allowing the fear of actually threatening someone to take over and thankfully the girls didn’t shout anything back. This was a small blessing because you were one more word away from upsetting Sam and punching the one closest straight in the throat.

The two bodyguards and more important, Steve and Bucky were watching with expressions you hadn’t really witnessed before. Nat and Sam looked almost proud of you with gleaming eyes and smirks across their faces. Whereas your boyfriends, well from the obvious tents in their suit trousers, there was lust as you’d never seen before, mouths gaped open as you approached them all.

“We’re leaving”, you stated matter of factly.

“Why?”, Bucky asked, his voice soft and he looked almost like he was in a trance.

Catching his eye as you replied, “Because if they look at you like that again, I’m going to fucking kill them both”.

Not waiting for anyone’s reaction, having made the decision for them already, you reached to grab your boyfriend's hands, pulling them with ease as they stayed by your side as you all made towards the exit.

Natasha was by your side in a second to open up the doors for you all, she glanced in your direction, whistling lowly, “I like this side of you, Sugar”.

A heated flush encompassed your body at the compliment but it didn’t falter your steps as Sam now too rushed in front as you all arrived at the large SUV. Sam held open the car door for you as Natasha climbed into the driver's seat, Steve and Bucky following in close behind you and then finally Sam was in the passenger seat.

As soon as you were in the car, you were taking off your heels, needing some freedom from them. Your body was still trembling with anger and adrenaline, not even thinking of normal thoughts as you felt Steve’s warm body slide next to yours into the middle seat, followed by Bucky.

The car was only just starting when you were climbing into Steve’s lap, already having decided this when you had approached those girls, they were your boys, you needed to feel them.

“Baby”, Steve began hands on your body to help as you straddle his lap in the limited room, your leg awkwardly slotting between his thigh and Bucky’s. Any words he was planning on saying were cut off as your face smashed into his, lips moving against his in a bruising manner, almost violently.

Steve kissed you back with just as much passion, one of his vast hands cupping the back of your head and the other hand resting on your hip, helping as you ground your hips against his, the material of your thin dress riding up over your thighs with the movements. The mafia leader groaned deeply into the kiss, especially as your warm, wet tongue slipped into his mouth as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss further.

But you weren’t waiting another minute, pulling back, hand blindly reaching out to Bucky, feeling his rough facial hair beneath your fingertips and pulling him closer just for him to meet your lips as you moved your attention to him.

The car began moving but you didn’t care, or the fact that Natasha and Sam were in the car, they’d already seen the three of you fucking plenty of times before.

As Bucky’s tongue brushed against your lips, you opened yours just as eagerly as you had with Steve, groaning at the taste of him. Your hips continued to rock against Steve, who had moved his sinful mouth to your neck, his teeth nipping along the sensitive skin.

In all honesty, you were not thinking clearly, it was almost like the little devil on your shoulder had taken over your body. All that kept spiralling through your thoughts were those stupid girls’ faces as they looked at your boyfriends. THEY WERE YOURS. You needed to feel them, taste them, hear them, everything you possibly could just to soothe your inner demon, and insecurities, wanting to prove that they only wanted you.

However, as the car continued to move, Steve tried to regain some stability to the moment, his mouth removing from your jaw, “Honey, you need to put your seat belt on”.

Now it was your turn to remove yourself from your boyfriend, lips tingling as you also sucked in air greedily, looking at Steve and not missing a beat as you demanded, “Take out your cock”.

Steve also matched your speed, eyes flicking to the front of the car, “Nat, find somewhere to park right now”. Then his hands were pulling your face back to his, nose squishing against his cheek as he wrapped his two muscular arms around your body, trapping you in almost like you were his seatbelt.

Your own hand was still holding onto the side of Bucky’s head, the brunette was kissing your palm, the sensation tickling your skin and then his lips were wrapping around your thumb and sucking it into his mouth in a highly erotic move that sent heat straight to your cunt.

Pulling back from Steve momentarily and looking at Bucky, admiring the view and the way in which his usually bright blue eyes were almost black in colour with his blown-out pupils. “I want your cock out too”, you requested to Bucky.

“Yes ma’am”, he replied after releasing your thumb, swiftly undoing his belt and zipper, his hips lifting so his suit trousers and boxers could be pushed to his midthigh. His flesh hand automatically wrapped around his length moving steadily up and down to try and ease some of the tension that he was experiencing ever since he saw you stand up to his girls.

Thankfully the car pulled to a stop, Natasha and Sam didn’t waste any time before getting out of the car and you didn’t even check out of the window where they’d stop, only really realising that they’d found somewhere because Steve’s secure arms loosened around you.

This gave him the opportunity to reach for his own zipper but you needed to feel someone now and Bucky was already sitting there looking pretty and ready.

“Too slow”, you teased Steve with a huskier voice than usual as you began to climb over him to straddle Bucky’s lap, lifting your dress further around your hips, giving you the perfect opportunity to pull your underwear to the side and sinking down onto Bucky’s cock.

“Holy fucking shit”, Bucky gasped at your abrasiveness, having never seen you like this before, your pussy walls fluttering as you had to stretch and adjust to his size quickly. Luckily you were already drenched with arousal and need that helped you to slip down his length.

Bucky’s nibble fingers reached for your underwear, easily tearing the material into two and removing it from your person and discarding somewhere in the SUV. With your hands clutching the nape of his neck, fingers teasing the shaved hair as he massaged your hips, both sucking in a deep breath before you seemed to snap out of any restraint you’d been holding back.

As your mouth once again frantically found him, you began to ride him, hard and fast like it was a race to the finish line. The noises he was producing only encouraged your fucking, the vibrations from his moans, seeping into your chest from where it rubbed against his. You were both breathless but didn’t stop the kiss, almost like you were trying to prove a point, which in a way you were, just how far you could go to pleasure him.

The car was shaking with your momentum as you chased Bucky’s high, not your own, you didn’t care about cumming right now, you just wanted Bucky to feel good, needed to see him orgasm.

Feeling slightly dizzy from the lack of air, you finally pulled away, lips swollen slightly and shiny from the shared saliva, the atmosphere warm from being in a contained space, the sweat-coating body of your bodies. Your mouth wasn’t finished with its pleasuring though as you tilted his head back and hungrily kissed and nipped his neck, harder than usual, making sure to leave teeth indents and purple spots.

You were never one to mark up the boys, they always needed to remain professional looking and you did feel slightly like a loved-up teenager frantically fucking in the car but it was just one more way that you could show that he was yours.

“Tell me you’re mine”, you demanded, and his first response was to moan in such a way it was almost pornographic.

“I’m yours”, Bucky responded gruffly, hands squeezing your hips harder. It was your turn to moan, purposefully clenching your cunt around his cock tighter. “Fuck!” Bucky cursed into your ear, his grip now painful and sure to leave bruises beneath the skin but you didn’t care, it was motivating you more. “If you keep this up Doll, I’m gonna cum before we even get home”, he admitted, eyes closed in concentration.

This was like music to your ears, as you pulled back, leaning your forehead against his, your hips still frantically moving up and down. “Good, I want you to cum, right now! Please Bucky”, your voice was pleading to him as once again you squeezed your cunt around him, almost suffocating his length.

“Ah mama- fuck”, Bucky was almost delirious, unable to form a full sentence with how good he felt at that moment. Not only did he get to see you looking fucking sexy as hell standing up to those girls at the party but now you were riding his cock like a woman on a mission.

Your mind was still only on the end goal of him cumming, needing to see the pleasure in his face which was hard with the blurred motion of you riding him but as his mouth gaped open as he released a recognisable little noise that he always did just before he came, you slide of his cock and sat back on his thighs.

Both of your hands quickly wrapped around his soaked, throbbing cock, squeezing tightly and moving up and down at the same speedy space, paying particular attention to his tip, thumb stroking over the underside that was most sensitive.

Bucky looked almost feral, his entire body leaving the seat, lifting your body with it as he shouted, “FUCK! Just…right there! That feels so good!” With the momentum of both of your bodies, as he began cumming, the spurts of white globs shot up both of your bodies, coating his shirt and your dress and you didn’t stop, not until his cock finally stopped throbbing in your hands.

You were both breathing hard, particularly Bucky who looked shocked to the core, his hands releasing their grip on your hips to massage the tender area.

“I’ve never cum that quick before”, Bucky admitted, his head falling back against the headrest.

You felt almost powerful at this revelation, you had done this to him, only your body and words and caused such a reaction.

Glancing over at Steve who was lazily stroking himself, watching with half-lidded eyes, you were nowhere near done, using with an authoritative tone, “Take your clothes off”.

As Steve does as instructed, you leaned in close to Bucky, kissing his puffy lips softly, trying to have a tender moment as he whispered, “I love you”, against your lips.

“I love you too Bucky”, you replied with just as much sparkle in your eyes.

“An I am yours”, he reminded, stroking your cheek briefly as Steve finally settled next to you, now stark naked from head to toe.

Spending amount to appreciate his perfectly sculpted body, the muscles that flexed in the subtle light and the trail of hair that surrounded his red, veiny dick. Your mouth filled with saliva as you wanted nothing more than to wrap your lips around him but there would be time for that later.

With as much grace as you could muster, you climbed back over to Steve, straddling his thick thighs and a thought dawned on you. Realising that this might have been the first time you had been fully clothed whilst both Steve and Bucky were naked and it felt incredibly empowering.

Steve’s hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing over your lip as he admired your beauty, “I like seeing you like this”, he complimented, his breath fanning across your face with the close proximity.

You don’t respond to his praise, knowing that if you did talk it would most likely be a pathetic moan and you needed to keep this persona up so once more, you raised higher on your knees, guiding his cock to your entrance and sank down his length.

Once again, you didn’t want to waste time and began slamming up and down his body, hips rolling with each slap. Now you moaned deeply at the sensation between your legs and at the sight of Steve’s naked chest being covered with smears of Bucky’s cum from where it was still weight on the front of your dress.

Steve’s head dropped back at the feeling of you riding him, exposing the beautiful length of his skin and once again something took over your body, the possessive little demon that wanted to mark and claim him as your own. You sucked a path up the side of his neck, biting harshly on the junction where his shoulder and throat met, making Steve sigh in pleasure.

Against the side of your leg, you could feel Bucky’s slacks rubbing against your skin, still all trying to squish into the back of the car so as you finished leaving a particularly dark purple against Steve’s collarbone, you looked over at Bucky.

“Take your clothes off too”

“Yes, hot mama”.

You loved how they both were doing everything you instructed without a moment's hesitation, only spurring you on more with wanting to see Steve cum just as hard as Bucky had. With your fingers delved into the slightly damp hair at the name of Steve’s neck, you held his head in place, making sure that he watched you ride him.

“I want you to cum too, fill me up with your seed, wanna feel you dripping out of me”. Steve’es eyes rolled to the back of his hearing such dirty words leaving your lips. You did want him to cum inside of you, but not yet but he didn’t need to know that just yet, as mentioned, you were only just getting started.

Steve’s hips suddenly started fucking into your harder, planting his feet firmly onto the car floor so he could push up to meet your movements. “That’s it, I want you to cum Stevie”.

Your boyfriend shouts loudly, enough for anyone nearby to hear, holding your hips down with plans to cum inside your cunt, but once again you managed to roll off just in time, only moving your hands up and down his shaft twice before he's coating the two of your fronts in his white hot seed, much like Bucky.

His body twitches and jolts as he tries to come down from his high before he all but collapses into the seat, looking at you with a dangerous smile, “I thought you said I could cum inside of you”.

Looking at him through half-lidded eyes, you replied in a sultry voice, “You will. You both will”

You’re looking at him and then Bucky. Both naked and there was nothing you wanted more than to carry on the fun games but you needed more space, needing to be out of the cramped car. Steve’s fingers drifted to your upper back, grazing over the zipper of your dress but you stopped his movements by pulling his arms away gently.

“I want to go home”, you explained to his quizzical look.

“We will baby, but I need you to cum first”. The way he said need, had your pussy throbbing more and you were aching to find some relief with your own orgasm but that still wasn’t your priority, still planning to make them both feel good.

“No, I want to go home”, you whisper, looking into Steve's eyes and he gave in almost immediately with a huff at not being able to give you the relief he knew you wanted. Bucky banged against the window as you sat back into your seat beside Steve who helped you to pull your seatbelt over your body, whispering in your ear how much he fucking loved you before pulling his own safety restraint across his naked body.

Now you could look out the window, you saw that Natasha and Sam had parked in a random, dark alleyway in an area you didn’t recognise. The two bodyguards returned to the car and didn’t comment about the lack of clothing or the thick scent of sex in the car, both just casually chatting with each other as the journey home continued.

Steve’s hand stayed on your thigh the entire journey and from the corner of your eye, you could see them both getting hard again which thrilled you massively. Finally, the gates to your home were in sight and then you were bidding your friends/bodyguards a good night and walking into the house.

You were still fully clothed except for your panties and shoes, whereas Steve and Bucky were stark bollock naked, erect cocks bobbing in the air for all of the guards and security to see but they didn’t care, neither did you.

Your steps stopped in the entryway to your home, hearing the soft click as the door shut and the flick of the switch as Steve turned on the overhead light. Glancing around at your home, you breathed in the homely scents and let the familiar setting calm the little nerves that were beginning to push to the forefront of your mind.

You began to feel embarrassed by your out-of-control behaviour, shoulders dropping as the confidence seemed to seep away into the wooden floor below. A solid, warm body stepped into your line of vision, a finger was crooked under your chin to force you to look up into Steve’s eyes which were calm and twinkling with love.

“You know we don’t want anyone else right? I have always, and will always just want you”, Steve spoke softly and earnestly.

“Yeah…Yeah I know”, and you did know this. In fact, it was probably the main reason why you hadn’t cried today and let the anger come over your body. Your boyfriends had gone above and beyond for you, to keep up their affections and remind you daily of your importance to their life, you did not doubt it for a second that these girls were ever truly a threat to your relationship.

Another warm body was touching yours to the right, Bucky now taking control of the direction in which your head pointed whilst also raising his little finger, “Just us until forever right?” Your smile reached your eyes now at his little saying, something he’d recently begun saying when you were feeling doubtful and you were quick to hook your own much daintier little finger around his, squeezing them together.

You still felt somewhat embarrassed by your behaviour though and felt the need to apologise, beginning to form the words, “I’m sor-”.

Steve didn’t want to hear this though, cutting you off with his lips and kissing yours feverishly before pulling back when you were breathless. “Don’t you fucking dare apologise for today, I’ve never been so fucking turned on seeing you so possessive and jealous. Like Bucky said in the car, I’ve never cum so quick before”.

“Really?” you ask tentatively, looking up into his face, making sure that he wasn’t just saying this to make you feel better but with the intense way his eyes bore into yours, you knew he was very much telling the truth.

Steve had another way of showing you just how much he meant it though as his fingers slide around your wrist, bringing your hand up to touch just how rock-hard his cock was. “Yes really”.

Your hand circled around his length, moving up and down slowly, feeling the soft skin beneath and the ridges from the veins and a drop of precum forming at the end as you moved up his cock. Steve shuddered at the sensation, eyes closing as he leaned into your touch, hips rolling in time with your movements.

You admired him closely, from his parted lips to the rosy hint on his cheeks from his flushed arousal, to the sprinkly purple marks across his throat that you had left earlier in the car. It made you feel powerful. Yes, he was your boyfriend and you saw him every day but knowing that he was also the leader of the Rogers Mafia gang and here he was, shuddering at a simple touch of your hand, it was elating.

Bucky was now desperate for your attention as his lips lowered to the shell of your ear, “Let me make you feel good, wanna taste between your pretty thighs”.

You wanted that too, in fact, you were almost desperate to be touched like that but you also didn’t think you were done just yet with making them feel good so you simply shook your head softly.

Bucky frowned, pulling back to look into your eyes, “Why not Mama?”

“Because I want to make you feel good”.

Your hand was still leisurely wanking off Steve who was breathing heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring before he choked out as your thumb brushed over his tip, “And you have made us feel good, baby”.

Bucky once again pulled your attention as he continued talking, “Seeing you today stand up to those girls like someone had taken over your body, that you were willing to go out of your comfort zone just to stand up to those girls, was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. I nearly came over and fucked you in the middle of the party if you didn’t drag us out of there anyway. I know you’re soaking for us Mama, let me make you feel good like you’ve done for us”.

Your thighs rubbed together at his words about fucking you at the party, sort of wishing he had just so you could have seen those girls’ faces but then you would have missed out on the fun in the car. The thought of both of their faces as they climaxed had you reaching for Bucky’s cock, joining in with tossing him off at the same pace as Steve, not quite ready to give in yet.

The brunette’s eyes closed at your touch, sighing as he felt the same tension rolling away as you pumped his cock with your hand. There you were once more, pleasuring both of your boyfriends. Both of whom towered over you, and you could spend a minute admiring the way they let you touch them and the power that you held causing a small smile to form on your face, especially as Steve grunted, hips jerking again.

Even though your hands were aching with how hard you were squeezing them both, your movements became more enthusiastic. Steve and Bucky were so exposed, not even in the living room, just standing in the chilled entryway, being wanked off by you.

They deserved this, you decided. Of course, they did, they always made it their mission to worship your body thoroughly and you wanted to replay the favour.

Your mouth opened as you were about to ask if you could suck them off but you decided against asking, the alcohol buzz had worn off in the car but the adrenaline was enough to keep you thrilled.

“Hands behind your back”, you suddenly demanded, still keeping your voice soft and deciding to try and keep up the control for just a little bit longer. Steve and Bucky were instantly placing their hands behind their backs, their chests broadening and feet spreading a little bit to help their centre of gravity.

Both of their eyes were on you now, the various shades of ocean blue staring down at you, waiting for your next instruction, but you didn’t give them one, instead you dropped to your knees.

There was an audible suck in of breath from men as they watched you descend. The wooden flooring was cold against your knees and you had to rise to your fullest length on them to reach both cocks with the length of their powerful legs. You began with Steve this time, licking the underside slowly, holding his eye contact and tasting the salty goodness of his sweat and cum and even a hint of your own juices from where they’d dried on him.

Kissing the tip of his cock and swirling your tongue around the sensitive area, your one hand gripped his base to stop it from bobbing around, whilst your other hand continued to move along Bucky’s shaft.

You couldn’t help but smile around Steve’s tip as you noticed that his shoulders and upper arms were flexing as he tightened his grip behind his back. He wanted nothing more than to stroke your cheek but he was good and kept his arms behind his back as you moved further down his cock with your mouth.

His girthy dick was heavy against your tongue and as it grazed the back of your throat, stroking the area that was your limit. But you made sure to start slow, now wanting to push yourself too much as you could only take half of his length into your mouth.

“Your mouth is always so good baby girl”, Steve praised, a hint of red flushing across his face with his increasing arousal. You hummed in approval, the ache in your jaw and knees worth it to see him slowly bit by bit losing control.

But then, you’re moving over to Bucky who steps closer instinctively to help you reach him and it was an automatic response for you to praise him, the words whispering across the tip of his cock, “Good boy”.

Bucky let out the smallest whine from the centre of his chest and there were notable goosebumps that spread across his thighs, nipples perking as he shivered with the sensation. It was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen and you didn’t waste another second before pulling him into your mouth, pleasuring him thoroughly.

You spent your sweet time moving between them both, saliva coating your mouth as they teased to push further down your throat. You were surprised just how well they were following your instructions as well as they both kept in that stance with their arms behind their back, their eyes not moving from yours as you moved from Steve’s cock to Bucky’s and vice versa.

Their sweet moans were so beautiful, especially as you slipped further down to suck a ball or two into your mouth, your tongue lapping against the sack and enjoying the way they hissed at the touch.

“You look so good on your knees like that”, Steve complimented at one point as you sucked your cheeks harshly around Bucky’s dick. Looking up at the blonde man and removing yourself with an audible pop before moving back over to Steve and pleasuring him.

It was fun going from one to the other and being in complete control, knowing you were slightly edging them before going to the next boyfriend. Your knees were starting to hurt more now with how long you had been on the floor but you didn’t let this stop you, contemplating if you should get them to finish in your mouth or a different body part.

It also dawned on you that this was the first time you’d been in charge in any sort of intimate moment, both Steve and Bucky being the definite dominants in the relationship. But in truth, you were enjoying this little role reversal and with how feral you were feeling after the interactions with the girls, you were glad to have the liquid courage in you to go through with it.

However, being this dominant with two powerful men was also slightly tiring, trying to decide what to do next when all you really had planned was that you wanted them to feel good. But you also couldn’t deny just how horny you were, in between your thighs uncomfortable with need and soaked enough it was leaking down your thighs.

As you gagged slightly around Bucky’s cock, you could feel it hardening slightly against your tongue and hand as he grunted, “Please, mama”.

“Please what? Talk to me Bucky”, you encouraged, wanting to hear more sweet words coming from his mouth.

The man shuddered once more as your voice vibrated against the tip of his throbbing cock, and as he opened his mouth, you truly took him in and just how desperate he was. His metal arm was whirring at the shoulder with how much he was holding it back with his normal hand, knowing he wanted nothing more than to hold the back of your head in place or cup your face.

“Say my name again”, he asked breathlessly, eyes closing for a breath second as you smiled up at him, one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.

“Which name?” you teased. “Bucky? Buckaroo?”, with each name, you kissed along the length of his member, still tossing him at the base though for stimulation, the same with Steve. “What name do you want me to use? What about James?” He hissed at this name, cock throbbing more and you made a mental note of this and continued. “What about punk? Barnes?... Good boy?”

Steve’s cock also throbbed in your hand at the last name but it was mostly because Bucky suddenly came and you quickly had to swallow the tip and drink everything he was willing to offer, the substance thick and salty as it slide down your throat.

