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navstuffs · 2 years

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Favorite Mistake

Pairing: Steve Rogers x GenderNeutralAgent!Reader

Summary: You have been secretly meeting someone you shouldn't have.

Warning: songfic, mention of smut (i cant write smut yet), angst, AU fanfic, no use of y/n, Galaxy is reader's agent name.

Authors's note: im OBSESSED with Favorite Mistake by Giveon and i knew i had to write about it but DID NOT want to write about cheating. finally got this idea in my head and i'm gonna try to do justice to this smooth/perfect song. lyrics to the song are in italic while text messages are in bold. this might have a second part but i dont promise anything and idk when would come out

Are you on your way? Are you comin' soon to me?

The rain was hitting light against your bedroom's window. Weather Channel meteorologist had warned about rain all night, with chances of thunderstorms in the whole city. You played with your shirt, pondering if that was the right outfit choice, staring at yourself in the mirror. It was simple but effective. Modesty-wise, you looked good. Sexy almost.

You should have gotten used to this by now, but every time your phone vibrated with that message earlier in the day, you would get nervous. Like the first time you entered S.H.I.E.L.D, or the test to become an agent, or the first time working with the Avengers. You passed all those situations with honors so you shouldn't be technically so nervous.

Your phone vibrated again, startling you. You breathe deeply, your heart bumping into your chest. After attempting to unlock your phone two times unsuccessfully, you finally read the single message.

Are you ready?

Nope, you weren't.

-x-

Is my secret safe? Safe with just you and me We can't leave a trace This is my favorite mistake

You didn't look at your driver during the whole ride. You entered the car, fidgeting with your phone, reading past messages. What started a few months ago as a distraction, had developed into something more intense. Intense enough for you to be breaking S.H.I.E.L.D rules to fuck another agent. Intense enough for you both to keep coming back to each other.

Maybe this was finally going to be the last time. You knew this couldn't continue, you wanted to stop.

After forty minutes of driving, your driver stopped. You breathe deeply, feeling the driver's eyes on you through the rear mirror. Maybe this wasn't a new driver, at all. Maybe it was the same person who picked you up the first time. When you went back shaking head to toe to your apartment.

Your phone vibrated again and you jumped, opening the door of the car and getting out. As soon as you hit the car's door, the car went away, leaving you in the rain that was picking up stronger. You looked around the empty street, not one single living soul, and to the old building in front of you. Unlocking your phone, you read the message with a single number: 201.

Decided, you made your way inside the building.

-x-

Oh, look in my eyes Can you find the lies? Do you feel alive? Look in my eyes

You were in front of apartment 201 and your body suddenly turned into jelly. The building seemed completely empty, abandoned almost. Your reaction was dumb and you knew it since it wasn't going to be the first time but every time, every single time it felt like it. You didn't knock on the door, entering the dark room.

You could see his shadow sitting down in a chair, facing the window. He probably watched as you arrived.

"You took awhile" The man's serious voice greeted you. You ruffed, closing the door behind you.

"Well, I am sorry you got this place far away from everything. It is not like I wasn't ready when you texted arrived."

You gave a few steps inside the room. There was a big bed that didn't look old or dirty, with sheets clean, almost like new. The only window was the one he was sitting in front, facing against you in that chair. Looking at the bathroom, you knew you would have to wait to go to the bathroom in your house. At least, you wished you could pee.

"You gotta start looking for the ones with nicer bathrooms" You complained, a little louder than you should have.

You heard the man getting up from the chair, making his way towards you. Although you tried, always tried, your heart and your body betrayed every time Steve Rogers walked to you with so much intensity. You stood there, watching as he closed the distance between you two, the good Captain America facade completely gone. And you loved it.

"H-hey."

Steve didn't answer, his eyes scanning your body, your raincoat completely wet with the rain.

"Are you ready to take those off?" He wondered and you blinked. You nodded, feeling his warm hands helping you take your raincoat.

