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c0smoshit · 8 months

Note

Hello fellow Cloud Strife freak 🫡

(Yes it’s the same star_sworn from ao3 lol)

If you’re feeling in the mood for it in your last week before school, I was hoping to request a nsfw fem reader/Cloud fic where he is possessive/jealous, and he spanks reader: a LOT. Both before sex (with extensive foreplay, lots of dirty talk, maybe oral for him?) and during sex. Just spanking with hands please, and not super hard spanks either, I'm very vanilla lol. It's not about hurting her, it's more a possessive thing for Cloud (and an ass thing lol!). But reader is SUPER into it. I'm not looking for any hardcore dom/sub or anything, just stuff a committed couple would do (some soft dom vibes, like in Mind Cloud/ed).

Maybe it’s the first time he does it and they both realize how much they both like it, or maybe they’ve come home from a party where the guys were checking out his girl and he is feeling possessive/frustrated. I leave it to you if you want to take this request!

I look forward to the filth. Let's give this ass man something to do with his hands… 😉

Also best of luck with school starting!!

I LOVE THIS omg

Thanks for this delicious request love 😻♡♡

Jealousy ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/fem!reader

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ smut!, p in v, spanking, few hints of dacryphilia, bjs, sexy hour Cloud ;), not proofread!

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ I'm baack! I hope u guys missed me hehe

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 2.321

He was closer to you this night, walking right beside you as he guided you to your appartment, his hand brushing over yours as the dark path consumed your vision.

He was quiet too, way more than usual. His eyes didn't seem as if they were trying to search your own ones like they would always do.

Maybe he was stressed out?

This week has been a long one and you could see it on his eyes, he was tired. As time grew older, you had managed to read his enigmatic emotions quite well, so you thought that maybe he just needed to rest for tonight.

But your theory was quickly proven wrong as you entered your home, ready to wave him goodbye for the night.

. . .

Before you could even turn around, his chest had enveloped your back, pushing you further into your appartment until your hands met the wall.

His husky breathing hit your ear, a shockwave of goosebumps trickled your skin.

Why was he that needy all of the sudden??

Your mind circled around lots of different questions but the harsh sound of the door closing made you jump.

You didn't dare to open your mouth, not yet. You could feel his hands on your waist, but they didn't caress you like he always would, like when he touched you for the first time.

You internally cracked a small smile at the memory, he was just as nervous and fidgety as you were.

The moonlight encased both of your bodies as he took off your clothes for the first time, making an absolute mess of himself when he finally got to the act.

But those gentle and somewhat shy touches were far lost inside his guts somewhere, instead, they were replaced with fierce and strong movements.

You turned around slowly, you could feel yourself getting aroused by this sudden role he was playing. And when you stared at those almost hollow eyes, you saw passion, lust and hunger all mixed up together in a ballad of desesperation.

His lips devoured yours not even a second after.

Your eyes were tight shut, savouring the sweet moment he was offering you. Your lips tried to move slowly, trying to enjoy this new facade, but he wouldn't let you.

His tongue was already inside your mouth when you felt his fingertips lower themselves down your body.

You knew he was an ass guy, it was absolutely cristal clear.

He would always grab your ass, brushing it off saying that it was an "accident". Pushing his hips into yours from behind whenever you couldn't reach for something, always walking right behind you whenever you two where with the group.

However, you didn't expect he liked... spanking.

It started off slow, giving you little taps as he grabbed and squeezed your butt. He pushed further into you, almost as if he wanted to break the wall behind you.

The kisses soon turned sloppy, soaking up both of your lips before he trailed them further down, and you had to bite your lip in order to not let any sounds yet.

His hair trickled your flushed cheek, hands quickly grabbing it as his kisses turned into bites, sucking your soft skin.

The crown of your hair hit the cold wall behind you, mouth agape as you let him sneak a hand behind your back, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as the other one caressed your hip.

Ready to finally use your voice tonight, you eventually opted not to. He had just became so... primal for you, you didn't dare to even make a question.

However, you wished this blissful moment lasted longer.

"Oop!"

A cut out yelp emerged from your mouth as his hands took ahold of your legs, lifting you up easily into the air.

He wrapped your legs around his hips, your crotch resting just above his belly button and, simultaneously, your arms embraced his neck for support.

You moved up and down thanks to his heavy steps and, trying to get payback from earlier, you started pecking his neck. Starting off gently, kissing and giving butterfly kisses into his jugular.

You noticed he became clumsier, almost tripping over as you sucked a hickie. Your kisses got wetter, hotter and your hand started to caress the back of his hair.

You giggled at his clumsy steps but as soon as you were placed on top of your chilly kitchen counter and saw his serious face once again, you quieted down.

His hands gripped your thighs as if they were his sword, his head coming down to rest on your neck once again to give you little pecks, weirdly more tenderly than the ones he had given you before.

But you pulled his mouth off you briefly.

"What's up with yo-"

"Who was he"

His eyes were finally looking at yours after a long while.

"What? What are you talki-"

"Who was that guy"

Your hands now rested on his shoulder blades, feeling the hard touch of metal bellow your right hand.

Frowning your brows, you tried to think about what guy was he talking about.

. . .

You smelled the aura and it smelt musky.

The first scent you picked out first was a strong breeze of sudden whisky, the wet and fermented barley filling up your nose.

Then you smelt a recognizable, stronge cologne floating around your head now. And when you lifted up your head, you saw him.

A mature, bearded man.

He was wearing a long black coat, some glasses keeping your curious eyes from staring at his own ones. You stayed there for a second, he looked oddly familar.

But before you could figure out who was that man, you came back to Earth, remembering that you were winding down after a long day in Seventh Heaven.

You grabbed your drink, resting for a while on your seat until your drink was halfway done.

But before you could walk away from that husky cloud, a large hand grabbed your shoulder, making you face the misterious man.

Your eyes lingered first on his fierce brown eyes, looking at his mature skin, you saw a scar on his left cheek that time had tried to heal, trying to match his skin colour.

You saw his lips move, but you had to re-think your answer before opening your own mouth.

"I saw you back there"

Okay.

You hadn't expected that phrase.

Where could he had seen you anyway? Was he following you?

"I like what you guys are doing for the Planet"

What?

You knew what you were doing was benefitial for the Planet, but Shinra worked so hard into putting your group as a terrorist one and actually killing way more people from the explosions than expected.

But why did he knew?

"Those Shinra guys deserve worse"

It came out as a mumble and you couldn't help but look at him with a puzzled expresion, accepting the friendly pats he gave on your shoulder, thanking you.

That was sweet. . .?

. . .

"Ohh, that man back there?"

He stopped his movements, almost as if letting you know that you were right.

"I saw him to-"

Now you were the one that cut him off, not boring to hide the sly smirk on your face.

"Wait, are you jealous?"

Suddenly his cheeks reddened, but before he could see your grin he lowered his head down into your neck once again.

Ready to make another snicker, you were interruped by his palm now resting on your panties, making you gasp.

His index finger moved up and down and you took matter into your own hands too, quite literally.

He hissed as your bold hand groped him too, trying to lure him into letting you give him some pleasure too.

"Let me make you feel good"

Your heated breathing sent cold shivers down his spine and, as your teeth lightly bit his ear, he lost it.

"So pretty"

You would always praise him, and it would always make him feel sort of bad, he would keep his own thoughts about how gorgerous you were to himself.

But he meant all of them.

His shirt and SOLDIER armour was now discared on the cold floor, your icy hands caressing his abs before finally getting down on your knees.

His absolutely favourite view in the whole Planet.

He helped you take off his belt, letting your overly-excited fingers do the rest of the work. And when you finally got face to face with him, he placed a reassuring hand on your head.

You started off with slow strokes, kitten-kissing his angry red tip. Sensually trailling lower and lower on his shaft just to tease him and rake higher and higher again.

Until he finally had enough, gripping quite hardly your hair.

"Get on with it"

He actually scared himself off at first with his demanding tone, his desesperation seemingly clear on his blushed cheeks as he stared down at you. And you complied, enjoying the choked out gasp you managed to pull out of his throat when you suddenly introduced him halfway into your wet cavern.

Lust filled eyes staring down at the mess you were making on his cock, gripping hardly the counter behind him as he tried not to buck his hips into your mouth.

Not only your sweet face was all in display for him to see, but your sweet, sweet ass was there too.

As dirty as it sounded inside his head

Your hands held his thighs hardly too, enjoying every sound you were being able to pull from him as you took him deeper and deeper. He was big, and it was almost funny how he didn't actually believe you could struggle to take him at first.

But it sure ignited something inside him

He throbbed when he saw you gag on him, help him reach his end with the help of your hand, your glossy eyes staring up at him.

He needed to feel you.

But not like this

So he took your face off him, smashing desesperately his lips against yours once again, feeling a fuzzy tingle inside him as he heavily rested on your lower stomach now.

His hands held your face ridiculously gently compared from how he had gripped your hair just a few seconds ago, walking you backwards until you met the counter once again.

"turn around"

His voice was deeper now, staring daggers into your eyes as he waited for you to obediently follow his lead. And you did.

You bent yourself down, ready to whatever he was going to give you this night right there and then.

And when you felt him pull your skirt up, you pushed your hips back into his hands, making him pull down your panties even slower than he intended to. Almost as if he was getting payback from before.

When they pooled through your ankles, his hand softly massaged your right cheek, feeding off your whines.

"Please"

However, he kept going.

No matter how hard he was, how hardly he wanted to fill you up, to feel you entirely around him once again. He wanted to show you how you were his, how he loved and desired you.

So, without thinking, the harsh sound of a "slap!" filled your ears and ceirtantly, your butt.

You couldn't help yourself but let out a pathetic moan, his hand now rubbing the red spot he had left. He had heard you, and it was the same sound you would let out whenever he was fingering you.

Did you actually like it?

So once he had tested the waters, he set his sights on slipping the nastiest mewls from your mouth tonight.

"Mmph- Cloud"

There it was, his name filling his ears the best way it could've had. So he started teasing your slit with his shaft, more slapping sounds filling up the small appartment as you almost rested your whole chest on the counter now.

You picked out the sound of plastic, something opening up. Which you later would guess was a condom.

But before you could make contact with the cold tile, his left arm surrounded your stomach, pulling you up into him, lips mere centimeters away from your ear.

"I'm going inside now, is that okay?"

How sweet

But sweet wasn't an adjective that matched his dirty and husky tone. His hand was now toying with your front, exposing you to the darkness as he squeezed your breasts now.

So you nodded, feeling suddenly too shy to speak to him.

"Too embarrassed to use your voice now huh?"

And you opened it, but it was useless to his tip now proding your entrance, slowly taking him further and further. Holding the arm that was embracing you, you rolled your head into his shoulder, silently whimpering at the warm feeling.

"Got you, almost there"

His reassuring tone he used with no one really never failed to make your knees feel like jelly.

But his adorable act lasted as quick as you managed to cum with his skilled fingers.

He started to move, and he was clearly desesperate. Setting off a crude, fast pace as you were now fully bent over, his hands gripping your hips. His middle finger was now circling quickly your clit, pulling off the nastiest moans he had wished for.

You imagined his glistening, lean form behind you, making you take all of him, using your tight walls in search for his climax. His hair all ruffled up, a bead of sweat trailing down into his v-line, and the sudden spanks your ass would recieve.

That was your last straw, mewling out his name as you soaked his cock.

And by the way you gripped him even harder, which he thought was impossible now, spasming around him violently.

He was done.

So he followed close behind, painting the plastic walls white, imagining it was you who was taking his load instead.

853 notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

Text

up in flames (steddie x fem!reader)

→ summary: when steve and eddie don't pay you enough attention one morning, you decide that today's a good day to be a brat.

→ warnings: strong language, threesome, oral smut (both f! and m! receiving), face fucking, smut (good old fashioned p in v), dom!steve, dom!eddie, breeding kink, unprotected sex, spanking, name calling (brat, slut, etc), mean!steddie, hair-pulling, mentions of spitting, edging, lots and lots of teasing, voyeurism (public teasing), cream pies, use of 'sir', polaroids taken of mentioned cream pies, overuse of nicknames (y'all should know me by now) MINORS DNI. 18+.

→ wc: 9.4k+

→ a/n: oh jesus. okay. so, first of all, shout out to @myosotisa for encouraging this catastrophe. second of all, i am not completely positive that that entire paragraph covers everything so if you find i missed something, please tell me! fair warning that this is the filthiest thing i have ever written, the longest smut i've ever indulged in, and that i've never written threesome. it's also not edited. any mistakes are between y'all, steddie, reader, and god. not me. my apologies if this is bad. this was just... incredibly self indulgent lol.

You’d brought it upon yourself, really.

It started that morning. You’d asked for ten more minutes with them, but they both had work and knew that ‘ten more minutes’ was never just ten minutes. So Steve got up and made breakfast, Eddie went to take a shower. You’d pouted like a child but nonetheless joined them at the table.

And maybe it wasn’t all your fault, because Steve had made pancakes. That was his first mistake, and Eddie is the one who you attempt to make pay for it.

Somewhere between morning softness fading and orange juice kisses, you’d gotten a swipe of syrup on your thumb. You play it up innocently at first, kitten-licking the sticky sweetness on your skin. Both Eddie and Steve had ignored any gentle kicks of your sock clad foot, not a single reaction when you’d press your toes into their calves beneath the table in a silent plea of pay attention to me, please. Neither man pays any mind to you, too engrossed in discussing what movie they might want to watch after work later that night, you take it a step further, letting your lips wrap around your entire thumb. Steve takes another bite of pancake, but he’s none-the-wiser. Fine. It was fine, because Eddie was the one sitting directly across from you, so you focused your efforts on him.

He always broke easier than Steve anyways.

Your toes press into his calf again, more harshly this time.

“I’m not watching fucking Empire Strikes Back again Ste-” he cuts off midsentence at your prodding, fork in the middle of digging into his pancakes. Steve was too busy gathering both yours and his dirty plates to notice.

Once Eddie’s eyes are on your mouth, you up the ante. The pad of your thumb presses down on your tongue as you slip your lips past the knuckle, hollowing your cheeks as you suck hard on your appendix before you slowly drag it out and make a point of tugging down on your bottom lip. You witness his pupil dilating in real time, entranced as your foot begins to trail higher up his leg. His chest heaves, and you know he’s recalling the moment from a few nights before, when you’d given him the same half-lidded eyes as the tip of him had hit the back of your throat and you gagged around him, teary eyed but eager to please him.

The clashing of dishes being set into the sink seems to break whatever spell you nearly had him under, just as your foot reaches his thigh.

He smacks your foot away, blinking quickly before a cruel grin takes over his face, “Cute.”

“What was that?” Steve calls from the kitchen, completely oblivious to the stare down currently occurring in your dining room.

Eddie raises his eyebrows, daring you to say something as you scowl, sitting up straight once more at his rejection.

“Nothin’!” he calls out, deliberately slow as he pushes his chair out and stands from the table, plate in hand. His steps are heavy as he rounds the table to where you sit with your arms crossed, eyes set forward, not bothering to spare him a glance. You were acting like a child, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. You were hot, you were bothered, and you were about to spend the day doomed to being riled up without reprieve.

As he passes you on his way to Steve and the kitchen, he leans down, voice low as he whispers into your ear, “Behave, sweetheart.”

You nearly scoff, but won’t give him the satisfaction.

Behave. As if you would do anything along those lines today.

—

The next mistake is made when Steve accepts your offer to bring him lunch to Family Video during his shift.

It was actually fairly empty for a Wednesday. When you enter the video store, there’s only one other customer perusing the aisles, Steve nowhere to be found as Robin greets you from the front counter. You send a small wave in her direction, lifting the bag you’d packed Steve’s lunch away into up as you passed her on your way to the backroom.

You were still frustrated. Terribly so. The few hours the boys had been out of the apartment, you’d tried to soothe the ache. You even went as far as to bring out one of your neglected vibrators. But the batteries were worn and nearing their end, and you couldn’t find where the boys had stashed away the new ones, so you’d ended up a petulant mess in the center of the king bed. You’d all but kicked out your legs and thrown fists into the down comforter you’d settled into the center of when the toy’s buzzing finally faded to near-nothing just as you’d felt yourself teeter on the edge of release.

It was at that moment you decided you would not be the only one suffering today.

Steve isn’t in the backroom, or the bathroom you check. You give up calling out his name after the third time before finally setting the bag onto the employee’s table and venturing back out into the front of the store. Robin was no longer at the counter, at one of the endcaps helping the only other customer, completely occupied.

That’s when you hear him, a muffled curse and sound of a few movies dropping in one of the back aisles. Your feet carry you towards the sound quickly, light on your feet as you sneak around a corner to find Steve glaring down at a stack of movies that had fallen off the shelves.

“I don’t think your Jedi mind trick is working,” you quip to make your presence known to him, taking slow and calculated steps towards him, “‘Fraid those wrinkles make become permanent if you keep staring at them like that, my love.”

Brown eyes flicker up to you, framed by dark lashes as the frown lines smooth out.

“Haha,” Steve deadpans as you stand in front of him, “Very funny.”

You keep up a demure act by pecking him on his lips in greeting, feeling the corners of his lips pull upwards.

“Oh, c’mon, you call that a hello kiss?” he whispers before he reaches out and settles an insistent hand on your waist, tugging you back in as he chases your lips with his own. His kiss is deeper, leaving more to be desired as it still remains fairly chaste.

Just the simple capture of your bottom lip between his has your eyes fluttering shut, a sigh escaping you.

You still make sure to pull away first, remembering the burn in your abdomen that had begun burning this morning, that had yet to be satiated, “Better?”

“Much,” he grins, eyes glancing down at your outfit, his hand traveling from your waist to the hem of the short sundress, “This is cute.”

Cute. The same demeaning word that Eddie had used on you that morning, the same dismissive tone as Steve rubs the thin fabric between his fingertips.

You had deliberately worn one of Steve’s favorite dresses on you. You had deliberately forgotten a bra.

You had deliberately gone without underwear.

“Cute?” you hum, scrunching your eyebrows, “Last time I wore this dress, if I recall correctly, you called me downright sinful-”

You cut off when you see that flash in his eyes, the same dilation of pupils, the same sudden heavy breathing you had witnessed in Eddie that morning. He was clearly recalling the last time you’d worn the dress – the way he’d bent you over the bed before ripping off your lace number underneath that night, coming in you until you were leaking him across the mattress, the way he’d taken polaroids of your abused pussy to share with Eddie when he had returned from his weekend trip.

Maybe Steve was just as easy to break as Eddie.

“Don’t,” he softly warns, voice husk and low. The fingers playing with the hem of the dress let go of it immediately, knuckles brushing your bare thigh.

“What?” you play it off nonchalantly, “I was just reminding you of-”

“Baby,” he’s practically begging you now. Big, brown eyes pleading before he glances over your shoulder, trying to gauge how far away Robin and the customer were currently from the two of you.

You bring your hand up to his chest, stepping forward and letting his hand now curl around the back of your thigh. You fiddle with the name tag on his work vest, “D’you think Eddie still has those photos? Maybe I should go home and take some new ones.”

It’s the final straw. You’ve pushed him farther than you did Eddie this morning, and the hand once delicately gripping your thigh is now on your neck, gripping your jaw firmly as he leans down to breathe into your ear.

“No, you shouldn’t,” his lips brush over the shell of your ear as your head begins to lull back, only making him tighten his grip as he keeps you pressed closely to him, “What you should do is go home and behave yourself.”

There it is again. That word, behave. A command, an order, a spillage of gasoline across your fire.

You light up at his words.

“Who’s going to stop me? Certainly not you. And certainly not Eddie.”

He lets go immediately, and takes several steps back. All contact between the two of you is lost. If you weren’t so irritated, so consumed by pent up desire, you might have whined. You might have reached back out or followed his steps back. With the distance, he looks down and can see your nipples straining against the chest of the dress.

His jaw locks, “I’ll call him.”

You wield the hammer proudly as you pound the final nail into your coffin, “Do it.”

You spin on your heel, leaving Family Video, with absolutely no intention of behaving.

—

You stop at the store on your way home. Which, to be fair, is your first mistake.

It doesn’t truly take that long to find the package of double A batteries, but even once they’re in your cart, you find yourself walking a few laps around the store to attempt to settle your racing heart and increasing ache. But even by the third lap, even as you get several curious glances from store employees and your thighs begin to ache from how quickly you’ve been walking circles, the pent-up energy persists.

You don’t care. You’re now better equipped, and you know where Steve keeps the polaroid camera and film at home.

But when you arrive at the apartment, plastic bag dangling loosely from your wrist, you completely miss the fact that Eddie’s van and Steve’s BMW are back in their respective parking spots. It doesn’t cross your mind that your boys might be home as you climb the stairs, as you fumble with your keys, as you shut the front door behind you with your hip.

They were smart about it. They left all the lights out except one.

You blindly fumble through the dark apartment, path set on the bedroom above all else. In your mind, you only had a few hours before they’d get home. The pressure of the time constraint was nearly anxiety-inducing until you stopped in the middle of the hallway, and immediately noticed the bedroom light is on. You rack your brain to try and remember if you’d left that light on, or if your hand had simply missed when you’d shot it out to flick the switch off your way out earlier.

Neither. It was neither scenario, and you realize it as you stand in the doorway and are met with an unexpected sight.

Steve is standing by the edge of the bed, arms crossed and face flat as he stares at you. He had been clearly awaiting your entrance. And his presence isn’t the one that strikes any regret or fear in your gut – that anticipation, the oh I fucked up moment, only arrives when you look to the bed and find Eddie sitting on the edge. He’s cleaned up already from the auto shop, arms and hands scrubbed of any grease. His work boots are still laced on his feet, coveralls have discarded to his waist and sleeves tied in a knot.

It’s not just his presence that startles you. It’s your second mistake that stares you straight in the face; Eddie is casually holding your vibrator, turning it over between his palms, not even glancing up at your entrance.

“You two are home early,” you squeak, and internally scorn yourself for the breaking in your tone.

Steve’s still upset about your visit to him at work. Plainly written across his face, he doesn’t even try to hide his displeasure that shines through as he glares at you.

“We are,” Eddie agrees, and a chill runs up your spine – his tone is airy, casual, light. And he looks anything but. “Wanted to surprise you, sweetheart. So you can imagine our disappointment when we came home to this-” he pauses and finally looks up at you, holding up the vibrator in a grandiose gesture, “-left out on the bed. Care to explain?”

He phrases it like a question. It’s not a question – it’s an opportunity to convince them to go easy on you.

A mutual mistake is made at that moment, on Eddie’s part and yours. He assumes you want a gentle night of affection and undivided attention – the fire in you wants anything but those things. The fire in you is seeking out bruises, marks that litter you for days, for the two men to reduce you to nothing more than a goddamn toy, just like the one that Eddie held in his hands.

“I had an issue,” you reply snarkily, sitting the bag down onto the ground now, “I took care of it. Any questions?”

Eddie’s fiddling with the toy immediately stops. You watch the way his palm cradles the sky blue silicone. You hadn’t even cleaned it after the failed usage; you’d assumed you’d be home before them, get right back into it and not be risking them finding it first.

“Oh,” Eddie’s lips split into a daunting grin, “I think I have a few, sweetheart.”

Steve hasn’t moved an inch, and continues to resemble a statue as Eddie stands up. He tosses the vibrator back to the center of the bed before he leans down and unlaces his boots. The seconds drag on as he takes his sweet time.

“What’s in the bag?” Steve breaks his silence in an even tone, each syllable impossibly stern.

You look down at the discarded plastic, the edge of the battery packaging peaking out. You shrug, “Batteries.”

“For what?”

“For my rocketship to Mars,” you snap sarcastically. His eyes darken and the downturn of his lips deepen. Eddie finishes unlacing his boots and slips them off, “The vibrator, of course. What else would I need them for?”

“Did you use it on yourself? The vibrator?” Eddie is maintaining a faux relaxed cadence. If you weren’t paying close attention to his words, or his actions, you’d assume he was simply asking you about your day.

You swallow hard. The first crack in your facade, “I sure as Hell tried.”

Eddie stands back up to his full height, kicking his boots out of the way. He doesn’t look at you this time – he looks at Steve, “You hear that, Stevie? She tried.”

You meet Steve’s gaze with your chin held high. Resilience, defiance, contumacy. It all seeps from you in waves. Your way of saying that the teasing wasn’t going to be enough, not this time.

Steve’s arms drop from his chest, “Tried,” he echoes Eddie, taking a step forward, making the flames lick up to your sternum, “Pathetic. Can’t even break the rules properly.”

He’s as stubborn as you are in the eye contact. Prideful, commanding, authoritative. His waves meet yours with ease, nearly enough to reach your fire, nearly enough to attempt to put out the flames.

But he doesn’t. As he and Eddie stand side by side, glowering at you with matching expressions, it only fans the flames. Only makes you burn brighter, ache worsening with each passing second.

“It’s a shame,” Eddie taunts, “All that trouble you went through, and you won’t even be cumming tonight.”

You smirk as you reach down and finally grab the batteries from the bedroom floor, “Oh? I won’t? That’s odd, because I actually had some pretty big plans with me, that toy, and these batter-”

You don’t have time to react before Eddie has crossed the room and snatched the package from your hands effortlessly.

“I’ll take those. Thank you, doll.”

He turns his back on you and Steve continues to watch you, watching your facade crumbling right before his eyes. Eddie wastes no time in tearing open the batteries before he grabs the vibrator, working open the compartment and shaking out the old ones only to be replaced with new ones.

“Strip,” Eddie commands with his back still turned to you. The smirk on your face has long since fallen, completely fading as your eyes widen. When he hears no movement from you, he tsked, “Do you need to be told twice, sweetheart?”

Steve’s anger, his indifference, has vanished along with your smirk. He raises one eyebrow in a challenge, a silent question of if you were willing to disobey them now that they were both here.

“No, sir,” you secede through gritted teeth. They’re not stupid – they can still feel the heat from your blaze, even as you follow instructions. Even as you behave.

Eddie doesn’t watch you, but Steve does. His eyes never leave you, following your hands as you reach down to the hem of your dress. It’s at this moment that you remember your choices from earlier – no bra, no underwear. You don’t have to catch Steve’s expression once you lift the dress off your body to know he’s swirling with disbelief and frustration immediately.

“Where the fuck is your underwear?” he demands, breaking completely. Eddie has placed the backing on the compartment, and hardly has time to turn and face the two of you before Steve is in front of you, toe-to-toe with you as you bite back a smile.

“I forgot,” you lie entirely too smugly.

“Forgot?” Steve scoffs, jaw flexing as his eyes trail down your neck, your collarbones, your peaked nipples. They glide a path all the way down your torso until they land on your exposed heat and the way you try to subtly squeeze your thighs together. “Bed, now.”