Bucky’s knees wobbled momentarily, frantically praising your name like a song until the last drop of cum was being sucked out of his member. You made sure to pull off of him fully, not wanting to overstimulate him, amazed slightly as he didn’t soften, it continued to stand up proud between his legs.

Smiling up at Bucky again with accomplishment, you then looked over at Steve, squeezing his length harder as he grunted down his own chiselled body at you readjusting on the wooden floor to remain only facing him, giving him your full attention.

“Are you still comfortable down there?” he asked, licking his lips whilst checking in on you.

Holding his eye contact, you licked his thick tip, nodding to his question. Steve chuckled and then sighed into the stimulation, closing his eyes for a second to savour the feeling before looking down at you with a single eyebrow raised.

“I don’t believe you baby”, his voice was full of confidence. In truth, you were very uncomfortable, our knees screaming for some relief from the solid floor but also your pussy was desperate to be touched but you didn’t want to make it about you just yet.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky squatting down to be eye level with you, his arms still behind him, “let us make you feel good”, he asked with hope laced into every word.

Pulling off of Steve, and leaned into his warm thigh, nuzzling into the hair that covered the muscle, “But I want to make you both feel good! You’re my boys and not anyone else’s, it’s my job to make you feel good”.

“And you’ve made us feel good but this goes both ways, you don’t understand just how much I want to be in between your legs right now” Bucky admitted, his eyes wandering over your still-clothed body, his cheeks just as pink-tinged as Steves.

Looking up at the man whose leg you were leaning on, you asked, “What do you think Steve?”, before risking a quick nip to his sensitive thighs with your teeth, admiring the way his cock bounded in the air as he jumped slightly.

Steve’s voice came out in a growl, “I fucking NEED to touch you, even if it’s just a kiss. I need you up and off your knees, I know they hurt and I don’t want you in pain, there’s only so much time I can let you worship me before I get on MY knees and fucking beg to touch you, baby, so please, let us touch you.”

Heat flooded through your body at the intensity at which he spoke, you thought you were desperate, but that seemed to not be as severe as the mental game going on in Steve’s mind right now.

Biting your lip to try and hide your grin, you finally succumbed, “Seeing as you asked so nicely. Do whatever you want to me”.

You weren’t exactly sure who had grabbed you first. All you were aware of were hands picking you up and instant relief for your poor knees and then the sound of ripping as your dress was easily destroyed. Then you suddenly found yourself staring at the ceiling of the living room, the soft material of the couch beneath your now naked spine.

Lips were crashing into yours, a hot body crowding over yours, pushing you further into the cushions, their lips completely dominating yours. Matching the urgency in which they moved, you felt the rough scrap of facial hair and could taste Bucky, smiling into the kiss as your fingers gently ran over his body, spending extra seconds of love over the scars that he’d accustomed during his life.

As you opened your mouth to moan, Bucky’s tongue swallowed the noise, not relenting with his movements. You were so lost in the body hovering over yours that you were unsure as to where Steve was until you could feel him on one of your legs, kissing the sore knee cap, massaging the area before straightening your leg, and then circling around to the back of the couch to do the same with the other leg.

The relief was unbelievable at being able to extend your legs fully now but there was even more relief as Bucky began to explore your body, sucking on each of your nipples greedily, an action you watched closely. With each in further down your body, he made sure to lick and kiss every area of skin in his path, leaving the skin tingling with arousal.

Both of your legs were then being pushed towards your chest, giving Bucky the perfect view of your cunt, presented to him like it was dinner and with the hungry way in which he was admiring you, you knew that was basically what had been offered to him.

“You’re so beautiful”, he praised, kissing your inner thigh. Steve then sat next to your head, finally able to stroke the pad of his thumb across your cheek, something he had been internally begging to do since getting home and seeing you drop to your knees.

“We’re always just yours”, Steve reminded you, needing the tender moment.

“I’m always going to be yours too”, you responded with love before glancing down at Bucky who was watching with a softened look in his eyes, “and I’m always going to be yours as well,” Bucky mumbled the words back to you, his warm breath teasing the wet area soaking your cunt. Glancing down his body, you caught sight of his cock, still fully erect and pulsating. “How are you still hard?” you asked honestly, he’d already cum twice and hadn’t softened a single bit.

Bucky smirked at your question with quiet arrogance, “I’m always hard for you”. As soon as he finished his sentence, his tongue was pushing into your folds, tasting everything you had to offer. He didn’t bother with teasing, immediately delving his warm muscle into your cunt a few times, before finding your clit and rolling it around with the tip of his tongue and sucking it into his mouth.

Your moans were animalistic and finally had some stimulation after being horny for what felt like hours. Steve’s fingers drifted over your lips as he admired your pleasured expressions, just like you had been doing to the two of them.

“Kiss me. Now!” you demanded urgently.

“Yes, ma’am”. He was leaning down without hesitation and you realised just how much you’d missed his lips since coming home, feeling the freshly shaved cheeks against yours that were such a different sensation to Bucky’s facial hair. They were both so different and yet so similar and they were both yours.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to have you clenched your thighs around his head, frantically feeling the orgasm building in your core. A couple of minutes of clit stimulation from Bucky’s tongue and two fingers grazing over your tender spot within your hole and you were cumming with heavy breaths and moans.

Steve pulled away from the kiss to watch your pleasure, and also allowed Bucky to hear your unfiltered moans, then you were heavily breathing, hands falling onto the couch with relief of finding your peak.

Steve drops to his knees beside the couch so he can whisper into your ear, “I’m going to take you upstairs, lie you in the middle of our bed and I’m going to fuck you until you’re full of my cum. Then after I’m dripping out of you, Bucky here is going to do the exact same thing. This night isn’t ending until you’re full of both of us”.

You’re pathetically mewling at his words, reaching for him and he quickly scoops you up into his arms. You knew your dominant persona was slowly fading as they both scrambled to make you feel good and you didn’t mind that as much, wanting what he said he was going to do, more than anything else in the world.

As the three of you enter your bedroom and Bucky turns on the side lights, you realised you were nuzzling into the side of Steve’s neck where you’d left the scattering of marks. Stroking a finger over the bruised skin, you whispered, “So pretty”.

Steve smirks at your words, liking the thought of you marking him to show that he was yours. Laying you back into the centre of the bed, Steve is quickly on top of you with as much urgency as Bucky had downstairs on the couch.

Hiking your legs up and around his waist as his face dropped to hide into your neck, he's pushing his pulsing cock into your quivering cunt. You were thankful that he didn’t wait, wanting your bodies to be moulding together, his hips slapping into yours and his mouth was now moving against your neck, sucking and biting to match the moves you’d been doing in the car.

You could feel just how possessive and frantic his touches were, reciprocating how you had felt and it only made your heart beat harder, moan louder and hips rocking faster to try and match his dominant pace.

“You’re mind”, he suddenly grunts, against your lips, biting your lower lip and letting it snap back a second later. Sitting up slightly on his knees, he holds your jaw firmly in his grip, making you watch him as he shifted his angle up, hitting directly into your g-spot and he moved with such speed that all you could do was hold onto his wrist and scream out his name.

Your orgasm had you seeing stars, cunt desperately squeezing in pulses around Steve’s cock, so tightly that he too couldn’t hold back as he came, pushing his length all the way in so you could milk him properly, your walls convulsing in time with his throbs. You could feel the wetness and warmth of his cum filling you up and as he pulled up, some of it spilling out and running down your perineum.

Steve sits back to admire his handiwork, pushing your legs apart, and watching his cum at your entrance. “There’s my best girl”, he praised, reaching down with a finger to scoop the drips that had escaped and attempting to push them back inside of your body before moving out of the way for Bucky.

Bucky was more than ready to fill you up, helping to turn you onto your side, sliding an arm under your head and resting your leg up on his hip as he spooned in behind you. Much like Steve, Bucky didn’t waste any time before sliding in, the two of you moaning at the sensation of having Steve’s cum there, it causing extra squelching noises.

Your tits bounded on your chest with each fuck of Bucky’s hips into yours, his mouth attack your neck with just as much aggression as Steve who was now sitting and watching the two of you with a content smile.

You were absolutely fucked out of your mind both from emotions and physically being exhausted, a faint hum settling in your mind and body.

“You’re doing so well for us, Sweet Mama”, Bucky praised against your cheek as he reached down your body to roll your clit in circles to match the rhythm of his pounding hips. The stimulation was almost too much but it was also exactly what you needed as you held onto his arm desperately moaning out his name.

“Buc-Bucky… gonna cum”.

“Cum for me then Doll, want you to cum on my cock, so pretty when you cum”. His praises were like magic for your cunt, as it squeezed tightly in arousal. Those, matched with his tight hold on your body, his fingers playing with your clit and cock fucking you hard, you easily found your pleasurable high.

He didn’t stop, chasing his own orgasm which you were glad about, reaching down to grab the hand between your legs, your clit becoming a little sensitive now so you bought his hand up to your face and nuzzled into his palm.

“Mine”, you mumbled, feeling a little bit subspacey now.

“Yours, all yours, only yours, FUCK!” Bucky felt like he was in heaven as his thrusts stuttered slightly as he finally found his release, pumping his hot seed into your core. Your eyes were struggling to stay open with how exhausted you felt, but you watched as Steve approached, just in time for Bucky to slip out of your raw cunt.

“How beautiful does she look?” Bucky asked Steve as he held up your leg. Steve’s eyes cleaned as he looked at the mess between your legs, both his and Bucky’s cum were leaking from your hole, mixing with your own juices.

“So fucking beautiful”, Steve whispered lightly, kissing your ankle.

Your eyes closed fully now, sighing into the mattress as Bucky kissed your cheek one more time before untangling himself from your body. It was Steve who was touching your body next but this time with a warm cloth, carefully cleaning in between your legs but cum continued to trickle out so he just left it at that, discarding the material and moving to the top of the bed, dragging you easily along with him until you were laid out on his chest.

You felt happy and content as Bucky joined you both in the bed, watching as Steve turned on the TV attached to the wall. Distantly, you could hear Bucky and Steve discussing what take out order to get, making sure to get everything you would usually get and saying they would wake you once it was there, you needed a rest.

Your heart swelled with love, happy to be surrounded by two men that absolutely adored you and no other stupid girls were going to ever change that.

#mafia au #mafia!stucky #mafia steve rogers #mafia bucky #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #bucky x reader #marvel smut #marvel oneshot #mine*#request

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 4 months

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𓅨 Eros: Chapter Two

Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son’s death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…

Warnings: Language, Taunting.

To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.

Word Count: ~2.8k

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By dinner that night you had nearly drowned yourself in turbulent thoughts and discomfort. Your friends were gossiping while lounging at a table, they were gushing about all the men and woman that had arrived through out the day. Apparently in the celebrations, orgies were a common occurrence among the aristocrats and it was always a guessing game of who would be getting with who, or more importantly, who would get the golden invitations to the orgies with the most powerful people of Athens. You didn’t mind the open sexuality of Athens, it was actually a freeing thought… but you’d spent the afternoon and night in a state of hurt with a very agonized heart.

Why did it pain you so much to see Oneiros in pain? It was clear that he was hurting. Hurting and drowning himself in wine and debauchery to take his mind and being off the fact that his son had died and he’d gone through a divorce. You hated seeing him like that. You hated it so much. But you were well aware that Morpheus had gone through this phase in his life. He’d gruelingly explained it to you on a rainy afternoon after you had pestered him about his past relationships. He was your husband and you loved him so much, yet you still knew very little about his past.

He hadn’t wanted to tell you anything. Hadn’t wanted you to know about his failings in martial relations and love period. But the Endless loved you with every grain of sand he possessed and had explained the sorrows and troubles he’d gone through… minus the time proceeding his divorce. Watching the debauchery unfold in front of you, you fully understand why he hadn’t uttered a peep about his greek era. The greeks certainly knew their way around bodily delights.

“Elpis?” You blinked and glanced at Merope, she and the other girls were looking at you with concerned looks. They had noticed a change in you since earlier, had barely touched food or drink and spent an awful lot of time sitting with a faraway look within your eyes. “You’ve been rather demure since luncheon, is all well?” It wasn’t like you could just unload all your troubles on the three women, no matter how much you wanted to.

“Just a headache,” You informed her before unfolding yourself from your curled position and rising to your feet. You brushed out nonexistent wrinkles from the skirt of your dress. “I think I need some fresh air and to cool down.” Your fingers tugged at your clothes, undoing several pins that kept fabric folded against your body in a decorative way. The silken fabric loosened and draped until it was just barely held together on your body. Now you didn’t feel so smothered. “I’ll be out for a walk, don’t let me keep you up waiting.”

It was clear that they weren’t convinced by your words as you strode past them with your peplum fluttering behind you. It was a hot night in Athens, but the breeze from the Aegean Sea cooled you down as you took a garden path that led straight to the beautiful water. Standing at the waters edge, you crouched down and brushed your fingers through the slightly warm water. This wouldn’t last forever, surely, your Morpheus was probably ripping through realms and universes trying to find you… you just had to deal with his past self until you went home.

Which you didn’t know when that would happen.

And you didn’t like the idea of leaving this Morpheus in pain.

But could you actually do anything about that?

You didn’t exactly have a handbook on what to do when you time traveled.

Destiny will be up your ass if you screwed this up…

Then again maybe this was supposed to happen?

You growled and dropped your face into your hand with a more than exaggerated groan. You didn’t sign up for this time travel bull shit when you married Morpheus! All you had to be, according to Morpheus and just about everyone else in the realm, was his wife. Of course you wanted to be active in the realm and help out the denizens, dreams, and nightmares as their queen, but no one held you to duty.Just as you sighed and dragged your fingers down your face, pulling your eyelids as you went, you felt a tingle in your being and a shiver run up your spine. You rose to your feet and turned around.

Ah.

High above on one of the balconies overseeing the Aegean Sea, lounged Oneiros in all his glory. His tunic was half on his body, revealing a great expanse of his star sculpted physique. His hair was ruffled since you had last seen him. Right. Lucienne reluctantly mentioned that Morpheus had a few hoe eras. This was one of them. Even though he wasn’t your Morpheus, you could still feel his inherent desire and lust. It was certainly directed at you since you had met eyes with him. That both scared and excited you.

“Elpis?” Kynna’s sweet voice broke your stare down with Oneiros. Jarred from holding the lustful gaze of Oneiros, you blinked rapidly. “What are you doing outside all alone? Did you have a bad dream?”

“Kynna!” You softly exclaimed, striding up to the girl and plucking her from the ground. What on earth was she doing out of be? There were half naked adults everywhere! “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“You’re not in bed,” The little girl pointed out like it would make a difference, making your eyebrow pop up. The utter cheek!

“That’s because I was out for a walk, come little one, back to bed, you have a great many activities to do tomorrow.” Continuing to carry Kynna, you entered the large stone building and walked towards her families wing. Your heart throbbed in your chest the entire way to her room.

You sat in your seat stiff as a bored. It was another extravagant luncheon hosted by one of the noble families. You hadn’t wanted to accept the invitation, you weren’t versed in the politics of Athens and certainly didn’t know anyone other than your three knew friends. The only plus side to attending was the delicious food served. You’d spent a lot of time snacking on olives while partaking in wine, and it was nice to eat a proper grecian meal.

Under normal circumstances, the men would eat separately from the woman, but since it was Panathenaia, an exception was made so everyone could mingle and celebrate in shared fashion. As uncomfortable as you were with the flirting and innuendos, you did find yourself laughing at a few crude jokes and well entertained by the conversations you found yourself drawn into.

The men and woman of Ancient Greece were beautiful, impossibly so, but they were also so easy to get along with and forget that you didn’t even belong in this era! Several times you found yourself falling into a place of comfort you should not entertain! So every time a conversation got a little too intimate you pulled back. But that being said, you carried small talk and day to day conversation quite well.

At least until a certain someone arrived.

Your attention was drawn to Oneiros like a moth to a flame. You couldn’t help it. Not when he was the love of your life and the very being you promised to spend the rest of eternity together. Not when you had allowed the anthropomorphic being to place a physical part of his Endless being within your own so that you may spend every moment he had left in time with him.

But he wasn’t yours. At least not yet. That didn’t stop the smoldering looks he sent your way and it certainly didn’t stop the fire that burned deep in your belly until you squirmed in your seat. Gods damn that being for being your kryptonite! Wanting payback for what he was causing you, you began eating grapes. One by one. Allowing your fingers to linger on your lips while you held his gaze.

It was a rather torturous sight to see.

The purple peplum you had on, held in place by golden pins and a decorative belt that wrapped around your waist. The fabric was just as light as all the other peplums you’d ben dressed in, but at the moment you felt like it weighed a tonne. Feeling suffocated by your feelings, the heavy gaze of Oneiros that seemed to follow you everywhere, and the general sultry atmosphere that enveloped the commons, you had slipped to the gardens for an afternoon stroll. Even with the fresh air you were still struggling to control your emotions.

“I just want to go home,” You softly murmured to yourself, allowing your hand to brush over several hibiscus flowers. “But I can’t even have that. No, someone just wants to fuck with me and my heart by forcing me to live through one of my husbands darkest times.” Sighing, you continued running your fingers over flowers and leaves. Lifting your eyes to the skies, you willed time to go by faster, wishing for the relieving darkness that harkened a sleep that blocked out the visceral agony you felt.

Before you had married Morpheus, you used to be so excited about falling asleep at night. You practically lived two lives, one on earth during the day, and second, more meaningful one in the Dreaming at night. You knew almost all of the denizens of the Dreaming before you had become romantically involved with Morpheus, so your nights had literally been a second life. But then the Endless had finally decided to make his intentions clear with you.

You had been swept off your feet by a blanket of stars Morpheus had weaved himself and courted like a spoiled regency debutant. It had been so extravagant that you had nearly told Morpheus that he only needed to get you flowers and talk to you regularly… but you had quickly found that bestowing you with gifts and words of affection were his love language. He wanted to shower you with gifts. He wanted to bespoke words of adoration to you. You were his universe. He was the being you never knew you needed. Together you felt complete.

Sniffing while your eyes burned, you hastily wiped at your eyes and nose lest you start balling in the middle of the garden and cause an upset. Why were you doing this to yourself? You knew you were playing with fire. Finding yourself and stopping the threatening onslaught of burning hit tears, you cleared your throat and looked up at the flowering pink shrub you found yourself in front of.

Oleander.

Smelling the fragrant blooms, you reached up to take one of the pretty blooms. It was just out of reach, but if you stretched on your tippy toes, you could probably reach it. So you stretched upwards, pressing close to the plant. Your fingers brushed the soft petal, but you couldn’t get a good grasp that wouldn’t tear the delicate bloom apart. In your struggle, you hadn’t noticed his approach and jerked in place when fabric bushed against your back as a pale hand reached over your head and effortlessly plucked the bloom for you.

Freezing in place as your breath caught in your chest, you clutched your hands to your chest. It wasn’t like you could ignore him now. Slowly turning your head, your eye met vibrant blue and you had to force yourself to stay still. Gods all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around his body and never let go! Oneiros twirled the bloom between his lithe fingers, all the while maintaining his intense gaze with yours.

You fascinated him, hypnotized him with your eyes, demanded his heart and passion with but a glance. Yet you never drew close enough to indulge. It was maddening, for Oneiros wanted no other but you. You’d drown out the sharp sting of loss he felt. He was sure of it. But something kept pulling you away the moment he was sure you’d finally break. The Endless offered the plucked flower to you, waiting for you to either accept or refuse it. Given your rather flighty disposition, he half expected you to flee the garden.

But you didn’t.

No. Oneiros was surprised when one of your slightly trembling hands reached to accept the flower. Your eyes were trained on the bloom, and you made sure not to touch him… but your silence spoke a million things.

It was getting harder and harder to avoid interacting with Oneiros. You didn’t know if it was because you naturally gravitated towards him, or if it was because he clearly wanted you. Nothing you did rid you of the pain you felt from him. So you had gone to the baths to try and soak out the stress you felt. It was nearing midnight, so most of the nobles were either indulging in bodily delights, drinking, or sleeping off the alcohol. That meant you could enjoy the public bath house in privacy.

So you slowly made your way into the steamy room and carefully unwound the belt around your waist. Then your fingers plucked the pins from your shoulders and you carefully folded the silk cloth that hung around your body. The steaming water looked inviting as you stepped down into one of the pools, and you sighed at the nostalgia that filled your mind. The bath house pools were much like the large bath you had in the Dreaming, and made memories of relaxing in it cradled within Morpheus’ arms as he told you stories of past dreams, surface within your mind.

You wanted to go home so bad.

“Are tonights revelries not to your appetite?” You jerked in place at the sound of his voice, your head snapping around to see Oneiros lounging in a corner of the bath. Shit. Shit. Shit. It took everything you had not to stare at his naked body leisurely sprawled across the sitting ledge without care. His black messy curls made your fingers twitch for they ached to run through them. Oh, it wasn’t just those curls either, you wanted run your fingers along his skin, trace his muscles, adore the curves and planes upon his otherworldly body, kiss him until you were forced to take a breath… It took you a solid minute to find the courage to reply.

“I do not usually partake in such festivities, my lord,” You replied, a slight tremble in your words. A black eyebrow arched and you forced your gaze to the carved statues of spites mounted at the end of the room. “I am more reserved with my affections.”

“But not entirely opposed as your skin paints a different story,” Oneiros pointed out, his eyes lingering on the faded marks of someones apparent love. Oh yes, someone had the pleasure of indulging in your body. Someone worshipped you greatly and with complete devotion. The marks were subtle, but intentional. Territorial even. The Endless watched as you flushed beneath his scrutiny, and took great enjoyment in knowing that he did have an effect on you. “Who would leave a creature as lovely and delicate as you, by yourself during such festivities?”