Steve was slow that night. You liked the slower nights since he liked to take his time. No rushing to the bed or not getting your clothes ripped. Not that you didn't like that, but it was nice when Steve took his time. You let yourself melt in his hand as he started rubbing your body. You didn't get that much rain but didn't realize how cold you felt before.

"Thanks, Ste- Captain."

Steve hummed in accordance. He positioned his face in your neck as he held tightly to you. How much you loved this: you knew it was wrong, you knew it was against the rules of what you had fought so hard to get in, but there wasn't any better feeling in the world. Getting fucked by Captain America himself in those dubious buildings, letting him give himself for you, for you only.

Steve's hand went to rub your hips for a second, then down to your ass, grabbing it. You held back a moan, distributing kisses on Steve's neck. How could he smell so good?

"No. Remember, I want to hear every sound," Steve warned you, grabbing one of your asscheeks more firmly. You let out a moan. "That is it."

Without warning, he lifted you up. Instinctively, you surrounded your legs around his hips, his hard-on pressing against your groin. You two stared at each other in the dark, your hands itching to rub his face but holding back.

"Are you ready for me, Galaxy?"

"Yes, Captain."

-x-

We both know it's wrong but you're still comin' over Even when you're gone the feelin' just grow stronger Should leave it alone but you're still gettin' closer

You probably slept an hour before waking up. It was still dark outside and the thunderstorm was hitting stronger. Steve was laying on your side, still naked, his body almost glowing in the dark, his hand lazily rubbing your back. He had his eyes closed, but you knew he was awake. He always woke before you. Super soldier serum.

"Are you good?" Steve wondered, his eyes still closed.

"Mhm." You answered, stretching your body. Except for a good pain in the middle of your legs that would last for a while, all the bites marks, and future bruises in your hips, you were feeling extremely good.

"Good," Steve replied, opening his eyes.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"A little bit. Not much."

A flash of lightning lighten up the room and Steve's hands went to hold your body, almost as if protecting you. Six seconds later and you could hear the thunder sound, Steve's rapid breath against your head. You welcomed his warm body against yours, laying your head against his chest.

"I didn't know Captain America was scared of lightning." You bit your lips, half smiling.

"I am not."

"Are you sure? I am not the one cuddling for support here."

Steve jerked away from you, suddenly getting up. Well, shit. You guys had been doing so well lately. You had the feeling you had gotten closer: Cuddling, talking shit, and telling jokes. He had been more Steve Rogers, reserving Captain only to the sex time. You watched as Steve put on his black underwear, standing with his back against you.

"Steve? You know I was just teasing you, I am so-"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. suspects of something." His voice deepened a tone.

Your heart stopped beating. What?

"They asked Bucky and Sam a couple of days ago. They had been pestering Natasha about us but she won't tell them a thing."

"Okay? Do you think they know about us? Did they ask you anything?"

"No. Not yet."

"I see."

You got up from the bed, rapidly dressing your clothes. You two kept those encounters so secret, that not even Steve's friends knew about the locations or when you met. You knew S.H.I.E.L.D was going to eventually discover anyway.

"Are you sure none of them talked? Are you sure?"

"Galaxy..."

"Don't Galaxy me, Steve Rogers. Are we sure?"

Steve placed his hands in your arms and gently turned you to face him. He was already fully dressed, the baseball cap the only thing missing. For a second you got distracted by the leather jacket Steve was using. You should have asked for him to leave it during sex.

"I trust my team with my life. If they say they didn't tell, they didn't." Steve's blue eyes stared at yours and you knew he wasn't lying. You nodded and he got closer locking your lips with his again. It was for a long second until you separated. "I don't want to stop with us. I still want to meet, if you want it."

You stared into his blue eyes for a second before turning around. You should finish this. It was doing no good to anyone since it had started. You two promise no feelings involved, no lovey-dovey shit but it had been getting harder to stay away. The meetings had been gotten more frequent and you knew you were reaching a new side of Steve you have never seen before. He was opening himself to you more and more, being vulnerable. You had to make a decision.

"I don't want to stop with us, as well. I like us. More than I should."

Steve let a relieved sigh as closed the distance between you two, his hands placing into your hips to turn you to face him. Steve seemed to be wanting to kiss you again but something seemed to stop him.