“I don’t recall Eddie telling me to-”

“Listen to him, sweetheart,” Eddie chides, effectively interrupting you, “I think you’ll find Stevie isn’t in a very giving mood tonight. Best to not press your luck.”

To both men’s astonishment, you listen. A flip switches at the mention of giving, at the promise of satiation to come. Within seconds, you’re laying on the bed as Eddie sidesteps, still clutching your blue vibrator.

“Flip over,” Steve demands, hand fiddling with his belt buckle as he approaches you.

You do as he asks of you, rolling onto your stomach, turning your cheek to continue to watch him fully remove his belt now. Your thighs press together harder now, watching a moment of pensive thought cross his face as he looks down at the belt in his grasp.

When he tosses it to the side, letting it hit the bedroom floor with a harsh thud, you count your lucky stars.

“Since you seemed so fond of remembering them earlier today,” Steve muses, his bare hand tracing over the exposed skin of your back, down your spine until his fingertips dance over the swell of your nude ass, “How many polaroids did we take for Eddie that weekend?”

He doesn’t need to elaborate what he’s referring to. You can’t see Eddie, but you hear him choke on a breath.

“Five,” you respond as your hands fist the comforter beneath you, heart beginning to pound from anticipation.

“Hm,” Steve fakes thoughtfulness, and you can see him turn his head in Eddie’s direction, “Five? Does that sound about right to you, Eds?”

Eddie must have been nodding, not verbally responding until he caught on that Steve wanted him to answer him out loud, “Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, “Y-Yeah. Fuck, yeah, it was five polaroids. Still got ‘em in my bedside drawer.”

Steve’s attention is back on yours in an instinct, hand retracting, “Here’s what’s going to happen, doll. Five polaroids, five hits. You’re going to count out loud. Do you understand?”

You’re as speechless as Eddie had been; you’ve never managed to get Steve this riled up. The roles were usually reversed – usually, it was Eddie being domineering, Eddie being cruel and reveling in your squirming.

“Answer me.”

You remember his hesitation with the belt – this time, you don’t hold back in blurting out, “I understand.”

“Good,” his warm touch returns to you, this time on the bend of your knee, trailing its way up to the back of your thigh, “Color?”

An ache pangs through your core, ringing out through the hollow of every bone in your body, “Green.”

There’s no more pause or teasing. Once the word is spoken, Steve’s hand is pulled back before coming down on your ass, the smack riveting off the walls of the bedroom. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you, feeling the hit straight in your center. For a moment, you can’t think straight, thoughts blurring together and disappearing into thin air.

“That’s odd,” you barely register the lifting of the pressure of Steve’s hand, “I could have swore I told her to count. Did I not tell her to count?”

“You did,” Eddie is no longer stuttering as he walks around Steve, entering your field of vision as he crouches beside the bed, leveling his head with yours, “She must not want to cum badly enough.”

There’s a spark in Eddie’s eyes you recognize, that you’re familiar with. This is how it normally is – Eddie, belittling you before completely wrecking you, all while wearing a boyish and an air of casualty.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl for Stevie?” Eddie taunts you with a whisper, as if Steve couldn’t clearly overhear his words.

“I do,” you sigh out, eyes glossy, “I do.”

“Then count,” he instructs while keeping his voice hushed. His grin falls ever so slightly, gaze hardening before he looks up to Steve and says in a normal voice, “Start over. She’ll count this time.”

Steve’s hand pulls back before landing another hard smack to you, this one stinging even more than the first time.

This time, as you gasp, you manage to let out a strangled, “One.”

He alternates sides. After each slap, you continue to count, voice growing higher in pitch each time, whines slipping out as you feel yourself grow wetter.

You don’t notice the stray tears leaking out of your eyes, falling to the comforter and forming a dark spot, until Eddie reaches out his thumb to swipe them away before the final spank.

“Look at you,” Eddie coos, “You’re a fucking mess, sweetheart, and we’re just getting started.”

Steve doesn’t land the final smack yet, instead choosing to smooth his palms over your reddening skin, massaging gently. Eddie’s freehand disappears from the edge of the bed, and even in your mind’s haze, you immediately know he’s palming himself for brief relief by the way he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Color?” Steve calls out once more, leaning down over you, letting his lips brush at the small of your back. An uneven line of kisses are placed all the way down to your sore ass. Your breathing stutters at the softness, a startling contrast to his palm.

“Still green,” you croak, making Eddie fight back a wide grin as his eyes flutter shut.

You go to shift your hips, seeking out your own relief, but Steve is quick to press his palm over your lower back, pinning you down to the mattress with minimal pressure, “Nuh uh, doll. I’m not done with you yet. One more.”

“Think you can do one more?” Eddie murmurs, the taunting edge still in his cadence.

You only nod. In any other scenario, the two boys would demand you use your words, but the movement appeases them tonight.

The final blow is no less searing than the first, Steve using just as much force against the cheek he’d originally begun with. You almost forget to whimper out the count of ‘five’ until Eddie’s tapping your cheek gently.

“Five,” you say as loudly as you can muster, opening your eyes that you hadn’t realized had closed.

Eddie is staring intently at you, all teasing demeanor having temporarily lifted, “And you’re sure your color is green?”

You can’t help but laugh at his genuine concern, the way his eyes manage to go soft even with his pupils so blown out. Steve is back to pressing kisses up your spine, carefully avoiding your backend now.

“‘M sure,” you promise him, words slightly muffled by the way your mouth is partially pressed into the mattress, “Look at you two. Going all soft on me.”

Eddie’s mouth quirks up immediately, reassured you’re fine.

“It’s just been a while,” Steve offers as his lips reach the nape of your neck, hands spreading over the back of your shoulders, “Munson’s gone too easy on you lately, hasn’t he?”

Eddie throws his head back in laughter at that, “Oh, yeah. I have, haven’t I?” that mocking tone twists your gut, a reminder that they’ve yet to extinguish the fire you’ve been burning with the entire day, “Got so soft on you that Harrington had to get mean.”

“You’ve both been mean,” you argue back, becoming restless once more. You hardly pay any mind to the throbbing of where Steve had just punished you, “All I wanted this morning was ten more minutes, and you both ignored me.”

Steve’s off of you fairly quickly as Eddie’s expression slowly morphs into something more carnal.

“All this attitude… because you didn’t get your way?” he slowly enunciates each word, rising slowly from his crouch as his eyes never leave you. He lets out a soft tut, “Flip her over for me, Stevie. I think I need to remind her of just how mean we can actually be.”

Before Eddie fully steps away from the bed, he grabs a pillow to pass to Steve. No words are exchanged between them as Steve manages to rearrange you onto your back, the soft pillow serving to protect your reddened backend while simultaneously lifting your hips.

You aren’t watching Steve, though. You’re captivated by Eddie as he smoothly removes his shirt, lean torso bared to you with a smattering of ink and taut muscles. Eddie isn’t quite the same lanky boy he once was – he’s grown into himself, into his body, and he’s far stronger than he looks.

“Enjoying the show, brat?” he hums in question as his hand drops to the handcuff buckle of his belt, fiddling without so much as looking down at it, training his darkened irises on the rapid rise and fall of your chest. “You know, I should put this belt to use on you for the way you’ve treated us today. I should tie your hands above your head, turn that vibrators of yours onto its highest setting, leave you writhing as it abuses that pretty little cunt while me and Steve go get some dinner. If I were really being mean, I would do those things, sweetheart. But I’m not feeling mean,” with each word, he steps closer to the bed, discarding his work overalls and socks along the way, before he’s crawling up the edge of the bed and slotting himself between your thighs. His touch is colder than Steve as he wraps a palm around one of your calves, sliding up and down as his rings press into your skin, “I’m actually feeling quite generous tonight, baby.”

“Please,” you beg, knees falling apart, trying to make more room to accommodate him. You nearly reach down, nearly grab him by his shoulders and pull him into where you want him most – where you need him most. “I’ll be good, I swear. I can be good, sir-”

“My, my,” he cuts you off, leaning his mouth against the soft side of your knee, lips parting as he knicks your skin between his teeth and makes you jump, excitement and thrill pumping through your veins with intense longing, “You’re being so polite, I knew you had it in you. Where exactly were these manners earlier, though, with Stevie… in public?”

At the mention of Steve, your head rolls to the side, finding him standing to the sidelines already completely undressed. His cock stands proudly against his lower abdomen, the tip an angry shade of pink, shining with precum as he slowly reaches down to grip himself around his base.

You let out a whine as his grip on himself remains still, him only saying, “You better answer him. Before his generosity runs out.”

Eddie bites your inner knee again before letting his lips drag up your inner thigh, breath hot on your skin, “Don’t be shy on us now. You certainly weren’t shy when you were talking such a big game in the middle of Family Video, of all places. What did you expect to happen, hm? Did you expect Steve to just take you to the backroom, to give you all you demanded without being deserving of it?”

“No, sir,” you breathe out. He hooks both of your legs over his shoulders, looking up with a devilish grin, eyes locked on target of your cunt.

“Tell Steve you’re sorry, sweetheart,” he insists, mouth growing closer to your center at an antagonizing pace.

Steve’s fist is now pumping his length, and you purse your lips into a pout as you make eye contact with him, “I’m sorry, Stevie.”

You receive a smack onto your exposed pussy from Eddie, his ring catching on your clit and causing you to let out a yelp.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you correct yourself, devolving into a moan when Eddie finally puts his mouth on you. It’s momentary, but enough to have your hands shooting down to grip the comforter at your side, balling it up tightly as your knuckles pale.

“Say,” Eddie pulls back, shimmering eyes meeting yours, “Be a doll and hold my hair back for me, yeah? I usually prefer to keep my hair out of my meals.”

You do as he asks, hands letting go of soft down material and tangling into messy curls, one hand digging into his roots while the other gathers the rest of his mane into a makeshift ponytail in your fist. His fingertips dig into your thighs greedily as he begins to devour, tongue working in quick swipes from your entrance to clit. You throw your head back, skull crushing into the mattress as your lips immediately begin to buck up into him. Your flames grow the highest yet, curling around your neck and up the back of your throat, releasing like smoke signals in gasps and sighs, heavy pants of Eddie’s name that only fuels him to grow more eager against you. You can feel the mattress shake from him rutting his hips in chase of his own release.

“Fuck,” you cry out over the sound of Eddie lapping and the quickening pace of Steve touching himself, “Jesus Christ. God, fuck, I-”

“Not God, not Jesus,” his voice rasps against your clit, pausing to purse his lips and suck sharply, “Just Eddie or sir will do just fine, baby.”

Steve sees the first sign of your orgasm creeping up on you – Eddie is lost in you, nose nudging against your clit as his tongue dives into your entrance, taking all you can give him.

“Don’t let her cum.”

Another curse falls from your lips, and your back arches further off the mattress, igniting pain on your backside from the burn left by Steve’s hand.

Eddie’s mouth stays pressed against you as his words send shockwaves up your spine, feeling his own pants as he replies, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You tug sharply with the hand tangled in his roots, Eddie groaning into you as Steve says, “She’s about to cum. Get your mouth off her, Munson.”

His words only spur you to clamp your thighs tightly against Eddie’s ears, as if you could block out the command. You were close. The closest you’d been all day, wound tightly and desperately for a release you’d been seeking since this morning.

Eddie was easy to break. You’d been right. For all the mean he was capable of, once he got his mouth on you, you were always sure to finish. He was a starving man, as needy as you as he would beckon you closer and closer to your edge. He got off just as clearly by your pleasure as you did.

He doesn’t listen to Steve. His tongue only plunges into you once more, and the coil in the center of your burning abdomen nearly snaps before Steve’s hand replaces the one that had been holding Eddie’s hair back. He tugs harshly, pulling the other boy’s mouth off of you in an instant.

The coil doesn’t snap. You nearly scream, your entire body aching fervently.

Eddie’s neck is bared to you as you glance down, hair still pulled taut by Steve’s grip as he licks his slick lips with a teasing grin. He catches your look of desperation and frustration, and one corner of his mouth turns the grin lopsided, “Told you, sweetheart. He’s feeling mean today, not me.”

“She’s been a brat. Brats don’t fucking cum,” Steve glares down at you, making you squirm, legs still hooked over Eddie’s shoulders.

You're dizzy from nearly coming to the fruition of your release, but still find a spark of snark somewhere deep in your chest as you lazily roll your eyes at Steve.

“Bite me, Steve.”

Eddie gives your thighs one last tight squeeze before your legs drop off of him as he moves to stand up beside Steve. He crawls backwards slowly, deliberately wiggling his brows on his flush face, “Mouthy, are we?”

“Far too mouthy,” Steve quips, letting go of Eddie’s hair finally. The curls brush his collarbones, falling in dark waves over his bare shoulders.

“Maybe you should put her mouth to better use, Stevie.”

They watch the breath get caught in your throat, the clench of your thighs as your eyes widen. Chest heaving. Pupils blown. You’re an image to be held right now by them, but they’re not going to tell you that – not yet.

“You’re right,” Steve muses. He’s hard, painfully so, as he moves to cup his balls, rolling the tension out of his shoulders, “Get her on her knees for me.”

Eddie helps you stand, taking the pillow that had been wedged beneath your hips and dropping it to the ground at Steve’s feet. Your knees still shake from your flames. You’re convinced they’ll burn you alive before the night is over, before your boys are done with you.

Your hands grasp onto Eddie’s forearms for a moment, steadying yourself.

“Hey,” he murmurs, a private moment between the two of you as he brings a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up to look at him with devastating gentleness compared to the roughness they’ve shown you thus far. He’s smiling softly, no sign of cynical or cruelty as he tilts his head, “How you doin’? What’s your color?”

“Still green, Eds,” you insist, leaning into his touch.

“And what do you say if it starts to get to be too much?”

“Yellow.”

“And if you need to full stop, no questions asked?”

“Red.”

“Atta girl,” he praises, dimples protruding before he leans down to kiss you. He tastes of nicotine, of mint, of you. Your tongue chases after his own into his mouth, losing yourself momentarily in the way his fingers continue to cradle your chin as he movements remain patient, giving. A stark contrast to what you’re used to in the bedroom, but exactly what you expect from the boy outside of the bedroom.

“Any day now,” Steve sighs, reminding you two of his presence. You both pull back and Eddie drags his thumb over your bottom lip, tugging and mimicking the show you’d made with the syrup for him that morning.

“Sorry,” Eddie rasps out, eyes still on you, “Just couldn’t resist. You know me, always the giver.”

“Right,” Steve snorts, the tenseness of the moment momentarily lifted as Eddie moves you to your knees in front of Steve. “Because you were so giving to her last week when you spit in her mouth after she begged for a kiss.”

Eddie shrugs, fingers carding through your hair and pulling it back over your shoulders, “I have my days. Just like you, clearly.”

His touch leaves you as you come face to face with Steve’s dick now, lashes fluttering as you look up at the two men. Eddie is quick to remove his boxers, a wet patch having formed on the crotch of them.

It’s embarrassing, the way your mouth waters at the mere sight of the two of them. Steve is big – in girth, in length – and you know him to be a challenge, always leaving your jaw aching. But Eddie is smaller – still girthy, still perfectly fitted to hit the perfect angles inside of you when he drills you into the mattress – but simply less intimidating. Steve stands tall and proud, but Eddie’s dick curves ever so slightly to the right, a darker shade of pink on his tip that nearly perfectly matches his lips and your own blushing cheeks.

“Look at her,” Eddie coos, stepping out of the discarded boxers and coming around behind Steve, having to lean down to place his chin on Steve’s shoulder as his arms wrap around the boy’s waist loosely, “Already cock drunk, and all we’ve done is take off our clothes.”

Steve is the one smirking now as Eddie places a succession of kisses over his shoulder, up his neck, both men look at you intently. “She is, isn’t she?”

“Just pathetic,” Eddie goads. Steve nods in agreement immediately.

You don’t say a word as Steve grips himself again and Eddie lets go of him, side-stepping to become a spectator once more before Steve guides his tip to your lips, tapping expectantly.

“Not so mouthy anymore, are you, baby?” Steve teases you. You shake your head before you let your lips part, jaw slack as you open your mouth for Steve.

The weight of him on your tongue is heavy, and you give yourselves a moment to just savor it. This is what you had been wanting since this morning, what you’d been begging for the entire day.

By the way Steve’s head falls back with a moan, he’d spent the entire day longing for this just as much as you.

“Just like that,” he whines, hard exterior cracking as you begin to bob your head against him, taking your time as your tongue swirls around his tip. You breathe deeply through your nose, slow as you begin to swallow him down, taking him further and further down your throat until he hits the back of it and gags you. The restriction of your throat has him releasing a deep groan, pulling from his chest as his hand reaches down to find purchase in your hair. “Fuck, your mouth is so good for me, baby. So good.”

“So much better when she’s putting it to good use, right?” Eddie comments, and you can hear the schlick of his fist pumping himself, fluid movements with the flick of his wrist.

Steve hums in agreement, fingers tightening against your scalp as you take him further down, choking once more. Tears have sprung to your eyes as you finally pull back, gasping for breath as you pepper kisses across his tip and down the length, reaching his balls before you mouth at them. His hips buck without constraint.

You’ve caught you breath by the time you’re kissing up the opposite side, sucking his tip as harshly as Eddie had treated your clit, a throb ricocheting through you as his fans with your flames with every pant of your name. A chant, a prayer, an answer of forgiveness – your stunt at Family Video is long forgotten as you sit back on your heels and open your mouth wide, making it clear you want him to fuck your face.

His eyes shoot open and catches sight of you waiting patiently. When he doesn’t make the first move, you reach up and tug on him, one hand stroking him and the other placed against his thigh.

“Fuck my mouth, sir,” you beg of him, some of the lingering tears in your eyes still wetting your lashes, “Please.”

The please is all it takes. The way your voice cracks, the way your thighs clench as you whine. Steve wastes no time in placing both his hands on the back of your head, watching you intently.

Your hand starts to drop from his thigh, and he’s quick to grab it and place it back in its original position firmly.

“Two taps to slow down, three taps to stop. Understood?” You nod dumbly, and he pulls on a strand of hair, making you gasp.“Say it. Say you understand.”

“I understand. Two taps to slow down, three to stop.”

Once the words leave your mouth, your hand still on his thigh, he thrusts into your waiting mouth. There’s no mercy as his hips jerk towards you, immediately pressing down your throat and leaving you a drooling mess. Each thrust brings on a fresh wave of tears, leaving your cheeks wet as you let him use you for his own pleasure. Each time his tip taps the back of your throat, you feel your core begin to ache worse, shuffling your thighs to keep your balance as well as seek out friction. You let your eyes divert from watching the way Steve’s chest frantically heaves to Eddie, who’s eyes are half-shut, wrist still flicking lazily, moving to a slower pace than the force that Steve fucks your mouth with. You try to communicate with your eyes for him to come closer, but to no avail.

Finally, you tap Steve’s thigh twice, and his movements slow to nearly a stop, letting his dick drop from your tongue as you puff to catch your breath.

“Everything okay?” Steve immediately checks in on you, and you nod, focusing your attention.

“C’mere,” you plead with Eddie, holding out a hand. He’s quick to come to you, and in an instant, you replace his fist with your own after spitting into your palm.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie hisses, hips stuttering as you pick up his pace where he left off.

The boys share a look before you glance up to Steve.

“Sorry,” you smirk softly, “Eddie just looked a little lonely. Continue as you were.”

Steve’s thrusts are even more frantic now as his eyes dart between your eyes and your hand, tugging on Eddie’s dick to match the pace set by him. He tests it out, slowing his movements and immediately widening his eyes at the way your hand follows his guidance.

Eddie seems to realize this at the exact time, as they both moan out in sync.

Just as you realize how sore your throat is sure to be come tomorrow, the possibility of bruising on your mind, Steve’s breathing becomes more ragged, thrusts faltering while Eddie begins to whine incessantly.

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps out, finally thrusting to meet your fist, “Fucking- Holy shit, my God.”

“I’m going to cum,” Steve grunts out, abdomen contracting, “I- Fuck, baby. Fuck, take it. Just like that.”

His praises become incoherent as Eddie smacks your hand away from him, quickly guiding your now free-hand to play with Steve’s balls. That’s all it takes for Steve, a few ginger rolls and pinches against his heavy sack, before he’s cumming in rapid spurts down your throat. He presses you up against his pelvis, your nose buried in his pubic hair, as he groans and curses through his high. Eddie watches, wide-eyed, as you take it in stride, swallowing every drop that Steve offers to you.

“Well, shit,” he breathes out through his nose as you pull back from Steve, letting a string of spit trail from your chin to his softening dick, “That never gets fucking old.”

You laugh hoarsely, “Neat trick, huh?”

Steve helps you off of your knees gently before he moves to sit on the edge of the bed, Eddie still standing with his dick against his abs, pink tip more swollen than before.

You stand between Steve’s knees and lean down, letting one of your knuckles brush over his check before you push some of his stray hairs off of his forehead with care, “Have I proven I’m sorry yet, sir?”

He breathlessly chuckles, eyes shut in residual bliss, “Fuck you.”

You’re shocked when Eddie comes up behind you as you’re still bent over, and suddenly running his tip through your soaking folds. Steve leans forward to kiss you hard, catching the whine that spills out from your throat.

“I think we owe her an orgasm still, Stevie,” Eddie comments, hand wrapping around the front of you as he pulls you back from Steve, fingers flicking your nipples before his hand comes to rest around your throat. Your back is flush with his chest, he’s tucked between your thighs as your core flutters around nothing. “How’s that sound, sweetheart?”

Your hum is lost in your chest, your flames desperate to lick at Eddie’s wrists as you lean your head back on his shoulder and let his fingers give an experimental squeeze to your throat.

“Still too much of a cock drunk slut to answer me, I see,” Eddie tsks, kissing the back of your shoulder chastely, “That’s alright. I’m still in a giving mood, baby — Let me take care of you.”

Steve watches, silent and entranced, as you become pliable in Eddie’s hands. You put up no fight as presses you to get on your hands and knees on the bed, letting your knees slide further apart until you’ve sunk to the perfect height for Eddie to slip his dick between your slit once more, his tip catching your clit and making you jerk forward. His hands massage your ass, still red from Steve’s spankings, thumbs rubbing gentle circles and the cool and sticky rings managing to soothe the heat that radiates from you.

“Look at that,” Eddie nudges the tip of his cock against your entrance, “You’re already ready for me. She’s practically begging to be filled by me.”

“I am,” you agree, curling your fists into the sheets to prepare yourself, “Please fill me, Eddie. Please.”

He chuckles darkly, leaning forward as some of his weight lays along your back, whispering in your ear, “I wasn��t talking about you, slut. I was talking about that pretty pussy of yours.”

Without warning, Eddie sinks in. He was right — your walls stretch to welcome him, sucking him in tightly until he’s bottomed out, groaning huskily into your ear still.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he gasps with you, “This wet, just for us?”

You hear Steve make a weak noise off to the side of you two, and tilt your head to find him already half hard again, eyes focused on where Eddie fills you.

“Just for you,” you supply through whines that creep up on you, fry tile in your attempt to swallow them down, already clenching down on Eddie as you burn, “Only for my boys.”

Your eyes lock with Steve’s. He’s fully hard at the term of possessiveness.

Eddie finally begins to rock against you, lifting from your back, each snapping of his hips focused on nudging his tip deeper into you, hitting the spot that has your back arching as you cry out. He’s wasting no time, hardly being careful of your sore skin as his thighs meet the back of yours.

“God, you take me so well. Always take us so well, sweetheart,” Eddie rambles, mutterings of curses spilling from his lips as he reaches to hold your hips with a tight grip. Even if your throat wasn’t bruised, your hips surely would be.

Steve has begun to touch himself again, matching Eddie’s strokes to his own.

“So fucking tight,” Eddie groans out, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust that has you crying out, mind reeling as the burn that has scorned you all day threatens to spread. Coals in the pit of your stomach, turning your vision right and your body flush pink, “You want my cum sweetheart? Just like in those pretty photos?”

You clench around him, walls beginning to flutter as you chant an alternation of his name and Steve’s.

“You know what, Eddie? I think those photos are a bit dated by now, don’t you think? I think we need to take a new picture of our pretty little pussy,” Steve cuts in, tone uneven as he thrusts into his own fist.

You clench harder.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” Eddie’s hot chest is back against your back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with each rock of his hips. He’s impossibly deep — you’re sure if you were to press on your lower stomach, you’d feel him there. “Want me to fill you with all my cum like the fucking slut you are? Hm?”

It’s as if he was reading your mind, a hand trailing from your hips over where he is in fact bulging against your lower stomach. He lays his palm flat and applies pressure, and your mouth hangs open, unable to make a sound as your face screws up in pleasure, “Feel that? Feel how fucking deep I am in you right now?” he pauses, and thrusts even harder, knocking you down from your palms to your elbows, “I bet you’d like me to fill you with my cum, I bet you want me to put a fucking baby in you, sweetheart. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? God, I know you love that idea, squeezing me so tight.”

Steve groans out from beside the two of you again, chest red as he chases his second organs of the night. You’re too overwhelmed with your coil once more tightening to take in the sight.

“I bet you’d let us take turns, fucking babies into you, making you nice and round with our fucking kids. I bet your tits would get nice and pretty, big and sensitive, huh?” Eddie edges you on, noticing the way you’ve begun to rock back into him, still fluttering around him wildly with each of his words. His hand travels up to your chest and twists a nipple painfully, “Is that what you want, brat? You want us to breed you?”

“Yes,” you finally find your words, crying out, unable to chase your breath as everything inside you ignites, “Please breed me, p-please,” you stutter as tears begin to flow down your cheeks again, “I- Please let me cum. I’m gonna cum, please-”

The words you’ve been waiting for all day finally fall from Eddie’s lips, “Cum for me, baby.”

Your vision goes white as you burst into flames, face pressing fully into the mattress roughly as Eddie continues to pound into you, taking no time to slow down. Your ears ring, unable to hear a single soothing word either he or Steve coos at you through your release, only focused on how full you are of Eddie, the ache in your jaw from Steve, the burn of your ass from Steve’s palm. You’re sure you’ve screamed through it by the new scratchiness that settles with the residual ache in your throat.

When you finally come back to, the flames finally tamed as the embers and ash settle, Eddie is still rutting relentlessly into you, clearing chasing his own high now.

“Fuck,” he whines out, drawing the word out as his hips stutter, “G-Gonna cum, gonna fill you up so full of my cum, sweetheart, I-”

He cuts off, and you feel his warmth paint your walls as he bites onto your shoulder, hardly muffling the sinful noises coming from his mouth. For a moment, he relaxes his full weight on top of you before lifting at the sound of Steve’s whines.