“He’s away on business and I do not seek to control him,” You told him, carefully unfolding yourself from your tight ball. Instantly the Endless was drinking in the view of your gorgeous curves and faintly loved skin. He wanted to devour you. You wanted him to stop hurting. So you rose to your feet in the water and slowly sloshed over to him. “Why are you here, my lord?”

Clearly he didn’t expect you to ask him such a question, but nonetheless he humored you after taking a sip of his wine and eyeing your goddess like body. Soft and begging for worship. One he would surely get lost in should the chance arise.

“I am enjoying the festivities, the same as you,” You nearly snorted and rolled your eyes. He may not be your Morpheus, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t pick up when he was lying. You lifted your chin.

“No, you are not,” Now that was a bold statement to say directly to his face, and you could see his eyes darken.

“You dare think to know my intentions better than I?” He questioned back, eyes searching yours to see how far you would push his patience. Your lips were distracting, after your grape stunt he had wanted nothing but to devour them to see if they were indeed as soft and inviting as they looked… as was the rest of your glorious body. Tender curves begging to be caressed, clear skin aching be marked once more, lips that called to be tamed…

“I know enough to wonder why you are here, rather than with the men and women desperately throwing themselves at you.” You informed him before turning to the side and moving back towards your folded dress. You left the bathhouse and a ravenous Endless behind, your heart beating fast in your chest.

Date Published: 1/22/24

Last Edit: 1/22/24

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#dream of the endless x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #dream the endless #sandman x reader #dream the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix

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simplyholl · 11 months

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Out of My System Pt 2

Summary: Loki doesn’t understand Thor’s attraction to Midgardians. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Avenger Loki x F Reader

Warnings: Smuttish thoughts. 18 + Only. Minors DNI. Eventual smut.

W/C: 1K

See my Masterlist here

Part 1

Summer was finally here, and you couldn’t be happier. You basically lived outside when you weren’t training or on a mission. You went shopping with Natasha and Wanda earlier in the week.

They convinced you to buy the skimpiest bikini you had ever seen. It was made of small scraps of red fabric that barely covered anything. You had protested that it was too revealing. But Natasha had talked you into it. She said you could just wear it around the compound. You had to admit, it did look amazing on you.

She was a bad influence, you decided as you look at yourself in the mirror. Most of your teammates were gone on a mission, so you thought today would be the perfect time to wear the barely there bikini.

You looked out your window and saw Loki sitting by the pool. His dark curls were mostly contained in a low bun. He was beautiful. There was no denying that. Sometimes you thought he had caught you looking at him a little too long. But he never mentioned it. You were sure he would tease you with a cheeky comment about it if he did.

You hurried down to the kitchen, grabbing two popsicles. One for yourself and one for Loki. You walked over to him, leaning down to give him the cold treat.

Loki had looked forward to the Summer. Thor had told him how the men would host a competition to see who was the best on the team when the new season started. He couldn’t wait to prove he was immensely better than all of them. What he didn’t take into account was your wardrobe.

It hadn’t bothered him at first. The other women dressed similarly to you. But he didn’t notice them, the way he did you. Then came last weekend when everyone had a picnic outside for some team building thing Tony came up with.

You were wearing a dress that moved up your thighs when you sat down. Your cleavage was on full display, and he knew the others were sneaking glances. He hated that he noticed. He hated that he wanted to rip their throats out because of it. He was becoming quite territorial when it came to you. He had no right to be. You weren’t his. You never would be.

The dress wasn’t the worst offender either. You owned one article of clothing that barely contained your ass. He finally worked up the nerve to ask Wanda what in the nine realms you were wearing. She called them booty shorts. A fitting name he decided. He was sure he would have to spend the rest of the season on Asgard for reprieve.

Now here you were, running up to him practically naked. He hungrily gazed at your body as you settled in beside him. He opened his snack trying to distract himself. But it was pointless. The sticky blue juices from your popsicle ran down your chin onto the swell of your breasts.

He watched as you sucked the treat into your mouth swirling your tongue around it, collecting the juices. You swallowed and Loki released the shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. The way you licked the popsicle made Loki think of how it would feel if that was his cock inside your mouth instead. That was something he shouldn’t be thinking of, not with you.

Sam who was running around the outside of the pool stopped dead in his tracks to watch you lick your fingers clean. That was it! Loki had enough. He stood up, pulling you with him.

Before you could say anything, you realized you were in Loki’s bathroom. A bathtub full of warm water was waiting for you. “Loki, what are we doing here?” He brushed a loose curl away from his face. “We were both getting so messy. I thought we could take a bath to clean up.”

“I can’t take a bath with you!” You laugh awkwardly, wondering what he was thinking. He steps into the tub settling in with his back pressed against the side. “We will keep our clothes on, darling. Unless you would rather we be naked.” He winks at you, that mischievous gleam in his eye making him impossible to resist.

You take his outstretched hand, and sit across from him. Your favorite thing about the private bathrooms in each Avenger’s rooms was that the bathtubs were big enough for multiple people. You reach for the cloth Loki had set out, but Loki grabs it instead.

“Allow me.” Loki tells you while pressing the warm cloth to your neck. He takes his time gently moving it down to your chest. He washes over the curve of your breast. You arch into him, feeling a little embarrassed. But it feels so nice to have his hands on you this way, the only thing separating you is the cloth.

His long fingers tug the bottom of the bikini top, cleaning the popsicle juice that gathered there. Your nipples harden from his touch, even though the water is warm. Your breath hitched. If he pulled on the top with a little more pressure, it would fall off you.

“Loki, Stark has prepared us a feast as reward for completing - “ Thor’s loud voice echoes off the walls as he flings the bathroom door open. You and Loki pull away from each other. The huge smile on Thor’s face is a dead giveaway that he thinks he’s interrupted something he shouldn’t have.

“So sorry, brother. I didn’t mean to intrude. You always lock your door when you have company. I assumed you were alone.” Thor glances from you failing to cover your barely clothed chest with your hands to Loki relaxing against the tub.

“I’ve never seen this much of you before, Y/N. My brother is very lucky indeed.” He stares at your cleavage one last time before he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at the two of you. “Get out!” Loki shouts at him, the green glow of his seidr dancing in his hands.

Part Three

Tags (as always if you want to be added or removed let me know)

@lokisgoodgirl @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @potter-puff007 @cakesandtom @eleniblue @muddyorbsblr @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @peaches1958 @xorpsbane @freegardenbanananeck @chantsdemarins @lokidokieokie @anukulee @sheris532 @multifandom-worlds @lokixryss @javagirl328 @assemblingavenger @lilibet261 @lemonadygirl @joyofbebbanburg

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki #loki x yn #loki x y/n #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki fanfction #loki marvel #mcu loki #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki x yn smut #out of my system

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letaliabane · 2 years

Text

Quiet Love

Ser Harwin Strong x reader

genre: very romantic, fluffy, yearning, I mean i squealed while writing it so must be exciting

a/n: Harwin Strong has taken all my attention, not only because its Ryan Corr my childhood crush, also because we got so little of such an eye capturing performance! I have no idea where this came from but I think we all deserve some loving don’t you? Enjoy!

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you took a leisurely stroll through the beautiful gardens of Kings Landing, members of the court addressing you with a nod while servants bowed as you passed.

You were a Targaryen, first daughter of King Viserys and Aemma. Yet it felt like you were second to everything these days since your Mother and baby brother's passing. With your sister Rhaenyra being announced as the heir to the throne and hostilities within court growing worse by the day, it wasn't difficult as to why.

You were extremely proud and happy for your younger sister, she was truly a force to be reckoned with and meant to rule. But without her and your father, it had become increasingly lonely within the walls you called home.

You missed the simpler times; you and and your father horse riding alongside each other breaking out into laughter as it became a race, Rhaenyra dragging you to the library where she would lay and listen to your voice as you read to her. All of it seemed nothing but a distant memory.

You didn't have many friends apart from a few of the servants. Those who did try to gain your favour at court you came to realise was for their own personal gain, to get closer to your sister or father. And that hurt more than anything. Which is why you denied any affection given to you by any suitor.

However, you always seemed to feel like someone was watching you. When you sat within the council, dancing at one of the many events, even now as you walked through the rows of blooming rose bushes.

In the corner of your eyes, the flash of sunlight against armour caught your attention, a silhouette with a mane of wild curls stood at the entrance of the maze.

Ser Harwin Strong, you recognised. Captain of the City Watch and your personal guard. His features rugged, handsome you dare say, like he had been ripped straight out of one of the great paintings that hung within the castle walls.

He was a man men and women fawned over at dances and the hunts, hoping to gain his favour. And yet his attention seemed drawn only to you. But that was because he was there to protect you, nothing more. Yet it still warmed the depths of your belly that he kept an ever watchful eye over you.

You paused mid step, anxiety gripping you, screaming at you to continue onwards. But you changed trajectory, walking towards the maze and marched right towards him. A gentle smile overtook his features you noticed as you grew closer, greeting you with a bow of his head.

‘Morning Princess.’

‘Good morning Ser Harwin! I hope you are faring well this morning?’

‘Besides training the new blood who seem worse than the last batch, I am my lady, thank you.’

You chuckled softly, nodding towards the maze. ‘I was wondering if you would take a walk with me? Seems like a good day for it.’

Harwin couldn’t help but smile briefly before allowing you to walk onwards first, following close at your side. The pavement changed to pebbles, the sound resonating in the silence that lay between the two of you.

‘And you, my lady?’

You looked to him as the deep rumble of his voice caught your attention, dazed by his brilliant brown eyes, almost amber in the sunlight. ‘I’m sorry?’

He chuckled, armour clinking as he ducked his head before looking towards you. ‘How are you? It’s only courteous of me to ask in return for your kindness.’

There were so many things you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him everything and yet nothing all at once. The lump in your throat grew, and yet the words left quicker than you expected.

‘I won’t lie Ser Harwin I feel I'm at a standstill. People seem to be moving in and out of my life sooner than I’d like. I feel the role of a spinster will do me well better than a princess with the way I’m going.’

Harwin’s brow furrowed, faltering ever so slightly in his step. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘But I do!’ You started, jumping at the sound of your own voice raising, glancing towards the knight who remained unchanged, however halting in his place. ‘‘I-I’m sorry I didn’t-’

‘Do not apologise,’ He said as he stepped closer, but he kept his distance. He didn’t want to overwhelm you. ‘What truly troubles you my lady?’

You wanted to weep. No one had ever asked how you felt.

‘As feeble as it may sound I’m afraid of being left behind. My sister, heavy is her head that will wear the crown, is blessed and loved by all, but busy with the duties of being a leader. My father is enraptured by his newfound family while I’m left to the wolves to fend for myself. Every person at court comes to my side with wishes and hopes, for my love and attention, only to want to gain favour with my family, not me! And it hurts it-’

The words died on your lips, taking in the worry that was etched upon Harwin’s face. He pitied you, like everyone else he probably did.

‘I’ve spoken out of turn,’ You muttered as if you hadn’t been on the verge of crying almost moments ago. All emotion had left your voice, you wouldn’t show weakness, you couldn’t. ‘You must be sick of having to watch over me.’

‘Princess-’

'I'm sure Rhaenyra would be happy to have you as her personal guard-'

'I did not ask for her, Y/N. I asked to protect you,' He said. You froze, mouth seamlessly moving without making a sound. Though his tone had been firm, his eyes spoke only gentle reassurance. The way your name slipped from his lips sent chills down your spine.

‘Wh-What did you say?’

Harwin sighed, his heart pounding against his chest. ‘When I was given the honour of Captain of the Watch, I asked-no, requested that I was put to your side.’

‘But why-’

‘You must know there is something there between us, do you not princess?’

You knew what he was talking about.

Longing looks you both exchanged from across the room, the way he watched you as you danced with other men, while you watched him mingle with the ladies of the court. Brief touches of his hand against yours when he passed by or on the small of your back as he led you through the castle.

There was a fire between the two of you, and it grew every more fierce as the days passed. And you couldn’t help but deny it.

‘No I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Harwin stepped forward and you couldn't help but stray away, only to find your back pressed against the hedge. His hand found purchase firmly on your hip, the weight and heat almost soothing, thumb stroking gently against the fabric of your dress. Your eyes looked anywhere but his, breathing deeply, the scent of pine wood invaded your senses.

You gasped as his fingertips slipped between yours, his palm engulfing yours as he gave it a gentle squeeze. He ducked his head, looking into your eyes.

‘I care for you Y/N. I know it may not be correct to say it but I will not deny it. And I know that you feel the same way.’

No he couldn’t. Ser Harwin Strong could never be in love with you. Maybe an infatuation but no, not love.

Hearing the crunch of pebbles beneath boot, you glanced back towards Harwin now watching as you walked away, his golden cape billowing in the wind. And as he stood there, he promised himself he would make sure you knew how loved your were.

You pulled away, shaking your head as your chest heaved. As you dashed through the garden you couldn’t help but glance around. There were eyes everywhere, one could never be too careful.

Part Two

a/n: let me know if you want another part to this story! Some spicy smut coming very soon in a separate story as well so stay tuned!

tagged (if your tag isn't working DM me and we'll try and fix it up!): @thesithdiaries @dazecrea @ppeuppeuppeu @a-sunflower-in-bloom @siren-of-the-deep-sea @ccallistata @agoldin @vivilingme-blog @my-dark-prince @derzauberermitlilabademantel @blooomsstuff @starxdame @alexslittlegirl @budugu @piper570 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @words-way-of-life @rosemalachi @m1tzifa1ry @gibbsgirl7 @b0xfullofdarkness

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfiction #ser harwin #ser harwin strong #ser harwin strong x reader #harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #rhaenyra x harwin #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaewin #ryan corr #harwin strong imagines #house of the dragon imagines #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen

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star-girl69 · 1 year

Text

My Heart Never Knows

Jake Sully x Neytiri x Reader

—-

a/n: only a few more chapters left 😭 i hope you all enjoy!!

again, thank you so much to @eywas-heir for beta reading this 🫶🫶🫶

warnings: violence, death, mentions of blood, mentions of head trauma, injury, not very graphic though, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Twenty- To Fly

—-

“Jake…” the man says, Lo’ak’s piece in his ear and the speaker around his neck. His voice is a taunt, like he’s itching for him to come forward.

Jake and Neytiri told you about Quaritch. They told you about the battle- when Neytiri killed his human form, where they were going to destroy the tree of souls.

But you never imagined he would be as cruel as this.

The four of you are a lot calmer now, with the Metkayina in your sights, with Jake there.

You can see him now- just barely, hair pulled back, you think, a human machine in his hands. A gun, he had explained when you found it once, softly moving around you and hiding it somewhere else.

You preferred not to think about it, but now you have never been more grateful for it.

You have never been more grateful to see him.

He and Neytiri protected you from Ayeoe- helped you when you and Ronal were fighting, let you into their lives and their children’s lives.

“You want your kids back? You come out alone.”

You watch, rapt, as he bends slightly, taking a gun out from his waistband and holding it high in the air.

“You know better than to test my resolve.”

Then, he places the gun to the back of Lo’ak’s head, like it is not a person in front of him, like it is not a young boy who lives and breathes and loves.

“No!” you scream, tearing it out from your throat, looking between the gun and the rail, hair flying ledt and right.

Tuk and Tsireya scream as well- but it all fades when Quaritch turns to you with a sick smile, before it drops so fast.

“The fuck?” he whispers, putting the gun in his other hand, taking one step toward you.

“Stop!” Lo’ak screams, even though he was silent when the cold metal was upon his head.

But he doesn’t press the gun to your head. Instead, he grabs you by your braid, tugging and pulling back, exposing your neck.

“Oh,” he says, staring at your necklace, at Neytiri’s feather. “Oh.” His face breaks into a wide smile, but it looks almost unnatural on his face. He presses the intercom again. “Such a lovely girl. She’s pretty, huh? Yeah… I like that necklace too. That feather.”

The line is silent on the other end, and Quaritch simply stares into your eyes- biting his lip and tugging, pressing the earpiece to your lips when you let out a squeal.

“I know who’s feather that is, Jake. I know… who this pretty girl belongs too.”

Quaritch’s lip curls inward, pure disgust on his face, but he looks out towards the horizon, towards Jake, with a vengeance.

“I took you under my wing,” he hisses. “And you betrayed your own kind. You killed your own kind- good men, good women. I will not hesitate to execute your kids and your girl.”

Silence for a moment-

“Just wait one,” he pleads, and even his voice makes you so calm that you can’t help but let your shoulders sag.

And then you realize he will come. He will cross the sea, cross the mountains, cross the stars to get back to his family- what is a few yards?

But he is just a man, and he is outnumbered.

Words are about to spill from your lips, but you realize you have no idea what you would say. What could you even say? This man in front of you is beyond reason- beyond sanity. He sees nothing but death and the satisfaction he thinks he will get.

“Check your fire. I’m coming out,” the voice says, his voice, resigned and broken, but you hear that something in it.

You can just faintly see him out his gun down out of the corner of your eye, make the slow crossing, make the journey to what must be death.

You know death, you know suffering and pain- but you have never felt it like this before, you have watched it happen in front of you and not been able to do anything, but it has never made you want to rip out your heart- anything to stop feeling like this.

Lo’ak let’s out a growl, bringing you back into focus, and you try to crane your neck to look at Tuk and Tsireya, to try and comfort them, even though when all you want is to be comforted yourself. But Quaritch keeps a tight grip on your braid, taunting Jake, taunting everyone in your clan.

He is playing with water, water that contains darkness- water that will drown him.

Quaritch keeps his other hand on his gun, finger on the trigger, trained on Lo’ak. He holds the power. He holds everything in his hands- and he is crushing it, inch by inch, so slowly you could barely even feel it.

“Easy shot,” one of the Avatars muses. You can barely bite your tongue. Quaritch looks over to him, a silent order, and the man lowers his gun.

“If you hit him now,” he advises, “they attack. Wait until he’s on board.”

Lo’ak hisses again, like his anger is spilling out of him, like he can barely control it.

“It’s alright,” you manage to whisper, eyes pointed to the sky, the only direction you really can look. His eyes keep drifting to your neck, to the feather.

Why is he so entranced?

Quaritch let’s out another laugh, tugging again-

“Don’t hurt her!” Lo’ak hisses, furiously trying to rip his restraints, but Quaritch only rolls his eyes and presses the gun closer to his head.

So he can feel the ring of metal, the coolness, know it is the last thing he would ever feel if Quaritch pulled the trigger.

“Lo’ak…” but you have nothing to say.

You have nothing to say when the sea splits apart, something shooting up and out, seawater slamming into your face, a hand leaving your braid- when you blink the water away- it is a tulkun.

Emerging from the water like something from Eywa herself, arcing in the air like the curve of a bow.

“Payakan!” Tuk shouts, and you almost thought it was Ay’a for a moment. For a split second, until you remembered what they did to her, what they will do to him.

Payakan slams onto the deck of the boat, crushing shoulders beneath him, screams dying as quickly as they were born.

That is what it is, what the humans do. They live so quick- futile, taking and taking, never giving, always struggling- they live painfully, and then it is over in just a flash.

The four of you sway from side to side as the ship recovers from the force of Payakan’s fall.

It is simply chaos for a few moments- the humans opening fire on him, and the bullets simply bouncing off. With a quick move of Payakan’s fin, another man is dead. Then another.

“Brother!” Lo’ak shouts, kicking a human covered in grey metal so the human is crushed with a grunt.

You cannot find it in yourself to feel bad. All humans have done is take from you- why should they not suffer like you have?

Payakan’s tail slams around, knocking over spires of winding grey metal, killing and killing, taking and taking. He is not a tulkun in this moment. No- he is something else.

The sound of bullets is deafening, but soon Payakan is slipping into the sea after another explosion rocks the ship, and you hear the war cries. Closer, closer.

“Are you alright?” you ask each of them, “are you alright?!”

They all nod slowly- but they aren’t paying attention to you. They are paying attention to the Metkayina warriors approaching the ship and you cannot blame them.

You spot Ronal and Tonowari, Jake at the front.

The bullets come for them- but they simply dive into the water, their tsurak’s gliding in easily.

“Sully’s inbound! I want eyes on him!” Quaritch shouts, loading his gun while the other Avatars climb onto their ikran. They take off with a screech, and soon the sound of more bullets rent the air.

This time, they come from the sky, not quite a helicopter, but still flying. But before it can cause anymore destruction- Neytiri emerges from the clouds on her ikran, arrow pulled taut, smashing right through the glass.

Then, the Metkayina are shouting out of the water with their spears and sharp tsurak teeth, killing and taking and it is a beautiful sight, you say.

There is so much happening, too much too look at, it is almost like the day you mated them. Overwhelmed, the entire world happening in front of you- and yet your eyes are drawn to Jake until he disappears behind the ship.

“The… the ship…” Tsireya suddenly says, looking to the grey floor. Then you feel it too. See it. “The ship is moving!”

Panic runs in your veins like vines of a plant- how will you be rescued if Jake and Neytiri don’t know where you are?

“It’s alright!” you shout- the ship is moving too fast, there is something wrong-

“Spider…” Lo’ak whispers. “It’s Spider!”

Then the four of you are flying.

It is nothing like when Jake and Neytiri took you flying, because Jake’s arms aren’t around you, his voice isn’t in your ear.

Neytiri isn’t there to shout reassurances, to fly upside down above you while laughing, making you smile just because she is. Jake tells you the stories of the stars in the sky, the shapes they make. There must be one of them, you’re sure.

You fly, and you land, the only sound you can hear being screams and shouts.

“My head…” you mumble, trying to get to your knees through the haziness.

“Are you alright? Are you okay?” Lo’ak asks, tugging at his restraints, Tuk and Tsireya following, movements fast and frantic.

“Mama?” Tuk asks, although it is more of a screech, a plea for you to answer.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, even as you feel the blood drip down your temple.

—-

“You won’t let me fall, right?”

You know he won’t. But before Bob takes off, before you are flying and free, you want to hear him say it.

He squeezes the arm wrapped around your waist.

“Nah, baby. I won’t let you. Besides, we would catch you.”

—-

taglist:

@sully-stick-together @corrupt-cadaver420 @jadynchronicle @imthefunniestpersonalive @fangil101 @mashiromochi @rey26 @soothinghummerz @myheartfollower @pwallettes @melodykisses @ghoulfiendz @fanboyluvr @itsyaspwr @khaleesihavilliard @capbrie @nothingfuninthislife @faceaeter @thetrashindrakensroom @makeup-stuff-and-such @my-dearest-agent @miyamuraaaa @xoxovienna @arschbohrer @amazingaries @ssc7514 @milf-lover-23 @w3ird11 @littlexscarletxwitch @tiajk @kuldren @blackgirlwriting @tojigirl @trulyrogers @aeslenya @3okutos-3ig-toe @peterparkeeperer @ambria @homeispandora @hxgemxscles @ripnevillestrevor @amiets2 @reallysparklychaos @ok-boke @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nerd-squad-headquarters @abaker74 @ara-a-bird @queenzeemelanin092201-blog @marvelsimps @marydragneell @lola-bunn1 @erenjaegerwifee @blackgaladriel

#jake sully x neytiri #jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader

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ladybirdswritings · 5 months

Text

Silken Webs & Pirouettes- Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: You decide to take all your problems out on the dance floor. Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

next chapter

eight

“Ladies leave yo’ man at home, the club is full of ballers and they pockets full grown— and all you fellas leave yo’ girl with her friends— cause it’s eleven thirty and the club is jumpin’ jumpin’”

Your hips sway in rhythm with the song, body glistening with a soft sheen, evidence of the time you’ve spent on the dance floor. The fluorescent lights feel like they’re only on you. Men and women have either danced or tried to dance with you all night. You’ve given your number to at least eight, so far. One of them a blonde with blue eyes, older but handsome.

So…. how did you get here?

Well…

Your bed was comfortable enough for the few days you were glued to it, teary eyes and puffy face as you gazed at the phone on your pillowcase.

To call home or not to call home… that was the question.

It seemed like each time you reached for it, the constriction within the confines of your heart stopped you from lifting it off of the satin.

So you turned, gazing up at the sky behind your popcorn ceiling. Thinking for hours and hours. Could there be a way you could stay? Any other way besides going back to that dreadful office with that fanged serpent inside. That beast. Wolf. Asshole.

Nothing came to you. Maybe you’d be lucky enough at the week’s end when your check finally arrived. Lucky enough to buy more time and search even farther for more open work opportunities. Yet luck is gentle sometimes, it hides away from the people that need it.

So you tossed and you turned for hours, feeling suffocated by the matting and lack of ribbons in your hair. Until you decided to just rip the bandaid off and give in. Or so you planned to. The bright light made you squint and press anything but the phone button, or maybe it was your subconscious. What you did press was a recommended video.

A woman, a gorgeous woman with jet black locks and intimidating eyes struck you silent as she simply said,

“Get up. No no no, I don’t care how you’re feeling right now, I don’t care that you lost them or you’re depressed or he hurt you. It. Doesn’t. Matter. Get up right now, go get pretty and go show the world how pretty you are. I promise you it will fix things.”

That’s all you saw before you were up on your feet, taking an everything shower for longer than you ever have. Tending to your wild curls and plump skin. You ate, too. Stale cereal as it was all you had but— you still ate.

Then you thought. You thought about what always makes you feel good again. Alive.

Dancing.

Now you could have risked your head and paid Katerina a visit, of course. Yet you played things smart. You took the next best thing. Ballet isn’t the only rhythm you know. You did your makeup and fit into your shiniest dress. Like a disco ball, glistening in silver. Then? You searched for the nearest nightclub nearby. One where you could just dance your problems away.

Now you’re here.

“Hey baby, I’m likin’ the way you move those hips tonight.”

Ew, he smells of strong liquor.

You only smile kindly at the stranger who’s missing a front tooth and twirl, turning your back on him and continuing to sway your hips. He takes it as an opportunity to place his hand on one— and you stumble forward, pushing it away.

Too many men have felt entitled to dancing with you tonight, and he’s just another. No one asks, anymore.

“No…” you sigh through a nervous giggle.

He sucks his tee— or tooth? “Bitch.” Is all he follows with.

You frown at that, parting your lips to utter another word but— you don’t get the chance.

“Hey, leave my friend alone!” That sing-song, familiar voice.

You turn on your heel where Cindy Moon stands tall, brows furrowed as she regards the drunk asshole who is acting like he owns rights to your swaying body.

“Cindy?” You sound shocked and god— you are. What a coincidence.

Soon as the vile man leaves, she grins wide at you and pulls you into the warmth of a tight hug. It’s the first one she’s ever given you. She hugs you so hard it’s as if she’s afraid you’ll slip into the crowd of dancers if she lets go. Christ, it’s only been a week.

As kind as this is, you’re baffled.

The music is pounding in your ears, so loud you’re borderline screaming, burning at your lungs so to speak to her.

“Wait, why are you here!?”

She tilts her ear toward you— taking a moment to analyze your voice before realization strikes her.

“Company gathering!”

What? Here?

You freeze.

She must see the terror in your eyes because she immediately raises two comforting palms and shakes her head.

“Nonono— don’t worry! He never comes to these! I mean- Jess always invites him but he hasn’t showed so, doubt he will today!”

The tension in your chest eases at once, your body surrendering to the vibration of the sound. You’re grateful to god now more than ever that he hates any living, breathing corner of the world with joy and fun. You can’t imagine him in a place like this.

Wait…

“Who is Jess!?”

Cindy starts to sway her hips as the prior song bleeds perfectly into the neck, you follow suite— hands raking back your wild curls.

“C-O-O! But don’t worry, she’s super cool! This was her idea! Hey— Miguel never told us why you quit anyways!?”

She’s awfully sweet and strikingly beautiful. You see the men looking at her from the corner of your gaze, mesmerized by the young beauty with the slender frame. Yet, sweet as she is— this was your night away from all of it. He is the last thing on your mind.

Your mind wanders, searching for the right answer to put a pin in this conversation. You find one soon enough.

“Morale.” You practically snort. It’s understood immediately.

She nods once, eyes squinting as she stands on her tip toes and searches over the lively crowd. As if there’s a lightbulb floating at the top of her head.

“Hey— let’s go grab a drink!”

She’s a genius, she must know the subject makes you squirm. You grab her hand, letting her lead you off to the bar where an awfully pregnant woman with gorgeous, coiled locks sits— sipping on what you hope is a virgin lemonade.

“Two shots!!” Cindy orders, leaning over the bar and getting chatty with the tender as he prepares them.

Alcohol, yes. Just what you need. You sigh in relief, taking a seat next to the Aphrodite sipping on her drink. Her curls are dark, and her skin is gorgeous and glassy, and she’s— staring at you.

Not for a single moment, no. She’s analyzing you. Eyes locked on the side of your face.

You offer her a quick glance, squirming in your seat as she squints.

Is there something on your face?

She gasps, it makes you jump.

“No shit… you must be Ribbons.”

Ribbons?

You turn to her, brows furrowed and eyes soft as they search for an understanding to what she means. She sticks her hand out, over her swelled belly and like a zombie- you shake it.

“Ribbons, it’s what they started calling you around the office. I’m Jess, from where you used to work.”

Jess.

She must see the realization settle in your eyes because she giggles. It’s a warm sound.

You can see why people like her, why they regard her highly. She’s gorgeous, and she smells of a garden with freshly bloomed jasmine blanketing it. And her smile, it’s welcoming.

You offer her your name with an embarrassed shake of your head, partnered with a soft laugh at your oblivious nature.

“It’s alright— you didn’t have the pleasure of meeting me before saving yourself from mister hates-everyone-and-everything.”

Oh, she’s funny. Lively. You like her. You only wish it was her instead that you worked under, maybe things would’ve been different. You’d bet your pretty soul that Cindy and Mary Jane must have thought the same thing, at least once.

Cindy returns to earth soon enough, no longer drooling over the blonde bartender with a boyish grin. She hands you a shot, keeps one for herself, and hands Jess one too. Your brows lift, concern swimming in your bright eyes.

“Don’t worry, it’s virgin. Just lemon juice and seltzer— didn’t want you to feel left out!”

The kind thing, you grin at that and so does Jessica. Your glasses raise in repetition of Cindy’s own.

“To you, Ribbons. For having the guts to do what none of us ever could and getting the hell out!” She’s joking, you think. But a more analytical part of you knows well that deep down, she is not.

Christ, he’s that bad.

“Amen to that, sister.” Jess adds, and you can only laugh at the irony as you clink your glasses and shoot the horrible, burning thing back. You immediately wince as the substance itches at the base of your throat, making your eyes swell with water whilst you cough.

“Ugh, is that tequila!?”

Cindy only nods before dropping the glasses down and grabbing your hand again. She barely flinched.

“Let’s go dance!”

You don’t get the opportunity to recover and say goodbye to the pregnant Aphrodite before you’re back out on the dance floor, swaying those hips to the beat. Except now, it’s with Cindy by your side. The music is good, the drinks being brought to you by mesmerized men are good, god- the night is good. Time feels slow as it passes. That lady was on to something. You showed the world your pretty face and you got rewarded for it.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe the music but you finally feel it again. Alive. The buzz makes you feel loose, like with each sway of your hips— you’re throwing more of your problems into the burning pile and watching them melt away into nothing more than ash.

Meaningless ash. Where they can’t hurt you.

Cindy dances with a man beside you, but you dance alone. This moment, it feels too good to share with anyone else.

You don’t pay much mind to how long you’re there for, nor what’s happening around you. You don’t need to. You just need you right now, you and the music.

“I know right, she’s got the whole place looking!”

You hear above the bass; you don’t bother to listen more to Cindy’s voice or rather anything else except for the song. You’re lost in this safe little bubble, no one’s crowding you.

Wait— no one’s crowding you.

You open your eyes to see eyes staring back. Multiple, mesmerized by the way you’re moving those hips. Tipsy as you are— your face still flushes as you gaze back at them.

Your hips slow and then halt completely when the bony shoulder of a strawberry blonde bumps into your back.

“Hey, watch where you’re dancin— yeah?” A southern accent demands.

You frown at her, only seeing the back of her head as she storms past you. Christ, some night she’s having. She takes your place in the middle of the circle you created and attempts to move her hips. She looks— stiff. Like she’s trying to force the movement that should come fluidly in her hips.

Maybe you’re just drunk and critical as a former dancer. That must be it. You’ll leave her be, the room is too dizzy to care.

With a sigh, you bury yourself back into the crowd who have all turned their attention away from the circle. Whew, you’re feeling spun. Where Cindy, anyways?

Maybe it’s time for a water…

A record scratches, smirking mouth pressed up against the microphone as the DJ pulls it against his face.

“Alright alright— you guys havin’ a nice time tonight?” The crowd cheers, loud and rowdy as they look up at the record booth and lone, center stage. The DJ, he gets excited by the energy. As if he’s feeding from it.

“Alriiiiight, that’s what I like to hear. Now listen, rumor has it that right here, right now in this very moment— there’s a dancing queen among us. Oh yeah, I’m talkin’ full blown ABBA. I’ve seen her, I know you’ve seen her— light man...” He snaps his fingers, the singular luminescent glow from the ceiling lands upon him. He finishes, “Let’s find her in this crowd, shall we? Where is she?”

Your eyes scan over the crowd, curious to see just who they’re talking about.

God— she must be good for a personal shoutout in a place like this. You used all of the grocery money to get in here, it’s not like you’ve had much of an appetite, anyways…

Maybe it is the strawberry blonde with an attitude… no, no that would be absurd.

You squint as the light passes you quickly— but it soon snaps right back.

Your delicate palm softly lifts to shield it from your blinded eyes.

“There she is!” He announces, as if he’s found the first lick of gold in a deserted land of sand.

The crowd cheers, whistling and whooping as their hands pound together. You turn your head, looking each way for the dancing queen they speak of before you realize.

Oh…

It’s you.

You’re so drunk you can only giggle, covering your face with your palms as the DJ shakes his head,

“Oh no sweetheart, can’t get all shy now that you know everybody’s watching. We all saw the way you were moving those hips— we all saw it. Let me ask you muñequita, because I have a feeling. Do you know how to dance like a boricua? I saw the way you were moving, there is no chance in hell you’re an all white woman.”

He laughs at his own joke, and the crowd does too.

He’s right. Your father was a strong Puerto Rican man with intimidating eyes— he never smiled, nor did he come around often. But when he did come around? He taught you to dance. He loved to dance. You do too.

You snap yourself away from your thoughts, they’re waiting… they’re waiting and it feels so odd yet so right to have all those eyes on you.

The dancing queen…

Maybe this would’ve been your life had you not— well, tonight’s not the night to think about it. You’re far too buzzed and far too front and center to chicken out now.

You spread your fingers, eyes peeking out behind your palms. Maybe you shouldn’t but god— dancing just feels so good tonight. You nod, and the crowd cheers again.

“See, knew it. Knew it. I’m never wrong, I’m never wrong. So, chiquita bonita, how about you get up here and we give them a show— eh? What do you say?”

A show…

You can’t even deny or overthink it before the crowd starts chanting “do it, do it, do it,” in unison. Someone with cold hands pushes you forward and before you let better judgment stop you from swaying your hips center stage— you’re already up there. The lights follow you; they blind you.

“There we go! Alright, my beloved gringos and gringas can sit this one out— we’re gonna dance a little merengueeee.” He emphasizes the word in a way that makes all the girls swoon.

What are you doing? What are you doing? You don’t know. Daddy taught you merengue. You love merengue, but all these people…

Your mind flashes back to the week straight that you were wrapped like a mummy in your sheets. The tears, the loneliness, the dread. And now— here you are. They’re all looking at you like you’re a star.

…

Oh, fuck it.

The DJ spins a record again and soon enough a symphony of instruments and strings begin to flow throughout the speakers. Everyone cheers as he adjusts the needle and pulls his headphones off from his head.

Thank god, you’d just about melt if you had to dance this alone. He hurries over to you. He has kind, brown eyes and a mustache just above his contagious smile. His belly is soft, it protrudes just a bit.

“Peter.” He greets where only you can hear him. You peer up at him shyly, feeling the heat of the moment suffocate you. You haven’t had this many eyes on you since you were with Katerina. The very distant, sober part of you is tugging your hand. Begging you to get off stage.

Peter furrows his brows,

“Hey— don’t look at them. Look at me.”

He’s awfully kind, and he’s right. If you play pretend, this moment could feel euphoric. You nod, forgetting all your worries as the long intro finally comes to an end.

“Bajo una noche estrellada, de luna llena…”

See, the thing about dancers is that no matter how loud the mind screams, the body won’t stop moving. Yours is no different.

His palms are warm as they press against your own. You clasp your fingers against his and keep his warm brown eyes centered as the only thing in sight.

The dancer you are, your hips start to sway.

“Ahi está.” He praises, one hand falling to rest against your hip, following each effortless motion and figure eight they make in unison with the beat. Something about him, it’s safe. It’s gentle. It’s— a really good merengue dancer.

Christ…

You giggle as he moves his hips, leading your mesmerizing motions. He’s putting you on display, twirling your sparkling dress under the spot lights for the whistling crowd to see. He spins you once, twice, thrice, then he stops you— your back to him.

“You okay with this?” He whispers in your ear, you nod— grateful he asked for a yes. The first man tonight who has, unfortunately…

Your hips move back against him, his leg— at least that’s what you think it is. You’re too drunk to know any better.

You both move in unison, and although he’s the only thing that exists in your mind right now aside from the music— you can feel the crowd. In your bones and chest, vibrating louder than the sound that leads you and the hands that guide you. Feel their eyes and excitement as you do as he said and give them a show.

“You’re bringing me lots of business tonight, dancing queen.”

Your cheeks are pink from the buzz, and you laugh as he twirls you again— back into the first position. You both sway your hips, the trumpet of the song a euphoric sound. He reaches a hand out, pushing it in an upward motion to signal the crowd to get louder.

God- they do.

They do as you twirl again, as you move your body for them to see.

A dazzling starlet.

You’re lost, so lost in the moment that you feel like finally, you’ve reached it. That peak, just at the top of the mountain where no one and nothing else exists. Nothing plagues you, no. Just this moment.

Your curls are wild and free, no longer tamed by your straightener and ribbons, they dance on their own, too.

You could stay here forever.

Peter steps back, holding your intertwined hands up in the air— only moving his hips softly as he puts you front and center. In this moment, you no longer feel like a ballerina in a box. No, you’re the ballerina who leaped outside of that stupid wooden box. That stupid office. Stupid dance room.

Stupid boss.

Stupid Katerina.

Stupid Miguel.

Hey… that guys kinda looks like—

Peter twirls you swiftly back into his arms and continues moving. You’re still facing front, the rhythm controlling your body like it’s got strings sewn into your limbs.

But that guy…

The crowd is slowly fading back as the lights get a bit dimmer. You squint behind the hundreds of gazes on you so you can see— and Christ, do you see it.

Him.

Miguel fucking O’Hara.

And his eyes? Those intimidating eyes…

They’re glued on to you. Nothing else but you, as if you’re the only breathing creature besides himself that exists in this room. It must be him, you can’t delude yourself into believing or seeing otherwise. He’s seated beside a smiling Jessica.

Your gazes lock.

Woah….

The air leaves you, and you’re certain you turn entirely red against your silver. You stumble, and Peter catches you.

“You okay?”

You turn to meet his warm brown orbs.

You need to leave— now.

You’re drunk, and nauseous.

“No no I- m’ sorry I have to go.” Like Cinderella in the night. Only you’re running from the monster, not to it.

The crowd “awws” in unison as you part from Peter’s hands and softly make your way to the stairs. You leave him confused as he grabs the vacant mic.

He takes the attention off of you and quickly puts it back onto himself, likely seeing the panic in your eyes. You’d suffocate if the crowd watched you crumble.

“The dancing queen everybody, leaving me quicker than my first wife.”

The stairs make you dizzy, you grip tightly onto the rail as you descend them. Oh, the room is spinning. It’s smaller. Are you panicking again? No no, you can’t. Not while drunk.

Why is Katerina coming to the forefront of your mind?

Oh god, you are.

“That was awesome!” Cindy calls, gently grabbing your arm.

All of it, it’s all echoing.

“I have to go…” you breathe out as you push past her. Merengue makes people move, so so much. It’s hard to weave through. You’re gonna vomit. You are so gonna vomit right now.

You huff,

“Excuse me, please…”

They don’t listen or make it easy, but you’re slender enough to push through for the most part. The trumpets still play in the background, chasing you out and the crowd is laughing at something Peter is doing on stage. You don’t pay it any mind.

You need to go, you need air— distance.

“Oh!” Another bump against your shoulder from the strawberry blonde, harsher this time and you fall against a brick wall. Er- that’s what it feels like.

Your hands immediately lift to steady yourself against the firm stranger’s torso as your body straightens up. You’re so, so dizzy— and you’re certain that you’re drunk now because your speech is slurred.

The tequila.

“M’ so sorry I-”

Your mouth goes slack once you’re able to lift the soft curve of your chin from where it once stared at leather shoes.

It’s then that the scent of firewood and espresso all floats back— slamming against your senses like a crashing wave to shore. So suddenly. Looking down at you under the sparkling lights, in the sea of joyous people…

Dark eyes, tense jaw, long hair…

It’s him…

Mr. O’Hara…

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @tabalittlelong @iitangerine | chap 8 song 🎧:

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zethwritesss · 10 months

Text

Heartthrob

modern au: actress!ellie x actor!reader, afab!r, reader plays a female character, but they/them pronouns are used for reader.

Warnings: cursing, no use of y/n, reader is not fem, angst, fluff, eventual; kissing, substance use and smut. ALSO SPOILERS FOR 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU!!

Synopsis: Following a recent heartbreak you promise to never fall for another person again. Ironically you’ve been chosen to play a lead role alongside oscar-winning, Ellie Williams. Ellie is an actress you’ve looked up to since you started your acting journey. “10 things i hate about you” is a lesbian rom-com parody of the 1999 film of the same name. Despite the acting being a breeze you’ve encountered a major problem; can you and Ellie keep the romance on the set only?

word count: over 1k

Authors note: i don’t know how long this fic will end up being but your support and reblogs are very appreciated! also enjoy the little phone call audio!! i watched the movie last night and rip heath:((( GO WATCH THE GODDAMN MOVIE IF YOU HAVENT ALTHOUGH THIS IS A SFW POST MINORS AND MEN DONT INTERACT

soooo… with out further adieu:

Heartthrob: The Prologue

The clock read 7:04pm, you were situated in your tiny apartment located in L.A. Your phone buzzed, you picked it up quickly, excited that your crush, Freya had texted you. You and Freya had matched on a dating app over a month ago and things were going good so far.

Your heart sunk to your chest, your hands began to shake as you felt that familiar pain of heartbreak seep back into you. It's a feeling that you hate with every fiber of your being. It is one that leaves you unable to function for days on end. The girl who you had stupidly fallen for unfortunately had commitment issues, you mourned what you two could’ve had, the dates you could’ve gone on and you couldvt watched the cheesiest of rom coms together. “I will never fall for another girl again” you promised yourself, now ever so aware of the pain that loving someone can cause you to experience. You decided to send your friend Dina a message.

Speaking of rom coms you’re supposed to hear if you got the lead role for “10 things i hate about you'' the highly-anticipated, sapphic parody of the 1999 movie of the same name, starring Juilia Stiles and Heath Ledger. The role you auditioned for was for Kat Stratford, an abrasive but beautiful girl, who’s temperament leads her to not attract many women- and the rule her father has placed, which is that Kat’s younger sister can’t date unless Kat herself has a date. Over the course of the film Kat falls for a girl named Sarah.