He doesn’t pull out yet, beckoning to Steve as he sees the boy coming close to release. You’re still coming down, smoke still clearing from your head, hardly registering when Eddie leaves you empty, only for Steve to begin to pump himself over you. His cum mixes with Eddie’s as it leaks out of you, painting your puffy lips in both of them. His moans and groans sound as if they come from underwater.

You stay laying there, entire body trembling from exhaustion, entire upper body collapsed as Steve soothingly holds your hips.

“Stay up for us just one more second baby,” he kisses your temple, sickly sweet before you hear the shutter of a camera.

There’s a whirring of film being produced as your hips finally collapse and your feet brush the carpeted floor, body sagging in relief. You’re fully unaware of Steve and Eddie’s movements, unsure of which one retrieves the wet cloth to clean you off, which one gathers you up before pulling back the comforter and sheets to snuggly fit you into the center of the bed. You think it’s Steve that produces the glass of water, as he whispers ‘drink’ and encourages you to drain half the glass before each boy takes to laying on either side of you. You curl instinctually into Steve’s chest as Eddie presses his body carefully to the back of you, grabbing your hand and intertwining fingers before he begins to place kisses down your arm. Steve traces soothing circles over your thigh.

“You did so good for us, honey,” Steve murmurs as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “So good.”

Eddie leans back to look at your bare ass, catching sight of the handprints left welting, “Sheesh. Stevie really did a number on you, didn’t he, sweetheart?”

You whine pathetically in response, making both men chuckle.

“It isn’t that bad, is it?” Steve finally asks after a beat of silence, attempting to crane his neck to catch sight of the damage done.

“Nothing a little lotion and lovin’ can’t fix,” Eddie smiles, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before letting go of your hand, “My head, on the other hand, still hurts from you pulling my hair, dickhead.”

“You weren’t listening to me, asshole.”

With the flames dying down, all that’s left now is a warmth of unimaginable lengths, something to have and to hold as the two boys bicker from either side of you.

When silence begins to soothe over you three, when you can feel both Steve’s head beneath your chest and Eddie’s against your shoulders rising and falling evenly, you finally dare to whisper, “I’m sorry for being such a brat today.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, baby,” Steve mumbles, clearly on the verge of sleep as his fingers have slowed in their gentle dance over your thigh.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie agrees, mouth pressed to the nape of your neck, “You know we don’t mind. We’re always more than happy to put you back in your place.”

“We’re sorry for ignoring you this morning,” Steve continues on drearily, on the cusp of drifting out of consciousness, “You can have ten more minutes of every morning from now on, I swear. I… I can call… I can call out of work tomorrow, or just… go in late,” Steve’s words become increasingly slurred as he clearly starts to fall asleep mid sentence.

You can’t help but giggle into his chest, adoration flooding you for his snores that begin. “He’s definitely not going to call out tomorrow, is he?”

Eddie’s still awake behind you, each puff of his breath on your neck soothing you to follow Steve’s lead into unconsciousness. He brings a hand to your hip and pinches you lovingly, “Don’t worry, babe. I’m actually off work tomorrow. Maybe we can get up to some trouble, return the favor and take some polaroids for Stevie to have of his own.”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie x reader #steddie x you #steddie x reader smut #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x steve harrington x you #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #i have no excuse i'm sorry y'all #i don't remember the color of anything don't ask

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anisespice · 1 year

Text

“ hate your boyfriend ” || tokyo rev.

two

synopsis: aw, your boyfriend hates when he’s around? good.

pairing: college!toman x gn!reader

warnings: mature language, toxic!toman, possessiveness, reader is sort of an enabler, implied cheating, slight angst for the partner (rip lol), open-ended, maybe a little unrealistic?? i think that’s it.

notes: there's just something about them knowing they're the shit & and can't nobody check them for it <333 i don't condone making your partner jealous/uncomfy in real life...but i be kicking my feet when it's in tokyorev lol hope you enjoy!

tagged: @fantasycantasy ( if you'd also like to be tagged in future works, feel free to join my taglist <333)

"Be nice." Famous last words spoken to your boyfriend before you went to greet MIKEY upon his arrival. You were having a little kickback at your place, and it only made sense that your closest friend got to be there as well, despite how they felt about one another.

It went well…for about five minutes.

Now, you stood between them as tensions arose, hands on your boyfriend’s chest to keep him pushed back while Mikey had no issue with fueling the fire, practically daring the bastard to swing first. It didn’t help that they’d drawn in a crowd, drunk instigators no doubt praying for a bloody brawl to liven up the once chill atmosphere. You don’t even know who started it, but you had a pretty good idea who was gonna finish it if things didn’t get under control.

“Aki, please, you promised you wouldn’t do this…”

“I didn't even do anything, he’s the one with the shitty attitude! Knew you shouldn't have invited him in the first place. And I'm sick of you always defending him, what exactly is this guy to you, [______]?"

Mikey kissed his teeth. “Such a nag. Can’t believe they have to fuck you-”

“Manjiro.” You hissed, sending him a warning glance.

He merely grinned, head tilted as he shamelessly cooed, “Yeah, angel?”

“The fuck you call them?” Aki pressed, taking a step closer. You planted your feet, preventing him from going any further. “Say it again, see what happens.”

Mikey shrugged, “Okay.” Leaning forward off the wall, he gently nudged your chin with his index finger, making you look directly in his eyes. “Yeah, angel?”

“You son of a—” Aki raised his fist, ready to swing; just what Mikey was hoping for. But, you were quick you latch onto the winding arm. No doubt he’d miss, then you’d have to explain why there’s a sandal-print on his face when he wakes up.

“He’s just kidding! Mikey has a, uh, crude sense of humor, always saying what’s on his mind at the wrong times. Never a dull moment.” You chuckled, nervously. “He didn’t mean anything by it…right?”

Sending him a pleading glance, Mikey remained unphased. The dark-haired gang leader eyed your boyfriend for a good, long minute. His dead eyes made the guy feel unsettled, especially since Mikey tended not to blink for periods of time. There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment, so many late night visits Aki knew nothing about—But, there’ll be plenty of opportunities for that later. He’ll play it cool. For now.

Mikey’s stare never wavered as his posture remained relaxed, his aura alone stunning the whole room to silence. The bystanders watched with bated breath. When the pools of obsidian refocused on you, he gave a reassuring wink. Aki didn’t take too kindly to that, stepping backward and taking you with him. The delinquent scoffed, but bit his tongue; he may have won the battle. But there's always the war.

With clenched teeth and a hollow smile, Mikey replied with a simple, “‘Course not. We’re all just friends here.”

Unbothered would be an understatement when describing how DRAKEN felt knowing how negatively your boyfriend felt toward him. Frankly, all he needed was a reason, and he'd happily knock the guy straight out of his shoes. But, for your sake, he remained...cordial.

He also pretended not to hear your little argument in the next room, feet propped up on the coffee table with his arms draped behind the couch, wearing an all too complacent grin knowing he was the subject matter. Again.

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot!?" Your boyfriend exclaimed, frustrated. Draken couldn't help but snort, wanting so badly to answer the question for you with a fat yes. "I've seen the way he looks at you, we’ve all seen it, so don’t act like I’m the one with the problem!"

“Takeru, just calm down, there’s nothing going on between us-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” The sound of something shattering, followed by your shriek, made the mechanic perk up in mild alarm; amusement no longer painted his face.

Alright, he thought. Here comes that reason.

It only took him a few strides to get to your bedroom door, nearly splitting the wood in two after he kicked it in. Startling the both of you, Draken’s first priority was to check on your well-being, scanning your person for any visible injury. Luckily, you just appeared to be shaken up a little. Once he was certain, the former blonde directed a hard look toward Takeru, then down at the lamp he just broke. Draken worked his jaw—He gifted you that lamp.

“Kenny…” you said, cautiously. You could sense his impending rage from mere inches away, and you knew your boyfriend would only keep poking the bear. And you’d be correct. “I-It was an accident. Things just got a little out of hand, that’s all-”

“The hell you still doing here, baldy? Thought I told you to-”

Draken chuckled, menacingly. Your partner fell silent, wondering what was so funny, while you just closed your eyes in defeat; you knew that sound meant nothing good. His gunmetal eyes leered down at the pitiful man, cracking his neck before he calmly spoke.

“So we’re just breakin’ shit now, huh. Alright. My fucking turn.”

“I thought you said you'd quit hanging out with him, [_____]! He’s nothing but trouble, have you forgotten he set my roommate’s car on fire?!”

“Tsk. He had it comin’.” Was BAJI’s response, digging through your snack cabinet for a bag of chips. Once he found them, he opened them and began munching away, a bored expression on his face. “Bastard almost ran over Patches, driving around like an asshole. But, he hangs out with you all day, so guess that checks out.”

Referring to one of the building’s stray cats that come around from time to time, you couldn’t help but snort, but you knew he was dead serious—Man doesn’t play about his furry friends.

“Who gives a shit about some stupid-?!” You quickly covered your boyfriend’s mouth before he said anything he’d regret. He wasn’t too pleased, but at least he’d get to keep his teeth.

You exhaled, then directed a frown at the ravenette. “Honestly, I wish you two would try to get along. I think you’d find that you really aren’t so different once you got to know one another.”

“Me? Getting to know that? Fat chance.”

Glaring, your boyfriend ripped away your hand. "Oh, like you're so easy to swallow?"

"Hm, your s/o thinks so."

"Keisuke!"

“The fuck’s that suppose to mean, gutter-trash?” Your boyfriend seethed, turning to you instantly and expecting an explanation. Your eyes were wide, and you waved your hands rapidly to deny the implication. “[_____], what is he talking about?!”

“N-Nothing! God, you always let him get under your skin so easily, Makoto. He’s just being a dick, that’s all…”

Your boyfriend didn’t look convinced in the slightest, brows tight with an upturned lip as he huffed in anger. You shrunk beneath his gaze, stuck without any bandaid words to fix it. Luckily, since Baji was in such a good mood, he decided to relent—It’s no fun when you’re the one suffering the consequences of his crassness. Finishing up the last of the chips, the arsonist crumpled up the bag and tossed it at dude’s face.

“Wha-!”

“Yeah, hot shot, don’t get your panties inna twist. I’m just messin’ with you. We cool?” Baji threw up a fist, fangs on display as he gave an unhinged grin. Makato flinched, but tried to play it off. With hesitancy, your boyfriend eyed the fist with contempt.

“Fuck you. And that ugly-ass cat.”

Probably wasn’t the best thing to say with a fist inches away from his face. Makoto might’ve hesitated; Baji didn’t. So much for getting to keep his teeth.

“You’re a freaking angel, thank you so much for doing this,” MITSUYA gushed, arms snaking around your middle in a warm hug the moment you stepped into the studio. Did he place his hands a little lower than necessary? Maybe.

You chuckled, returning the hug. “Y’know I’d never say no to a free meal."

He had called you for a favor to model a few of his latest designs, needing to make adjustments accordingly before presenting them at the end of the week. His usual canceled on him last minute, putting him in a really tight spot, and you just so happened to be the same size. By offering to buy you dinner for your troubles afterward, it was a win-win for everyone.

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, saw right through Mitsuya. Which was why he so eagerly volunteered to tag along. The lavender-haired designer eyed the guy from over your shoulder, disinterested. "Oh. Didn't know you were bringing him."

"Got a problem with that, Mitsy?"

"Hey now, no bickering you two.” You playfully warned, pulling back from the hug. You fixed Mitsuya an apologetic smile. “I hope it's not too much trouble that he’s here, though. I always tell him how fantastic your designs are, so I guess he wanted to see them for himself. Isn’t that right, Haji?”

Said third-wheel grinned sharply, arms crossed as he sarcastically replied, “Oh, yeah. Can’t wait to watch ya. Very closely.”

Mitsuya deadpanned. But, his brow lessened in weight at the feeling of you tugging on his shirt, pouting at him as your eyes practically dazzled him into compliance. “Please, can he stay?"

It didn't take much for him to cave. Whether you’re aware of it or not, you had the delinquent wrapped around your finger. He sighed, then reluctantly agreed. It’s worth seeing the bright smile on your face, and especially worth the look on Hajime's when you wrapped your arms back around him in gratitude. "Thanks, Taka!"

Mitsuya didn't bother masking the smug grin he shot at your boyfriend, watching him struggle to hold his temper. "Anything for you. But, I’m not paying for his meal."

#🍁vanilla #part 2 mayhaps???#idk mayhaps :/#tokyorev #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev angst #tokyo rev x reader #tokyorev x reader #mikey #draken #mitsuya #baji

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moondirti · 11 months

Text

7. PROPOSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter six / chapter eight ⇀

summary: a proposition is made in hope for new beginnings

mature | 4.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, apocalypses, death, decay, blood, injury, sexual tension, angst, no use of y/n notes: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL. anyway repost lol

During the liminal period between detonation and your understanding of it, you’d been convinced of your own fatality. Dead girl walking; the shell-shocked mantra playing in an unremitting loop as you navigated the flattened planes of your once-home.

New York was a ghost town. Or – town isn’t exactly the proper verbiage, not when it comes to describing the hollowed locale. It’d been flushed of all its previous pomp; skeletal buildings with their windows blown to bits, light posts bent at the root, central park a glorified bonfire pit for skyscraping flames. In truth, when you’d awoken, you couldn’t recognise your whereabouts.

That was the basis for which you told yourself it was a dream. Everything existed as a distorted reflection of what you were familiar with, a fucked plane capable only of occuring in feverish delirium. The bite, you’d accepted – nodding to yourself grimly. You must’ve gotten sick again and passed out before the speech, transported to some stuffy hospital that pinned you with needles full of hallucinogens. How else could you have explained your occult ability to phase through walls, or the complete absence of people?

(In hindsight, it was denial more than anything.)

Yet time progressed on a tortoise’s shell, marching with all the leisure of reality. It didn’t jump like it would’ve had your consciousness been in charge, with its aversion to the mundane and grotesque. No; you’d started to see the faults in your logic when the substance that perpetually fell from the sky proved to be human ash, or when – the further down you travelled – maturating flesh increasingly marked your path. You’ve never known your mind to be so cruel.

So, dead.

If so, then you’d settled on purgatory. A state where souls atone for their unforgiven sins and are purified. It was an interim solution; you weren’t the religious type, anyway. But maybe that'd been it. Maybe you’d been given a last hope at redemption, thrust in a distinctive nightmare to comprehend how much worse hell could be. At least you lacked pain, at least you were dressed – clad in the silk of your gala gown. But the sky had been red, covered in a sheet of dismal smoke, and you couldn’t see the stars at night.

It was a sign; you’d failed at reaching them.

The notion had paralysed you for days, tearing at the false comfort you’d wrapped yourself in up to that point. You’d weeped, and tested the limits to your intangibility with lacking enthusiasm. Blotchy faced, snotty nosed – passing your arm through rubble, succeeding, then trying the same with your feet, which abraded against the rough surface instead. The inconsistency was hard to keep up with, but the task at least distracted you from a profuse existentialism.

You’d heeded no patterns; some days, you were completely nonphysical. Or, parts of you remained that way, while others shifted back to palpability. It’d been a tug of war, dependent entirely on your mood and a greater scheme you had no part of. With your limited comprehension, it’d only guaranteed the purgatory hypothesis. Not mortal, nor spirit. Stuck in a great between.

(What heaven was worth this? Who deemed it so?)

The guessing game got old. You’d needed something else – more than water, or a fresh change of clothes; good, honest science. Truth. You couldn’t move on until you’d had reason to believe the outcome could justify this.

You turned to the cosmos then, impartial as ever, despite their discernible absence. They were still there, you knew. Just beyond the firestorms, the sun burnt bright enough to penetrate smog. Its hazy glow provided an alternate reminder of something for you to still pursue – wherever it was, wherever you were. You couldn’t be sure that an afterlife meant nirvana or elysian fields, yet fulfilment looked to be the common denominator. An underscore.

To you, that would only ever be one thing.

Deep space, your stars – your Sol.

(It was hope in the one way you could define it.)

The threads started to converge in an instant of poetic cognizance. The Phoenicians had done it, and so too had ancient sailors. Stars for navigation, for reasoning. Of course. All that entailed for you was to certify you were worth it.

You’d started by cleaning. Little things, far from where you’d originated. A neighbourhood of collapsing houses, nested in beds of fine porcelain and dust. The times where you could use your hands, you’d sweep the debris onto them and deposit it in a hole, harrowed from a singed lawn at the end of the row. When you were immaterial – a state that had begun gaining rarity the better you were able to cope – you’d focus on mentally tallying inventory. Some to set aside, for whatever poor individual would visit next, and the rest for you. A diet of canned beans and bottled water was better than nothing.

Then, you’d dealt with the bodies.

There were none within the city, nor the suburbs. It was only when you’d ventured outwards did they start to crop up; thin corpses with leathery skin still stretched over their frames, starved or burnt or both. The smell had been putrid, reeking of pure rot, and you’d surmised that perhaps they’d taken too long to find salvation. It’d motivated you to keep working, burying them in marked graves with a plug fastened over your nose. You didn’t want to end up like them, as a chore for the next.

It was near impossible to keep a timeline of it all. Now, you estimate it as months, though it had felt longer. You’d gone through it with no milestones, or any inclination as to whether you were finally getting close. Cleaning the entire expanse of purgatory seemed too big a task to ask of anyone, immortal or not. Yet as the weeks crawled by, you’d started to reckon that was exactly it. You’d felt nothing special, no sweeping message from God alerting you of your success. Just more devastation, more labour.

(Were you wrong?)

You’d started to get sick again. Irritated sinuses, a scratchy throat. Every breath you took was more useless than the last, oxygen unable to circumvent your system. Smoke inhalation, likely. You’d searched for ventilators to help treat the symptoms, alongside pain relief for the sores spotting along your palms. There’d been nothing, and that wasn’t to say it had always been that way. Empty, orange bottles decorated every barren street, purged by apocalyptic gluttons.

(You couldn’t trick yourself – the dead had no use for medicine.)

Some fate must have willed it, though. It was there, in the seventh hospital you’d scavenged, that it’d happened.

A… being, no taller than five foot four, decked in a bright yellow suit and a hazmat mask. Loitering the entryway with a trash bag full of salvaged goodies. It hadn’t noticed you, preoccupied with routing the way back home – so you rushed into a nearby room to change into your gown. It was wrinkled and torn in places, having been the outfit you’d initially spent weeks in, but it was far better off than the grimy cargoes you’d adopted in its place.

You’d kept it for this; your day of judgement.

It – he, as it turns out – lived in a bunker, deep beneath the catastrophic surface of the state. You’d followed him there. A perfectly normal thing to do, candidly, for someone who’d forgone social interaction since death. It couldn’t dawn on you that he was surely in the same boat; isolated, cornered like an animal on its haunches. If it had, you would've made an effort to approach him with caution.

So, it certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your ecstatic hello was met with an axe to the face. Naturally, it’d phased right through you, a feat which only furthered the old being’s terror.

God had turned out to be more skittish than you’d expected.

(“Blimey, whit the hell are ye supposit tae be.”

“I’ve been waiting so long–”

“Ye're gonnae get yourself killed wearin tha’ flimsy thing, lass.”

You’d felt so stupid. You should have surmised that the occasion called for modesty.

“Forgive me,”

“Whit is it ye want? I don’ have any food for sharin’.”

“Redemption, if you please. I promise I’ve been good, I just want to see the stars.” But of course he’d know that. “Sir. Lord, sir.”

“Is somethin wrong wi yer head?” He’d huffed. “It's tha’ radiation, I'm tellin’ ye. Or maybe I'm dead an’ seein’ things.”

Dead? Another lost soul?

“Are you not God?”

“God? Ha!” The human scoffed. “Trust that I wouldn’ be livin’ in this rat’s ass if I was.”)

It turned out that he did have food, and plenty – stuffed cans stacked in rows atop rows of nourishment. Medicine too, an age old ventilator that he’d tapped with a knuckle to spur into function. He’d agreed to let you replenish if you’d take a gander at his malfunctioning radio, of which you had limited knowledge on but were willing to give a try. You’d no idea what he needed a radio for in the afterlife, anyway.

(“The battery contacts are corroded, I think.” You had spit through a mouthful of corn. It’d tasted like pure sugar to your neglected tongue. “If it matters to you this much: baking soda to neutralise the acid, then a bit of vinegar over it to help wipe off the gunk.”

“Smart one ye are,” He’d pulled a cigarette from one of his various pockets, lip curling at your inquisitive gaze. “Don’ give me tha’ look, I ain' got none for ye.”

“I’m okay, thanks.” After a bit of deliberation, you’d added, “I’m afraid I don’t understand something.”

“Whit is it this time?”

“Why’d you set up permanent camp here? Don’t you want to leave?”

“An’ where wad I go?” His lighter had taken several starts to sputter a flame.

“Heaven. Hell – if that’s your thing. The cosmos?”

He’d barked another one of those sturdy laughs. “Ye one o’ them fanatics? That say wha’ happened wis for good cause?”

“Huh?” Tentatively, you’d placed the radio back on its rickety stool. “What happened?”

And all humour had drained from his face, his pupils hardening to flat beads. If it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in mood, you’d have gone forever traipsing on a fantasy. No; it was the tremor, the breaks in his once haughty inflection – idiosyncrasies that could’ve only been described as sympathy-triggered. It’d built upon your doubt, your already wavering faith, to strike you out of your mental regression.

“The Alchemax bomb, lassie.”)

He had a bucket for you to throw up in, slick with panicked sweat, unable to hold on to anything as your body oscillated between materialities. He’d made no comment on how your hands fell through the floor, or the knees that started to sink alongside them. Your fault, your fault. Any thought besides blame hadn’t time to develop, recycled for fuel to keep the cognition running. Your fault. Your fault. All this time.

(Who could you have turned to? You’d been praying to deities who’ve long since left.)

Night bled, and the man had retired. You’d stayed plastered to the ground, crouched over a slosh of your purged innards. The foulness hardly moved you; it’d felt good to punish yourself in that way. You’d taken to being your own arbiter, and such was one of the many reparations to come.

(You’d shunned the voice that insisted you deserve none of it. If you hadn’t been so ambitious, so blind to the flaws��)

You’d wanted to leave. So desperately that the wish had seized every cell in you, shaking them with a vigour unparallel to even celestial fury. You’d wanted to leave. There’d been nothing for you to divert your efforts to after learning the truth. Nothing you could have done to fix it. You’d wanted to leave. To anywhere but there.

Please. Please. Please.

Just this one thing.

The air warped.

You hadn’t noticed it immediately, still wrapped in your own misery. Scratchy skin accredited to grief, you kept rocking in place, bathing in muggy sobs. But it’d only grown worse, like a fraying fabric chafing along every appendage. Your dirty nails dug into your palms.

The friction peaked, rubbing you raw. You’d heaved in large gulps of oxygen, pulling at your flesh like it could’ve stopped it. Your jaw had unhinged, teeth clamping down on your thumb to muffle the overstimulated scream that’d threatened to break. Tears sealed your lash lines shut.

Almost a second later, it stopped, interrupted by the blare of car horns.

And, when you’d opened your eyes, you found that you were someplace else entirely.

Your fingers graze along something rough. At first, it’s easy to mistake as your jeans, the denim hardened in places with lack of care.

The space seems to have shrunk since Miguel fell asleep, slumping inwards, its rock walls poking your elbows and curved spine with a clinical brutality. It’s difficult to imagine how he feels; twice your size, unused to fitting those muscles through tight squeezes. Disastrous still, the low creak of the steel arch above puts a timer on your misfortune. The topic of your demise is of increasing relevance.

Perhaps he drifted off for that exact reason. To hinge on ignorance; an avoidance of this waiting game. Or, more credibly, to force you into a figurative detention. Think about what you’ve done, and what I’m asking of you.

In any case, it’s working. The trauma you’ve tried repressing thus far rushes through your conscience, carving gaping canals of remorse, lapping at its banks to keep it fresh. You’re convinced your heart could give out, wrenched in innumerable directions, the only respite afforded being the glitches that rip through you. You deserve to stay here, but he doesn’t. He’s always only sought what was right.

(You can fix it, do this one thing.

Though you can’t grasp where to begin.)

You pinch the fabric, tugging at it in a nervous tick. You don’t feel the tension across your calf, an observation that grows stranger the harder you pull. Reaching over with your free hand, you smooth over your pants. They’re still level with your shin bone, unmoved.

Huh.

There’s a mortifying moment where you fear that it’s Miguel’s suit you’re fiddling with, before taking into account that it’s impossible to twist the nanotechnology.

And it’s too close in to be a wall.

You delicately trace the surface with your pinky, searching for any discernible edge, intent on mapping out the overall shape to deduce its origins. Your arms wave about in a frantic fashion, but to your bewilderment, you find no real boundary. Weirder yet, it appears to slice through your shoe and a portion of Miguel's thigh.

Feels like–

Your stomach lurches, broiling in a bold concoction of thrill and trepidation. It throws you off guard, your brain lagging behind the reality your body already accepts. You know what it could be, having undergone the phenomena in several situations similar. An answered prayer during your lowest points – back at the man’s bunker, a few times since then.

Nerves humming with electric fervency, you tamp your hope into something more manageable, unable to handle another blow should this turn out poorly. Or – comparably – should you succeed; if this is, indeed, a portal. Your resolve trembles with the strength of a baby bird's wing, missing the survival instincts that once bolstered it.

(What would it mean for you?)

Biting your lip, you plunge your fist through to the other side.

It comes in contact with something cold, unlike anything in your little cave. Cold, glossy and… crinkly. A plastic bag of sorts, packed full of a pulpy filling. You’re tempted to draw away, disgusted, but redirect that intensity into inspecting instead.

The bag rests upon an uneven floor, marred by pebbles that lend a sense of ruggedness to the place. Outdoors. Downright filthy, too; judging by the clammy residue that sticks to your knuckles. Bile nudges up your oesophagus, inspired by the unidentified refuse you’re granted access to. Squalid; a dumpster, probably. Decorated in bursting trash bags.

But then–

Mooring yourself upon Miguel’s abdomen, you dip your forearm further in. The static off the portal’s perimeter sings with discordant vibrations, its intensity bordering on painful. It prickles the fine hairs along your limb, scouring any goosebumps raised with a grating ferocity. You stifle the whimper that arises as a consequence.

Your fingers dip under the trash, grazing something that makes you pause. Rubber. Ring-like.

The day pass?

Swallowing, you jerk it towards you. It doesn’t budge, stuck under the refuse.

(It occurs to you to give up. The moral dilemma its purpose poses is abundantly clear.)