Sarah is portrayed by Oscar-award winning actress Ellie Williams, Ellie has made herself well known as the lesbian heartthrob of the 2020s. Her presence sends any lesbian onto their knees, turning them into nothing but a muttering-stuttering gay-panic.

Thinking about working alongside her gave you chills and made your stomach do flips. You and Ellie were roughly around the same age, but she felt way out of your league. You’ve always looked up to Ellie since you saw her in her breakout film. She was an extremely talented actress, and has definitely made a name for herself.

You hear your door unlock. “Hey, I'm here! Where are you?” Dina says with a worried tone in her voice, she knows when you don’t give her much context to the situation that something has definitely happened.

“'m over here” you reply quietly.

Dina walks into your living room. You’re curled up in a ball on the couch, eyes red and puffy from crying. “Aww noo- what happened?”

“Freya and i- fuck… w- we didn’t work out.” You said, in between sobs, Dina hugged you, her hand rubbing your back as she held you. “I am so sorry to hear that- what can I do to help you out here hun? You’re pretty distraught”

“I- i don’t know Dina.” you said, quietly. “Maybe a distraction could help?”

“Ooh! Why dont you tell me about that role you auditioned for!?”

“oh yeah! You’ve seen the original movie right?”

“Yep I have! I’m really excited to see how this movie turns out!” Dina said, smiling, you could tell she was really excited.

“i auditioned for Kat Stratford- i don’t think i’ll get it though- OH FUCK- they haven’t even called me back yet!” You said to Dina, starting to get worried that they wouldn’t call you back.

You were an anxious, emotional heart-broken mess and desperately needed that lead role. Having that lead role would give you something to look forward to. Your phone rang, you quickly picked it up, hands shaking as you anxiously awaited your results. You set your phone down on the coffee table and set it to speaker.

“Hey, this is Jessica! You auditioned for the role of ´Kat Stratford’ in ‘10 things i hate about you’ right?”

“mhm- yep that’s me!”

You twiddle your thumbs together. “deep breaths” you tell yourself. You and Dina looked at eachother.

“Well congratulations! you got it!”

“Oh my god!! Thank you so much! I really needed to hear this.” you said, as a sigh of relief went through your entire body.

“Wait before you hang up, I've got someone else who wants to talk to you! Give me a minute as I transfer you over to her”

You and Dina were freaking out, excited butterflies erupting in your stomach. Dina had brought you into a very tight hug.

The phone switched over to the other person on the other end.

“Hey! It’s Ellie here! I wanted to congratulate you personally on the role, it’s well deserved! I'm really excited to meet you and work alongside you! I'll see you at the script reading on Monday!” Dina gasped and you put your hand over your mouth in shock.

“Oh my gosh it's such an honour to meet you Ellie!”

“And the same to you, you’ve got quite the talent for acting! Also feel free to write down my number, It’d be good for us to get to know each other before we start!”

“Yeah! Sounds good!” Out of the corner of your eye you saw Dina writing down Ellie's number on her notes app! “Thank god for Dina she’s a lifesaver for real” you thought to yourself.

“Don’t be shy and shoot me a message!! Really looking forward to connecting with you! Take care and see you soon.”

“Bye Ellie!”

“see ya later!”

Ellie hung up the phone and you looked at Dina, no words could come out of your mouth at the moment- your mouth hanged open in shock. You and Dina squealed and you two started jumping up and down out of the euphoria you were feeling.

“DINA- WHAT. THE. FUCK. WAS THAAATTTT…”

“I DONT KNOW but i'm so happy for you! you’ve worked your ass off man!! This is well deserved!” Dina exclaimed.

“Dina give me her number- WOAH that sounds unreal. Ellie Williams herself gave me HER NUMBER LIKE WHAT THE FUCKKKKK!!! All of the stans would kill to have those 9 digits! Is this a dream? Dina, slap me please!”

You said, your brain trying to process what happened.

Dina slapped you hard on the arm. “OW- Yep i’m definitely not dreaming”

“NO you are not-”

Your heart was still broken but you had something to hope for and something to look forward to, which really helps you move on. And Dina helps you too, Dina gives you that shoulder to lean on, she’s always got your back and you’ve always got hers!

TAGLIST: @m-3-ijiworld @anchoeritic @no-nameno-face @dropsofs4turn @little-star-bun @girlescapes @elliespookie

#ellie williams x reader #tlou fanfiction #modern!ellie williams #zethwritesssfanfic #actress!ellie williams #ellie x afab!reader #zee zee's heartthrob

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 9 months

Note

I literally fell in LOVE with the first prompt game so i basically screamed when i saw pt 2

Can i request IMG 1 #31, #34 and #44 for Changbin?

Do what ever u want with it, it'd be happy w/ anything🖤

SKZ Prompt Game

Prompts: "I can't keep kissing strangers and pretending that they're you."

"I might never get another chance to say this."

"I still remember the way you taste."

Relationship: Past Childhood Lover!FemReader x Crime Boss!Changbin

Genre: Angst, Light Smut

Warnings: Mentions of guns, violence, Criminal acts, Underworld Shit (clubs, prostitutes, drugs, illicit dealings, etc.). Knife Play, Dark Sex. Unprotected sex. (Wrap it kids.)

"I might never get another chance to say this-I love you."

"Why does it hurt so much to hear you say that?"

"Because you don't believe it?"

"Or because you don't mean it?"

********************************************************************************

It's been ten years since you last saw Seo Changbin.

Ten years, and yet the moment your eyes meet his across the packed club, it's as if it was only yesterday.

After all-the pain, the hurt, the betrayal-it's all just as raw as if it were.

You'd known it was a bad idea to come here.

Known it the moment your best friend had invited you to your mutual coworker's bachelorette party, using the excuse that you 'needed to find some new dick to obsess over.'

She's right of course, you haven't had a good relationship-hell, let alone a good lay in a couple of years if you're being honest-but the moment the limo had pulled up to the most popular club in town, you'd known you were in deep shit.

Forget the fact that it's run by one of the biggest criminal gangs of the city.

Forget the fact that it's strippers and drinks and loud booming music and swanky atmosphere are only a legal façade for the dark, illegal underworld shit that happens underneath.

No, all of that on it's own should've tipped you off to the fact that this was a bad idea waiting to happen, should've made you fight and protest a little harder as the already tipsy group of girls and your best friend had dragged you laughing and singing past the bouncer, who merely gave a wave of his hand and nothing more than a second glance, as if you had some special standing invitation.

But it didn't, and you had gone along with it as they all giggled over their 'coveted invitation' and settled in at your table right in front of the main stage, as women way too fucking hot to be real had spun their poles, and men way too fucking ripped served drinks off of glittering golden trays.

The biggest fucking red flag of all, though, the thing that should've sent you running back to the limo, demanding the driver take you immediately home, locking the doors behind you, was not the false over the top glitz and glam of the club, your friends already slightly inebriated state, or the drugs covertly being served alongside drinks.

No, the biggest red flag of all, was now staring at you, eyes locked from across the club, lips pulled into a thin, stern line, muscles practically bulging out of his expensive Armani suit.

Seo Fucking Changbin.

Your childhood lover and ex boyfriend.

The only man who had ever successfully broken your heart, shattering it so thoroughly that you hadn't had a fulfilling relationship since.

And coincidentally, the owner of this club.

Oh, and the city's biggest crime boss. Did you forget to mention that?

********************************************************************************

Fuck.

I haven't seen her in almost ten years, and now here she is, in my club of all places, fallen right into my lap.

She hasn't changed a bit-all big doe eyes and soft skin and perfect tits.

My dick twitches in my pants at the thought, and I release a long, slow breath, holding her in the line of my dark, hungry gaze.

Obsession curls tight around my chest, and a perverse sense of protectiveness itches at the back of my throat as one of the girls she came with leans over and whispers something in her ear, laughing, motioning to one of the passing servers.

She pulls her gaze from me for just a moment, following his movements, giving her friend a tight nod and a smile that plays along, though I can tell she's not really interested.

Still, watching her gaze follow the almost naked waiter makes me clench my teeth until my jaw pops.

As if she can still feel me staring, my eyes drilling into the side of her head, she glances back to me nervously, saying something to her friend under her breath, before she stands from the table and heads in the direction of the club's bathroom.

"God fucking dammit." I swear beneath my breath, and without thinking, push myself off my normal vantage point of wall, already making a beeline for the direction she had disappeared.

Of course she would run.

But now that I had her again, I wasn't going to let her go so easily.

Not like the first time.

Because now, unlike the last time she saw me, Seo Changbin didn't lose.

********************************************************************************

"Excuse me." You murmur under the loud thumping of the music, the bass shaking the floor and reverberating through the heels you wear.

The man leaning against the wall in front of the women's bathroom glances at you in disinterest, pulling the lit cigarette from his lips as he blows a stream of smoke into the dusky club air.

The woman hanging off his arm stares at you with open disdain on her pretty features.

You try again, louder this time, attempting to push past them now.

The more time you waste, the faster Seo Changbin is closing in.

"Excuse me, I just need to use the bathroom-"

A hand comes down on your outstretched arm-grip firm, fingers curling around your wrist-and you're caught off guard, stunned into terrified silence, as you look up and see Seo Changbin towering over you, an unreadable expression on his features.

He glances toward the couple blocking the bathroom. "Lino, you're in charge till I get back."

The man-Lino-smirks and blows out another puff of smoke, leaning his head back against the wall behind him as he nods. Your eyes are drawn to the bold, dark tattoo of a cat's gaping maw-sharp teeth dripping with saliva-that covers his throat. "Sure thing, boss."

Without another word, Seo Changbin turns on his heel, and begins easily pulling you along behind him through the throngs of people packed in the club.

"Hey, stop, my friends-" You protest, because it's the only thing you can think to say in your frantic, panicked state, but he doesn't give you a backward glance, and for the most part, neither do the clubgoers.

In fact, they seem to part for him, like his presence alone is intimidating enough to clear a path for the two of you.

It probably is.

He leads you around the bar, tugging you easily even when you struggle, and up a flight of stairs you'd never noticed before, tucked back behind the display of jeweled tone alcohols and glittering glasses.

It leads to a quiet, dark hallway lined with doors, and the music from below is a distant pounding now, as he strides to the last door and inserts a code on the keypad.

The lock clicks, and Seo Changbin shoves you inside.

You stumble a little at the forward motion, the release of his fingers finally from your wrist, but manage to right yourself, glaring at him as he leans against the once again closed door, muscular arms crossed across his chest.

When he doesn't immediately say anything, you take the opportunity.

"Funny, is this how you treat all your guests?" There is sharpness in your tone, but your words wobble just a bit.

You hide your trembling fingers in the folds of your dress, and force yourself to hold his dark stare.

"No." He remarks, face still unreadable, body unmoving. "Just ghosts."

His words send a painful thrum through you already stinging heart, but you don't let the reaction show on your face, tipping your chin up and staring him down defiantly.

Maybe a bad idea, considering the biggest crime boss in the city is standing across from you, locked in the same room, but you're angry, and you don't care if he knows.

"I'm leaving now. My friends will be wondering where I went-"

He scoffs, leaning more heavily against the door, as you take a brave step toward him.

"Pet, your friends were drunk when they stumbled in here. They're probably six shots deep with my table boys by now and don't even remember you exist."

The use of the old nickname makes your body stiffen and go cold, like you've suddenly been doused in freezing water.

"You're at my mercy currently, pet. Mine."

A shadow crosses Seo Changbin's face, and he pushes off the door, crossing the room to the desk, and as he passes you, you can't stop yourself from shrinking away.

He flicks dark eyes toward you at the movement, as he straddles the chair behind the desk, and you don't miss the way his inked fingers flex on the back as he settles, strong and capable of ripping you to pieces.

They've done it once, why not again?

"Ah." He muses beneath his breath, as if to himself, his eyes slowly flicking down your outline, and you resist the urge to back away beneath is penetrating stare. "So you are scared of me. Wise, little pet, I'm a dangerous man."

You tip your chin, and pray to god your next words don't tremble.

"I'm not scared of you. You've done your worst on me already, what else could you possibly take?"

His eyes flash dangerously, and his lips curve into the hint of a smirk that makes your knees weak and a chill run down your spine.

"Everything, pet, everything."

********************************************************************************

Fuck, she's even more addicting up close.

When I locked her in here with me, I didn't account for the fact that I'd be able to smell her perfume-faint whiffs of something floral-or see every flawless inch of her skin clearly, soft and spilling out of that tiny dress like it belongs to me.

And it does, she just doesn't know it yet.

It always has.

I adjust slightly on my seat, my hard on growing uncomfortable at the thought, and cock my head, studying her, watching the way her chest rises and falls with fast breaths, the way her pulse flutters against her throat.

She's scared, and it's intoxicating.

Still, she's a spitfire, and it's something I've always admired about her.

"What do you want, Changbin?" She snaps out, and I swear to god, hearing my name on her lips after so long is almost enough to make me come.

Instead, I arch a brow, and settle back into my seat.

"You." I reply back simply, bluntly, and watch the emotions flicker across her face at my answer-surprise, fear, anger.

"You had me." She spits back, hands clenching into fists, the movement rustling the thin slip of her dress against her thigh.

I resist the urge to let my gaze trail down to the swathe of skin I know has been revealed, but only barely.

She takes a brave step forward, eyes flashing.

"You had me, and then you threw me away, for this." She gestures vaguely at the room around us, the club below us, the music still pounding dully through the floor.

Anger threatens to crawl up my throat at her blatant naivety, but I swallow it down, and instead, say calmly, coolly, "I never stopped thinking about you."

"It's not enough." She hurls out angrily, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

She always was an angrier crier, something I'd teased her about for years, something that irritated her to no end.

"It's not enough, because you fucking broke my heart, Changbin, you stomped on it, shattered it, and ruined everything good for me ever again."

Something about her words catches my attention, alighting my interest.

Before I can ask her about it, she angrily swipes at her eyes and turns, stomping toward the door.

"I'm leaving. Let me go."

She tugs at the locked knob to no avail, and I tuck back a smile at how cute she looks struggling to get free.

Caught, little pet, you're mine now.

I reach into the drawer of the desk and pull out the dagger I keep there, calmly weaving it through my fingers, waiting for her to give me her attention once again.

She huffs out an exasperated breath, turning to me with fire in her eyes, "Changbin-"

She freezes the moment she sees the knife.

********************************************************************************

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He has a knife, and now he's going to kill you.

Your breath stalls in your throat, as Changbin flips the knife easily around in his fingers, seeming to admire the way it flashes in the low light of the room.

"I did it for you, you know." He muses, more to himself than anything, and you can't seem to take your gaze off the knife, swallowing hard against the dryness suddenly coating your mouth.

He glances up at you, and his dark eyes connect with yours, the knife stilling in his fingers.

Something jumps to life in your stomach.

"It doesn't matter." You manage to choke out, backing against the solidness of the door, your knees suddenly weak.

You hate to admit it, as he stands and stalks toward you, like a predator cornering its prey, that it's not entirely from fear.

"It does though." He remarks softly, closing in on you, expression serious, knife still dangling from his fingers. "Because some shitty street-fighting kid from the slums who could barely read couldn't provide for you, protect you, love you like you deserved."

He glances down, close now, the knife held between you.

Your breath is shallow, and your pulse is pounding.

"But Seo Changbin-crime boss, club owner,, millionaire-he absolutely could do all those things. All those things and more."

You swallow hard, as he glances up at you.

The heat in his eyes has warmth pooling between your thighs, and your next words come out on an unconvincing stutter.

"I'm not scared of you."

He smirks, dark brow arching.

"I know. But you're scared of the way my darkness coaxes your own to come out and play."

You jump as you feel the cold, flat edge of the dagger press into the skin of your upper thigh.

You gasp in a breath, and Changbin's eyes darken at the sound.

"Aren't you, pet?"

He slides the dagger slowly up your leg, rotating it so the sharp point pricks the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip to stop the whimper that's threatening to escape.

"S-stop." You choke out, though your body is screaming, reacting, telling him to keep going, a direct contradiction to your shaky words.

He arches a brow, and keeps going.

"Funny, pet, isn't it-" He muses, still dragging the tip of the dagger across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "-how our words can tell one story, but our bodies betray us every time."

The dagger tip dips into the traitorous wetness coating your skin beneath the short hem of your dress, and you take in a shuddering breath, your chest brushing his.

Triumph flashes in Changbin's eyes, and he leans in, removing the knife, before he brings it up to your chest, flicking the pebble of your peaking nipples through the almost sheer fabric of your dress.

The action makes you gasp, bucking your hips and arching into him involuntarily.

"Ah. There she is. Come out to play."

You swallow, hard, and he leans close, his breath brushing your jaw, nose skimming your ear.

He takes a deep inhale, nose buried in your hair, and releases it slowly, making you shiver.

A growl builds in his chest.

"God, pet, you're like a fucking drug, you know that?"

He slips the tip of the knife below your chin, forcing you to drop your head back against the door, staring up at him.

His eyes are dark, swallowed entirely by his pupils, and it sends your stomach swooping.

He reaches out, letting his thumb drag roughly across the full plumpness of your bottom lip.

"I still remember the way you taste."

Something in his tone, in the way he says the words, tells you he's not talking about your mouth any longer.

The thought sends instant molten heat directly to your core, and a surge of dark confidence spiraling inside of you.

You arch your brow at him in challenge.

"Wanna test the accuracy of your memory then?"

********************************************************************************

God, she's fucking incredible.

Staring back at me like she's the one holding the knife, and it's not currently pressed to the soft, fleshy underbelly of her jaw.

My dick is so hard it's painful.

In a minute, I tell it silently, because there's still something from earlier, something she said, that I need to get to the bottom of first.

"Patience, pet." I murmur, a warning as much to her as to myself, as I take in a long inhale through my nose, and trace the column of her throat carefully with the sharp tip of the knife.

I don't miss the way her nipples harden even further with the motion.

"First, there's something we need to address."

"What?" She asks breathlessly, and the breathy quality of her voice has me groaning, digging my free hand into the door beside her head, if only to keep myself from bending her over the desk and taking her now.

"Earlier-" I grit out past clenched teeth, forcing myself to take an inhale once more and smooth over my expression. God, she's got me in a fucking chokehold, doesn't she? "-you said something about me ruining everything good for you ever again."

She flinches at the words between us, but I keep going.

"What did you mean, pet?"

At first, I think she'll resist, refuse to tell me, defiance flashing in her eyes briefly, but it's gone as quickly as it came, and she slumps against the door, letting out a long breath, something sad replacing the fiery look in her expression.

Fuck, I like the fire, bring back the fire.

This? This-melancholy, aching sadness? That's not the pet I know.

Another shuddering breath leaves her lips, and then she whispers into the stillness of the air between us, "I can't keep kissing strangers and pretending that they're you."

Well, fuck.

I tangle my fingers in her hair and yank her head back.

"Well, now you don't have to." I growl out.

Surprise flashes briefly across her face, and then my lips are on hers in a bruising kiss, my knife still at her throat.

Fucking hell, she tastes just like I remember-sweet and soft and god, so fucking responsive.

She mewls as I lick into her mouth, and the sound goes straight to my already painfully hard dick.

The obsessions curls like dark, thick tendrils around my chest, squeezing so tight I can hardly breathe, and I know, I'll never love another woman like I love her.

Mine.

I separate us with a tug on her hair, and she whines at the loss of contact, and fuck, she's pretty.

Her eyes glazed, her lips parted, slick and swollen from my tongue, hair messy and wound between my fingers.

So fucking pretty, my pet.

I flick underneath her chin with the tip of the dagger, jerking my head over my shoulder in the direction of my desk.

"Get on the desk. Now."

She lifts her chin, defiance flashing across her gaze. "And if I don't?"

Ah. There she is. That's the pet I know, her darkness matching my own.

I tug harder on her hair in response, and let the dagger dig deeper into her throat. A single droplet of crimson blood beads beneath the blade.

"Now, pet." I command darkly, and this time, she listens.

*******************************************************************************

You slide your ass back on the desk, careful not to disturb anything or knock it to the ground, but you shouldn't have bothered, because Changbin sweeps it all off with a crash as soon as he reaches you.

You start a little at the sound of shattering glass, but he ignores everything but you, eyes dark and predatory, knife still in his hand.

"Spread your legs." He commands, and you do so without much thought, because resisting him this long has made you ache.

His palms go on your knees, spreading you wider for him, and glancing down at you, he lets out a growl of frustration beneath his breath, before slicing your panties cleanly off with the knife in one smooth motion, throwing them aside.

"Changbin-" You gasp out, but he ignores you, tossing the blade aside before sinking to his knees between your legs.

"You know I don't like barriers, pet. I'm not a patient man."

He glances up at you, expression hungry, eyes dark.

A slight smirk curves his lips.

"Now, let's see if memory serves, hm, pet?"

And without warning, he drops his mouth to you.

Fuck, you forgot how talented Changbin is with his tongue.

You choke on your breath, arching your back, your fingers tangling into his hair, whimpers leaving your lips without your bidding, erratic and frenzied.

He doesn't stop until your legs are shaking and you're crying out his name on every other breath, coming so hard you see stars, and even then, he doesn't pull back until you're begging him to stop, body on the verge of collapse.

He sits back, large palms still on your inner thighs, and slowly licks his shining lips, holding your gaze the whole time.

A shaky, insane sort of laugh leaves you, your body jello, lying splayed on his desk, your ripped panties god knows where.

"So?"

He tilts his head, eyes darkening.

"Better than I remembered, pet. So much fucking better."

********************************************************************************

She sits up then, which, I'll give her credit for, because I really gave it my all, and her arms are visibly shaking, but the stubborn look is back on her face, and my god, it takes everything in my willpower not to immediately dive back between her heavenly legs and make her come until she's screaming my name again.

Instead, I wait, as she scoots to the edge of my desk and motions me forward with a crook of her finger.

Anyone else's head would be on the line if they pulled that shit with me, but not her, never her.

God, I'm fucking in deep.

"This is a nice suit." She muses, twisting her fingers through the belt loops, tugging me closer.

"You think so, pet?" I murmur back, not even bothering to hide my smirk.

"Mhm." She hums back, before something wicked comes across her pretty features. "It stays on."

Ah, dark little pet.

Her fingers make quick work of the zipper and closure, and I can't stop the groan that passes my lips as I finally spring free.

She doesn't miss the sound, tugging me back with her as she lays back on the desk, eyes flashing with triumph that goes straight to my already steely hard on.

"How long?" She asks, and I know what she's implying by the darkly mischievous look on her pretty face.

"Ever since you walked into the goddamn club, pet."

Fucking boner hasn't gone away since.

I groan again as she finally fists me, and the sound drops into a growl as she teases me, brushing me along the warm, soft skin of her thighs.

My hand comes up to clamp down on her own.

"Put it in, pet, or I'll do it myself."

Her brow arches in challenge, and god, if that doesn't turn me on.

"Condom?" She asks, and I immediately shake my head.

"No barriers, pet."

I see her chest rise and fall with a quick breath, as if she's fully taking in what that means, and then without warning, she slides me inside.

Fuck, if I don't see stars.

I could be inside this woman forever.

I brace myself on the desk and take in a breath, frozen for a moment, because now that I'm finally feeling her again, I feel as if I might explode, and I want this moment to last forever.

She shifts, clenching, making me let out a hiss through my teeth, and when I glance up at her, she's smirking.

It's the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life.

She arches a brow in a challenge of her own.

"Move, Changbin, or I'll do it myself."

I growl, leaning forward to collar her throat with my hand, and as I do so, I thrust, making her gasp and arch against the desk.

"Careful what you wish for, pet."

She smiles, and I feel her darkness twine around my own.

It's the best fucking feeling in the entire world.

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thesullengrrrl · 18 days

Text

We'll Meet Again

When retired time traveler Elaine Byrne accidentally goes back to 1941, she meets Robert Rosenthal on the eve of his enlistment.

Author's note: I wrote this fic few weeks ago and I only now had the guts to post it here in Tumblr. Thank you to the lovely people who read and commented my work in AO3. If you prefer to read there, I got you...here's the link. I've not written for a long time, so I hope you will enjoy this. Thank you! ❤️

Chapter 1: a time traveler walked into a bar

For the past three years, Elaine Byrne avoided being alone in dark enclosed spaces or visualizing vivid sceneries with her eyes closed. Whenever she feels bad about life, she smokes in the nearest smoking area or writes it down in her journal.

However, this time it was different.

This time she forgot that she’s not supposed to go inside the restaurant’s cold room on her own. It was Friday and the chef was chewing her ear off over a wrong order. Her energy was already depleted and all she wants to do is go home. Almost instinctively, she went straight to the cold room to shed some tears.

As she walked back to the dining area, faint jazz music could be heard. It grew louder as she continued on, and Elaine does not remember a band being hired that night. A male waiter almost bumped into her, half-shouting, “Hey! You can’t be here!” She took note of his uniform. It was a shirt with a bow tie, black pants and a white apron covering half his pants.

The sight of her destination surprised her.

It was the same dining area, with stage and piano in it, except that the people now are wearing clothing from a bygone time. Men were in suits, women in knee length dresses with slightly defined shoulders. The upholstery and furniture are no longer the same color. The air was filled with smoke and the smell of alcohol and sweat made her gag a little.

She has done it again. The very activity she avoided for the past three years. With this realization, she went to the bathroom and luckily, it’s still in the same place where she remembered it.

Picking the last sink in a row, she opened the faucet, and splashed some water on her face. When she finally faced the mirror, her mouth fell open. Besides from the water droplets falling from her face, her makeup is not her usual. She now has a redder lip and defined eyebrows. Her brown hair is now curled and pinned in ways she would never do.

She took some paper towels on the side and dabbed her face in it. This time, Elaine took a longer moment to observe the image in the mirror. Aside from the makeup, she finally noticed her change of clothing. No longer in her trusty vested white polo and black slacks, but now she’s donning a dark red dress with slightly puffed sleeves and triangular cut outs on the collar. It was slightly figure hugging, which highlighted her curves that were often lost in her waitress uniform. Elaine held up her hand and touched the mirror’s surface. It’s me. This makes me feel like Peggy Carter minus the combat skills.

She was about to go when she heard heels clicking towards her direction. For some reason, she locked herself in one of the stalls and someone started sniffing and a vague ‘There, There’ could be heard.

“Oh Mabel,” a high pitched voice said. “At least he let you down gently and did not lead you on. You know Beth in Accounting? Her man just left her without a word!”

“That’s because he’s just feeling sorry for me!” Mabel cried. “I already thought about the wedding we could’ve had, Jo.”

Jo audibly sighed. “Mabel, you know you were only seeing him for three weeks, right?”

“He’s dreamy and nice! A lawyer! And my cat even likes him!”

Mabel’s own statement made her cry even more.

“I know, but at least he let you down gently. He has a point. You don’t have to wait around for him anymore,” Jo comforted.

The two women she was eavesdropping kept quiet for a little after that. Then she heard the faucet running and paper towels being ripped off. A few clinking more and she heard someone exhale loudly.

“Are you ready to say goodbye?” Jo asked.

A sniff. “Okay, let’s go, Jo.”

“That’s more like it,” Jo replied. Their heels started clicking away from the bathroom. Elaine waited for a minute or two just to make sure they weren’t coming back and she emerged from her stall.

She gazed at the mirror one last time and exited. Inhaling the strong scents of tobacco and alcohol, she scouted for a place to sit in. It was hard to see who’s sitting alone or not at first glance, so she slowly dragged her feet, hoping for the one.

Instinctively, she touched her side and thanked the heavens for its pockets. She reached in and instead of a phone, she felt a small notepad, a pencil and coins. Helpful .

Finally, she saw her target.

The one was a lone, mustachioed man with a half-empty glass of beverage in front of him. He seemed to be in deep thought while his fingers were tapping the table in tune with what was being played on stage. He looks nice. Taking a deep breath, Elaine strode towards his table and pulled a chair beside him. He was startled with the sound of chair legs against the floor.

“What–”

“Hi there,” Elaine greeted, flashing her best smile. “Great night?”

“It was until I heard the news,” the man replied. She was about to ask what was the news but he beat her to it.

“The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.”

“Oh, that’s what it is,” Elaine realized. “A woman in the bathroom was crying because her boyfriend was enlisting.”

The information made the man perk up and turned to her. “Was she blonde? In a purple dress?”

“I don’t know. I was hiding in one of the stalls.”

This amused the man beside her. “What? Why were you hiding?”

“I was having a moment, then I heard them come in. They were coming in fast, click click click, so I hid. Then someone started crying and I didn't want to intrude, so I stayed there.” Elaine explained.

“‘They’?” he asked.

“Yeah. Two women. Jo and Mabel,” she shared.

“Ah, yes. They were with me earlier. Mabel wanted to go home, so I guess it’s official now.”

Elaine scrunched up her nose. “Ah, that sucks, man. Too bad her cat loves you.”

“Hmmm. Yeah, Mr. Giggles.”

“Although,” she started. “You do know you could be in a relationship while overseas, right?”

He shook his head. “I can’t afford to have any distractions. And I don’t want life to pass her by because she was waiting for me. What if I never return?”

“What if you do?” she countered. “Have a little faith.”

“How do you know that?”

She kept quiet, feeling like his question was rhetorical. He has a point. When he’s on the battlefield, the chances of him coming back are slim to none.

As the band played another tune, the upcoming war entered her mind. This man is enlisting in the army tomorrow to fight Nazis. Jesus Christ, what was the closest thing she could experience to that? The thing that came to her mind was nothing compared to going to war on the other side of the world.

“Oh well. You’ll meet other women,” she assured him. Then she proceeded to scan his appearance. “You’re tall, handsome, and that pornstache would definitely rake in the girls.”

“Porn-what?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

Elaine closed her eyes at her words. Her hand went to her head, scrunching her eyes to think of what to say. Of course, the day she dreaded finally came. The day where her weird attraction to 70s mustaches will be her downfall.

“Never mind. It’s your mustache,” she corrected, motioning his face. “And those baby blue eyes? Ridiculous.”

Her companion was about to answer when a blond man came to their table.

“Good evening, Miss.”

It took her a moment to realize that a man standing on their table was referring to her. She smiled at him. The man she was with eyed the stranger with suspicion. “Hello there.”

“The tune’s pretty swell, can I dance with you? Miss…?”

Elaine scanned the man’s appearance. He was tall and thin with wide shoulders and almost white hair. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties. Who are you supposed to be, Draco Malfoy?

“I’m Elaine,” she introduced. You are?”

“Albert.”

For a moment, her mission of attempting to know which year she was in felt futile. What’s a little dancing when you’re time traveling? Without taking a second look to her companion, she nodded and took the man’s hand and made their way to the dance floor. With their hands on their proper positions, they started swaying to the music.

They were having a nice conversation until the guy started to lean in for a kiss. She managed to avoid this and his lips landed on her cheek. The reek of alcohol from his mouth made her wince. She gave him a fake smile, hoping that all of this will be over soon. They swayed once again, but this time she felt his hand moving from the small of her back to her butt and grabbed it.

Her eyes widened and pushed him away. This made a mini domino effect on the other couples on the dance floor, earning them weird looks and glares.

“Back off,” Elaine warned.

This did not deter him and took it as a challenge instead.

“Aww, baby, you’re feisty. I like that,” Albert taunted, cornering her like a prey.

Elaine took short breaths to calm herself, her right hand slowly turning into a fist.

Suddenly, a loud thud of falling tables was heard. The music stopped.

“Fight! Fight!”

He rushed where the scream was. He was observing her in a distance to somewhat guard her, as if she was someone he needed to look after. The man she was dancing with did not seem trustworthy enough for him, especially when he saw his companions laugh at them for some reason.

The blond man was bleeding out of his nose while she was grunting in pain.

“Fuck you!” Elaine yelled.

He went to her and took her hand. “What happened?”

“That asshole,” Elaine growled, pointing to the man on the floor, “was feeling me up!”

A small crowd gathered where they were. One older man lunged at Elaine’s curly haired companion and started throwing punches. He missed and continued pursuing. Elaine jumped into the brawl, attempting to break them apart. Few patrons, probably thrilled with this sudden turn, dove in as well, unknown whether to pull her out of the commotion or punch the other guy.

It continued on for a few minutes until someone blew a whistle.

The crowd departed and it revealed a portly, semi-bald man with a whistle hanging on his neck.

“WHAT ON EARTH IS HAPPENING HERE?” he roared. Those in the brawl slowly detached themselves from each other. Everyone was in varying degrees of bleeding and pain, most especially that man who felt up Elaine.

The portly manager glared at all of them then his eyes filled with recognition. “Robert? Is that you, boy?”

Elaine looked at who he was referring to.

It was the lonely, mustachioed man who broke up with Mabel. His name is Robert.

He does look like a Robert, Elaine thought. The carefully gelled curly hair, neat mustache, smell of manly perfume with hints of tobacco and alcohol…It’s like she was transported to a 1940s movie with Cary Grant as the lead star and she’s the fast-talking femme fatale.

“Minty!" Robert smiled and shook hands with the man as if there were no two slightly injured persons in front of them. The manager pulled him from the floor and when they stood up, he towered over Minty.

“Minty, I’m so sorry about the mess. This guy made moves on my friend and she just defended herself. I had to jump in,” he explained.

“Picking fights already? Save some for those Nazis!” Minty exclaimed. He snapped his fingers and two broad men appeared. He ordered the troublemakers to be taken outside the club.

Robert only smiled sheepishly. Minty seemed charmed by this and asked both of them to follow him. Elaine looked at him suspiciously. “Where are we going?”

“I know him, don’t worry,” he assured her.

The trio entered a small office. The walls were painted red and there was a sturdy table that is the main piece of the room. It has a matching leather chair behind it and several crates of alcohol stacked up to the ceiling. Papers are haphazardly piled up and a clothes rack near the window. It felt like a claustrophobic’s nightmare.

“Sit down, sit down, kids,” Minty motioned to the two leather chairs in front of the table. The two sat and Elaine’s eyes laid at the calendar hanging behind Minty.

DECEMBER 1941

Ah, fuck. Wrong guess! All of the numbers on the first row were crossed except for number seven. They watched Minty pour three glasses of whiskey (or scotch?) and gave them one each.

“What’s your name, doll?”

“I’m Elaine. Elaine Byrne.”

“So, how did the two of you meet?” Minty asked, eyeing the two of them.

“Um–” Elaine started. Robert covered her hand and started talking.

“We only met tonight. Mabel stormed out when she found out I was enlisting. Told her I don’t want her waiting for me while I fight.”

Minty nodded in understanding. “I wouldn’t take it away from Rosie to meet a girl after breaking up with one!”

Elaine glanced at the two men curiously.

“Why is that, Minty?” she questioned. “Is Rosie here a player?”

This made Rosie blush a little. Minty shook his head.

“No, doll, he’s a lawyer! He sweet talks for a living!”

Elaine turned to her companion. “A lawyer, huh? Interesting.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rosie confirmed. “Although, I don’t sweet talk anyone, Minty.”

“Tell that to anyone who would listen, Rosie.”

“Why is he called Rosie?” Elaine wondered, looking at Minty. “Is it the rosy cheeks?”

“Ah, it’s because of his surname. Rosenthal. Only friends and family are allowed. That’s why I only called him that in here,” Minty informed her.

Elaine listened to the two men catch up with their lives. Rosie confirmed his enlistment tomorrow, and Minty seemed to be worried about his young friend. Rosie is a strapping young man of twenty-four and Minty said that America joining the war will be a bloodbath.

“I will be fighting for my people and country, Minty,” Rosie solemnly reasoned. “These people we will be protecting, they can’t fight for themselves, can they?”

“You seem like you made up your mind quite fast,” Minty observed. Rosie only nodded.

The three of them sat in silence. Elaine was feeling a bit uncomfortable with it, so she downed the glass of amber liquid given to her. She coughed a little, for she rarely drinks this type of liquor. Call her childish, but she would rather sit happily with her colorful drinks with an umbrella in it than pretend to be like Don Draper. “What is it, whiskey?”

“Scotch,” the older man confirmed. “Too strong for you?”

Elaine agreed. “Yeah.”

When she finished the drink, Rosie stood up. “We better be going now, Mint.”

“Say hi to your mother for me,” Minty told Rosie. He nodded.

“Thank you for the scotch,” Elaine said, waving Minty goodbye. The two made their way back to the dining hall. They did not see Minty smiling at the sight of them.

The band was playing something more slow, and the atmosphere felt like no brawl happened. However, it felt more somber. Maybe it’s the music that the band was playing. The dance floor seemed shinier, the lights dimmer, and couples are dancing closer than ever. It was probably the news of the Pearl Harbor attack that made them rethink the time they have.

For them, it’s only the beginning.

For Elaine, it’s only looking at the past at a closer look. Beyond the bigger picture that history books offer. She is no longer reading these big events in a book, but the individuals that will soon be affected by this attack.

For a night, she’s one of them.

Rosie was observing her as she watched the dance floor. Her hair is still quite a mess after the brawl and yet, the out-of-place hair strands seemed to be framing her face instead. She seemed oblivious to any of the music being played, but then maybe she’s not a fan of jazz and prefers something else.

This strange, pretty woman felt like trouble. Minutes within meeting her, and he was already fighting in a brawl for her. He never did that to any girl he went out with. He felt guilty about what happened between him and Mabel and maybe he’ll think about it tomorrow still.

But he cannot deny wanting to get to know Elaine more after tonight.

“Let’s dance, Rosie,” Elaine invited, extending her hand to him. Rosie gazed at her hand, thought about it, and took it. She pulled him into the dance floor, slightly squeezing in among the sea of couples. He placed his hands on its proper positions and she did the same. Slowly, they swayed along, closer than ever.

“Is it okay if I call you Rosie? Minty said only friends and family are allowed to call you that,” she wondered aloud.

“You’re already calling me Rosie anyway, so go ahead.”

“What were you thinking about earlier?”

“When?”

“When I asked you to dance, you’re deep in thought. Any thoughts you want to share?”

He sighed. “You won’t let this go, won’t you?”

“Nope,” she smiled. “I want to hear it.”

“I was thinking about what you said. That maybe I’ll come back from the war alive? Have a little faith?”

Elaine glanced at her side, suddenly feeling shy. She was only trying to encourage him to take a chance on romance during the war. She did not realize he would pick on it and discuss it further.

“Well, going to war alone seemed like a sad thing to do. Sure, it might be invigorating for you as a man, getting in combat and all, but what happens when you’re all alone in some trench?” Elaine explained.

“I can write letters home,” he reasoned.

“But can you share what you’ll see in the field with them?”

“I can’t share it with my imaginary girlfriend either, Elaine.”

With no answer to give him anymore, she rolled her eyes. Rosie caught it and found it endearing.

“Speechless? No rebuttal?” Rosie challenged.

“Shut up, Robert.”

“So it’s Robert now when I annoy you?” he teased.

“Yes, Robert,” she pointed out, trying to hide a grin.

Rosie pulled her a little closer and she felt his hands get a little sweaty. She tried not to chuckle, but her body reacted before it was too late. The band played another new song, and when she glanced at him, she watched him mouth the words.

“Do you know this song?” she asked.

“We’ll Meet Again,” he replied, looking down at her.

“I doubt that, Rosie.”

Rosie chuckled at her. “Silly. I mean, it’s the title. We’ll Meet Again.”

She rested her head at his chest, once again embarrassed by her blunder. “Oh god. I’ve been just an embarrassing person all night, am I?”

“This is the most interesting night I’ve had for a while. Don’t worry about it,” he assured her.

She only nodded. She took in his scent, and wondered if he noticed it. I hope he didn’t. But maybe he did. My inhale was pretty obvious. As the song went on, Elaine thought of why she is here at this very moment. She could’ve been back in Minton’s by now by going back where she came from—in the cold room.

Instead, she stayed and now slow dancing with a man she just met.

Elaine stopped time traveling on purpose three years ago. It was once an exciting thing to discover at eighteen, but now at twenty-six, it felt like an unhealthy coping mechanism. She made mistakes on those travels and made her run away from her life. She stayed far too long in some places and saw the consequences blow right up to her face.

However, tonight, she did not time travel on purpose.

And there must be a reason why it happened.

The song finished and everyone clapped. Rosie and Elaine removed their hands from each other and joined the crowd. Backing away from the dance floor, they sat in an empty booth.

As she stared at Rosie, she knew she had to go home. Rosie felt her eyes at him and they spent a good few seconds memorizing each other’s details, like taking a photograph. Elaine took in his blue eyes and the styled curly mop of hair, while Rosie gazed at her hazel green eyes and a small scar on her forehead. She wondered how it would appear if not styled with sticky gel. Rosie blushed a little at the intensity of her gaze, smiling shyly at her. Elaine chuckled at how ridiculous and romantic it all must have looked like.

A gentleman with a big camera managed to capture this romantic scene. The blinding flash surprised the two, making them jump in their seats. The bulb was still smoking.

“I’ll send it to Minty once it’s developed!” the man with a camera said. “You’re one good looking couple!”

“That’s one big camera,” Elaine observed. “That flash almost blinded me!”

He laughed at her observation. “Will they ever make a flash bulb less blinding?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered, smiling.

They settled for a moment and Rosie waved at a waiter. The waiter was quick at his feet and reached them. However, Elaine grabbed his arm to stop him. “I need to go home now.”

“Oh, is that so?” he asked, a slight disappointment in his tone. The waiter seemed to sense this and looked at Elaine. She lifted her head to dismiss him, which the waiter did.

“Yeah, it’s quite late and I’m on opening shift,” she reasoned. It was true though.

“If that’s the case, I’ll take you home,” he declared. “Where do you live?”

He can’t take you home! You don’t live in 1941, girl!

“Just a few blocks away, but I’ll be fine. I’ll walk.”

He looked at her with disbelief. “Elaine, I’ll walk you home. Or at least call you a cab. You can’t walk by yourself at this hour after what happened.”

“I can. I can throw in a punch, you know.”

“Elaine, no.”

The way Rosie said her name made her melt a little. That deep dulcet tone with a hint of concern (or was it disappointment with hardheadedness) made her rethink about her decision to leave. One more drink can’t hurt, right?

“Fine. But first, I need to go to the ladies’ room,” she said.

“All right. I’ll wait here.”

Elaine made her way to the ladies’ room, her heart beating so fast it’s the only thing she could hear. This is the moment she leaves him. It has to be. Damn that dulcet voice for making her doubt. When she reached the ladies’ room, she took the notepad and pencil inside her pocket and quickly scribbled. After that, she folded it neatly and got out. She waved to the same passing waiter who almost took their order earlier.

“Yes, ma’am?” the waiter said.

“Can you pass this to the gentleman with the mustache?” she requested, pointing him to Rosie who was chatting with an elderly man.

“You mean Rosie? No problem, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. When the waiter was out of sight, she made her way to the turn. She wondered if she would take one last look at Rosie. But she decided against it.

The storage room was there, waiting for her. Sighing, she took one last look at her surroundings, checking if she was being watched. Then she slid the door and entered.

She murmured and closed her eyes.

Moments later, there’s knocking at the door. “Elaine! Get out! I need some supplies!”