Hooking all four digits around its circumference, you pull harder. The portal eats at you, hostile to the foreign intrusion. Any longer and you’re afraid it’ll cut your arm clean off, right under where that gutter almost did the same. Your adrenaline had been enough to numb the torturous incident then, both physically and in memory – and though you lack that direct threat to your life now, the setup is much the same. A situation where you’re finally in control, a reclamation to the morality you’ve long since lost. It’s personal – the scolding he’d given you like a knife to old wounds.

The prospect fuels the surge you need, distending through your biceps, reinforcing their efforts as you finally yank the bracelet out. The portal makes no noise when it zips back shut, but you feel the lull, its energy abandoning you to wallow, alone again. Or, not alone; you gently settle between Miguel’s legs, careful not to disturb him.

There’s a stark silence that passes afterward, a line of astonishment keeping it intact. You allow it, needing time to process the staunch implications of the day pass sagging upon your lap. Its lilac hue gives a faint light to your surroundings, illuminating the cranny you’ve only been able to picture so far. It’s about what you expected – save for the resting face of your companion.

He looks good. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t usually, but the peace that graces his features compliments him, rounding out any harsher edges. You trail your gaze up his neck, to the jaw that points to a pronounced chin. Lips that pout even over retracted fangs. An aquiline, masculine nose. It fits him, you think. Lends itself to the fluffy hair that frames his sharp cheekbones. You linger on it probably longer than you should.

That is, until you catch sight of the blooming discolouration marring his temple.

It’s partially obscured in shadow, yellowing along the ends and purple in places you don’t have the advantage of properly observing. Yet, the bruise communicates all it needs to, loud and explicit. You’re not in a position to procrastinate any longer; you’ve already spent a year running from fate. It might make you sick, your organs tying together in a nauseating knot – and every impulse in you might scream against it. To run away; to leave him here for dead. Live the rest of your life in peace – it’s only right, it’s only right.

Then, you remember what he’d said to you.

(“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?”

“It’s not fair.” He didn’t skip a beat, tone laced with a hard understanding. “But it’s fact.”)

You really hate him sometimes.

Bracing yourself, you shake his shoulder. He’s up in an instant, snatching your wrist in one warm palm. You wait for the tired mist over his awareness to melt, a stone lodged in your throat.

“¿Qué es?” He whisper-shouts. “What?”

“I–” Your voice warbles. Pathetic. “I have something for you.”

He squints.

(Rightfully so.)

Breathing through the hesitation that strikes the rungs of your ribcage, you hold up the day pass.

He doesn’t realise what you mean immediately, flicking back and forth between the bracelet and your furrowed brows. Realistically, his doubt can’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, yet you’re eternally paralysed within the anticipatory dread – a fossilised mosquito captured in amber. Even when he does eventually catch up, you stay still, letting him pilfer the key to your freedom and watching as his drowsiness sharpens into a pointed resolve.

And you don’t stray, not for the entire stretch during which he tinkers with its components. It’s not his aforementioned allure that encourages it, nor the sudden flashbacks to your earlier breakdown. Ridiculously enough, it’s satisfaction – a contentment at having finally defied your self-interests. You look to him like you had the sun back home. For validation on the path you’re headed towards, a small hint of a job well done. You’re too cautious of your own pride, betrayed by it more often than anyone else, but he–

He knows what it means to be a true spider-hero.

You hope that one day, you will too.

“Lyla?” Miguel demands into his watch, testing to see whether the spare parts of your contribution resolved its issues.

“You’re alive! Huh,” A miniscule projection of his LYrate lifeform approximation blinks into existence, tilting her heart-shaped glasses down as if to punctuate her disbelief.

“I came across a few obstacles, but I’ve got the Wr-” He catches your wince. “Our target. Set coordinates for 928. I’m coming home.”

“Gotcha. Can you wait until Reilly coughs up a twenty, though?”

“You bet on my survival?”

“Silver linings!”

“Lyra.”

“Okay! Alright. Home it is, boss.”

“And tell Jess to be on stand-by with an empty cell,” He adds, lowering his pitch to one more understated. You can’t lie and imply your appreciation – no matter what he does to soften your circumstance, it retains its somberness. You’re going back to that desolate wasteland, and this time, you have no will in ever leaving.

“Figured you’d want to get her in the go-home machine as soon as possible. No?”

“No.” He asserts, the decision rumbling from deep within his chest. You steel yourself against the shiver that wobbles through you. “I’m not done with her, yet.”

“Explain something to me, would you?”

You smell of lemon antiseptic and dirt, arms wrapped in fresh bandages from shoulder to wrist. It’s an unpleasant combination, exacerbating the headache that gnashes on your skull under these fluorescent lights – darkness having been an ally to your concussion. The acetaminophen they’d given you at the med-bay has done nothing to aid your pain, and you’re convinced that the only thing that would work is a long, hot bath.

That is to say, you’re not ready to have this conversation.

When you don’t respond, Miguel stands from his seat, exercising the prominent muscles in his legs. His sweats do their best to conceal them, but you’d been in close quarters with him for far too long to have forgotten the way they bulge and shift with every move. If you focus, you can sense them now, pressing against your ass, pinning you in place.

He huffs. You doubt your glassy-eyed ogle is doing you any favours.

“Can’t make any promises.” You murmur, before deciding against it. It probably isn’t the best time to test him. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s the first time you see him in casual clothing, which changes him – much like sleep does. Outside of his suit, he looks younger, on a pedestal closer to common man. A white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, loose pants. Lighter colours, in complement to his bronzed complexion.

Get a hold of yourself.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of responsibility.” He starts. Wrong, you want to say, because your breakouts have always been based on pure luck. “You threaten falling into floors, to phase through walls. Except, when we were trapped back on 15. You silently accepted our fate, despite having every means to prevent it. It’s telling, in my opinion.”

You nod, already aware of what he’s getting at. “Sounds like you don’t need me to explain, so–”

“You can’t control your powers, can you?”

“Bit late in figuring that one out.”

“Then how’d you come about the day pass?” He presses, not so much questioning anymore.

As it stands, you have two options:

To lie. It’s easy, natural after a full year of it. Your interrogator doesn’t need to know the truth if all he’s going to do is send you back, and with his newfound revelation about the nature of your abilities, it could prove advantageous to keep their full scope from his knowledge. You don’t owe him shit.

That’s Wraith talking, of course.

The you you want to be, however, beckons for candour. There pervades the confessional once more, a box drawn around you, prompting you to relieve yourself of all your secrets so you can be cleansed. Religion – a fickle thing, but it feels right, here.

Besides, who knows when you’ll be able to talk to anyone again.

“I’m not… entirely sure.” Your frown tucks underneath your teeth, and you suck on your lip while trying to formulate a coherent answer. “It’s happened previously. It’s like a portal, except it’s invisible and appears on the irregular occasion. I was thinking of ho– my earth when it materialised by my hand.”

His forehead creases, drawing in incredulously.

“You can create gateways into other dimensions?”

“Not quite. My working theory is that, somehow, the boundaries between worlds are thinning. I think I mentioned how my intangibility works?” He gives an affirming blink. “My atoms find the quickest way through something, so maybe they’re able to do the same through, ya know, the literal fabric of space-time.”

It really does sound idiotic to put out loud.

Miguel cups his face, rubbing away the weariness gathered in his wrinkles. There’s a plaster over the contusion on his forehead, overcast by rowdy tresses of wet hair. You do your best to suppress the image of him in the shower, steeling your expression into one of indifference.

“That holds up. This started a year ago?”

“Yeah,”

“There was a thing with a super-collider.”

“A… thing.” The scientist in you cringes. Though, you have no room to talk.

“All I’m getting from this is that, if I were to send you home, you could just high-tail out of there whenever the opportunity arises.”

His distrust shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. You ponder the best way to go about this, yet your tongue betrays you, speaking before you can lasso it back under command.

“In theory, yes.” You pause, waiting for it to sink in. “But I won’t.”

Some grand gesture of faith that was, you imbecile.

“Sure.” He stresses, unconvinced.

Taking a step forward, you crane your neck to meet his eye. Patchouli catches the office draft, clouding your head until all that comes from you is unintelligible nonsense.

“I’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. I don’t want to be the bad guy any more.” Your thunderous heartbeat drowns the effect of your proclamation. It’s hard to tell whether you come across as genuine or not. “All my life, I’ve only ever done what was wrong, what was selfish.” You rephrase his earlier reproach. “Let me be right, just this once.”

Your conviction sways when he tenses. No; this doesn’t feel honest, not even to you.

You want to be good. With all the fire of every star in this goddamn universe, blazing hot and colliding to expel devastation upon its neighbours. It shrinks up in your core, skyrocketing in temperature. It verges on explosion; a supernovae, life-giving. You want. You want. You want.

But, you’re afraid you don’t know how.

“We can make a deal?” You offer, plummeting to new depths of uncertainty. A deal requires mutual credence; for every skipped vow, you’ll lose out on something too. “Let me stay, just until I learn how to be the hero you need me to be. After that, I’ll go home – I swear it. And you’ll never have to worry about me again.”

He gives no blatant indication as to whether he’s seriously considering it. His head dips, and he turns his back to you, likely calculating collective factors to form the best solution. The way you perceive it, though – this elongated reticence:

He sees no other choice.

chapter eight

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oneforthemunny · 1 year

Text

curiosity killed the cat |mafia!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: you disrupt eddie's meeting with rick after he told you not to. he has to punish you.

a repost. yes, I'm back lol. this is my new account :)

contains: 18+ MINORS DNI. mafia!eddie themes, language, mentions of violence and drugs, daddy dom themes, daddy kink, spanking, oral fem receiving

Eddie didn't like bringing business in the home. He didn't like the idea of people in his space, people who weren't usually there. It left him on edge, constantly checking, counting the number of people there, eyes tracking their every move. Even if it was just Rick, a few of his close accomplices that Eddie knew, it still made him anxious. Knee bouncing under the table, eyes flickering from Rick to the plans back to the men around the room. His mind raced with possibilities, scenarios and he forged different outcomes. Normally, he'd already planned his escape, attack, a quick fire plan to halt whatever situation might come. This wasn't his first time after all, however, it was the first time with you.

You weren't allowed in the room, of course. Eddie wouldn't dare even entertain the idea of you being put in such a vulnerable position. He'd left you in the master bedroom, the dogs in the room with you.

"Don't leave," Eddie pouted a finger at you, dark eyes narrowed and serious.

Your thighs clenched at his strict demeanor, a contrast from the sweet Eddie who always was so gentle and doting with you. He was different when it came to business, menacing; it made you excited.

"You've got everything you need in here, so just stay in here until I come get you, ok?" Eddie lifted your chin, eyes locking with yours fiercely. "Keep the door locked. You know where the gun is?"

You nodded, his inked fingers spayed around your chin, you just wanted to suck them. Eddie grinned gently. "Good girl," Your pussy clenched, cheeks heating.

"I'll be back in a little bit. Just stay in here and be quiet, ok?" Eddie instructed.

"Are they dangerous?" You asked meekly, eyes widening at the possibility.

Eddie frowned lightly. "No, baby, of course not. I wouldn't bring them here if I thought they'd hurt you." He cooed gently, hand stroking your hair. You relaxed under his touch, soothing and comforting. "They're not going to do anything here, and I know these guys, it's just... It's business, sweetheart. You don't belong near the business. Too precious."

You blushed under his words. Eddie leaned in, kissing you slow, full lips pressing against yours in sweet kiss that had your head reeling, tummy flipping and pooling with warmth. Eddie pulled apart, holding you in his gaze, loving and longing.

"I'll be back soon." Eddie whispered, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

He slipped on his rings, staring at himself in the mirror. You watched carefully, as your loving, sweet man slipped into a dark demeanor, menacing and expressionless. Warm brown eyes that were always soft and glowing for you were now hollow, vacant and dark. He closed the door behind him softly, the lock clicking before he padded down the hallway.

You tried to keep yourself busy. Eddie had brought everything you needed into the bedroom; snacks, drinks, activities, the dogs, and you already had a bathroom. You contemplated soaking in the tub, maybe reading or finishing off the movie you'd started.

Nothing helped, you were restless. Confined in a room, a very spacious room that was roughly the size of your entire apartment, but still, confined. Locked away until your Prince Charming came back to release you. The dogs laid over you in the bed, taking their turn and letting you pet them, cooing and scratching behind their ears.

Helplessly, you looked at the clock beside the bed. Angry, red glowing numbers that flashed, reading the time back at you; it had only been twenty minutes. You were sure it had been an hour at least. Falling back on the bed with a heavy sigh, you let Lucifer press his snout into your cheek.

"Luce, this is gonna be a long day." You muttered with an exaggerated pout to the canine, hand dragging down his soft fur softly.

You shivered on the bed, the cool air of the air conditioning until sending shudders down your spine, goosebumps rising from the chill. You curled closer to Lucifer, pressing your nose into his fur. The air conditioning control was out in the hall, where you weren't allowed. Your eyes flickered over to the fire place mounted to the far wall. You supposed you could turn that on, but you weren't sure where Eddie kept the long lighters.

Sock clad feet pressing into the mahogany hard wood, you padded over to the closet, flicking on the light. The dark shelves came into view, illuminated by the chandelier hung above. Everything about the mansion was so gothic and elegant in one. Positively, Eddie in every way. A little scary, a little weird, but very, very nice.

The first time you'd come over, walking down the long, crimson hallways that Eddie led you down, you felt like you were in something out of Dracula and The Godfather all wrapped up in one.

When you'd told him that, Eddie had laughed, dimples deep and eyes shining in the low light of his bedroom. "That was the goal, baby doll." He winked.

You'd blushed then and you blushed now, the same tingling feeling buzzing in your chest, warm and suffocating but oddly comforting, a rush sparking up your spine. Eddie always got you like that, giddy and silly in a way that only he could

You ran your hands over his shirts, all his work shirts. You snorted lightly, taking the fabric of a pristinely pressed black button up, Egyptian cotton and soft to the touch but stiff. You pressed your nose to the sleeve, inhaling the scent- laundry detergent, tobacco, and something woven within the threads that you couldn't quite put into words, it was positively Eddie.

There on the racks was your things too. All the things he'd bought you that you kept here. He'd been begging you to move in for weeks, since the first night he brought you here really. You told him when your lease was over, which he scoffed at. "Kitten, I can get you out of your lease, no problem. Don't use that."

You knew he could. You just didn't want to leave that life just yet, keeping a small piece of yourself at the apartment complex, a part of you that didn't know all the inner workings and dark shadows of Hawkins- of the country. It was silly, really, you loved Eddie. You stayed here all the time anyways, but you clung onto it. Eddie was a sweetheart, he let you, respected it, never pressed. It made it easier to transition over.

Eddie was always so sweet to you, so kind. You smiled, holding onto the sleeve of a cashmere robe, white and fluffy. He'd bought it for you after installing the bath, your initial sewn in baby blue over the breast. It was warm, cozy, soft- just like Eddie was to you.

You wondered how people could be so scared of him. He was nothing but an absolute angel to you, doting on you in ways you didn't even know possible. Passionate in ways that felt overwhelming at times, but you always returned it too.

Your lips curled in thought, fingers running down the robe's soft fabric, but your eyes moved to the bedroom door. The heavy, ornate mahogany door was taunting, looming over you like a bad omen- a darkened doorway. Your heart thumped, you could hear Eddie's voice telling you to stay.

"Curiosity killed the cat, kitten," Eddie's wicked grin, teeth baring and tone lilted in a mocking, nearly playful tone. He'd said that to you only a few weeks ago, when the two of you began something new.

You'd slipped into his office, looking for a letter opener. Instead you'd found a little box, rattling on the inside, with a carving you didn't recognize. Intrigued, you'd searched through the drawers, practically ransacking his desk looking for the key.

Eddie surprised you, ringed hand pressing gently on the small of your back, amused when you'd jumped up. Caught, wide eyed, mouth stammering with the box in your hand. He'd only shook his head, cooing at you gently, before placing the box down, guiding you gently to fold over the large desk.

He'd lectured you, sweetly still, while he lifted your little night gown, hand cracking down on your upturned bottom. It wasn't much, enough for your cheeks form a light dusting of splotchy pink with faint handprint impressions, and to have you sniffling with a pout. Eddie fussed all over you, pressing kisses and praises into your wet, salty cheeks, before bending you back over; this time a reward, his cock thrusting slow and deep into you.

That was the first time he'd ever spanked you. An idea that came from a drunken night out, that the two of you had discussed trying. You wanted it to be authentic, only happening organically. Eddie was more than happy to oblige you.

Your thighs clenched at the thought, rocking your pressed legs together to feel some friction. Eddie hadn't spanked you in a while. The last time being a little over two weeks ago, after you'd been exceptionally bratty and mean to him. He cooed at you sweetly, patting his knee for you to crawl over, while he cracked his palm down until you were crying lightly, fingers working between your legs until you gushed over his lap.

You contemplated it for a moment. You'd never done something this bold before with him. Bratting and breaking little rules when you wanted it rough, sure, but not this. He always went so gentle with you, only using his hand and stopping at the first sign of tears.

Eddie had said the men weren't dangerous, wouldn't hurt you.

And you did leave your favorite cardigan in his office.

The corners of your lips turned up, pressing them together to keep your smug grin hidden. The throbbing between your legs clouded your judgement, mind spinning with the excitement of Eddie getting rough with you. You shushed the dogs gently, shutting the door behind you before padding down the long hallway towards the other wing.

Eddie was wrapped up in planning, the latest shipment from Cuba coming through Mexico since they'd been compromised in Miami.

"You can't do Texas," Eddie shook his head, pointing at the map next to Rick. "Borders are tightening up. Hopper told me they'd cracked down, hard. Best bet is to go through Louisiana or Mississippi. We could send some guys out on the bayou, no one would ever bother looking there."

"What about the cajuns that live there, boy?" Rick raised a brow. "You think they'll just let us come in there? There's a reason border patrol and the law ain't out there."

"I know, but there's a guy here who has family down there. Willing to let us borrow his boat for a price." Eddie was always one step ahead, Rick grinned. "He's got a place right on the bayou, feeds out to the gulf. They come in that way, meet 'em there and-"

The door creaked open, all eyes snapping up before guns were drawn, clicked and ready to fire. Eddie's heart stopped, his finger trembling over the trigger when he saw you.

"Ed, I'm sorry to bother you, honey." You cooed before stepping in.

Eddie gaped, raising a hand firmly to signal a stop. Rick lowered his gun, brows furrowed when he looked at Eddie. He knew in an instant, from the fear stricken look in Eddie's eye, just who the girl was to him.

"I just need my cardigan. I think I left it in here." You grinned sheepishly at the men. Rick's two boys stepped in front of the plans, glaring down at you menacingly.

"Easy, boys." Rick snapped, seeing Eddie growl, eyes narrowed and teeth bared in their direction.

"Leroy, Joey, she's good." Eddie snapped, eyes locked with you.

Jeff and Gareth exchanged a nervous glance, looking from each other back to Eddie. His clenched fists, eyes hard and tracking your every movement in disbelief. They cringed at the thought of what he'd do to you, if you even knew what was coming. They watched carefully as you padded in, reaching behind Eddie's desk for your little folded cardigan, right where you left it.

Your eyes met Eddie's expression falling slightly when his angry, intense gaze met yours. You stuttered for a moment, blinking around the room before Eddie's eyes narrowed at you in warning. A look you'd never seen before. It was frightening, sending you scampering out of the room.

Eddie watched the door close, eyes trained on the wood long after you left. The room was silent, Rick's gaze moving from Eddie to Gareth and Jeff slowly. "Alright..." Rick drew out the word, brow still lifted skeptically. "Where were we?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, back pressing against the dark wood. The dogs must've sense your distress, whining and growling under the doorway at the threat they couldn't see.

"It's alright babies." You cooed, but even then your voice was wavering, shaky and rattled.

Clicking the lock, you padded back towards the bed, cardigan clutched between your firm grasp. Eddie was furious, that much you knew. No light, no softness, nothing familiar in his eyes when you looked at him; when he looked at you.

You tucked your knees up to your chest, heart beating so fast you thought it might just give out. You knew Eddie wouldn't hurt you, he wouldn't, but you wondered if you might've took it too far. If you might've hurt him. Guilt flooded your bloodstream, leaving your tummy twisting and wrenching at the possibility.

You'd taken it too far, clearly, you knew that now. All you wanted was him to be a little rough. You loved the passionate sex the two of you had, constant and attentive. How he'd take his time exploring every square inch of you, using his body in any way he could to worship yours. You loved it even more when it was your chance to return the favor.

All you wanted was him to be a little rough, a little mean. You liked the darkness, it was thrilling. How he could be a little cruel to you, all while being constant and reassuring. Praising you when he'd spank you, or when he wouldn't let you cum. Tutting at you in a tone that toed the line of mocking and caring.

"Baby, I have to." He'd sigh, heavy and like he truly meant it, with just enough flare in his tone to know he was enjoying it. "You've got to learn don't you? Got to be obedient for me."

You wondered if he'd do that to you tonight, or if he'd trade his sweet tongue for a lashing, sharp one that would leave you as battered and aching as your body. You shuddered at the thought, consumed with possibilities.

The soft knock at your door was enough to make you jump, the dogs growling and barking in warning. Gareth called your name, muffled through the thick wood.

"One sec." You called, leaping out of the bed, legs shaky when you clicked the lock.

The dogs filed out, scampering down the stairs as Gareth looked down at you. The sympathetic gaze he casted on you made you feel sick. "Uh, Ed wants to see you in his office." He muttered, eyes avoiding yours. "Now that everyone is gone."

You nodded slowly, shutting the door behind you when you started down the hallway for a second time. This time you were in a much different trance, one that left your numb with fear, anticipation.

Knuckles rapping softly on the door, you waited for Eddie's gruff voice telling you to enter. Swallowing hard, you pushed the iron handle open, heavy door opening with a low groan.

Eddie sat behind his desk, hand crossed in front of him. He met your gaze and you shuddered. "Shut the door behind you." Eddie called. His voice was stern, but not angry, not mean like you expected. Tired. It made your stomach squeeze even more in guilt.

Eddie nodded towards the chairs in front of him, cognac leather and large. You sat down slowly, gaze never leaving his. Eddie looked up at you, brown eyes softer now, pleading. "What did I tell you?" He asked, low with a small sigh.

You shuddered. "I-I'm sorry." You stammered, cheeks flaming. "I..."

Eddie lifted a brow. "You what? Didn't know? Kitten, I told you." He said softly. "I didn't do it to control you, baby. I did it to keep you safe. You know I don't want you in the middle of this shit."

Your lib wobbled, eyes prickling in tears. You felt your heart plummet at his words, caring, even when you didn't deserve it. You'd prepared yourself for screaming, anger, a fight and him to admonish you; not for him to still be so concerned for you well being, for him to be disappointed.

"I'm really sorry." You muttered, breaking his gaze to look down at your nails. You sniffled gently. "I-I just wanted to come in." You admitted.

Eddie leaned forward, brows furrowed lightly. "Why?" He asked, soft and genuine. "I told you to stay, that it's business. I know you don't care about what we're talking about so why would you..." He stopped himself, watching how you squirmed, shifted in your seat.

Eddie pressed his lips together, leaning back in his chair. "Look at me." He commanded, stern but not an order. A favor, a request still. You tilted your head up, watery eyes meeting his. He paused, taking in the way you gnawed at your lower lip. "Please tell me you didn't come in here so I'd punish you?" He asked.

You didn't reply, stilling at the question with wide eyes. Eddie sighed slowly, hands dragging down over his face. "Oh, kitten, that's so disappointing." His face fell, shaking his head gently.

The sob that tore through your chest, strangled in your throat, your deep breath trying to conceal it as Eddie stood. He walked around slowly in front of you, leaning back onto the desk. He towered over you, shoulders slumped and sad. You couldn't look at him.

"You want me to punish you?" Eddie asked. It was a genuine question, not mocking, not playful, certainly not threatening. You kept your gaze cast down, sniffling back tears. "Look at me please, baby." Eddie sighed gently.

You brought your gaze to his, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. Eddie tilted his head to the side. "Is that what you want?" He asked softly again, brows raising ever so slightly. "That why you came in here? So I'd spank you for being a bad girl? For breaking Daddy's rules?"

You flushed, heart lurching at the name. You were sure he wouldn't want to play with you after this, after you'd been so bad, you thought he might never want to see you again. Your tummy twisted in a deep burst of excitement. You nodded gently, eyes looking up at him carefully.

Eddie sighed heavy, looking down at his rings. "Kitten, if you wanted Daddy to put you in your place, all you had to do was ask." He was scolding you, lightly, but enough to make you blush, feeling small under his words.

"I want you to listen to me, ok?" Eddie asked, leaning forward so he was closer to you. You felt his fingers under your chin, tilting your gaze up to him, soft, brown eyes melting into yours. "You don't do that again when you want to play. This time, it was just Rick and his boys, but next time it couldn't be. I'm serious when I say this, I don't want you around that. That is a hard line for me, I want you to respect that."

"I'm sorry, Eddie." You whispered softly, placing your hand over top of his. You could tell by the way his jaw clenched, emotionally, that it had hurt him. You never wanted to do that. It was just play after all, never meant to step over any lines or boundaries, by pass your respect for one another.

"I didn't mean to upset you like this." You ran the tips of your fingers over his knuckles down to his rings. "I just thought it would be... exciting. You said they wouldn't hurt me or anything, so I just thought..."

Eddie pressed his hand gently into your cheek, cupping it lightly. "I know you did." He said sweetly, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "Let's discuss things about like that before doing it next time, ok? I'm not mad at you, I promise. I was just... I was scared. I thought something was wrong when you came in."

Your hear squeezed, lip quivering. "'M sorry." You whispered.

Eddie smiled softly down at you. "I know," He let his finger slide through your scalp. "But I have to punish you now. You know that don't you?"

Your spine tingled when excitement when Eddie stood, slowly walking around his desk. "Bend over the desk for me, baby." He fumbled with a cabinet, turning the key into the lock.

You stood slowly, stepping towards the edge of the desk, already cleared for you. You lowered your self down slowly, feet spreading to plant into the wood, far enough apart to steady you. Your hands splayed out on the cool wood beside you, chin resting to watch Eddie.

He emerged after a moment, placing the key back in his pocket before turning, revealing a small, black leather paddle, long but on the thinner side. Your eyes widened at the sight.

Eddie frowned down at you sadly. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to use this for a while." He exhaled slowly. "Thought I'd save it for your birthday. Give you some birthday spankings." You tingled at the mention, clenching around nothing. "But I think you need it today. You really need to learn your lesson, don't you?"