Maybe we’ll meet again, Rosie.

“Coming, Bunny!”

—

When Elaine left to go home, the new busboys were left after they cleaned up the place. They sat to rest before actually going home. One of them, Jerry, was looking at the wall filled with pictures and memorabilia from old patrons and past owners from different decades. Their jazz club had been open since the late 1930s and it could feel like a museum sometimes.

While he was scanning the frames, one picture stood out to him. It was a photo of a couple in a booth, staring at each other adoringly. The picture seemed like straight from a movie scene, which made Jerry think if it was a screenshot from an unknown movie of the time.

He leaned in closer and noticed the woman in the photo. She looked like one of their waitresses. Elaine! But the woman in the photo was with better hair and of course, wearing vintage clothing. She was gazing at the mustachioed man as if studying him, and the man was doing the same to her. They looked cozy and adorable.

“Hey Bunny, look at this,” Jerry called. The woman he was calling came to him almost immediately.

“What is it, Jer?” she asked.

“She looks a lot like Elaine, no?”

Bunny leaned in as well to check the photo. “Oh yeah, she does. Maybe her grandma or something?”

“Maybe,” Jerry replied.

“We’ll tell Elaine tomorrow,” Bunny said.

What the two failed to notice was the small inscription at the lower right edge of the photo. It said:

Rosie & Elaine, 1941

#masters of the air #we'll meet again #mota #mota fic #masters of the air fic #rosie rosenthal #time travel #oc: elaine byrne #time travel au #rosie rosenthal x oc

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maraschino-girl · 4 months

Text

pachinko 🎰 { part 2 : END }

✐ Yoshikage Kira makes a gamble when New York City becomes his new hunting ground, and he soon realizes the prize he’s heading toward isn’t the one he bargained for. Yoshikage Kira / Patrick Bateman

moriohpsycho AU

~8k words

blood and gore, homophobia, drug use, explicit sexual content, kira's usual hand fetish, patrick's usual torture antics, ableism, etc.

warning ‼️ two depraved serial killers being themselves

✦ NOTES : PLS heed the warnings !! we're delving into full kira/bateman territory, topped off with all the horrible traits of their personalities and desires. there are more intense -isms in this final chapter, and homophobic/ableist slurs worm their way into some dialogue. (i do not condone the usage of this language, as if i have to even say it but lmfaoo do NOT take advice from either of these men. period.) ANYWAY. this lil ride is over. for now. i have more ideas for some one shots 🥺 ♡✮☁️✧˖ AO3 °⋆💿。°✩

I haven’t had the chance to partake in this in so long. It’s intoxicating, yes, and euphoric.

A man like myself, dignified and content, should always have time to indulge in his favorite desires. My mind doesn’t have to wander the desert any longer for I have found the oasis, and it is better than paradise.

I allow the slightest gasp to escape my lips. I squeeze, and squeeze, relishing in the tender flesh, hearing the squelch and pop when her neck snaps—

And just like that, the climax is over. The high is gone.

I don’t care to examine these women past their treasures, but I make sure to slow down and enjoy the cinematic experience of the light leaving her irises and her lips mimicking mine; open with a soft gasp, thanks to her esophagus being crushed. This is the afterglow, and also the appetizer before the entrée.

I’m straddling her chest, which didn’t help her chances of survival. Although, that tiny detail means nothing overall. The moment, the very second I laid eyes on her, her fate had been sealed. She could’ve walked a different route this morning and visited a different cafe, or even stayed home altogether, but I still would’ve found her through this smoggy city. She was destined to be here, pale and lifeless, underneath me. Maybe, if there’s an afterlife, she’s a woman scorned and she may wish to haunt me for my ‘sins’, but right now, here, physically in this world, she has given me another joyous reason to live.

Her body is like a clam shell, and has to be torn open to reveal the pearl I seek. I pick up the machete I’ve sharpened extensively and I chop at the right wrist. My hard work has paid off gloriously! The skin is butter, her bones like softened cream— I rip her hand from her body, a scant amount of tissues giving me resistance. Blood drips, not spews, from her disconnected hand but I expected this so I hang it over the clear tarp on the flooring, allowing it to drain until it’s nothing more than a leaky faucet.

Her skin is warm, and plush… I bring her long fingernails, painted a cloudy white and blushing pink, to my lips. The nails themselves are still slightly cold, and I savor the sensation on my lips, and then trail my tongue down her lithe fingers until I reach her knuckle. There’s traces of perfumed oil and sweat on her palm, and while it doesn’t taste good whatsoever, the scent is a wonderful aphrodisiac.

My erection is painful now. This is your time to shine— uh, what was her name again? I suppose it doesn’t matter.

As if reacting on instinct, her fingers curl in my grasp as I’m unbuckling my belt, and unzipping my slacks. I yank down my Gianfranco Ferré underwear, eager to show my girlfriend who she will be spending many nights with.

“It’s not like me to be so crude, darling, and I’m not usually an easy man,” I coo, “But even I have my limits. You should feel honored, truly, to grace my body so early in our relationship.”

I’m one of those that imagination can power me through to the very end. I’m a visual learner, so to speak, and allowing myself to fall down the rabbit hole during these euphoric moments is part of the whole experience.

She’s soft and gentle around my dick, her palm slick as I thrust up against it. I picture teary eyes, smudged lipstick, sharp nails tearing at my sleeve, innocent smiles, the wisteria trees in Morioh and the picnics I've had underneath them, white lace gloves, tourmaline rings, blood caked under her nails, blood staining his teeth—

I stop. My heart skips a beat. My dick is erect still, the head of it flushed and already deflowering my girlfriend.

I swallow hard.

I continue, faster and harder this time, gripping my girlfriend, fighting for my climax but when it hits me, it’s weak, it’s a slight twitch of my thighs and barely a splash. I’m pent up and wired. I notice I’ve left bruising marks on my girlfriend, and her stump is a bit misshapen, blood smeared across my hand and my now limp dick. I pitifully clean and dress myself after having set my lady aside.

I’m infuriated for reasons I don’t want to vocalize. I can’t risk a damn thing, especially not here. I’ve run off once and refuse to do it again. I tug on a long coat and fix the collar as I make up an excuse for why she can’t tag along.

“I don’t want to worry you, and I want to be honest: I’m visiting an acquaintance of mine from Pierce & Pierce, and as you know, money never sleeps.” I force a smug smirk. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want to meet him. He’s an indescribable, detestable man. You deserve to rest in comfort and wait for me to return. I’ll be quick, and we can continue our evening together. I can pour us a bottle of Cristal; you were drinking it earlier today, you like it, don’t you? I’m not a fan of it myself but for you, I will make an exception. It’ll be our treat,” I whisper, planting a tender kiss on her knuckle. “Wait for me, darling.”

For the city that never sleeps, the streets are barren at this hour, although I know a certain man will be out carousing with women and getting high. With my head held high and my trusted weapon stashed in my coat pocket, I bypass any trash of the neighborhood and head straight to the American Gardens building.

When I enter, an exhausted doorman greets me with his eyes glued to a Sixteen magazine. “Good evening, Dr. Chase! Long day at Columbia, huh?”

I stride right along. “Yes, long day indeed.”

This is too damn easy! I think as I take the elevator up to the 11th floor. His apartment number is 404, and I spot the number at the far end of the corridor. I reach the door that will soon lead me to victory, and grip the handle, steadying the pointed end of my tail comb to—

Click.

Oh.

I do a sweep around me to ensure no one is looking, and push open the door. The bastard left his door unlocked? Surely… this is a mistake. Am I dreaming? Is that why everything is going right?

No, this is just the luck of Yoshikage Kira. It’s what I deserve! I shouldn’t waste this. I hurriedly enter and lock the door behind me.

Mr. Bateman’s apartment is sterile— cold, clean, white, silver, sharp corners, stainless steel, and reflective black. There isn’t a single pop of color anywhere, save for the collections of CD’s and vinyls stacked on the entertainment center, though their hues are subdued and can’t break through the monochromatic palette. This place smells of sandalwood, musk, and an odd tinge of something earthly. It’s borderline metallic, like iron or strong fresh greens, but I chalk that up to the gallons of cleaner his maid likely uses to keep his furniture and appliances spotless.

There’s a plastic red-inked bag on the counter with a bundle of VHS cases spilling out of it. Body Double, Cannibal Holocaust, Texas Anal Massacre, and I Knew Who You Blew Last Summer.

Hm.

I believe that’s enough of those.

Oh, what’s this? It seems his maid needs to be disciplined!

I swipe at the charcoal-colored scuff marks in his living room. Nobody, including him, bothered to clean them or even hide them with his couch. They’re deep and dark, and at this point may be permanent. Too bad, Mr. Bateman.

I creep into his bedroom next, and feel his pristine white sheets; high thread count, but I spot tiny strings sticking out from the corners, as if they’ve been washed mercilessly, in rapid succession. Much like their owner, from afar the sheets are clear and handsome, but upon closer inspection, they’re distasteful.

Behind me is a narrow closet that opens up to reveal a meticulous line of suits and matching trousers. It’s as long as an aisle of Bergdorf’s with an equally vast variety of cuts and patterns. I smooth over pleated slacks, pinstriped navies, blackened houndstooth, and oxblood satin ties. It’s admittedly a fine selection, but so … bland.

And yet.

I think: I could fit into these. Dark colors are not my first choice for a suit, but I know what undertones compliment me. If I dyed my hair a deep brown, I could fit right in. Nobody would be none the wiser, especially those brats back in Morioh. I doubt they’d follow me over here, but since those nasty events took place, I can never be too cautious. I want my quiet life, and I will do anything for it.

I hear a click and then heels tapping on the floor. I gently shut the closet, keeping the light off, and I peek through the crack of the door. Muffled voices come from the kitchen.

I wait.

“... like the view.”

“Like? Only like it? It’s a fucking fantastic view.”

“Yeah, yeah,” a woman laughs, “It’s fucking fantastic.”

I can’t hear anything else. Music abruptly cuts into the apartment and I jump. How embarrassing. Anyway, I realize the song is Bizarre Love Triangle by New Order.

I remain quiet inside the closet, intently watching for any signs of the couple. A black suit, black tie appears, but—

The man in front of me is not the Patrick Bateman I’ve met. He is deranged and feral, clenching and unclenching his fists— he’s pacing, baring his teeth, strung out, growling, nearly rabid. He’s whispering vulgarities under his breath, something whore, fucking bitch that. I don’t know what to make of it, but he’s becoming unpredictable. This is not ideal.

The moment the woman is back in frame, the scene plays out in such a way that even I may believe I’m drunk or hallucinating. He drags his fingers down his brow and over his cheeks, and this action pushes the mask back on. He smiles emptily, his eyes bugged out and void of amusement. I watch him in a mirror— he yanks off the woman’s clothes and pushes her down onto his bed. He acts rough, she likes that. She doesn’t know any better, she doesn’t have the instinct to scream and run. They never do until it’s too late.

My target becomes a mere afterthought after her nails drag across his back. They’re a peony pink, a fitting match for the irritated red lines she leaves behind. They’re glossy, smooth, and the tendons in her wrist shift under the flesh every time she digs her fingers into his chest. He doesn’t understand the treasure he has in his grasp. He doesn’t feel the, I assume based on the blush on her nose, cold sensations of her palms over his body. I would do anything to have her soft, supple hands on me. She is tacky, pornographic, and he prefers that. She’s a toy to him, but she’s pure to me. I could make her a masterpiece.

A rosy golden charm bracelet would look exquisite on her.

He’s pushed her head into the pillows, her bottom raised up high. My pants are unzipped, hand sliding down. He’s looking straight ahead rather than at her, and briefly… I make eye contact with him.

There is no recognition. There is no pause in his relentless sexual escapade. He stares, I stare back.

What will you do, Mr. Bateman? If you are truly like me, you would know the right answer. I close my eyes and sigh. Violence is an understated form of foreplay: looking down upon another, sipping the fright from their body, extinguishing the traces they leave behind… is delightful.

“Faster! Faster!”

My eyes roll back. The bed creaks. The incoming climax has me whining and gasping.

Oh my, I’m sorry for ruining that sports jacket!

A symphony of slaps, the impact increasing in volume, eventually interrupts my sexual haze, especially when the moans of ecstasy morph into whimpers of pain. I look through the slit of the door again and watch Bateman strike the woman across the face. She stares up at him, clutching her cheek, eyes wet and bloodshot.

I slow my breathing.

She pushes him away which earns her another smack across the face. It’s a vicious one too, enough to have her roll over the mattress and attempt to cower with the pillows. Bateman is partially dressed, his tie having been thrown off and his belt undone, which he buckles back. He staggers across the room and I hold my breath when he nears the closet but he picks up a sledgehammer instead. Where was that hiding?

He holds it up as he looms over her and she screams as the chorus of the song belts the loudest, yet I still hear the thwack as the metal hits skull. The third hit shoots a polka dotted stream of blood across his headboard. She’s limp, and he uses that to his advantage, dragging her body across the bed and taking the white sheet with her. Her right eye is swollen and black, her hairline caked in a purplish red chunk of flesh— her left eye is jiggling, the last bits of her consciousness struggling to search for hope, a saving grace, and it soon finds me, but she has no strength to plead.

I don’t even blink.

Bateman reappears with a fileting knife. He pats the woman’s cheek, as if gingerly awakening her from beauty sleep. “Honey, come on, wakey, wakey.”

She stirs, her head turning to and fro, eventually making sense of the horrors that await her, and a strained gasp escapes her. It reminds me of a dog’s squeaky toy that’s been chewed up. This excites us and he starts cutting into her thigh, eventually piercing the femoral artery and blood shoots up directly into his face— I see him stick out his tongue. He wipes his eyes, grinning from ear-to-ear, and continues on, cutting until he hits the femur, a bone proven too sturdy for his weapon of choice.

It doesn’t matter, though. He switches to the other thigh and repeats, both of her thighs now slit open exposing deep tissue and bone. Each movement she makes has the slit opening and closing, like a fish’s mouth.

He leans over her, hands perched on his knees as he taunts, “Hey, dumb bitch, can you walk? Get up and walk.” He maniacally laughs, “Come on! Get up! The door’s right over there, come on.”

Yanking on her arm, he helps her up, and the mouths on her thighs open wide, a sound I can’t even begin to describe comes out of her as her legs give out underneath her. Her head hits the blood-soaked floors with a dull thud. Frustrated, he rips out a chunk of her now strawberry blonde hair.

Despite her fatal injuries, she animatedly squeals and flops around like a seal. He twists her arm out of the socket with a sickening pop and crunch, and no matter the amount of weight training he does, he’s not strong enough to fully rip the arm off. The fish scaler is the star of the show again, and he uses it to saw through her arm. He waves the twitching, gushing arm around, teasing her and even smacking her with it.

An hour passes by excruciatingly slow, each minute rimmed with sexual deviancy so devilish I can hardly recall what even occurred. Her arm had entered numerous entrances, slick with fluids unnamed and some better off unnamed, at the same time that that man used her decapitated head for pleasure. Her body was a mangled mess, contorted and bruised beyond recognition. Those supple hands of hers is an afterthought now, especially after he broke the joints and tossed them into a frying pan— for some reason.

There is nothing I can say. I have no clever remark about the experience I’ve had, except that I snuck back out in a cold sweat once he collapsed on his futon and I ran home. Coincidentally, and only coincidentally, my dick stays rock hard.

✃ ✃ ✃

I believe the woman I’ve been tailing for the last hour is lost. She keeps swirling on her heels, head twitching to and fro like a hummingbird, as she searches for something or someone. She, and therefore I, reads every neon sign and every splatter of graffiti in this god-awful district. I don’t have the slightest idea as to what her destination is, but I hope she finds it soon. Our journey has put us through a maze of honking taxis, drunken college students, and foul-smelling homeless persons— meaning, I haven’t had a single city block where it was only her and I. This is beginning to be more effort than she is worth; she has the most gorgeous nails I’ve seen yet, with milky skin and prominent bluish purple veins glowing under her wrist, but this is getting ridiculous.

Her destination is a towering brick wall, a mass of bodies standing outside the building in the chilly air. In this mass, there’s crossdressers, suits and ties, kids clearly too young to be partaking in whatever the crowd waits for, a man in a wheelchair whom I trip over, and sparkling ladies flicking their hair back and sizing up the others around them, me included. A man with a clipboard stands on a soapbox, calling out names and picking out people with the point of his pen.

This isn't worth it. I’ll find her later, if not find a suitable replacement.

I attempt to escape the cascading waves of partygoers, but they’re magnetized and refuse to let me leave. The clipboard man spots me, and I know it’s me unfortunately, when he yells, “Grape! The grape right there! You!”

Someone else responds by pushing me toward the double-wide doors. No!

“Nice tie. Where did you get it?” Clipboard asks me, leaning down to meet me at eye-level. A man on sky-high heels whispers in my ear, telling me everything’s going to be okay as he tugs me into the darkness within the building.

“Shibuya,” I answer.

Perplexed, he nods slowly. Right as I’m forced to enter this house of debauchery, I hear him remark, “He didn’t look Indian to me.”

I can’t see. Booming music and muddy lyrics blow my eardrums as this freak steers me along corridors— is that a toilet? Why are there soap bubbles everywhere? What the hell is this place?

My nails ache, my fingers are trembling, and I’m wracked, no, made distraught with this urge to blow this entire establishment up. Stop talking, stop touching me, stop, just stop!

As if sensing my homicidal aura, I’m brought to a slightly quieter private room only sealed off by bead curtains. A nude man wearing a top hat passes by and I swallow down my vomit. I rip my hand away from the other weirdo’s and branch off. I tried to count the twists and turns we took but I lost track unfortunately. I’m stuck here.

Although I don’t want to admit it, my saving grace is in a booth lit up by pink lanterns: Patrick Bateman. I stand, hesitantly, deciding whether it’s worth it or not. If I picked the wrong choice, well, I’ll deal with the consequences as I always do.

I straighten my tie and slide right in next to him. Sunglasses on, he rigidly cranes his neck toward me and stares. He plucks the glasses off, and hisses, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Partying.” I’m the image of fun and relaxation right now, I’m sure.

“Who let you in?”

“Doorman?”

“How?”

“I walked in through the doors.”

He pushes his sunglasses right back on. “Smartass.”

The two women to his right acknowledge me briefly and go on gossiping between themselves. Good. You’re not worth my attention, either. I dissociate briefly, wondering if the stack of Playboy magazines sent to my mailbox was a prank or not, until a socialite with teeth gleaming so bright she could be mistaken as the club’s disco ball hops up to us.

The sunglasses were a good call, Mr. Bateman.

“Oh my god, Bateman, are you sitting with David Bowie? Are you David Bowie?” she asks us in an unfathomable speed, her voice increasing to an ear piercing screech. She forcefully makes room for herself on the end of the booth, sandwiching me between her and Mr. Bateman.

The latter refuses to give in, and so I’m smushed into his side, his elbow grazing my belt buckle. Up this close, the scent of his aftershave is a ‘palate cleanser’ amidst the smog of daisies and pseudo-fruits.

“That’s not David Bowie,” another ditz says, blowing smoke in my direction. What if, and this is purely hypothetical, I snapped her frail wrist in two?

“It’s his brother,” says who?

“David Bowie doesn't have a brother.” He could, I don’t know, but it’s definitely not me.

As if jealous of the spotlight I sit under, Patrick speaks up, “No, he is not David Bowie. Bowie is not Japanese.”

A thick silence blankets the booth.

“Right? I thought he was an alien? Is he not an alien? Bowie?” Smoking bitch says.

“He has a daughter named Moon Unit, so liiiiike.”

“What? Are you retarded?” This is said with a frightening smile but only I hear Patrick over the stereos booming around us.

She shakes her head earnestly. “I'm not retired yet, but I’m almost 21, so it could be soon.”

Patrick laughs. “I’ll come by for those autographs when you start working at Dunkin’ Donuts.”

“I don’t like Dunkin’ Donuts.”

“Their color scheme scares me.” Since when did this turn into a confessional booth?

“Yeah, me too.”

Mr Bateman snaps his fingers at a passing-by hostess wearing a bikini top and having talons for fingernails. “Another scotch, please.”

“And an icepick. You have one in the kitchen, right?” I jokingly ask. She stares back at me, slowly nodding, before click-clacking away.

The girls began yell-whispering about the chance of Axel Rose appearing in this club, as I am now an afterthought once they realized I am in fact, not David Bowie, nor am I a fan of groupies. They bolt, leaving behind the two of us.

“Have you heard of John Wayne Gacy?” He asks, invading my personal space.

Yet, I don’t back away. “Vaguely.” He was a segment on the evening news years ago. There’s a whisper of a memory of my mother panicking about the state of the world, but that could’ve been over that man, or any bad news that was announced on the radio.

“He was the killer clown. Kept dead kids under his floorboards or whatever.”

“How depraved.”

“I think he hid the smell of the rotting kids with kitty litter.”

“Is that so? I’ll keep that in mind for later,” I remark, albeit being genuinely sarcastic.

He snickers, “Everyone knows you dispose of bodies with lye. Duh.”

“No, you burn them. Break the teeth, and chop off the hands— no dental records, no prints. No trail.”

For once, my remark wasn’t meant as a challenge to his macabre knowledge, but he takes it that way, evident by his expression. Do you ever relax? At all?

New York City is a goldmine but there are simple pleasures in life not found in the pissed-on streets or high-rises built by drugged-up bourgeoisie who probably can’t even spell ‘architecture’. I know Mr. Bateman would find a town like Morioh to be boring— it’s not buzzing with excitement, and I came to realize that the disappearances I caused were soon forgotten on page two, three, maybe four, of the local newspaper. Everyone is strapped to their routine and hardly anything disrupts it. They operate like a factory, object by object, and so the fear of the unknown will be ripped from them by the next day. Make your coffee, go to work, kiss ass (unless you’re me), go home, eat bland dinner, kiss your wife goodnight.

It’s mundane, but you would fit in. Nobody would care about you, no matter how many people you defile, Mr. Bateman. Besides, wouldn’t you like to brag to your “friends” about the one-of-a-kind sight of the Spring blooms right outside your window?

“You talk as if you have experience.”

“I have plenty, actually. Did you know I drowned a girl in her bathtub last weekend?” I reply in the most monotone voice I can muster. “It was an accident, truly. She said she was training to be a mermaid and could hold her breath for five minutes straight. I was only trying to help her go past her record.”

There’s not an inch of space between us despite the vast size of the booth. The waiter sets a drink down that is obviously not scotch in front of me, but Mr. Bateman doesn’t notice it. So, I sip it to calm the tremors I’m suddenly wracked with. In what world would anyone ever choose to drink this is clinically insane.

My long-awaited response is whispered into my ear. This shouldn’t be as intimate as it is, and there’s no reason my heart should be racing. I’m equally terrified and thrilled.

“Did you know I’ve dreamt about scalping your ugly bleached hair and mailing it to your mother back in Japan?”

Oh, oh, this excitement— “I would dare you to do it but I’m sorry, my mother is dead. Though, there is one man I’m sure would love to see that.” Josuke and everyone else, you stupid bastards. “Do you want his address?”

He scoffs. “Go kill yourself.”

“You first.”

When he grips my necktie and yanks me closer, hissing in my face, I do nothing. I want to laugh at this man because he is under the impression he scares me. His threats mean nothing, they are just words. I know what he’s capable of, but his violence has been spent on defenseless women. I am his match, his first roadblock.

He’s blabbering on, and I’ve tuned him out. I glance to his lips, and back up to his eyes. We’re so close, I can taste the liquor on his breath.

I suddenly flop onto the floor. Mr. Bateman roars a string of vulgarity, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and spitting near my shoe. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you faggot, Christ, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Hyperventilating, hyper aware of the eyes lingering on me, I scramble to my feet. I don’t know what happened, I think I blacked out, albeit I’m not drunk, I took one sip! I have to get away, now. I shove people out of my way, fighting for a way out. Someone tries to grab my sleeve and I knock over a man carrying a tower of champagne glasses. I bolt past soap bubbles and confetti-filled balloons.

A hallway bathed entirely in red light guides me to a sign that reads ‘THIS IS AN EXIT! ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO LEAVE?’

✃ ✃ ✃

There’s a knock at my office door. “Yoh-shi-cage.”

I don’t want to talk to you, I want to say. Instead, I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose hard. I know there’s crescent marks imprinted on my skin from my long nails without even looking. I look like an absolute mess and I’d prefer to avoid mirrors anyhow. My skin is gray, and I have dark circles under my eyes from the horrible sleep I had. I kept waking up in a cold sweat, my brain tormenting me with dreams of kissing and suckling. I didn’t get any relief from a pathetic masturbation session, so I stared at my ceiling and prayed I wouldn’t be lucid anymore. My prayers were never heard.

Those dreams weren’t of my girlfriend. They weren’t of an ex-girlfriend either.

It seems my quiet life eludes me once again.

I sip the black tea on my desk and clear my throat. “Come in, Mr. Bateman.” As soon as he does, looking none the worse for wear, I ask, “Did you need something from me?”

“I have to speak with you,” he replies, deadpan.

My nails scrape at my thigh under the desk. “Yes, of course. Take a seat. I assume this is to do with the current merging of—”

“No. Not about that.”

Deep breath. In and out. In and out.

“The stock prices are only going to increase 0.12%. That’s like playing poker with fucking dog food. Anyway.” He crosses his legs once he sits down.

I’m continuing to be tormented, this time with his punctuated silence. Finally, he asks, “What’s the deal with the voicemail you left me?”

“Huh?” I immediately retort. I clear my throat again, sitting up straighter. Think, Yoshikage Kira! What voicemail? Did I leave one? When? “I, uh, have left a lot of messages on a lot of colleagues’ inboxes these past couple of days. Care to remind me of the topic of this, um, concerning voicemail?”

Silence.

He releases one small, extremely snide snort. “I don’t remember the whole thing, you were kind of rambling, but you said like, I was better dead? Dead handsome? What was it? Better handsome dead? It was strange.”

Silence.

In a low whisper, menacing and serious, I reply, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I maintain my professional attitude at all times, Mr. Bateman, and I would not leave such a threatening message on your phone.”

“You’re saying I’m lying?”

“No, I’m saying I didn’t do it. I don’t recall speaking such words. I don’t recall the exact nature of the last voicemail I left either, but it wouldn’t have been in that manner. I respect you and—”

“Oh, cut that bullshit. This isn’t fucking Japan, quit kissing my ass. Y’know, you think you can come up here on Wall Street like you mean something, like you’re worth anybody’s attention but not a single person in this building gives a fuck about you.”

I want to laugh. You may think that’s an insult, Bateman, but I’ve been given the greatest compliment you could possibly dole out. Still, I purse my lips and allow him to rant.

“My apologies.” I offer after he’s done. “If you believe I would do that to you, then feel free to do so. I will only converse with you when necessary to avoid any complications regarding our work and our own reputations.”

“That’s it? Really?”

“What did you want me to say?” An attitude inadvertently slips out. Another deep breath. My index nail has grown 4 cm alone in the last half hour. “Did you want me to get down on my knees and beg for your forgiveness? This isn’t Japan, remember?”

Adrenaline shoots through my veins when pure ice and vitriol drips from the black-holes he has for irises. One eye twitches. He just might actually leap over this desk and strangle me. It would make my day interesting, at least. What’s a black eye to me when I already look like shit?

Oh well.

Pour salt in the wound, Yoshikage.

“Or, maybe, I could invite you for dinner as a genuine apology? How does an evening reservation at Dorsia sound?” I flip through my planner with shaking hands, hoping he doesn’t notice, and I also hope he doesn’t catch that my schedule for this week is empty right now. That doesn’t matter! I’ve heard a colleague rave about the restaurant, much to the envy of the other jerks around him.

The response I’m expecting isn’t the one I receive. “Dorsia’s out of style. Last year, Stone Age, buddy.”

We’re locked in this scene. No one stirs, no one speaks.

Until. “You’ve obviously never been and want to cross it off your travel guide, so why don’t we go?”

I haven’t even made the damn reservation yet. “Sure. Why not?”

With that, Mr. Bateman leaves my office and slams my door. I pick up the phone hesitantly as if it might bite me and use my other hand to flip through a phone book. What am I doing?

I guess it’s too late to question it now. Luck shines on me and I won’t refuse it.

✃ ✃ ✃

I sit at a table in Dorsia, my hands in my lap, and I stare at the embroidered tablecloth. My guest for the evening hasn’t arrived, which is purposeful, I’m sure. I don’t entirely mind because there’s a lot to ponder over. There’s no plan set in stone. I don’t know why I even bothered one-upping him back at the office.

If I wanted to, I could’ve broken into his apartment a second time and killed him. I could’ve pushed him into traffic, set him alight with gasoline and his own cigar, or chopped him up like beef tartare and thrown him out in the same dumpster my ex-girlfriend went into.

So, why didn’t I? Why am I here? There’s a reason for it, it’s just…

I let my mind wander away. The decor is rich and dark, accentuated by various shades of blue throughout the tapestries, lights, and even in the grain of the wooden tables and chairs. There’s a wide wall-sized aquarium off to the right side— I spot moon jellyfish, clownfish, dragonets, and some emerald crabs shifting around in the pebbles.

The man of the hour arrives thirty minutes late on the dot, and has no trouble searching for me. Right away, a waiter readies with his pen and pad before Mr. Bateman even sits down. He notes my full glass of water and scoffs.

“I’ll have a Manhattan, and uh, he will have the Midori Sour. You like that don’t you? You drink that.” He seems strung out.

“I’ve never had Midori,” I fire back.

“Really? You know, they’re very trendy right now. You should try it.”

My fingers scratch at the glossy menu. I’m beyond frustrated with this man. If I had Killer Queen at this moment, I would’ve blown him up. Right in the middle of Dorsia. Spontaneous combustion is a real phenomenon, or so I’ve heard. A teenager back in Morioh suddenly caught on fire while sailing— they said he drank so much alcohol he was internally flammable! His own organs betrayed him! A laughable concept to be honest, but being an eyewitness to an incident such as that makes all the difference.

Amidst the tension, the waiter already left and sent our drink orders to the bar. I bet he feels victorious, riding a high about his humiliation attempt. He looks smug about it; God, what a child. But I have to keep myself in check. This man is disgusting— he’s an enigma. He’s a disgrace, and he’s endlessly intriguing. He’s a pathetic coward clinging to high-end names beyond his ‘pedigree’. He has no vision of his own, no true personality, and yet, I reminisce on the havoc he wrecked and I think there is little to no other men even in this city that could match it.

Mr. Bateman looks up, and then around. “It’s a bit empty in here.”

“It’s a Thursday night, not exactly a prime time for fine dining.” I offer this as a piece of condolence for both him and I. Less people means anything that can warrant attention will be noticed quicker and with more judgment. There are empty tables around us save for one seating three blondes and a brunette. That’s about all I will take note of, although they have noticed us long ago. I can’t stray from my objective. I wish Mr. Bateman could say the same; he’s been feeding their delusions with flirtatious smiles and glances.

He has one arm slung over the back of the chair, the other tapping an annoying tune on the tablecloth. I have refused to take note of the glitter of his new watch, and my, I itch to see its design, or even peek at his new manicure. This leaves me with the options of the vase of flowers, the menu tabloid, or just his face, to study.

I swallow hard and pick up the menu again. The waiter sets a Midori Sour and a Manhattan on our table. My drink has a neon red Maraschino cherry and a lime wedge perched on the rim while an obsidian, Luxardo cherry lays across his, pierced through with a martini pick. I watch him slip the pick across his lips and bite the cherry off. Pink glassy nails, crisp round white edge. Two sips. Lick lips. His watch is Cartier. A golden face and banded in a black leather.

The menu, Yoshikage. The menu.

“Are we doing appetizers?”

“Might as well,” he answers in a surprisingly polite tone. He takes one more good look at the menu and tosses it aside. Now, he and the women are staring me down. I focus on the menu, reading about a pan-seared lamb with yellow pepper pesto.

I nervously comment, “A lobster for an appetizer seems heavy, doesn’t it?”

“It’s the size of a matchbox.”

He won’t stop staring. I push forth. “Earlier, you made it sound as if you’ve never been here before.”

“My last dinner was a forgettable one.”

“The food was bad?” I’m actually curious. I’m devastated that we’re having a conversation. An actual conversation.

“The food and my guest— they both lacked flavor. For the prices, the portions are tiny too.” Pause. “I have to use the restroom.” Just like that, he zooms away from the table and makes a beeline for somewhere in the back, so I’m now alone in the middle of the dining room. The women giggle obnoxiously and I can see one pointing at me while whispering to her friend. Do I have a stain on my lapel? Is my hair out of place?

Did I forget to take what’s-her-name out of my pocket?

No. I didn’t.

As if this experience isn’t bad enough, I’m paying. Who exactly is being played here? An empty restaurant speckled with prey and they serve one bite portions for the cost of a Valentino tie— I’m a fool. And the Midori Sour tastes rather good, and for these reasons, I may buy a red-eye flight to Morioh and let those brats put me out of my misery.

Patrick returns sniffing and wiping his nose. You’ve got to be kidding me. Wait, if there’s no bathroom attendant, then if he decides to go skiing again, I can follow him in and stage an overdose; the poor guy gets too high and sustains a fatal, gushing head wound from hitting the hand dryer; Yes, I’ll do that.

“Did the waiter come by?”

“No.”

“Call him over, then. I’m starving.”

Doubtful, but I twist in my seat and eventually find him, motioning for the young man to come back. He immediately strides over, notepad hugged to his chest like an obedient dog. “Are you gentlemen ready?”

Patrick snorts. “Been ready— nice to see you’re attentive.”

“I’m sorry for not noticing earlier,” he stutters, “Would you like a complimentary—”

“No.” We say simultaneously.

“Okay, what will you be having?” The boy asks me first. I thought he would ask Mr. Bateman first, but I recover quickly. This doesn’t upset my ‘date’ as much as I thought it would.

“I’ll have the ratatouille and cauliflower-crusted chicken.”

Patrick has already handed his menu over to the waiter, and doesn’t look at anyone in particular. “King Crab linguine, hold some of the garlic butter and no bread on the side. Thanks.”

We sit in silence after the waiter saunters off. Muzak of a popular song I vaguely recognize plays above. Mr. Bateman is once again shaking the table with his leg, and has lost interest in the girls behind us. They continue to cause a ruckus. I’m borderline nauseous.

“Where do you live?” he asks suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“Where do you live? What building?”

“Pandemonium, on West 70th.”

“I’m not familiar with it.”

“I believe it’s recently constructed. There are few tenants in the building.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I sip my drink, attempting to hide my disgust when it now tastes like bitter club soda.

The food is soon dropped off— it’s meticulously plated to such a degree that I don’t want to disturb it. Yet, the emptiness inside my stomach forces me to ruin the perfect circle of ratatouille. Mr. Bateman picks up his knife, despite having pasta, and wanders off into another dimension. Where does he go? What thoughts plague his mind right now?

Are you thinking of stabbing me with that steak knife? If you are, where would you do it? Thrust it into my jugular and watch me spill on the charcoal tiling? Do you think you’d be fast enough to block me returning the favor?

Oh, the finale of my life taking place in an ostentatious restaurant, dying to the curdled screams of the audience around me, the light leaving his eyes as he bleeds out on top of me—

I jab the chicken breast and watch pinkish white liquid stream out. I wish I wasn’t here. I don’t know why the cauliflower is neon purple, and the crunchy bit of this supposedly juicy chicken that I gagged down has ruined my night. The soggy bell peppers remind me of mucus and the glossy slivers of tomatoes throw me back into the mouths on that woman’s thighs. Bateman hasn’t touched his plate, just holding his fork and knife, suspended in motion, like me— in fact, we’re reflections.

He has a tiny nick on his jaw from shaving. The faintest blue dyes his under-eyes. Two strands refuse hair gel and curl against his forehead.

Patrick, I think I want to show you my true self. I want to reveal everything to you. I want to clasp your hands. I want. . . to claw your face open and chew on your tongue.

He’s dozing off. He’s drooling.

The waiter returns, about to ask how we’re doing, and I shift in my seat the same time that I purposely hit the table leg with my knee, jolting Patrick awake. “We’re doing fine,” I quickly answer, “Check, please.”

“Of course! Would you like to try our deconstructed strawberry cheesecake first?”

The words strung together makes Patrick snap, “No, we don’t. The fuck is a deconstructed cheesecake?”

“Just the check is fine, thank you.” I repeat.

Once he’s gone, I smile at my colleague. “Did you enjoy your dinner?’

“No. It was too bitter and bland.” There wasn’t a single bite he ate.

“Neither did I. My chicken was raw.”

“I saw.”

I think we’re having some kind of staring contest.

“I have a carton of cigars I had shipped from Honduras at my apartment,” I hang this proposition over his head, waiting for him to bite the bait.

He doesn’t answer with a reply, just a slow once-over from dazed eyes and a tiny nod. Maybe he didn’t go skiing after all, but had something else instead, like that Haldol or whatever it was called; and that’s fine with me.

I pay the astronomical check. I gather my coat and so does he.

Jumpcut.

A cacophony of car horns and the alarm of a fire truck struggling to escape traffic drowns out his voice. I should’ve moved to a higher floor, hell, I could’ve bought the penthouse. After this is dealt with, I think I will do just that.

My victim sits in the living room, dazed and somewhat confused. He picks up the TV remote while I hold up a Santoku knife, my handsome features gleaming in the blade. If my plan doesn’t end well, then I want this to be personal— I want to be doused in his blood, and hear his life extinguish without any distractions.

“I don’t have cable, just so you know—”

A burst of whirring and dramatic music startles me and I quickly realize I never returned that stupid film to the rental store. Patrick is in a trance, stuck on the scene of a goofy, decapitated head trying to perform oral sex on a nude woman atop a gurney. I’m dumbfounded. I snatch the remote off the coffee table and turn it off.

Deep breath, Yoshikage. In and out.

“I have a few questions I want to ask you.” The knife is hiding in the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I loom over him, caging him into the couch cushion.

“Where are those cigars?” he stupidly asks. His pride won’t let him cower, even when I lean down, my elbow resting behind his head.

“Forget about the cigars. We’re co-workers, and I believe co-workers should be a bit familiar with who they work with.”

“I’m not gay, if that’s your first—”

I shush him. “I’m not done talking. It’ll be quick, I promise. This will go much smoother if you answer honestly.”

He rolls his eyes. I’ll take that as a form of compliance.

“How many people have you killed?”

One, two, three… You’re thinking about this too hard, Patrick.

“None.”

“Hm,” I click my tongue, “That’s a false statement. Let me ask again: how many people have you killed?” I brandish the knife and point the tip of it right at his lips. It scares him momentarily, but either he’s drugged out of his mind or he expected this. I don’t know which one is preferable.

“A couple,” he replies, his attention caught between the knife and myself.

“How many is a couple?”

He shrugs. “Twenty, maybe. Thirty. I don’t keep track.”

“Were they all women?”

“No. How many of you killed?”

“46.”

He laughs in my face, his cheeks sweating and his pupils beyond dilated. “Yeah, right. You? You carry a nail clipper and wear fucking easter colors. A weird, obsessive faggot like you couldn’t do anything like that. Is this your way of scaring me? Or, wait, you're gonna hold that knife up and make me strip for you? Christ, if you wanted to see my dick so badly, I would’ve showed you! It’s bigger than yours, it’s really impressive. You wanna see? Here, you fucking—” He stands up and unbuckles his belt, right as the knife jabs his hip. It scrapes bone, I feel it, and within seconds both of us crash into the glass coffee table.

The thin framing of the table gives in to our combined weight, and like an alligator’s death roll, we toss and turn over each other. The wound on his hip is forgotten in favor of landing a severe blow to my left cheekbone. I’ve been battered before by he-who-shall-not-be-named, and honestly, I can thank him for at least dialing up my pain tolerance.

No man is ready for a fight to the death. They act like they are, when they’re flexing in front of the mirror, but when push comes to shove, and stabbing becomes biting and slapping, any fine control of their muscle dissolves. There is no elegance in battling for your life. I almost… can’t see what’s happening, as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. My vision is tinted in shades of flesh and pinstripes.

Soon, clarity returns to me and I flip us both over, straddling his hips. I grab ahold of his perfectly combed hair and bash his skull against the wood flooring two, three times. Vanilla grain becomes ruined with raspberry-tinted splatters. Despite the egregious amount of blood, he’s fine still. Head wounds always bleed as if you might just dry out in seconds. His pupils react to the overhead light, he’s fine.

Semi-conscious, he grips my hips, helplessly tugging at my belt. How naughty.

My left eye is obscured by a blotch of red. I run my hand through my hair, wetting it with blood and feeling shards of glass. There’s a jagged piece lodged near my temple. Oh, how lovely. I pray to the Heavens above that the injury won’t leave a scar.

I sigh but it sounds more like a predatory growl. “You put up a good fight, Mr. Bateman— you almost sway me to target men instead. Women are so easy, sometimes frustratingly easy, and having this adrenaline course through me, oh, it’s nice.”

It hits me then why I ever bothered to keep him alive for so long. . .

For the first time in my life, I grin from ear-to-ear. “You’re fun to play with, Mr. Bateman. I like you.”

Overcome with a funny kind of adoration, I curl my fingers around his throat and lick up his chin, his iron-filled mouth, soft lips, up his cheek, swirling around his eyelid, both tasting and feeling how gelatinous his eyeball is. His cologne is warm and sharp, bristling with lemon and sandalwood. I gasp and moan, my hips bucking into his lap. I grip his wrist in my free hand, and quickly thrust two of his fingers deep inside my mouth. With a pop, I release them and return to lapping up the blood pouring out his cheek.

“You won’t remember this, you won’t,” I whisper into his ear, “No one will care, no one will believe you, and no one will save you.”

He groans in response, tugging hard on my hair. That’s good, just like that.

I couldn’t tell you, and likely I wouldn’t tell a soul anyway, how my plans devolved into humping him, but they did. I’m not proud of it. In the moment of euphoria, it truly is difficult to tear yourself from the pleasure. My toy huffed and squirmed beneath me, too weak to fight the inevitable. He was moaning— louder than he did with that cheap woman in his bedroom. He sounded strained, desperate, whiny. It should never have felt so good to line up our unzipped slacks and rub.

This may be another disgusting dream of mine, and maybe I hallucinated the moist underwear between us. Our lips touched, and it wasn’t because of me, that I don’t doubt. I became lightheaded soon into the session from blood loss? Lust? Both? And then fireworks exploded in my head, my thighs quivering, until a void claimed me.

I now lay on the flooring, surrounded by brush strokes of dried blood and shattered glass. I think the Sun is peeking into my living room through the blinds. Mr. Bateman isn’t here with me— I don’t know where he is actually, but a cursory glance tells me he somehow left my apartment, if the gory trail around my unit is anything to go by, or I dragged him out.

I . . . don’t remember.

I heave a deep sigh. Sand clings to my eyelashes and every muscle in my body aches. I can afford to lay here a bit longer. I’m currently single, and it’s a Saturday, I believe. No one is after me. No one will get me.

It’s just another day, and another one has bitten the dust.

#moriohpsycho #american psycho #jojo's bizarre adventure #patrick bateman #kira yoshikage #LISTEN TO NEW ORDER OR ILL STRANGLE---#toxic yaoi ftw

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