You nodded. "Words, kitten." Eddie ran a hand gently down your back.

"Yes, Daddy." You squeaked against the desk, pressing your cheek against the cool wood.

Eddie hummed gently, hand running down your little lounge pants. He pushed them down slowly, revealing you to be bare. He let out a small huff of air, fingers trailing up to your cheeks, pulling them apart so he could see your pussy. Soaked, as to be expected.

Eddie ran a hand softly over your bottom, soothing your gently. "I don't want to have to be this mean to you, but you have to learn baby." Eddie shook his head gently. "Have to learn to follow Daddy's rules."

You whimpered, nodding against the wood. Eddie bent down, pressing a kiss to your tail bone, leaving you shivering under the touch. "I'm gonna start now." He warned, thumb circling the bone before his hand rested on the small of your back, to keep you down, in place.

The cool leather of the paddle ran across the globes of your ass, a warning of what was to come. You shivered, squeezing your eyes shut. You fought the urge to clamp your legs together, the anticipation and thrill of it all making you ache horribly.

There was a swish before the leather snapped against your skin, your loud gasp following, eyes snapping and head raising. "Shh, I know," Eddie cooed. He kept his hand anchored on your spine, paddle lifting again before cracking across your skin, leaving an angry red stripe in its wake. "I know, kitten, I know."

"You've got to learn." You whimpered when Eddie brought the paddle down again, squick and snapping twice against the skin with an easy flick of his wrist. "Daddy doesn't like being mean with you, but he has to." He whispered, hand rubbing softly down your back.

You were starting to squirm, the sting building quick, faster than it ever did with his hand. You yelped, a pitiful broken cry following after he brought the paddle down again, on the bottom of your fleshy backside. "You're doing so good, kitten. Taking your spanking so good." Eddie crooned, the paddle lifting before he brought it down again.

You knew he wasn't using his full strength, not even close. He wanted it to sting but never hurt you, especially when the two of you were so new to things still.

You squirmed, tears streaming down your face. "'M sorry, Daddy." You whined, high and desperate.

"I know you are, baby. I know." Eddie sighed sweetly, bringing the paddle down again on your agitated skin. "You're doing so good for me, aren't you?"

Your sob followed as an answer, fists clenching when he brought down the paddle again, sending you forward you the desk. The wood dug into your hips, pressing uncomfortably against you with every smack of the paddle that sent you forwards.

Eddie's hand ran down your red cheeks, your abused little ass, bright and blooming with marks of the harsh leather against your skin. Your body shook with sobs, collapsed against the wood. Eddie shushed you quietly, sweet words and calming phrases to you while his hand ran over the hot flesh, trailing down further. He pressed his index finger, ducking it between your legs. He bit back a knowing smile when he felt you, dripping and coated in your own arousal.

Eddie let his fingers run through your folds, your small mewl perking his ears, your hips rocking back to meet his touch. "You learned your lesson?" Eddie asked gently.

You moaned when his fingers brushed over your clit, nasally and high pitched. "Yes, Daddy."

Eddie let the pad of his finger circle around your clit, throbbing and hard through your slick folds. "You're gonna be good for Daddy?"

You nodded, eyes pinching in pleasure. "Yes!" You squealed, shockwaves of pleasure spiking over you. "I'll be good, I'll be good!" You chanted breathlessly, a small grunt leaving your pouty lips.

Eddie smirked, he knew you would be. He knelt down behind you, tongue lapping and circling your sensitive clit while your squirmed. His hands gripping your burning cheeks lightly, keeping you spread so he could eat you properly, buried between you until you clenched, toes curling and crying out before falling onto his desk, sprawled out and starry eyed.

#eddie munson #eddie munson au #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #mafia!eddie munson x reader #mafia!eddie munson #mafia!eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie munson x reader smut #Eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie munson x fem!reader smut #funsonmunson #oneforthemunny

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its-tin · 4 months

Text

My shot at @abbeyofcyn’s CTIYS!

Fun fact this is actually my first time ever doing something like this (or even posting art in general) and I might have gone a bit overboard with it. I coloured it twice because I had two ideas wanted to try both. My finger needs rest and I can’t fathom that Ibis is telling me that I spent 16-nearly-17 hours on this lol. But! I’m happy I did. This was so much fun to do! I only recently started with digital art and I decided to try and do new things with this. Who knew shading could be so enjoyable? I also found it very entertaining to try and shove as many small details as I can into this (an example being in the first one, Donnie’s bags (?) actually being Leo’s (he has them in the show :] ) that he *cough* borrowed to store interesting things he finds in the apocalypse).

ANYWAYS ENOUGH YAPPING HERE IT IS!

First one (what I call my normal attempt): “Gold”

(I actually forgot that his mechanical arm is green too and only realised it when I was late into the second one lol) I wanted to emphasise with the colours that they are still in the apocalypse, but it’s but brighter with those you care for. They’re the most valuable thing in the world, and hence, Gold! I also wanted to try doing a golden hour scene and MAN did I struggle. But, I’m proud of it :)

Small trigger warning! The next one contains a bit of blood and implied death.

Second one (Angst tehe): “Hollow peace”

(MY QUALITY NOOOOO-) This was actually my first thought on the CTIYS before I changed my mind and started on the other. I had the thought that maybe Leo “failed”, losing them in some recent battle and now is just chilling with their ghosts and ow that hurts saying aloud. They stumble upon a new area, and it’s so peaceful and beautiful, but Leo can’t enjoy it. He wouldn’t even know how to. He can’t remember how to feel, how to think beyond ‘survive’. He’s failed everyone and everything. He cries without knowing for what. He’s a husk caring for the hauntings of his kids, they’re the only thing keeping him alive. And as long as they’re still here, still smiling at him despite him being a monster and failing them, he still has a purpose. He will live on.

Wow I talk a lot. Anyways go follow @abbeyofcyn they’re super cool and post amazing art. They inspire me so much on so many different levels and I am very happy to be able to do this. Rad person with stunning fanart and stories.

(Incredible line art done by @abbeyofcyn (sorry I’ve tagged you thrice in one post))

And here’s the link to the Original Post if you want to try yourself! I recommend, but you do you. :D

Thanks for listening to my rambles and have a lovely rest of your day/night! :]

#Abbeyofctiys entries #I don’t know what to tag this as #Rottmnt #?#That works for now #Remember to stretch and hydrate :)#Abbeyofctiys

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 2 months

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can you write a slash fic where reader is usually all sunshine and rainbows, but her facade begins to crack and he realizes just how bad her depression is so he comfort her and just helps her do the little things like basic hygiene? <3

A/n: Love this request, loved writing it, I don't know what you're going through right now but I hope you feel better soon, I can't really do anything as a stranger over the internet but I hope this can help you feel a little better lol <3

Warnings: Angst, depression, that's all I think it's just a lot of fluff, Slash and reader have a shower together but it's not sexual.

You tried your best not to let others know you were suffering, you didn’t want them to be burdened with your own struggles so you kept it quiet. Of course your bandmates knew you weren’t ok, they tried to help you when they could but they had their own things going on.

Last summer your band opened on a short tour for Guns N’ Roses, one of your personal favourite bands. While you were with them you got pretty close to their lead guitarist, Saul Hudson, though everyone just called him Slash. Even so, you enjoyed the nickname Sauly instead, it was cute and annoyed him so it was perfect.

When you got back from the tour you realised you didn’t actually live all too far from animal lover, this led to you visiting him whenever you felt. Slash didn’t mind one bit, you guys would just sit together in a comfortable silence and it was great. You’d watch movies together, you’d cook for his incompetent ass more than you’d like to admit. You two were happy with your little arrangement.

However, this was all just a distraction from what was going on within your band. You weren’t entirely sure what happened since it didn’t directly involve you but you knew your bandmates were arguing an awful lot. Everyone within and surrounding the band knew you guys were about to break up, it was inevitable at this point. You knew, your friends knew, Slash knew.

All of the fights, disagreements and nosy people wanting the freshest gossip was detrimental for your mental health and you stopped visiting Saul. It started out as coming by every day, then every other day, then once a week if you were lucky until you just stopped coming by all together. You hadn’t left your house in almost a month, you’d barely gotten off the couch even with the only exceptions being to go to the bathroom or get more snacks from the kitchen. Quite frankly, you were running out of food that hadn’t spoiled.

Your doorbell rang and waited for whoever it was to leave. Instead of letting them walk away your house was filled with the doorbell ringing repeatedly and loud banging on the door. You could’ve sworn your whole house was shaking.

When the noise persisted you got up, taking your blankets with you, and answered the door. Slash stood before you looking completely panicked. His eyes were wide and he sported a small pout. When he registered that you had opened the door and were now in front of him he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him.

“I thought you fucking died.” He mumbled, shoving his face into your hair and kissing the top of your head. He pulled away enough to look you up and down, taking in your deteriorating state. The bags under your eyes, your slowly hollowing cheeks. Matted hair and dry lips. You were a corpse. “Did you die?” He asked, tilting your head up to look at him.

You turned and walked back to your couch, flopping over and curling in on yourself. Slash watched as you did this, standing idly at your front door.

He walked in and closed the door behind him, now taking in the state of your house. It wasn’t a mess but you didn’t clean so everything was covered with a thick layer of dust. “Fucking Christ.” Slash muttered. He came over and crouched beside you on the couch. “Are you ok?” He asked, tucking a few wiry strands of your hair behind your ear.

“Go away.” You mumbled, hiding yourself further under your blankets.

“Fuck that, answer me, are you ok?” He repeated in a sterner tone. You didn’t respond. Saul took a deep breath and glanced around the room, thinking through his options. “Ok, um... ok, how about we start with a shower?” You shook your head. “It’s ok, I’ll be right there with you.” He gave you a moment before he stood up. “Come on, let’s go have a shower.” He waited another moment before he took you into his arms and pulled you up, holding you to keep you standing.

Slash walked you to your bathroom. He let you lean against the counter while he turned the water on, getting it to the right temperature. When he turned around you were curled up on the ground. He sat down with you and held you to his side. “You need to stand.” He said, his voice soft. “Please, can you stand for me?” He nuzzled his face against yours.

Again he waited a moment for you. Slash stood and walked out of the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a change of clothes for you. Something comfortable that you could wear out of the house. He set the stack of clothes on the counter and crouched in front of you. “I’ll get in with you, I’ll help you get cleaned up and stuff and then we can go out.” He explained to you how he wanted the day to go.

“I-I don’t want to.” You said, your voice no louder than a whisper. Slash rolled his eyes.

“Want to or not, you're doing it.” He took the blanket off of you with minimal effort, you didn’t have the energy to keep hold of it so it practically just slid off when he reached for it. Saul picked you up like a cat, holding you under your arms. “Lean on me, would you?” You did just that, lazily wrapping your arms around him and leaning on him, your head resting on his shoulder.

Slash helped you out of your clothes. You tried to help but not hard, part of you was still hoping that he would just give up on this and let you go back to your couch. He didn’t.

Once you were ready to get in the shower he stripped and got in. He held the curtain open, waiting for you to come in with him. “It’s just water.” He stated, looking up at the shower head. You stood there a moment longer before stepping in. Slash held you from behind for support.

You got used to the warm water hitting your skin. Slash started lathering you with soap, being careful around your more sensitive parts to make this more comfortable for you. When he started washing your hair he’d scratch your scalp and massage the shampoo and then conditioner into your hair. He made sure to be careful when washing it out of your hair, not wanting to get anything in your eyes.

“Are you ready to get out?” He asked, leaning down to your ear. You shook your head.

“A few more minutes.” Slash chuckled but happily stayed in the shower with you. Still holding you close he rocked you from side to side, kissing your cheek occasionally. You knew you had to get out of the shower eventually but you just wanted to stay here with him. “Thank you.” You mumbled, holding his hands as they rested on your stomach.

“It’s my job to take care of you.” He said.

“It’s not though, you didn’t have to come by.” You told him.

“Bullshit, you’re fucking mine and I take care of my things.”

#guns n roses fluff #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses #slash #slash fic #slash fanfiction #slash gnr #slash fluff #angst #guns n roses angst #saul hudson x reader #saul hudson

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sweetdreamsbuck · 2 years

Text

enraptured

beefy lumberjack!bucky x f!reader (lumby and bunny au)

w.c: fucking long i'm so sorry i have no control (8k)

warnings: SMUT, angst/mention of Bucky's past, oral (f rec), p in v, dom+needy!bucky (this is lumby we are talking ab), fluff, he's so in love that it's actually rude and you might die

summary: Bucky's never been so scared of a feeling in his life. there are too many what if's– too many fears bubbling deep within the parts of him left broken and hollow, untouched for far too long. but he never envisioned finding you– and he's entirely too impatient; entirely too certain no one's ever been more infatuated with something than how he feels for you.

a/n: the long overdo lumby and bunny's first time. i'm so nervous to share this with you and i rewrote this about 3 times lmao. not proofread, all mistakes are my own. i hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think. tumblr did not want me posting this apparently, please read it lol xo

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

The last few months have been bliss, to put it bluntly.

As the ground awoke from the lasting bite of winter, so have you. His laugh, his voice, his scent, his eyes– god those fucking eyes.

Every day has been something new and exciting; your sweet boy has been nothing short of perfect in the little while you’ve gotten to know him.

Endearing, charming, attentive– but there was something burning under those layers of gleaming eyes and rosy pink cheeks; under his breathless giggles and groaned utterances of his shy ‘come on bun… you’re makin’ me go all silly’.

It wasn’t your fault he looked so pretty when he blushed.

You could feel it in his stare, in the way his hands started holding your curves with a bit more need– even apart from those few intense nights spent on his couch.

His touch had been something that hadn’t shied away from letting you know just where he wanted to be; holding you between his palms was where he felt he fit best.

The force his body used to chop heavy stumps day after day took a lot out of him– years of strain strenuous on his mind, on his limbs. Bucky’s hands only knew rough wind and a death grip; until he met just how soft you could feel under them, that was.

Now they caressed with a featherlight air, molding perfectly around the dips and swell of you. Bucky liked having his hands on you– he knew he just needed to touch you. But there was something off.

Almost as if he was afraid of placing them on you– a hesitancy you couldn’t quite name.

Running gentle tingles along the length of your spine, tracing circles and shy patterns into the secrecy of your sides, his hands began to relax for the first time in years. His lips would sear fire across every inch of skin they discovered, the plump pillows teasing your throat and the span of your shoulders with nervous breaths whispered.

If the shivers and soft whines you graced him with from just his recent discovery of weightlessness were this heavenly– fuck.

He’s fucked.

How’s he meant to contain all his desires– all the urges festering torturously in the pits of his stomach? He’d never be able to stay away once he knew what it was like to let himself go.

What if you felt the same way she did?

While his mouth caressed you, his hands followed. Ghosting over each trail and trace of his tongue, goosebumps spreading across your skin like sparks in a flame.

It was perfect. You’d never known being wanted could feel so right.

As you’d sink further into his chest, hands gripping the back of his neck while he tugged at your thighs to straddle him, he’d shut down. Meeting your movements for a moment, a low moan sounding deep in the depths of his throat as you rolled your hips, pulling at you desperately with a jolt of his core before he realized what he was doing.

Gasps of air and a shaky Bucky would act, anchoring his hands at your waist and slowing his lips gently up the side of your jaw. Chaste, teasing, a soft brush of ‘you’re so perfect bun,’ mumbled against your mouth before cuddling beside you on the couch, turning on a movie to cut through the tense air.

He wanted to take this slow– as slow as you’d let him. The sharp daggers embedded into his heart still left their sting, echoes of her words, 'You’re a fucking hermit. No one wants a man who can’t function in public. It’s embarrassing, really. I don’t want to live in the woods, let alone with you.'

'Let alone with you.'

He still hears it. He still feels it. True and bold, ringing loudly in every shielded touch on your back and hesitant kiss pressed against your temple.

'And you’re so clingy. My god. I need my own space, Bucky. You say you can’t breathe in the city and yet you manage to suffocate me here.'

He’s well over her. Hasn’t had a feeling toward that woman since she broke his heart. But the words left their boom, and with you– he’d never be able to stomach it. What if you felt the same way?

But fuck– he was going to combust. Bucky was certain of it. It was all he's been able to think about, to breathe about the last few weeks.

He felt his nerves taunting him with every moment he found himself in your presence, craving the need to know you deeper; to hold your palm, to name the hairs on the back of your neck, hell– to study the skin of your knees.

It might only be several weeks, but he knows. It’s love. He can’t remember the feeling ever being this scalding; the desire to be with someone every second of the day, the need to wrap himself around them and never let go– he loves you.

Bucky knew from the moment you stuffed your hands into his jacket that he needed you to cling to him like that forever.

Your touch is all consuming, a swell and tide he can’t help but long for. So good, so fucking good. His stomach wraps itself in tight knots thinking of how much he craves it.

He’s in love with you. Bucky wants to take this slow, and your accidental self-deprecating joke about how no one’s ever wanted to love you before on that amazing first date was not something he took lightly. But he feels the way you reach for him, the way you cling to him and softly whisper for more.

It’s that same nagging he feels pinching at his spine, too.

You’re both entirely too impatient.

And Bucky’s going to burst.

He wants to give you everything. To inhale you, to make you crave him as deeply as he’s addicted to you, to have you give yourself over to him wholly– but he can’t stop her words from haunting him.

There was a wavering hesitancy behind every brush of his hands, a sheltered sigh in each press of his lips against yours, until tonight.

•••

He asked you to dress nice, that it was a surprise– a date he’d been planning all week. Bucky knew you both loved spoiling those you cared for with nice things, with lavish gifts and surprises worthy of their heart. But he also knew– a bit smugly– that if he were to dress in his nicest button-down, arrange the rooms of his cabin with soft candles and the aroma of a delicious dinner that he cooked, you’d leap right out of your soles with delight.

Seeing you light up made everything seem so clear– the harsh noises bouncing around his head would cease, save for the loud thumping of his heart sounding soaringly in his ears. And in the safety of his own home, he’d have you all for himself.

But Bucky wasn’t prepared for the ground to freeze over the way it did when he opened the door to you.

A harsh huff of air leaves his lips, frozen solid at the base his tongue, incessant on the struggle of not letting it find its way back in. Unblinking eyes cradle every inch of your satin-adorned figure with a reverence unknown to you– unknown to anyone that wasn’t on the receiving end of it at this exact moment.

The ice spreads further, mouth frozen in place but his jaw loose as ever, itching to etch itself within your skin. The soft glow emanating from the way you look basking in the moonlight, peaking its way through the sea of thick evergreens littered behind you was a sight he’d never forget. Ever.

Not even a thermal camera could capture the radiance of what he feels, staring at you.

A deep black fabric clings a little too perfectly to your figure, the pudge of your stomach and dip of your hip highlighted beneath its silky sheen. A strappy pair of heels and a glossy stain on your lip sit prettily, complimenting the dress so simply– his throat is on fire.

Something too terribly similar to that of coarse ash and cinnamon line his airways, a roaring heat blazing pitifully in the base of his throat.

Dry, wordless, breathless.

And his brain can’t find the power to extinguish the feeling.

Struggling to think of anything but the way he can not handle being near you without his body betraying his fears; he stops fighting it. He needs you; to love you and suffocate you– and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t let you know it.

Letting his eyes sweep across every inch of you, painting the form of the angel standing before him with the smoke of an arctic storm behind his gaze, his pulse quickens with a renewed purpose. Heat pounds through his veins, straight to the very tips of his fingers and toes.

He’s so helplessly in love with you.

“You gonna let me in, Buck?” you laugh.

Oh.

His hand was gripped around the door since he’d opened it, so tightly you could've sworn the wood cracked a bit under his hold. Opening it all the way while his neck ran crimson, nodding furiously down at you as he ignores the splinters of wood falling from his fist.

Brushing a hand across his chest, your fingers toy with a button of his shirt before looking up at him through your lashes. “You, look incredible. Holy shit,” you smooth up his neck, pulling him down to press a short kiss to the side of his mouth before pushing past him, “so handsome.” He shudders at your voice, the spreading blush growing across his complexion at the flutter of your eager eyes and scurrying fingers.

Inebriation– amorous, hazardous, oh so beside himself in anguish with the sight in front of him; the fabric swaying with the taunt of your thighs, your perfume tickling past his nose and making his brain fuzzy. “Bunny…” he whispers.

He’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

“Yeah, Bucky?” turning to meet his eye, his air consumes you.

The weight of his compulsion happens in a surge, hand grabbing for your neck, the other squeezing around your hip. Propelled by your scent, by your intoxicating sting, crashing his towering frame into your softness as desperate lips meld against yours. His warm tongue invades your mouth, hungrily exploring with a new blaze, soft moans pressed against you as you melt into him. Decadent cologne tints your senses, sandalwood and spice seeping into every last pore of your skin as he sinks his claim deep within you.

His hand moves lower, grasping at your ass and pressing your hips against his, a deep chuckle sounding in his chest as he feels your hands begin to claw at him.

You’re nothing like her.

The desperation in each of your rushed embraces and heavy breaths confirms the shock with his sudden urge, the power and force of his movements quenching a drought you didn’t know was there. But this is only a small chip at the ice of who he really is, and he can’t wait to let himself go.

This new intensity in which he reached for you told you he wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

You need more.

More of him, more of whatever it was he’s been hiding deep behind every breath and winded stroke of his knuckles against your cheek.

He sucks at your lip, biting and toying with you until you mewl and pull him back in, smoothing your hands around the back of his head and into his soft locks.

Time seems to cease when his hand cups your jaw and slants his soft mouth against yours, tilting your head delicately with a purposeful need. Teeth nip at your throat, lips soothing the ache, humming behind your ear, “M’sorry,” a low laugh, rich with disbelief. “I can’t even begin to tell you how gorgeous you are,” fixated on the spot just below your jaw, savoring your sigh. “We’d be here for a while if I tried.”

He doesn't voice it, but you hear him loud and clear: we have all night, bunny.

You grab his hair, needing him closer, heating up under his gravelly tone. His hands roam your back, clinging to the silky fabric sewn around you. “My goodness. This dress….”

Bucky feels it, the hardness growing against your thigh.

Your damn thighs.

Unashamedly, he nudges his nose along the shell of your ear. “Let’s go eat, pretty girl. Can't seem to control myself around ya anymore…” admission never felt so easy, his sheepish smirk something gluttonous. “Been cooking all afternoon. Promised you a nice evening, didn’t I?” He pulls away sweeping his hunger over you, unbridled lust burning every inch of you. A shiver rumbles deep in your chest under his gaze, cold fingers dancing up your back before brushing down your arms, linking his hand with yours.

“You’re all mine for the rest of the night,” he brings your fingers to meet his eager lips, brushing your knuckles against him. Awe slips through his kisses, a softly muttered confession spilled to the veins of your hand, “Can’t believe you’re here with me right now.”

The scent of earthy tomatoes and warm bread carries you both over to the kitchen, Bucky's thumb brushing over your knuckles as you take in the sight of his table: decorated with a gorgeous bouquet of roses, a few candles, and two perfectly plated meals sitting closely to one another.

“What do you mean?” you question breathlessly, oregano and garlic filling your nostrils.

He pulls out a chair for you, waiting for you to sit before sauntering over to open a bottle of wine. A glimmer of cynicism flickers across his features, a short smile falsely placed. His tongue sweeps over his lip before sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

He looks at you with a telling shake of his head, light of just how stunned he finds himself apparent while grabbing your wine glass and filling it, “Someone like you doesn’t just come walking into my life– anyone’s life, actually.” He sets your glass in front of you, picking up his own to fill. “Don’t think anyone on earth understands what it’s like getting to know you, to be with you while you walk around…” he tapers off, adoration apparent in the lusty blues of his eyes sweeping over you, “shit– looking like you do. Having you want to be here in my home...dressing up nice for me. It's a lot. I'm not used to it."

'I'm not used to feeling wanted.'

And god do you want him.

He grabs his glass and holds it up to your wide and waiting eyes, nodding for you to raise yours to toast. “To the most perfect person I’ve ever met. And for being here with me”

You shake your head, speechless and bashfully clinking your glass against his. “Such a smooth talker, Bucky.”

A giggle slips past your tongue, nervously swishing the red liquid around the glass before bringing it to your lips.

He hums, eyebrow quirking up at your dismissal. “Don’t need to be one when it comes to you. You make feeling things… painfully easy. But so difficult to concentrate. Yeah,” he nods to himself, basking in the chill of your wide eyes flitting across his face, “so fucking difficult.”

You preen under his husky admittance, a warmth spreading through your core. “I know the feeling,” a sheepish chirp. He squints his eyes at you, taking a sip of his wine. “But you're wrong, you know. No one who’s anything like you goes around inviting me over and cooking me a meal.”

He timidly smirks at that, the pink stain you love tainting his cheeks. “Such a shame. Guess that’s my problem to fix then, huh?” he shrugs, pulling his chair to sit next to you, the frames kissing one another.

He tries not to observe like a hawk– he really does. Opening his mouth to say something, anything, so he doesn't make a babbling fool of himself. But he can't help it.

Those words.

Anxious feelings creep back in, following your every move as you scoop a forkful of pasta, nerves accelerating past a scream before he can stop himself, “I know you like Italian so I thought I’d make some pasta. It was ma’s recipe and uh, I love it but I haven’t had someone worth making it for in a long time and I hope it’s ok because now that I think about it, I haven’t really coo–” a deep moan cuts him off, your eyes shutting in appreciation as the taste of warm pepper and fresh garlic invades your tastebuds.

“Gosh Bucky, this is delicious. Mmm, your mom is a genius. This is incredible,” you scoop another bite into your mouth, his nerves dissipating with every word and soft moan of praise.

Fuck– he’s not making it out of tonight alive.

“I believe I cooked this for you, not my mother,” he chides, a bit shaky but just as playful as ever.

Your eyes skim up past his broad frame, watching his shoulders expand as he nervously exhales. It's perfect, really; the way he needs you to know how special this is to him, how good it makes him feel being here with you. The spread of your lips is inevitable, a blinding smile curling inside the high rounds of your cheeks. The joy buzzing across your face rapids down his spine in swift waves, your knee brushing against his as the point of your shoe meets his calf under the table.

The smile grants him reprieve, the air filtering through his chest somewhat normally, grinning so boyishly as you grab your glass, finishing it all in one gracious gulp. “Well then, just gonna have to send my compliments to the chef. How would he like my gratitude?”

Your foot travels up the inside of his leg, your bodies acutely more awake than when you first sat down.

“However you’d like. As long as it’s from you,” his hand smoothes across your leg, fingers dancing past your knee, slipping under the creamy fabric of your dress. “I’m sure we can work something out….” Bucky's lips bow to meet your shoulder, a lull brushing effortlessly against your warm skin and moving up your throat. “But I’m gonna need you to eat that whole plate. Can’t have you growing weak on me,” he hums against your ear, pressing a quick promise to your pulse.

Dinner continued on like that– with desires of something even tangier than the zest of parmesan or the basil he decorated his sauce with. Whispered taunts and giggles against the ear of the other, wandering fingers and teasing hands itching to explore.

Bucky was right– feeling things had been painfully easy. Easy, but so beyond your willpower to try and focus on anything half the time; it was exciting. To feel any and every little thing all at once.

Tonight, you needed him to know how you’ve been feeling– all the greedy thoughts and cries you’ve been hiding away in each chase of his lips and slow grind of your hips. But this quickening darkness in his eyes, in the fervor of his hands, in the rasp of his voice– he was feeling it too. If not just as much, more.

You love him.

His hand never left your thigh throughout dinner, stroking tenderly. Pressing his calloused fingertips into you, kneading and tracing circles into the skin he had yet to get a look at.

His meal was finished long before yours, antsy and desperate to be near you, to touch you. And god, that neck. The scent of your skin has been choking him all night, he needs to memorize it, to drown in it.

Bucky’s hand snakes up your back, tracing the soft divots at the top of your spine as you rambled on about work. Nodding every so often at a particular point you’d make, intently and actively trying to focus on your words; on what Clarence did to make you so mad, on how your boss jipped you of your time off; but falling victim to the shape of your lips, to the cute frustration in your forehead, the strength behind the arch of your brow.

He couldn’t think of a moment that made more sense than this– being here with you, listening to your voice fill him in on the bits of your day he missed out on.

To hear about your day, your worries, the things that made you smile, your successes and failures– it was all he wanted. Terribly so; his fingers ached.

Bucky wanted this. So much– to love you with everything he had.

It happened before you could realize, his hand gliding up and up, slithering with a gentle scratch at your sensitive flesh until his knuckle ghosted against your center. A thin whine leaves your throat, your legs clamping around him. His fingers still, trapped hot and excited between your soft thighs.

And that’s when your sweet boy finally snaps. “You make me crazy, bunny,” his dark eyes lock on yours, sliding the hand wrapped around the back of your neck to encircle your thigh, urging you to rest on the spread of his legs.

Your thighs willingly part, resting against his wall of muscle he calls a leg, his hand free and steeping to explore the rest of you. “I can’t control my thoughts anymore. You’re all I think about. Day and night. You, you, you.” His hand inches slowly, the satin pooling around his arm as he travels higher and higher, fingers erupting prickles of excitement along your skin.

Nudging his nose against yours, his lips meet your cheek, eyes fluttering in a torturous surrender. “My sweet girl.”

Wounded with desire, an agonizing fever mouths his raspy heat in declarations along the curves of your face. “You,” pressed to the corner of your mouth.

“You”, trailing along your jaw.

“You”, bitten against your pulse.

“Bucky,” you breathe out, grasping his broad shoulders between your palms.

A ravenous moan surges through him, inhaling the length of your neck, trembling as your legs open wider to his touch, drunk and emboldened from the way your body listens to him.

He knew you’d be such a good girl for him.

“I gotta touch you, bun,” he growls. “I gotta have you,” his arm slinks around your back to pull you to rest across his lap. His hand stays under your dress, toying with the lace keeping you from him.

Lips play at your collarbone, a rough finger stroking along the wet gusset of your panty. “Do you know what you do to me?” a husky plea twirls around the base of your neck, scratching at your skin. Bucky nips across your shoulder, pulling the strap of your dress between his teeth and down your arm.

Goosebumps spread under his breath, his stubble branding his urgency into even the most ordinary parts of you.

“Please Bucky,” you whine, locking your fingers in the thick tendrils of hair along his scalp.

Such a good girl for him.

He shivers as your nails send volts of sweet pain past every nerve, moaning shakily into the smooth satin around your chest. You squirm under the vibration, under the tickle of the finger tracing along your clothed folds, moving your hips to beg him to press harder.

But he stills.

His eyes stay closed, heavy breathing filling the silence of the room. You breathe against his forehead, soothing your fingers through his hair. “Bucky?”

His head shakes against you, his mouth returning to your skin while wrapping you up in his arms, standing from the table, “Not here, bun. Absolutely not on a damn kitchen chair.”

Arms cling to his broad back, wrapping your legs around him as he makes haste towards his bedroom. His lips never leave you, tasting the column of your throat, expertly making his way through the cabin without ever looking up.

He steps through his door, the room dark, illuminated only by the light peering through his window.

Laying you gently in the center of his large bed, he moves to switch on the lamp in the corner. It only helps bare a wash of color privy to his sight, a warm radiance adding to the allure of the mesmeric beauty he can't wait to lose himself to. His eyes spare a glimpse, unable to withstand the temptation of your song, of that sweet enticement any longer.

Fuck. He's never seen something more beautiful.

Heels kick at each other, crazed motions to flip off his shoes, his eyes distracting him with the promise of that thigh peeking its canvas out of your dress, of the shape of your body mocking his inability to do one simple thing without needing to devour you.

Shoes get flung somewhere on his floor and Bucky can't help but look at you– can't help but allow the ache in his stomach, the throbbing between his thighs to stir and boil so uncomfortably.

His bunny, sitting so perfectly where he left you.

His heart stammers in his chest, kneeling on the bed before cupping his hand around your throat, sliding up the side of your neck. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, your erratic breathing; the strap of your dress right as he pulled it; a hedonic sheen of need glazing over your skin inviting him to drown, to sink even further into depths he no longer can fight to stay afloat in. It's rapturous.

Bucky feels his insides shaking, screaming at the way your pulse feels under his hand, how you lean into the strength of his palm wrapped around you with such zeal. It's addictive. How you clearly want this, his touch, him.

He explores further, his thumb brushing over your jaw, moving to trace the outline of your lips. You press against his thumb, soothing the twitch in the pad of his finger, rubbing your cheek against his palm.

Your lips send a trickle of pleasure down his arm, the darkness swimming in his eyes to siphon his greed and need hurdling through the room. Leaning back, nimble fingers clutch around his wrists to pull him with you.

Bucky cages his forearms around your head, nosing down your body with an appetite of awe in his eyes. He shifts, hands sliding down your curves before bunching at the bottom of your dress. Your legs part, helping him lift the fabric as he pushes it up your thighs.

There’s a nervous tremble in his hands, that hesitancy you know all too well seeping in the passion of his intent. His eyes meet yours and plead, hands freezing reluctantly. That same cynicism from earlier twinkles behind his gaze, a sad smile tugging at his cheek.

“Bucky? What’s wrong?” you grab his hands in yours, sitting up to focus on his face. “Did I do something? Do you want to stop?"

His eyes widen, his hands immediately grasping your forearms. “Never bun, you could never. Fuck, no I don't. Far from it– I’m uh, I’m just scared.” His hand grabs a piece of your hair that fell out of place, toying with it to distract himself. "So scared."

“Scared? Of what baby?” his eyes soften at your tone, at the way you didn't think twice of the term of endearment sliding so swiftly off the roll of your tongue.

“Of how perfect this feels. You just…you’re so…you make me...” he groans, closing his eyes and running a hand over his face. “What if you get tired of me? What if I annoy you? What if you hate this? What if I can't be–”

“I love you,” you don’t even hesitate. Pulling his cheeks between your palms. His eyes widen, breath stolen deep in his chest. “Bucky. I love you. And I could never hate this.”

His stare is molten, white-hot adoration unblinking with stupefied shock written all over his features.

“You just cooked me an entire meal in a cabin you built with your own damn hands. And you're worried I can get tired of you?” you brush a hand through his hair, curling up against his thigh. “You are perfect, James. Everything about you.”

Bucky swears he's listening, he sees your lips continuing to move, saying something about choking the life out anyone who told him otherwise, but he can't seem to hear anything. The sparkle of your confession pouring loudly through every bit of him– and truly, it's all he needed.

You love him.

His smile grows wide, wider than you've ever seen it, eyes glistening with a dark vibrance as his tune changes. “You love me?” he squeezes his hands around your hips, pushing you onto your back.

You meet the soft mattress with a giggle, nodding your head as he smashes his mouth against yours.

“Me? You love me?” he laughs, in between his vicious attack against your cheeks. “I love you so much,” his lips trail down your jaw, “I love you,” to your collarbone, “so much. So so much.”

His hands slip down the fabric of your dress, finding the trim and pushing it upwards. Your hands wrap around his wrists, eyes locking as you join him in slowly tugging it up your body.

Murmurs of his love swim around you, whether he's aware of them or not. Soft whispers, bold declarations pour from his lips with an air you could feel was undeniably his– undeniably the true and honest breath of the Bucky you love.

His eyes never leave yours, letting go of the fabric to intertwine your hands, sliding them to rest above your head. A kiss is pressed against each palm as he drops them above you, carefully carding the satin up and dragging it over your head.

It gets stuck, your arms tangled in the straps he worked so hard to not have this happen, but all you can do is laugh.

Laugh– at the frustrated sigh that leaves his mouth, from the way he's still completely dressed, from the thrill of getting to share this with him. Love.

And god, if it wasn't pure unadulterated bliss.

That boyish giggle soon finds its way up your stomach, kisses pressing against you as he flings the dress behind him dramatically.

Bucky cants back on his heels, eyes roaming over every inch of your figure with this new honesty of his, goosebumps erupting under his intensity. “My god…” he swallows, unsuccessfully. The air strangles him, exploding in his throat as he tries to mutter anything but your name.

“You're not real,” his fingers graze down your body, over your peaked nipples, razzing the sensitive tips with faint circles, trailing torturously under the swell of your breasts. Your whines and gasps fuel his exploration, dragging them down the softness of your middle, the branded marks littering your skin that he starves to memorize.

His touch scorches against you with such famished rage, worshipping you until your insecurities melt away– until he's tainting your skin with only his fervent breath of possession.

Grasping your thighs, he can't help but moan, lifting a leg to his lips. “I love you,” he breathes, kissing down your soft flesh, stroking at your calf. “And the heels are staying on tonight,” he chuckles against your ankle.

That mouth can't seem to keep away from your skin, thirsty, caressing its way back up to you and showering your other leg with attention.

Teeth and tongue drag along your inner thigh, his hand toying with the band of your panties. “But these are coming off.”

A bite squeezes the pudge of your hip, gently soothing the sting with his tongue before grasping the lace between his teeth, pulling it down the swell of your thighs. “Yes, Bucky."

And oh god, he whimpers– melting under the way his name sounds, so weighted but breathless, pulled so high and and desperately from your chest. Excited hands quickly remove the lace from the rest of you, a tear of fabric stretching through the air, but you can't find the need to care.

Such a good fucking girl for him.

“Need to make you mine, bun. Gotta taste you,” he lays himself down between your thighs, wrapping his hands around your legs and placing them over his shoulders. “So fucking beautiful, got the prettiest pussy,” he whines, taking in the mesmerizing view of your glistening folds, watching your slick drip from you.

"All fucking mine," he hums.

“Keep your eyes on me bun, need you to watch me,” his low voice growls, his hands locking themselves tightly around you.

Kisses pepper up your thigh, his nose inhaling your scent with a shudder in his shoulders. So fucking good. Placing a kiss to your clit, his eyes watch, hungry to catch every move of yours intently. Your body caves at the sensation, a thin gasp pulling from the pit of your stomach, the sound all he needs to hear before licking a fat long stripe through your folds.

Oh it's so soft, so strong, your hips jerk under his warm tongue, the thick stroke of it nestling itself through you and brushing over your clit. “So fuckin’ sweet,” he moans, sucking more of you into his mouth.

He pulls you closer, licking obscenely around your cunt before locking his lips around your clit. He moans feeling your hands tug against his hair, scratching at his scalp while he laves hurried strokes at your throbbing nub.

Jolts of pleasure rip down your spine, his tongue flattening and pushing against you, unrelenting motions sending you higher and higher. “So good Bucky, fuck keep doing that,” you cry, his mouth pulses ferociously around you as he continues to bask in pleasure.

Your head falls back, curses leaving your lips as his tongue curls, fists so tightly drawn your nails leave indents, his warm muscle stroking you just right. You've always known how attentive he was but fuck– Bucky is a really fast learner, picking up quickly on just how to play with you.

A hand slaps firmly against your thigh, a yelp leaving your lips as he grunts against you. Your eyes flicker down, a smug look of disapproval on his face as he teasingly licks through your folds. “Eyes on me, bun.”

An apology rolls of your tongue, squirming under his wanton stare– that devilish mouth.

Bucky pulls you back into his warm, wet hold, devouring you with a lewd possessiveness you didn’t know could exist. Pressing his own hips into the mattress, moaning and trying to soothe the throb of watching you writhe under his tongue.

Look at you, making a mess all for him. He can't get enough of you like this.

Your hips roll against his ministrations, trying to meet the immense pleasure his salacious kisses send through you. He mumbles, heady and deep 'such a good fucking girl for me, that's it bun' the vibrations severing heat through your core, your toes curling and your hands fisting tightly against his pillows.

“You’re so good Bucky fuck, feels so good,” you cry out, breathless and thin causing another delicious moan from his mouth to grace your core. Your heels dig into his shoulders, pricking and scratching his back with every lap of his tongue. His cock throbs achingly against the mattress, your whines and sweet cries pushing him to a hardness he didn't know was possible.

God you have no idea how fucking good that makes him feel.

He shakes his head from side to side, his tongue lashing around your aching clit, the muscles in your stomach tensing as you feel a powerful release approaching. He shoves a finger into you, curling and finding the spot that makes your eyes roll.

“I’m gonna cum Buck— fuck don’t stop,” you wail.

As if I'd ever do something as stupid as that, bun. A throaty chuckle pulses around your clit, a scream bubbling up the length of your throat and filling the room.

He adds another finger, stroking them against you as the muscles in your stomach unravel, piercing waves of warm pleasure crashing around you.

That tongue never ceases, his mouth drinking up every last drop, moaning and basking in the praise your cries and words grant him. You feel him smirk against you, your hands trying to pull his head away but he just keeps going, his lips sucking you further and further as you arch your back higher.

Eyebrows lift, the thin rims of his ceruleans sending you a smug glare as you continue to spew incoherent cries about how good it feels, how you can’t take anymore, oh Bucky fuck, please don’t stop.

Bucky's in heaven– fervid lust moaned against you, torrid sirens of pure rapture searing through you as he worships you insatiably between his lips. He can’t stop now– now that he knows how sweet you taste, how good you sound begging for him.

It's all your fault, bun.

Your legs tremble around him, walls clenching around his tortuous fingers, sending miles of avid pleasure straight to the throb of his dick with every jab of your heels. His mouth lifts from you, kissing softly against your thigh as he removes his hand, bringing his two fingers up to his eager lips.

He moans, licking up all your essence dripping around his palm. “That was incredible, bunny. Never felt anything like that…” he clutches his shirt, neglecting to finish unbuttoning it all the way before ripping it off of him completely.

He never felt anything like that? Smug, evil, perfectly devilish bastard.

Spit mixed with your juices coats his stubble, a pretty sheen glistening on the lower half of his face, somehow making him appear even more irresistible. His tongue flicks around his mouth, licking up more of you. Now that he knows your taste, he's never letting it go.

He tugs at his belt, removing it in one fluid motion before discarding it across the room. Popping the button of his slacks, pulling the zipper down and kicking them off his legs.

“So fucking good for me,” he groans to himself, watching your limbs quake, gripping his aching bulge with a heavy fist.

You tremble under his gaze, the lasting intensity of the two fierce orgasms he pulled from you tingling deliciously, preening at the godlike body on display before you. Your eyes sweep over every inch of warm, corded, muscle; thick and perfectly carved.

Your eyes alone could be his ruin– and he wouldn't want it any other way. Destroy him, break him, ruin him– just never stop looking at him.

Watching you, he takes in the softness of your face, the debauched and drunk glaze of your eyes. Even with the wrecked look muddling your vision, he's never felt so cherished by someone's stare in his life.

And he sees where they're burning to glimpse at.

Your eyes land between his thighs and even with briefs on, he’s fucking huge.

A shy chuckle brews in his stomach as your eyes widen, his hands shakily moving to discard his sticky briefs. Bucky’s thick, throbbing cock slaps against his stomach, wet and glistening, the tip red and leaking with proof of his arousal.

Holy shit– there’s no way he’s going to fit.

“Oh I’ll fit, bun.”

Shit, you said that out loud.

Earnest joy grips his face, boring his eyes into yours before positioning himself over you. A hand cradles your cheek, pulling himself in for a kiss while rubbing circles into your thigh.

Lips drape over yours, lamented fervor lacing the cavern of your mouth. Tongue and teeth clash together, his eagerness tracing your lips to memory with the plea of more.

He could kiss you forever if you'd let him.

The lasting taste of you on his tongue is tangy, filthy, your hands moving to the back of his neck and itching for more. “I love you,” he whispers, pressing his nose against yours.

You smile against his cheek, biting him softly before rolling yourself up against his cock, “I love you, Bucky.” His hips jolt forward, a dark chuckle rumbling in his throat.

God– the things you make him wanna do.

His hand grabs his cock, swiping it through your folds before nudging your sensitive clit, rubbing your wetness around him.

Pressing the tip of himself against you, he moves in teasing circles, lips sprawling across your chest. The way your body responds to his every move is addictive, it's not his fault you're such a good girl for him.

The tongue flicking against your nipple matches the motion of his cock, a breathy whimper etching itself to the side of his neck. "Bucky, please. No more teasing."

Sucking you into his mouth he moans, giving in to the flames raining down his spine as your fingers claw at his skin. They move to tangle with his hair, arching yourself further in his rousing tongue.

Can't help myself, bun, it's all your fault.

Tugging at your other nipple, rolling it sharply to distract you before kneading the entirety of your breast, squeezing with such need, you feel it in the tips of your toes.

Stroking his cock once, twice, before lining up with your entrance, Bucky pushes in slowly. Torturously, making you feel every ridge and throbbing vein of his dick. Rolling his hips, groaning as he feeds you inch by inch, his cock sending shocks straight through you.

"Almost there bun, doin' so good for me. Just a bit more," he moans, your cunt tighter than anything he's felt before. Kisses dance along your temple, distracting you from the agonizing stretch and himself from forcing his hips down.

Because fuck, he knows once he's in there's no coming out.

"Takin' me so well, sweet girl. I love you," a gasp leaves both of your lips, his hips kissing yours as he bottoms out, jittery in the feeling of your wet heat around him.

Heavy breaths fill the air, the stretch of his cock between your silken walls so overwhelming, you've never felt so full in your life.

“Please Bucky,” you whine, pressing your mouth against his jaw, prodding for a desperate kiss. “Fuck me, please,” you whine, wiggling your hips against him. He trembles, pulling out and thrusting back into you.

His hips lunge, slowly and forcefully, a moderate pace that's measured and precise. Bucky can't go any faster, not yet, it'll be over entirely too soon– he needs to memorize this. The feel of your wet walls finally wrapped around him is too good, sending his mind into overdrive. The slow pound of his hips steadily grants you both miserable bouts of maddening pleasure. “You feel so fucking good,” he moans, biting into your shoulder to ground himself.

Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into the bulging muscles as his heavy body propels his thrusts. He lifts your legs around his waist, driving his weight behind his strokes and pressing you into his mattress.

"Fit so perfect around me, feels incredible, so tight." He's right– it's so good. So fucking good you could scream.

You do.

Your nails pierce him, skin rippling and burning under your hold, wails of pleasure fluttering past his ears and encouraging him further. His chest constrains you, pushing down on you with such force, pining you under all his weight as he clutches the pillows.

Forehead resting against yours, he watches your eyes roll to the back of your head in ecstasy. "That's right bun, feels so good, doesn't it?"

He needs to hear more, needs to feel you ripping him piece by piece, until all he can do is give you everything you need.

The need to tear you apart; to submerge you in every ounce of desperation he breathes; to have you completely unravel around him, wrecked and clinging to him.

He wants to give you everything. He lifts up, looking down at his cock driving in and out of you, the stretch of your walls around his girth perfect with each snap of his hips. Bucky's head falls back, moaning at the lewd sounds his cock makes spearing into your wet heat.

It's so good, so so good, he needs to stay like this forever.

He untangles your legs from around him, lifting them up and around his arms, the force of his hips punching a spot so deep, your eyes roll back, the muscles in your stomach wrapping around each other with a sharp inhale.

"Bucky, baby I'm gonna cum," you wail, a sound so desperate, so wanton, it echoes vivaciously around the room, wrapping your cunt tighter around Bucky's dick.

"That's it bun, look at you. Sound so fucking good taking me. Fuck, you're chokin' me. Wish you could feel how good you are," he praises, each utterance met with a rough, punctuated stroke. You feel incredible, he's never gonna leave.

Bucky’s balls slap against the skin of your ass, the sound mixing with the salacious suck of your pussy and cries of pleasure. "Bucky, s'good. Right there baby don't stop," you moan.

He grasps your wrists and pins them above you, pressing you down with all of his strength into the mattress. His hips continue their painfully slow thrusts, every throb and twitch of his cock ingrained in the pulsating quiver of your walls.

"Fuck bunny, that's it, cum for me, be my good girl and cum," his teeth suck at your neck, branding bruises of passion and wells of pleasure to pool deep within your stomach. The tight winding of your muscles snap, crazed and pounding pleasure erupting through you.

"I love you, I love you so much," he groans, the pulsing and clench of your walls around him almost too much to handle.

He lifts your thighs higher, bending you in half.

"My good girl, so good for me. No one makes me feel like this," he barks, pushing you through the throes of your orgasm with a hasty jerk of his hips.

"M'yours Bucky," you wail, walls fluttering desperately around him, torrential swells of pleasure prickling every nerve of your body.

“Say it again,” he growls, hips stuttering for a moment.

“I’m yours, all yours Bucky,” you plead. He latches his mouth around your nipple, flicking and sucking it sharply between his teeth.

“Again,” a roaring moan rips through him. Bucky’s eyes pierce straight through you, wrapping themselves around you as he feels your heart thump viciously under him.

“Only yours,” your nails rake down his back, the sting urging him to bounce his hips harder against you. Your hands dig into the globes of his ass, thighs wrapping themselves higher up around his waist. “Please, Bucky. Please oh fuck,” your cries grow louder, hips desperate to meet his with every harsh thrust.

Bucky drops your legs, your weak limbs pliant and shaking in his hold. A strong arm lifts under your hips, plunging himself into you so deep, deeper and deeper until he has to remind you to breathe. His thighs start to shake, the grip your cunt has on his cock strangling him so firmly he's whining. "Fuck bun, so good for me, so good," he cries.

The sound of skin slapping and lewd squelching bellows in the room, moans and words of praise permeating every inch of Bucky's cabin. His hold forces you to feel every last inch of him, your hips meeting his with all the energy you can muster.

"Oh fuck– so fucking perfect for me, all mine," he growls, pounding his hips into you so meticulously, so deep you feel him in your chest. "Need one more bun, need to feel you one more time, please."

His hand dances down your skin, meeting your swollen clit with a harsh flick of his wrist. Oh shit it feels so good, too much Bucky too fucking good.

Your walls spasm uncontrollably, squeezing him so tightly he can't breathe, but fuck– it's heaven.

Don't stop please don't ever stop bounces around the room– was that your words or his? Your body arches higher and higher, another shattering orgasm bursting through you. Your walls scream around him, the wet unrelenting clench choking him so tightly he swears he sees stars across your skin.

"I love you," he moans, unable to control the aching sob of his dick any longer. His hips quiver, his high raging through you in thick, hot white ropes of his spend. Whimpers leave his lips as you milk him dry, cum dripping and ripped from him with every last stutter and weak move of his hips. Bucky collapses on top of you, still hard, deep inside you.

Your hands card through his hair, holding him closely to the swell of your chest. His body melts against you, shaky breaths tickling your skin with every trace of your fingers against his scalp.

"I love you," you whisper, "and I plan on it for a long time, as long as you'll let me."

Watery blue eyes peer up at you, his skin sticky, but clinging to yours so tightly for the first time. Tingling with a rosy tint, bashful and so safe under your stare, he's never felt words so profound in his life.

He's never felt so wanted.

You lull his head back down, softly sweeping over the lines of his face, sloping your fingers down the curves of his neck.

A whimper of content sounds softly from his lips, preening under your touch and squeezing himself tighter around you. And for the first time, he lets himself feel it.

Sleep taunts him so sweetly, the love he feels infused in the reverent tremble of your fingers, saturating him so deeply is enough to drag him under.

"All yours, Bucky," you sigh, softly planting your lips along his hairline.

Oh.

Oh yeah. He's fucked.

#bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x you

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goatgoatgoat7778 · 3 months

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I had an ftl fanfic from last June that I’ve been meaning to revise… so I wrote something completely different instead lol. This is based on the starvation mechanic, and the couple of times a scavenger got stuck with me. I tried to keep this one short since having to go over my own writing is terrible and I always procrastinate.

Saga the slugcat made her way back to the shelter, noting with slight disappointment that there were fewer berries to eat than the last time she took that path. She liked to gorge herself last-minute before hibernation; being overly stuffed impeded her athleticism, but it didn’t matter if she was already at the shelter. Though she hadn’t quite eaten her fill, there was still a satisfying distention in her furry white belly that assured, at the very least, she wouldn’t be completely ravenous the next cycle. When she crawled into the shelter- WHAM! She fell on her rear and found herself staring into the wide yellow eyes of a Scavenger that had been trying to leave just as she was entering. As they stared at each other in a daze, the exit to the shelter slammed shut with a heavy metallic thud. Saga had triggered the shelter’s auto-lock system and trapped this poor Scav along with her. Whoopsie. The Scav sat down and patted his side, motioning her to sit next to him. She curled up next to him, and couldn’t help but nestle into his warm fur. He welcomed the gesture, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in closer. Saga was glad she had such a good reputation with the Scavengers- if she didn’t, things would have been a lot more awkward. She had no doubt in her mind, however, that she would’ve been able to take this Scav on in hand-to-hand combat if it came to that. Maybe that’s why she allowed herself to get comfortable so quickly. As she started to doze, she became unconsciously aware of a low rumbling sound that filled the shelter. Her stomach often loudly digested as she fell asleep so it wasn’t too out of place for her, but she didn’t feel any activity in her stomach. Her head perked up as the Scavenger placed a hand on his stomach as a more intense growl came from it, the quiet of the shelter only serving to amplify it. She cocked her head. You okay? He waved a hand dismissively in return. I’m fine, don’t worry about it! The long, stomach-shaking groan claimed otherwise. Saga put the pieces of the puzzle together- there was less food around because the Scavenger had eaten some, and he must’ve come in here looking for food- and from the sound of it, he hadn’t gotten enough to comfortably hibernate. She placed her ear on his stomach, listening to the hollow growls that resonated from it and feeling the rumbles that traveled across the length of his belly. To her it was like white noise, and she eventually drifted off to sleep.

As she began to wake up, her stomach gave a painful twist that made her wince. She rubbed her now flat and empty stomach and worked out some growls to ease the hunger pains. She ate enough so that she wouldn’t be this hungry when she woke up which could only mean- she slept in! She hadn’t done that since she was a pup! In fairness to herself, the Scavenger was wrapped around her like a warm weighted blanket and she can’t remember the last time she was this comfortable. She shuffled a bit and gave her companion, who had turned to lie on his back, a look over. Though he was naturally lithe, his stomach had sunken in considerably and his ribs began to poke out through his fur. It shook and growled and when she placed her hand to it, she could feel his innards churn and twist desperately for sustenance, loudly complaints passing through his thin tummy. As the racket began to wake him up, he saw her looking at him with big sad eyes. He tried to wave it off again, but a long string of growls that made him double over interrupted him. Wait here. She motioned with her hands. She felt a bit guilty for keeping him here longer than he needed to, especially when he was so hungry. She’d go out and hunt a feast he’d never forget.

#stomach growling #hunger kink

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cleric4vampire · 4 months

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So. I went down a rabbit hole in my own brain after I saw this post by @vorestarr. Despite the fact that the Arcane Tower is one of my favorite parts of the game, I apparently needed to see this particular passage x amount of times before I finally made the connection I'm about to ramble about. I started going off in the tags before it got ridiculously long and I realized I should probably just make my own post lol

Transcript of the passage; from the in-game book Evil's Ascent:

There is a light in every living thing. It's crawling t'wards the surface to survive. And in its wake, it tramples everything. We'll kill the rest, so that the one can thrive.

It's likely that others have written about this before, but I was reminded of Leonard Cohen's*

There is a crack, a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in

Coincidence?? But now my mind is moving a mile a minute thinking about Astarion in relation to this phrase.

Evil's Ascent is the cynical interpretation of the message. It is its antithesis; that in yearning for life, you must be okay with destroying everything in your path. To survive, everything must be forsaken. Which is Astarion's exact belief system throughout the game.

But if we think about the spawn ending and just how much he changes... Astarion goes through such a metamorphosis. There is a crack in everything; that's how the light gets in. I think that's a fantastic metaphor for the Vampire Spawn — a being caught somewhere between life and undeath. Mortality and immortality. That space they occupy (what Astarion perceives to be his weakness) is actually their salvation. In becoming a True Vampire, they surrender even the potential to be people capable of goodness. They become wholly evil beings. That crack in Astarion is his lifeline, so to speak.

If he reaches through it successfully, he is brought to the other side of the message — that through the "imperfection" of his spawn state, he is granted the possibility for nuance and hope and life and all that it entails. Astarion believed that real power, real safety, lived in the perfection of the True Vampire (or the Ascended one, in this case). But that "perfection" is a falsity. We see as much if he ascends; we see how hollow it makes him, how unfulfilled he remains.

Only with imperfections, with cracks, with vulnerability, can the light get in.

*I know he is hardly the first to make this remark, but it's how I know of it, so

#obligatory ''I'm not saying these two things are connected. it's just the path my brain followed'' and also #''there are so many ways to interpret the original lines''#astarion #astarion meta #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #my posts

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dreamypqulson · 11 months

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— my only sunshine

summary: you’ve been struggling in silence but it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

pairing: cordelia goode x reader

warnings: depression, anxiety, self-harm (pretty detailed, be careful)

word count: 2700

venting again lol

Your leg shaking up and down was becoming excessive. You could see the girls next to you becoming annoyed, but you hardly realized that you were doing it. Tears pooled in your eyes and it burned so badly to hold them in. Why does Cordelia have to look at me so much? Why can't she just glance over me like everyone else and let me wallow away in the corner?

Everyone knew that you were Cordelia's special girl. You didn't think it had anything to do with your powers, she just liked you. And you liked her. But that was it; you were both too afraid to acknowledge it. What she wasn’t aware of was your history with mental health, which you tried so hard to conceal from her.

You don't think you were doing a very good job hiding it this time. How could you hide the fact that you don't want to live anymore?

Everyone knew you looked terrible lately. Madison had even pointed it out. Your eyes were dark, and hollow, and you just didn't look like yourself. Madison said you were just a freak that was too caught up in your studies to barely allow yourself some time to sleep, but Cordelia knew that wasn't true. Matter of fact, it was the complete opposite.

Cordelia dismissed yet another class that had completely gone through one ear and out the other. Spacing out is the one time that you actually feel safe and you so happen to be the best at it during class.

Everyone rushed out. You were a little slower because you were so exhausted and picking up your books felt like you were ripping open the cuts on your wrist. You thought you could feel like blood dripping down, but it might've just been your anxiety freaking you out.

"Oh, y/n, could you stay for a minute, love," Cordelia asked when you were by the doorway, ever so sweet but you still bit the inside of your mouth until you could taste blood.

You spun slowly on your heels. You loved Cordelia but you didn't want to stay. You were terrified of confrontation and you just wanted to throw yourself into your bed again.

You didn't respond and kept a great distance between you and Cordelia. She was so warm, she was your comfort, and you ached to have her hold you, but you just wanted the darkness right now.

She still walked closer towards you and you almost started to cry from the nerves. You started scratching at your band-aid covered wrists. You don't know why you do that when your nervous, it just feels good in the moment.

She looked down at your arms, then back up at you. Does she know? Did your sleeve rise when you went to reach for something? "Relax, honey. You're not in trouble. I just want to check on you."

"I'm fine," it came out weak.

She raised an eyebrow at you and gave you that look. Anyone could tell that you weren't okay, it was just a matter of who would be there for you when you fall apart.

Your bottom lip started to tremble. A clear indication that you were ready to break down. Cordelia just watched, letting you control yourself before she made you explode completely.

"How about we take a walk outside, around the house, and get some fresh air, yeah?" You nodded and you were suddenly following her out the door. Anything someone says to you hasn't really been processing in your head. You truly just feel like a leaf being blown in every direction.

It was nice out, slightly chilly with a breeze, but it did not seem to snap you from your state of mind. It was quiet for a minute before Cordelia began talking to you again. You knew she was trying to distract you from your thoughts, but it's not really want you want right now.

"So what have you been up to, missy? Are you still writing?" She looked over at you, gently smiling. She loved reading all of your work, but it had been a few weeks since she had. She's been a little bit busy and you've been locking yourself in your room.

"Yeah, a little bit, I guess." It was a complete lie, but your didn't feel like getting into the fact that you could hardly bring yourself to even get out of bed, let alone write.

She wanted to have a full conversation with you, but you weren't having it. She just became silent as you both finished the walk around the building. She always takes you to walk around the city with her, but she had an inkling that you weren't going to want to leave the property.

Cordelia didn't want to let you go yet. She had a bad feeling and she knew something just wasn't right with you. She felt uneasy. But she couldn't hold you back when you told her you had to go study. You would never pass up hanging out with Cordelia to study, and she knew that, but she just let you go.

When you got to your room, it was all messy. Had you had the energy to keep it as tidy as you always did then maybe your anger levels wouldn't have increased when you walked in. You decided to ignore it and step over the pile of clothes and make your way into the bathroom.

There, you dug through your drawer, looking for the blade that you kept hidden in the back. It was the one place that nobody could accidentally stumble upon it.

You sat down on the closed toilet lid and pulled up your left sleeve. Ripping off the bandaids had not even hurt as much as they should, you didn’t even flinch. You began cutting any free skin on your inner arms that you could. You hated that there wasn't that much room anymore due to all the other cuts, but you just couldn't seem to stop.

Sometimes it made you feel crazy but it mostly made you get some release. You knew you should at least try to stop with summer approaching but getting clean is never your top priority in the moment. Not when your arms start aching for more.

You just sit there with a blank face and watch as drops of blood start pooling at the thin lines and then you start dabbing it away with a tissue and apply some pressure.

Your heart absolutely drops when you hear a knock on your bathroom door. You weren’t expecting a visitor at your room, but living in this busy house, you never really get alone time.

"Y/n, it's me darling. Dinners ready." How could you have been so in your head that you lost track of time. You hardly even had an appetite but you knew that Cordelia was already having suspicions about you. You just had to act like everything was alright.

"Okay I'll be right down." Instead of wrapping your arm up, you simply just ran it under water for a moment and then pulled your sleeve down. It definitely stung, but you were starting to enjoy it.

When you walked out of the bathroom, Cordelia was waiting on your bed for you. You were expecting her to already be downstairs with the other girls, but she clearly had other plans.

"You're always neat, sweetie. What's going on with you?" You shrugged again, and soon, you thought, she's going to forget what your voice even sounds like. You began to walk out your room, and you can hear her shuffling behind you before she finally catches up. "Not in the mood to talk today?"

You'd rather Cordelia just hold you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear without expecting an answer. But at the moment, she's completely worried and just wants you to open up. "Not really, Cordelia."

She lets you slide again, but she can't take her eyes off of you all throughout dinner. She's sitting at the head of the table and you're at the first seat next to her. When you reach for your plate, she notices something that she wishes she didn't. She wishes it wasn't even there.

Your sleeve slides up, only slightly, and she can see smeared crimson on your wrist. Her heart sink and she has to swallow down the lump in her throat. After that, she cannot even look at you, or anyone for that matter, for the rest of dinner. She wasn't angry or embarrassed of you. Just so, so upset over the fact that her girl was hurting so badly.

Dinner finishes fairly fast. You notice there's not much chatter, and it must be from Cordelia's lack of interest in any of the conversation. You start worry that you hurt her feelings. She's always catching up with you and the girls - mostly you - during dinner, but today she hadn't even said a word.

"Y/n, meet me in my room please," Cordelia says, and it sounds almost cold compared to her typical soft voice. She walks away and heads towards her bedroom and your heart completely sinks. You fidget with the hem of your shirt and make way towards her room.

The door is ajar and by the time you're there, Cordelia is sitting on her bed in tears. This is it; she's going to kick you out.

"Cordelia?" You say and gather her attention back to you. She quickly wipes away her tears like you weren't supposed to see that, but there's no hiding her red, puffy eyes.

"Sit down please," she hardly looks you in the eyes. It's terrifying.

"I—" you attempt to argue. She has no part in that.

"Just sit down, y/n."

You sit beside her and it's so close that you bunch up your sleeve in your hand. You're consistently terrified of it rising. "Show me your arm."

"What—"

"Show me, y/n. I know what's going on. I know that you are hurting yourself."

You hug your arm closer to your body and can feel the sting like it's mocking you. Tears are instantly sprung to your eyes and it's clear that this situation isn't just a big misunderstanding.

"No! Leave me alone, Cordelia. What is wrong with you? Why would I ever do that." But you do do it and those words hurt so much. You wouldn't ever be so harsh to Cordelia, but you're not in the right mental state right now.

Cordelia's crying again and all you can think about is cutting up your arm for making her feel like that. You need to hurt yourself to pay for the faults you're causing and Cordelia can see right through that.

Her voice is very quiet and desperate as she speaks, "Baby, please. Please let me help you, I can't just pretend that it's not going on. I care about you too much."

This completely causes you to break down. You never had someone truly care about you. This is something that you've been yearning for forever.

You melt into Cordelia's body and she hugs you tightly, as if she let go, all of the pieces of you would just shatter everywhere. You can feel her tears start leaking through onto your shirt and you know she feels it too. "Please, y/n," she whispers, "I love you. Let me in, it's just me, it's only Cordelia."

You finally pull back and wipe away your tears. It doesn't stop another fresh batch of warm tears to roll down your face. You don't want to keep hiding this anymore. You need help. You need someone. You need her.

You take a deep breath and tug up your sleeve. You can't even bare to look at her face. Ashamed, and embarrassed, and scared. But you hear a sharp intake of breath from her. The bleeding from the cuts before dinner only made it look far worse on your fucked up skin.

"Oh, my baby," she sniffles and grabs your arm, gently. Your heart is too heavy. She's trying so hard to be strong for you. "Why," she looks up at you with watery eyes, waiting for an honest answer.

"Everything's just too much, Delia. I don't want to be me anymore. I hate being me, I hate living!" You started sobbing again and the crack in your voice doesn't go unnoticed. This is new and weird and you don't like it. You don't want to talk about yourself anymore. You can see her heart breaking in half from your words.

"My little sunshine...do you know I love you? I love the person that you say you hate so much." You don't have anything to say to that. Cordelia loves you. And you don't know how, but she does. You don't know how this whole could have any room for the broken half of you. “I couldn’t live without seeing your pretty smile and listening to you ramble to me about all the little things you love. So if you hate living so much, then let me love it for the both of us until you learn to.”

It’s silent for a couple moments that pass by until she looks back down at your arm again. It's a bloody mess and you don't want her to look anymore but she's still holding on. "Can I clean it? Can I do that for you?"

You nod and then you're being walked to her bathroom. It's bigger than yours and the entire room smells like her lavender shampoo that you always love taking in when she hugs you. She helps you to sit up on the counter. Your arm feels heavy from all the attention being on it but she so carefully cleans away the blood and it makes you feel a little bit better.

She covers it with bandaids. Not because she is disgusted by it. She's not at all. She just doesn't want anything infecting the fresh ones.

When she’s done, she lifts your arm up to her lips and, so delicately, kisses the covered cuts. A few tears start rolling down your face again. You’re too emotional for this. “Delia…”

“I love you,” she looks back up to you. Her words are so clear and genuine. “Come to me. I don’t care where we are or what time it is. Come to me whenever you feel like this.” You nod, your bottom lip trembling. She reaches her hand up and brushes her thumb over your lips. “It’s not going to be easy but i’m going to help you. We can make a plan and safe alternatives, anything that’ll help.”

She leans in and kisses your forehead, slow and light and your heart beats a little bit faster. “I love you too, Cordelia,” you croak out and she gives you that little smile.

“Come on, my little sunshine, let’s get some rest, hm?” She grabs your hand and brings you to her own bed. You’ve never slept with Cordelia before but it all feels natural. You lay your head on her chest and her arms wrap around your body. For once, you feel a sliver of happiness that you’ve been deprived of for so long.

The room is silent besides her soft breaths and the sound of cars rushing by. You finally break that silence after a few minutes.

“Delia?”

“Hm?” She peaks down a you and a small smile is present on her face again.

“Why do you always call me your little sunshine?” You say it with a slight giggle in your voice. You love all the nicknames she has for you, but this one stands out and makes your heart warm.

“Because, sweetie, I was in a very similar situation as you. But then you came into my life and suddenly there was light again.”

You looked up at her and bite your lip. You could’ve never imagined a woman like her feeling as terrible as you do. She’s too…perfect. But maybe, suddenly, you won’t feel so ashamed of your emotions anymore. You lean forward and place your sweet lips on hers. Just for a moment, for the first time in your life, you see a bit of sunlight shine through the cracks of your eyelids.

taglist: @loverofallthingssarah @goodeday2u @lanawinters-ily @strawberryshorttcakkee @sapphicforsarahh @ahsfan05 @stayevildarling @isle-of-earle @cordithatgurl @mistysswampmud @billiedeansbitch @billiedeanspearls @cigaretteology @favoriteredhead @lovingsarah @cordeliass @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @multi-royalty-main

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cq-studios · 3 months

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Do you have any screenshots of your favorite details from KHUX?

HAHAHAHAHA, yeah I do

Gonna just drop a read more here 'cause if y'all know me at all you know this post is probably gonna be 10KM long lol

So, I'm gonna try to hold myself back a little because I literally have like 10 pages of notes about specifically stuff in the backgrounds and I doubt the internet will find my bench and lamppost count interesting. (Also image limit lol)

I'll list just 4 things for now (in no particular order) and talk about them a bit underneath.

NUMBER 1 || STREET SIGNS

So there are four street signs that we’ve seen in Daybreak Town. Two are in the Fountain Square (A and B), one is in the Marketplace (C), and one is in the Clocktower Outskirts map (D).

For B and D it’s pretty easy to figure out what the represent. B is a clock, probably representing the Clock Tower… or maybe the best place to see the Clocktower because it’s in Fountain Square. The overall shape of it is different from the rest of the signs so I imagine that means something. D is a gondola or canoe of some sort, which makes sense because it’s next to stairs that seemingly lead to the canal that runs through town. Maybe there’s a ferry system of some sort?

A and C I’m less sure about. The designs don’t really bring anything obvious to mind. Maybe C is Munny because it leads to the Marketplace? I’m not sure.

NUMBER 3 || DOOR UNDER FOUNTAIN SQUARE

See what makes this interesting to me isn’t just the fact that apparently Fountain Square is hollow underneath (maybe for pipe repairs or something, I don’t know) but just the general fact that a lot of structures in this town, that maybe shouldn’t be, are hollow.

If you look even some archways have windows, so there has to be an open space inside, right? Most of them seem at least connected to houses so I assume they’re basements or something. (The one by murder house gets me tho, like that’s right under the bridge. Who’s living right under the bridge)

And I also feel like this leads into the fact that, similarly but not as extreme as in Scala, Daybreak Town is kinda built on top of itself. Maybe that’s a symptom of being around so many (and possibly on) mountains but I still feel like it should be talked about more.

NUMBER 4 || LIGHTHOUSE INTERIOR MAP

There is so much to unpack here but I’ll try to keep it brief.

So I’m pretty sure this is one of, if not the oldest building in Daybreak Town. Two reasons.

1. Instead of having little wall lamps, like the rest of the town and buildings, all the light seems to come from mounted candles.

2. There are swords (A) on the walls and not Keyblades. Why would the Keyblade town not have Keyblades on its little shield emblem? Is it possibly because it was there before Keyblades?

This staircase here (B) is also the only known (not sewer drain) way into the waterways. It leads into the sewers then out to the little dock below the Lighthouse with the boat, hence the sign.

There’s these maps here (C) that I don’t really know what to say about, but is definitely worth pointing out. They’re all the same and I assume show the layout of the area surrounding the town (the darker parts being water). It could be a world map though (darker part being continents)… I don’t think we’ll ever really learn lol

And also I don’t know what this is (D) but I think it’s interesting that it has writing on it. It kinda gives me the vibe of those flat on the ground gravestones…

NUMBER 5 || BANNER

Daybreak Town actually has a flag it’s all over the place and you’ll start to see it everywhere if you look for it. They also kind of look like the banners in Radiant Garden. The colours and shape/mounting are the same but the designs on the flag itself (and mounting) is different.

I have no clue what that implies, if anything, but I figure it’s worth pointing out ‘cause it’s interesting.

#This post took a lot longer than I wanted it to lol #but I hope you enjoy my brain rot #there’s so much I could point out but I think if I did any more the post would never would've been finished lol #actually writing thoughts down is a killer lol #(like originally there were going to be 7 but for whatever reason my brain was not letting that happen)#(so I’m just letting there be the 4 lol)#khux #kh #kingdom hearts #sometimes i think about khux

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snailor-bee · 7 months

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Give me what I'm beggin' for (I just wanna get some)

I got hit by the horny train, lol. I love Nanami but wow, season 2 is doing some work, huh? I couldn't resist.

Nanami Kento x GN!Reader / NSFW / 2.8k Summary: Post-mission, you decide to flirt with Nanami a bit, not expecting anything to come from it.

He decides to surprise you with way more than you'd bargained for. But you aren't complaining.

Warning: Although no pronouns are used, reader is wearing a skirt/tights!

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The mission is a success.

You stand a bit to the side, watching as Nanami takes out the last curse with one blue shimmering fist, his knuckles covered by his familiar spotted yellow tie, speckled with blood.

When he turns to you, eyes barely visible through the green of his lens you give a thumbs up to show that you’re fine. Nanami nods before rolling his shoulders and starting to unwind his tie from his hand.

You swallow reflexively.

The fight hadn’t been that difficult, just terribly long. The two of you had worked up a sweat taking down the sheer number of curses.

Along the way, Nanami had shed his suit jacket and somehow the top few buttons of his blue shirt are open, exposing a bit of his chest, sparkling with sweat from the lights shining down from above you.

The two of you are in an abandoned district, the veil visible above you in between the buildings that are squished together.

You swagger over to him with a grin. “Hey there sexy, you come here often?” you ask, voice teasing. He pauses in his movements, raising a brow. You flutter your eyelashes at him, jokingly.

Normally, he’d just roll his eyes, the motion recognizable by the shifting of his head, even with his eyes hidden. Today he simply hums and resumes pulling his tie away. “Are you injured?” he asks.

“Nah,” you reply, bouncing on your feet. “Are you? You seem a little winded.”

“I’m fine,” Nanami says curtly, shoving the tie into his pocket. “Come here.”

It’s not phased as a question. You tilt your head and walk closer, wondering what he wants.

“Should I call—argh!” you let out a yelp as you get within arms reach and Nanami grabs your wrist, tugging you until you collide with his chest.

“No,” he whispers, breath ghosting out against your lips, leaning down into your space. “Don’t call just yet.” Then he captures your lips with his, releasing your wrist.

You grab onto the open lapels of his shirt, tip-toeing to press even harder against his lips, eyes fluttering closed. When his mouth opens, his tongue seeking entrance into yours, licking against the seam of your lips, you moan loudly.

A thick arm wraps around your waist, pulling you even harder against his unrelenting body, making you shiver as his tongue dives in to plunder your mouth. Your tongues wrap around each other, and you can feel the way he’s hard against your hip.

Interesting. Nanami, the stickler for rules, is feeling a little frisky today, huh? Well, you aren’t about to complain.

When you finally part for air, you’re panting. Nanami licks his lips and it’s so sinful you have to fight down a groan at the sight.

“This way,” he commands and you’re helpless to do anything but follow.

Nanami ends up pulling you into an alleyway, pushing you against a brick wall, and kissing you positively breathless. His big hands grope over your body, making you whine as they roam over your chest, moving lower to grip your thighs tightly. They’re almost large enough to go completely around them.

When you finally break apart, he places a hand on your shoulder, lightly applying pressure so you’ll get on your knees. You follow the silence command easily, the concrete uncomfortable but you barely pay it any mind.

Feeling eager, you undo his belt quickly, wanting to get at the impressive tent he’s pitching. When you finally get his cock free, you wrap your hand around the base.

It’s impressively girthy, and you waste no time angling it towards your face and sucking the tip into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks. The taste of precum spreads over your taste buds and you look up to see Nanami’s expression.

Unsurprisingly it’s mostly blank, but you know how to change that. Taking a deep breath through your nose, you let saliva pool in your mouth before you start to work your mouth down his length. When you get halfway, the head hits the back of your throat, making you gag.

Withdrawing, you breathe a bit more before swallowing down his dick again. You look up and see the way his lips quirk up in a small smirk.

“You’re doing so good,” he encourages, and you moan, muffled, around his cock. You rub your thighs together, pussy already throbbing. The scent of him, sweat and cologne, and the spicy undertones that are just him fill your senses and you just want more. “Let me?” he asks.

You pop off his dick to moan brokenly, your voice already gravelly. “Please,” you say, voice a rasp.

A hand settles on the back of your head, leading you back towards his dick and you try to relax your throat as he immediately thrusts it all the way in, your nose brushing against the pubes at his base. You close your eyes, trying to swallow around the cock that’s bullying its way into your throat, and not gag around it.

His hand clenches and draws you back a few measly inches, enough for you to breathe through your nose before shoving you back down.

You suck around the length of his cock as he uses your mouth, working you up and down his cock, pace unrelenting.

One hand is wrapped around his hip, clinging for dear life, but the other has trailed down between your legs, desperately rubbing against your aching clit.

You don’t dare to do anything else though; Nanami hasn’t said anything about you rutting against the palm of your hand, but if you tried to work in a few fingers he might get upset.

Nanami is a well of patience, if he wants to drag this out as a punishment for you, he absolutely can.

You’re too worked up to want to wait so you try to be good. But it’s so hard when precum is coating the back of your throat, and all you want is to feel his fat cock inside of you.

When he drags you away your eyes flutter open. Tears make your eyelashes clumpy as you look up at him through watery eyes. Nanami growls at whatever expression you’re making. You open your mouth, leaning forward to lick across the head and he shivers.

His cock looks painfully red, ready to burst and he—gently—grabs your underarm and helps you up onto shaky feet.

“Put your hands on the wall,” he whispers to you, his voice husky and deep. It stokes the flames already burning in your gut and you spin around with a swallow. He hikes up your skirt, rubbing appreciatively over your ass, clothed in tights. There’s a slap and you jolt, placing your hands on the brick wall so you don’t move. The hit wasn’t hard—Nanami has so much control over himself it’s sometimes unreal—but it’s just enough to leave a sting that he rubs at soothingly.

The sound of something ripping makes you flinch, and you feel his fingers stroking the folds of your pussy over your underwear.

“Did… did you just rip my tights?!” you ask, offended.

The bulk of his body leans over you, suddenly bringing with it the warmth of his body heat. An arm wraps around your waist, while one of his feet kicks your legs further apart, and he takes on your weight as you stumble.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says mildly. You wrinkle your nose. That is not the problem, and you open your mouth to tell him so when his fingers hook onto the fabric of your underwear, already drenched from your fluids. You wiggle, confused why he isn’t just moving them aside when he abruptly yanks, tearing the fabric.

“Nanami!” you screech, struggling but the arm around your waist keeps you locked in place and all your squirming does is bring your ass in contact with his cock. It’s a rod of heat as it presses between your ass cheeks, and you freeze.

He chuckles, placing a kiss against your temple. “I’ll pay for that too,” he promises.

“Dick,” you mutter under your breath.

“Patience, I’m getting there,” Nanami says, a smile in his tone. You roll your eyes but can’t help but buck back into him, trying to get his cock where you want it. Your clothes are already ruined, there’s no use in complaining about it now, and besides, you want this.

When his cock finally slips between your thighs, dragging against your cunt deliciously, you can’t help but moan and arch into it. You let your hands take on more of your weight as you lean further into the wall, rising up onto your tiptoes, trying to force him inside.

“Greedy for it, are we?” he asks, running a hand down your spine, the other a brand of heat at your hip, holding it tight. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“Badly,” you groan, wiggling your ass. He thrusts lightly, but his cock only manages to glance across your clit, making you hiss. “So badly, Nanami, babe, give it to me.”

He doesn’t immediately, simply drives you mad as he drags his cock across your folds, spreading your slick all over your tights that are still covering your thighs. It’s infuriating but also intoxicating. Nanami has never let the two of you go this far on a mission. Knowing that the manager is waiting somewhere for the two of you to finish up, that they might wander inside the veil to check out the situation and hear the two of you going at it, makes you moan, and your pussy lets out another wave of juice to spill across Nanami’s dick.

“That’s it,” he says with approval, “get it nice and wet for me.”

Finally, finally, you feel him start to feed the tip inside you. You widen your stance, eagerly thrusting back onto his cock. The hand on your hip keeps you firmly in place though and you whine, high-pitched and needy.

Nanami, of course, notices. He chuckles again, the sound ripping through you like a forest fire. “You want it that badly, hm? Well, okay then.”

He doesn’t give you any more warning than that, just suddenly shoves inside, burying himself to the hilt. You let out a muffled scream, slapping a hand over your mouth. Nanami grunts and pulls back a few inches before shoving back inside.

It feels like your nerves are sizzling, everything trained on the feeling of his cock stretching the walls of your pussy so good. You’ve taken him dozens of times before, but every time it’s like you can’t help but be so turned on by the way it carves into your insides.

With both hands now on your hips, he goes a half a step back, forcing you to follow and your hands scramble for the wall, trying to hold yourself upright.

“Don’t cover your mouth,” Nanami chides. “Let me hear you.”

You look over your shoulder at him, biting your lip. “B-but what if someone hears—ah!” He cuts you off with a punctuated thrust, making you lose your train of thought.

“Let them,” he says, before he pulls mostly out and ramming back inside, the force pushing all the air from your lungs.

He works you into a steady pace, the sounds of your flesh slapping together echoing down the alleyway, alongside your moans.

You’re loud and it should feel embarrassing, but it’s hard to think about anything else but the drag of his cock in and out of you, and the way it feels when he pushes all the way inside, burying himself so deep you swear you can feel it in the pit of your stomach. Nobody else makes you feel this way, the way Nanami so effortlessly takes control and makes you take everything, makes you want to take everything, it’s exhilarating.

Your orgasm is cresting, working up to it with every thrust that makes you almost see stars. “Nanami,” you whine, “’m close!”

A hand travels up the length of your spine to bury itself in the hair at the back of your neck. He tightens his hand into a fist, dragging you back, making you arch even further. It hurts but also feels so good that you can help but moan as he leans over you, making eye contact through the green of his glasses. “That’s it, baby, I got you. Come on my cock for me.”

“Mmm! Please, please!!” you beg. You can’t move, stuck between Nanami’s unrelenting pace and the wall. You wish desperately that you could thrust back into him as he starts pounding into you even faster.

The hand in your hair pulls harder, and the knot that has been tightening suddenly snaps as you sob out your release as you cum, fingers clawing against the brick looking for purchase.

Nanami fucks you through it, not bothering to ease up the ferocity of his thrusts. Once you start to relax, he finally releases your hair allowing you to collapse more fully against the wall, slowing to a stop.

Again, he wraps an arm around your waist, leaning against your back. Your eyes flutter as your body struggles to come down from its high.

“Good?” he asks, and you nod numbly. “Alright, just a little bit longer.” You groan as his cock withdraws and presses back in, slowly, letting you feel every inch of it.

He nips at your jaw before pulling away completely, his cock sliding free from your body. You turn to look at him whining with confusion when he spins you abruptly and grabs you beneath the thighs, lifting you into the air and letting your upper body press against the wall.

Nanami’s cock finds its way through your folds again and you throw your arms around his shoulders as it pierces you, making you cry out. When he buries himself again, he leans forward enough to kiss you and your mouth falls open immediately.

Moans are muffled between you as he starts thrusting once more, easily taking on your weight and you can do nothing but take it.

“Nanami,” you groan against his lips. You hang on for dear life and feel the way his hips crash against your ass, the way it seems like he grows bigger.

He moans your name, before his hips start stuttering, pulling you flush against him as you feel the way his cum starts to coat your insides. For a moment, the two of you just breathe. You feel tingly all over and as Nanami slowly withdraws and lowers to you the ground, your legs are shaky as you attempt to stand straight.

The moment you do, you feel the way his cum sloshes out of you, trailing down your thighs and you shudder with displeasure.

“Why did you rip my undies?!” you demand but he’s already tucking himself away and pulling out his phone. “Don’t ignore me!”

Unfortunately for you, he does just that and you end up in the back of the car, Nanami by your side, arms crossed and scowling.

You can feel the way his cum is still leaking out of your totally drenched pussy, no fabric except for your skirt to catch it, your tights thoroughly ripped around the crotch and your underwear no more than strips of fabric that don’t do anything but dangle uselessly.

The manager luckily doesn’t seem to find anything amiss, but you’re still feeling a little testy. Nanami rests a hand on your thigh making you jump but he squeezes the flesh there and you look up at him with a glare. He leans closer to you to whisper, “What’s wrong?” He says it low enough that the music playing in the car easily covers it.

“You!” you hiss, and he raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re an asshole, making me sit here like this!” You open your knees just a little to demonstrate. Not enough to flash anything but just to get the point across.

Quick as a snake, his hand works its way under your skirt and presses against your core. Just as fast, he withdraws with a hum, leaving you to wheeze next to him.

You watch, wide-eyed, as he brings his fingers up to his lips and gives them a little lick. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready for the next round,” he says, and you blink back with surprise. “But if you aren’t interested…” he trails off mildly, crossing his legs and brushing off invisible lint. “Then that’s fine.”

Grabbing his arm, you narrow your eyes at him, considering. His expression doesn’t change. Your pussy clenches on nothing and feels the soreness that comes from a thorough fucking. More cum gushes out.

You make a decision.

“Your office, on the desk,” you state under your breath, still mindful of the driver. Nanami smirks and tilts his head in agreement.

“Fine with me.” He leans in closer to whisper into your ear, “I’ll finish ripping off whatever’s left.”

You swallow as he settles back, looking pleased, desire once again simmering low in your belly.

Nanami is unfair, you decide.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #bee writes #bee writing

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yesimwriting · 11 months

Note

Hi! I understand if this isn’t something you’re interested in but I was wondering if you could write the boys being possessive/protective over the reader. I was just rereading final girl chapter 5 and I’d just love to see her rip them a new one in her own way about boundaries and stuff and seeing them manipulate/grovel there way in to her good graces again or like how she would’ve reacted to the boys scaring away the boy who took her to the party if Billy wasn’t in one of his moods I don’t know if I asked this right I’ve sent asks so many time to you now and I’m all ways worried I don’t convey/explain what I mean properly and it’s just confusing for you but anyway have a good day/night and whether you can or can’t,thank you anyway :)

*set in the same world as the final girl fic series but can be read as a stand alone with little to no context lol

A/n hi!! there's still some manipulative vibes in this bc i just feel like one of them is bound to trauma dump as a way 'in' when y/n's mad at them but i still feel like it's mainly nice! especially bc there's some emotional growth

----

You're still on the phone, moving in and out of their line of sight. The intention was never to watch you from the sprawling tree they use to get to your window, but there was something about your focus on the whatever conversation you're still having that left Billy telling Stu to wait.

Billy's not sure what he's waiting for. Maybe it's a form of masochism, to see how long you'll talk to whoever's on the other end.

"She's still on the phone." Stu's voice has taken on that hollow, detached quality that's never an indicator of self control. Billy says nothing, not in the mood to defend you or deflect the stinging. "He wouldn't call her..."

There's a second part of Stu's sentence that's just implied. He wouldn't call her after what happened in the locker room. "She found out. She might have called him."

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. The fact that Jack McCarthy didn't permanently fade back into obscurity after he and Stu made it clear that while you might buy the whole study-buddy act, they can see straight through him is pounding inside his head. Again and again, the start of a headache.

"If you don't want to..." Stu presses his palm into bark, so hard he wouldn't be surprised if he pulled his hand away bloody. "If you're not in the mood to talk to cutie in there, there's always another way to see if she's talking to him."

Even though it's a barely an idea, a soft suggestion, the knot in Stu's chest loosens with the words. Just checking in on Jack could easily turn into calling Jack...which would lead to the most mind clearing thing Stu can imagine. Thoughts of tearing him apart, piece by piece until it's impossible to tell that the mess of red and guts was ever the teenager with the letterman jacket that threw his arm around you during your study period rush to the front of Stu's mind. It's so soothing that he almost moves to the lower branch that lets him reach the ground.

Stu thinks about bringing it up again, a little less subtle and more desperate but he wants it too bad to care. Needs it. You pace back into view as his lips part. You're now holding the phone against your other ear, meaning that the receiver is no longer blocking your face. He pauses, taking the opportunity to watch you more openly than he normally lets himself.

Your lips are slightly parted in a just barely-there pout and your eyes are locked on something in front of you. There's something about the slight, halfhearted irritation in your expression. It takes Stu a second to place why he can't stop staring and then it clicks--it's twistingly cute...and you're...pretty.

Not that Stu doesn't regularly see you as attractive or hot, but pretty's different. At least, different in the way it's sticking out to him now, like a splinter that breaks off beneath the skin before you can pull it out. You're pretty in a way that Stu never thinks about. Pretty in a soft way that reminds him of domestic shit and makes his chest feel tight.

"We uh--" It's not the first time they've popped by with a backpack with a few things to do, but this time it's different. They took their time thinking about what you'd like, what'd work as a sort of peace offering. Now, watching you chat away without a care in the world over your fight, it all feels pathetic.

Everything becomes a soft buzz of background noise as you press you sigh. Billy wishes he knew how to better read lips because you sigh, say something, and then dramatically fall back on your bed.

You shift onto your stomach, propping your head up with an elbow. The oversized T-shirt that you're in slides down your shoulder and your hair's a little fluffier than before due to your movements. There's a softness to your appearance that leaves an odd feeling flaring in Billy's stomach, a sensation that could be considered butterflies if it felt less like being stabbed.

The in-between of too close while still being so far is oddly overwhelming drawn out like this. Billy swallows as you laugh at something from the other line. "We're already here."

It's a different level of sad to get here and then turn around, so Billy shift forward and finally reaches for the window. The move has grown so familiar Billy even knows at what point he needs to push a little harder because of the way the sides stick to the frame. He moves his hand an it doesn't budge. To add salt to the wound, you've locked the window. You never lock the fucking window.

A dangerous wave of flighty rejection coils in his stomach. The part of him that knows how to think in the long term knows that he should leave while he still can. The last thing anyone needs is for Billy to start associating this with you.

The window creeks and your head snaps towards them. Your eyebrows draw together and you sit up fully, even more of your shoulder and collarbone exposing themselves with the motion. You mumble something into the phone, a beat passes, and then you stand. you approach the window begrudgingly, placing a hand on your hip before cradling the phone between your neck and cheek.

Your lips are pressed together in a way that seems to lull the violent mindset of them both. It's the kind of look you get when you're trying not to smile. After a second, you lean down, undo the lock, and open the window.

"You won't belie--" You sigh, moving to hold the phone again, "Stop enjoying this." Whoever's on the other line must really be annoying you, because you shift back enough to let Billy and Stu in through the window. "Seriously, I'll hang up."

Billy and Stu exchange a look. They're here, trying to get you past something only you think is an issue, and you're still on the fucking phone. Who could be that important?

"No! You are so not talking to them."

There's a brief silence as you wander back towards your bed. The growing discomfort in Billy's chest wins his silent, internal argument. "Who wants to talk to us?"

At that, you finally pause, breeziness briefly leaving your eyes as you look at him. That look pinches at Billy's flightiness and soothes a part of him that he doesn't quite get. You're so good at that, at detecting whatever you want in him. The inability to twist and fully control your perception of him is overwhelming sometimes. Too similar to the way that his mom could--

"Hallie." Your normal expression has come back, like it always does. The awareness that Billy doubts you understand outside of a subconscious level never lingers on your face. But your voice delivers the answer so gently it feels like an olive branch. "You've subjected her to a super long rant about your betrayal."

Despite all the aggression you forced into your words, that relaxes something in them both. Hallie--the completely harmless childhood best friend that's still in Texas. States away, way too far to come between the three of you, even if she wanted to.

"Hallie," Stu repeats, and Billy can feel Stu's shift to something much more genuine. "The super hot girl from your vacation pho--"

"Do not start." You hold up a finger in warning and there's something in the reaction. You'd deny it if anyone ever brought it up, but Stu's noticed the way you get when he goes out of the way to hit on anyone. Even Tatum. You're subtle about, but you get a little quieter as you pick at your nails or try to focus on something else. This time, though, there's none of that, just a bit of urging annoyance. "She has a big enough head as is."

There's a sound from the other line and you roll your eyes. "What? It's true." You're listening to whatever's on the other end intently. "Okay--fine--bye, loser." Another wave of chatter from the other line. "Uh--it's--" You glance over at the two boys still lingering in the corner. "Love you, too. Bye."

You hang up, making a point of keeping your back to them as you set the receiver back onto the machine on your nightstand.

Stu breaks, laughing once. You snap your head in his direction. "Shut up."

Stu takes a tentative step towards you, already liking how quickly you're easing. Maybe all you needed was to feel a little more in control by ranting to someone that isn't here. "Why don't you ever tell me you love me?"

You glare at Stu's exaggerated pout. "You do not get to make fun of me while I'm mad at you." You stand a little straighter. "Why are you guys even here?"

"Not making fun of you." Stu reaches your bed, flopping onto your mattress like he lives with you. He casually picks up a fluffy pillow and squeezes it to his chest. "Genuinely hurt that you don't love us."

Confusion cracks at your annoyance, "Us?"

"If you said 'I love you' to grumpy before me, I don't wanna know." He squeezes the pillow a little tighter, turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut like he can't take the agony. "Too painful, bug."

You cross your arms again, eyes awkwardly falling to the ground. It's not Stu's dramatics that get to you, but you never like it when anyone reduces Billy into something negative and angsty. "He's not grumpy."

"Oh, defensive." Stu absentmindedly weaves his fingers through the pillow's layer of fluff. "Didn't think you'd still care."

You sigh, annoyed at his passive aggressiveness as if they didn't come to your room while fully aware of how mad you are. "That's dramatic, even for you."

"Is it?" Billy mumbles the question, low and almost unsure. "We--we weren't sure if you'd talk to us again."

The comment leaves you feeling like the intruding force. Something about their somber mood makes it seem like you're what's unfitting even though they came to your room. "Just because I'm mad right now doesn't mean I'll be mad forever."

You're not sure you could be. Sure, you have other friends you really care about, but they're all linked to Billy and Stu. They're dating Sid and Tatum and Randy's usually with the group. It's not that you think the three of them would cut you off, but it wouldn't be the same. And even if everything without Billy and Stu could be perfect, you still wouldn't be happy. Not fully.

You'd miss them, miss the way that Stu can always make you laugh no matter how you're feeling and how comforting Billy's presence can be. They might really push boundaries sometimes, but they're still your best friends.

"I get that you--" Sighing, you scratch the back of your wrist. "Hallie and I were talking about it and she reminded me that you guys have good intentions, and I get that, but this is the second time I have to find out that you threatened someone behind my back."

Stu's moved onto his side, head propped up on an elbow as he watches you. Billy's still lingering near the window. Both of them are quiet and that's getting to you. "I'm not a little kid and I don't need you guys to approve of everyone I'm friends with."

"They didn't want to be friends with you." There's no argument in Stu's voice or aggression, just a factual flatness that leaves your face hot.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. Noel wanting more than friendship's something that makes sense. He was flirty, you went out on a date, and he's known for being an insensitive player. But Jack didn't seem like that at all. Sure, he's a quarterback and hangs out with the guys that never shut up during class, but he had a reason to study with you. Your english teacher assigned him to be tutored by you because his grades were dropping to the point where his coach was threatening to bench him. Sure, he was nice to you, but that's probably because he was worried about his grade. No star player wants to be benched during recruiting season.

The implication also leaves a hard feeling in your stomach. It picks at an insecurity that rooted itself into you around that time in middle school where kids pair up and start dating. Naivety is a weak spot when it comes to teenagers and your inexperience translates into that. Part of it is your mom, the way she's been open about what it meant to become a mom at 17. The rest of it is genuine interest and practicality. You want to go to Princeton, dating is distracting and you haven't really met anyone you like enough to sacrifice studying or time with your friends.

And it doesn't bother you. Not usually. You know life is long and eventually the whole relationship thing will click and work its way to you, probably with some college guy that's majoring in something artsy, but then things like this come up and it makes you feel so stupid.

"Doesn't matter what they want." That feels like a mature enough answer, and it's not a lie. Teenage boys want sex. You're not so out of the loop that that's some kind of revelation. But what they want or think they're getting doesn't change you. "I'm not an idiot and I'm not that naive."

Even if you were, it's not their business to get involved without you asking. For all they know, maybe you want to hook up with someone. That's your choice, not theirs. "And even if I was, it's still my choice."

Billy angles his head downwards, eyes a little darker than you remember them being. "So our big crime is not wanting you to get hurt?"

Ugh. That's more or less the argument Hallie made while playing the devil's advocate. It must have taken a lot for Hallie to defend anyone that isn't you, but she knew that blowing up your friendship with Billy and Stu over a guy you barely knew would only hurt you more in the long run.

"It's--" Trying to explain your issue with the situation is getting exhausting. They're not capable of focusing on anything besides their intentions. "It's a boundaries thing. You can't threaten anyone you don't like into not talking to me behind my back."

Stu's sitting up now, the plush pillow on his lap. "We didn't think of it that way, angel. We just--we know those guys and know what they're like and what you're like, and--" He's fidgeting, fingers tangling into the synthetic hairs of the pillow. "We don't want anything happening to you."

The sentiment's there, forced out almost shyly. It's almost enough to distract you from the weird intensity there. Something happening to you. Over some guy. You get that heartbreak can be a pretty intense thing, but it can't be that bad.

"Nothing's--" You cut yourself off with a sigh. At this rate, they'll eventually be more protective than your mom. They're both weirdly quiet. "What's the big deal if I'm 'hurt' by some stupid guy? It's not like I'd lose it and stop talking to my friends or like it'd effect us or...anything."

Billy lets out a low scoff. The sound is so cold and unlike him you don't know how to react. "Really?"

You hesitate before reminding yourself that it's still just Billy. "...Yeah?" The single syllable falls flat. "I mean...why would it?"

Billy steps forward. "All it took for me to lose--" The sudden movement makes you stiffen until he sits at the foot of your bed, next to Stu. "My mom was her being hurt by some 'stupid guy'.'

Stu freezes. There are a lot of ways this could have gone, but he didn't think that Billy would drop that. Not tonight, with the way Billy tiptoes around his mom's absence and the reason behind it. It's not the kind of thing he'd throw away just to get you to make up with them a little faster...and the rawness in Billy's voice...

Jack might have to end up on their call list anyway.

You're silent as you study them with an expression that would be completely unreadable if it wasn't for the tiny crease between your eyebrows. Billy's hinted at stuff with his mom before, but the way he talked about her always framed her in a way that made it seem like she had passed. You also didn't think he'd ever say anything about what happened so bluntly...or that something that seemed so small to you could have been forcing him to think about those things.

Billy's eyes are focused on nothing in particular, one of his knees pressed against Stu's. His insides feel like they're at war with each other. That bleeding honesty took over with no warning and it's blinding him to everything else. The reminder of the abandonment gnaws at him.

The mattress dips. You don't know what the right way to react is. While this makes their behavior make a little more sense, that doesn't make your point wrong. They did overstep. But that's nowhere near as heavy as Billy's thing. And it couldn't have been easy for Stu to watch his best friend's life fall apart over something like that.

There's something you should say, you're almost sure of it, but nothing feels good enough. Pointing out the differences in the situation feels callous and any promises you could make would likely make it seem like you blame his mom. You might not know much about their relationship, but the way Billy talks about her, like her memory's this fragile thing, you know better than to risk it. An apology also doesn't feel like the right answer, you haven't done anything wrong and you don't want to risk bringing up the fight.

You stretch out a hand silently, letting your fingertips brush against the back of his palm. He briefly tenses, but doesn't move away, so you take it as an okay to rest your hand over his.

Your touch is warm and unexpected, an anchor Billy's torn between latching onto and running away from. It's overwhelming, the amount of influence you have over him. Sometimes if he thinks too much about how that uncertainty feels he has to fight to not hold it against you.

"I know it's..." Billy speaks slowly, trying to force himself to believe what he's saying, or at least, focus on it enough to act like he does. "Different, it just..."

You brush your pointer finger across his knuckles. "I know." A warmth that's hard to accept burns through his chest. Billy turns his hand over before loosely linking your fingers together. "Just boundaries, okay?"

Billy nods, a bit more color returning to his face. You straighten your spine to look past Billy's shoulder and at Stu. "That goes for you, too."

"You've got it, babe."

"That means no more threatening guys just because they talked to me." You keep your expression serious in an attempt to stare down Stu. It's probably no where near as menacing as you want it to be. "I'm serious."

He lifts an arm to his chest, drawing an uneven cross over his heart. "Scout's Honor."

You roll your eyes. "You were never a boy scout."

Stu frowns, "How would you know?"

It's not so much information as it is his vibe. Stu seems way too active and focused on what he'd find fun to have wanted to stick to boy scouting and you doubt his parents have ever been around enough to make him. But that's way too much to answer his question with. "Were you?"

"Ye--"

"He got kicked out," Billy interjects, "After terrorizing a camping trip."

You laugh before you can stop yourself. It's easy to picture Stu a little younger and a lot more impulsive. "That tracks."

"Fuck off," he mumbles before slumping down until he's flat on his back.

Billy turns his head, giving you a look that seems to ask why you two put up with him. The expression is so familiar you can't help your relief. You're still a little rightfully annoyed at them, but the desire to keep them lighter beats that irritation out by an inch. "What'd he do?"

The real answer isn't anything too traumatic, but it involved newly learned pocket knife skills, a frog, and a pathetically squirmish tent mate. But that's not the kind story of you'd be particularly into. It might even make you a little more closed off. They learned early on that while you might be able to handle most scary movies and gore like a champ, you draw a line at anything happening to an animal.

"Imagine that at age 10." Billy vaguely gestures in Stu's direction, Stu lifts an arm to shove Billy. "What didn't he do?" You smile, a little more amused than you want to be. "And you've seen his house...the way he lives..."

Another wave of laughter rises up your throat before you can help it. The implication that Stu was too spoiled to get through a camping trip is a little too fitting.

Stu groans, reaching back for the fluffy pillow. He smacks Billy's arm with it, a passive display of aggression. "It was not like that." Stu turns his neck, "Don't listen to him."

You laugh again, briefly forgetting that you're still supposed to be annoyed with them as you lay down. "I've been to your house, your bathroom has more amenities than a hotel, so I believe him."

He twists his neck to glare at you. It's more of a pout than anything else. "You have a hundred things in your bathroom."

Stu's technically right, but it's different. He's counting in your perfectly reasonable--and reasonably(ish)--priced makeup, skin care, and hair stuff. Not all things you use everyday or necessarily need, but it's different. He has fancy hand soap that leaves skin extra soft and lotion for guests that's nicer than anything you own for yourself. "You're deflecting."

He scoffs, "Can't hear you over the beauty store in your bathroom."

It's said so seriously it circles back to kind of ridiculous. Especially because of how pointless it is. You wrinkle your nose, fighting down a grin. "That doesn't make sense."

Stu's lips part like he's going to instinctually jump to defend himself. Your smile stops him. "It doesn't."

After a beat, the two of you exchange a look and laugh. Billy sighs, shoving Stu's leg and your arm. "You two aren't funny."

"Maybe you're just boring."

Billy looks over at you, glaring. "Really?"

You nod, a little too smug. "Really."

"Don't listen to him." Stu halfheartedly pushes Billy. In retaliation, Billy extends an arm without looking, grabbing Stu's forearm in a way that, to you, looks surprisingly gentle. "He's jealous."

You smile as Stu sits up. "I can so see that."

Billy's eyebrows draw together. "Jealous of what?"

"Our not-boringness." You push yourself so that you're sitting again.

"Yeah, you two are super cool and not weird."

Scoffing, you pull your legs onto the bed and cross them beneath you. "I'm not weird."

Billy tilts his head in the direction of your desk. "How many sticky notes are in--"

"You promised not to use that against me." You cut him off, not overly thrilled at the mention of sticky notes. Early on in your friendship, he found you going through your locker while you were sorting through sticky note and highlighter combos for homework.

His eyebrows pull together, his nose wrinkling a little in a way that's painfully endearing and surprisingly casual. "I promised not to tell anyone." He angles himself towards you, tilting his head downwards. The movements were subtle, but something about the shift makes him feel a lot closer than before. "That's different."

Your breath tangles itself in your throat at his lower tone. You need to say something, because if you don't you'd just be staring and that's--You force out the first thing you can think of, "Technicality."

"Still counts." There's nothing else you can think of and he still feels closer than normal. Before your thoughts can turn into total panic, Billy turns towards Stu, who's digging through his backpack. "What are you doing?"

"Almost forgot." Stu finds what he's looking for. It's small from where you're sitting. He reaches behind Billy's bag to extend whatever he's holding towards you. "Here."

A bag of gummy candies. You take it skeptically, because it's been twisted shut oddly. Smoothing out the wrinkled plastic, you open the bag and look at the contents. A part of you is surprised that it actually does have gummies...only they all look the same. Confused, you shake the bag once and the candies move, confirming it is what it looks like. They're all your favorite.

"I don't like the red ones," he mumbles, not quite looking at you, "But you do, right?"

You grin, pulling a gummy bear out of the bag and biting off its head to put it out of its misery humanely. "The red ones are the best, you're weird for that."

He scoffs, "The cute ones always have bad taste."

"I think you're complimenting yourself with that one." You pop the rest of the gummy into your mouth. "Orange lover."

"The orange ones are objectively--"

"They're all the acidic parts of a real orange without the orangey-ness."

Billy looks over at you. "Orangey-ness?" He's convinced he's heard this argument more times than anyone else alive, but your points are usually a little better.

You glare, pulling another gummy out of your bag. "You're not a part of this, you like the pineapple ones."

Stu laughs, "He also likes grape flavored stuff."

You gasp like Stu just outed Billy as a criminal. "No way."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, already tired, "Make fun of me."

And after a second, he realizes that he really means it. If you're not mad at them, he can handle it.

----

A/n i never know if i should use the final girl tag list for fics that are set in the final girl world (if that makes sense), bc it's an update technically but also not bc it's not the main fic??

idk i've seen other writers on here tag for more than just the main fic and i'm always happy to be tagged in stuff but idk if that's for everyone lol,, lmk if you have any thought!

#scream x reader #final girl fic #scream 1996 #stu macher #stu macher x reader #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #ghostface #ask #poly! ghostface #poly!ghostface x reader

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