"I gotta go, don't I?" You wondered, watching his expression go cold.

Steve didn't answer, starting to involve you again. With his kisses, his hands, his body. You knew you needed to leave when your time was up, it was crucial for the relationship to continue, but it was getting more difficult to do so. You slowly got away from Steve's arms, putting on your raincoat.

"I will see you around, I guess."

"Be faster, next time."

"Find one with a nicer bathroom next time, Cap."

Steve smiled and watched you leave. He wanted to stop you, grab you back to the bed and make love to you, whisper dirty things in your ear, and cuddle until the morning, but he couldn't. He walked to the window, observing you enter the car to be driven away.

For a second, he stood there, feeling weak and sick to his stomach. He hated that you had to leave and he hated what he was doing to you. He walked towards his cap, finding the micro-headset in a secret compartment. Tony's doing. Steve put on his ear, turning it on.

"They are gone." He announced.

Two seconds passed when Sam's voice cut the silence.

"Are you okay, Captain?"

No. Not really.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just find stupid I need bodyguards now."

"For your own protection, Cap," Clint argued and Steve rolled his eyes. Like anything could hurt him physically, especially Galaxy.

"Steve, until we know what is the true Galaxy's deal if they are a traitor or not, I won't leave you alone." Bucky's voice sounded adamant.

"Neither me, Cap."

Steve shook his head, putting on his cap. Two days ago, Nick Fury and Tony Stark had a very particular and serious conversation about you possibly being a traitor. Both Tony and Nick didn't care about the relationship, but they wanted to know what was Galaxy's true motivation. They wanted to start slow because they understood how important you were to Steve. Steve didn't want to believe them.

Steve knew you from the first time you entered SHIELD. He watched you train, your face and posture always focused on the task ahead. You looked so terrified on your first mission together. Your desire to save and help people. Steve remembered you shielding a few kids with your own body against an explosion.

The first kiss he gave you, a kiss he had been wanting to do for a long time, his first kiss since Peggy. When you first shared a bed and Steve would always be ashamed to admit how rough he was with you that day, but he never realized how deeply he wanted you. Your face as he gave you orgasm after orgasm, your legs wrapped against his hips, begging for more.

He couldn't believe you could be a traitor.

Selling SHIELD's secrets for money. For the enemy. That wasn't you.

So now Steve had a mission. Every time he met you, he needed to try to get more information out of you. Analyze you. Save you from being a traitor. Steve knew you weren't. It was impossible.

He was going to prove it. He needed to.

-x-

Our secret's safe so you're my favorite mistake That's why we gotta keep it on the low

You entered your house, running to your bathroom. You needed to pee so badly, damn Steve not getting good places with clean toilets at least. Sure, it would be nice to have a nice shower. It would be nice to shower with Steve once.

You washed your hands, looking at yourself in the mirror, the recently fucked version of yourself. You were a mess. A mess that was more relaxed. You hang your raincoat to dry in the bathroom. Rain was going to continue for a few more days, so you needed that dry. You knew you were going to hear from your co-workers tomorrow. You knew it was just a matter of time until one of them had connected the dots between you and Captain America. The fast look that came from him. Or maybe it was your looks, he always faked so well.

You let your body fall into your sofa, grabbing your phone. You texted the same number Steve texted you earlier.

Home.

You were going to drop your phone to your side since he never answered from the same phone but was surprised to get a reply back.

I'm glad. Stay safe.

Strange. Steve never answered you from the same phone. He always used different numbers to text you. You shrugged, relaxing a little more before the so deserving shower before bed. You were going to sleep like a baby.

You heard the footsteps on your door running away, getting up to find an envelope on your side of the door. Grabbing it, you opened: an empty piece of paper. There was nothing written front in back. Nada. You ran to your bathroom, grabbed your raincoat, and ran outside, still dressing it. You had no time to lose now. When you received one of those, you had to always hurry. The rain was very strong now so you couldn't see anyone ahead but it was good like that. You rapidly made your way to the meeting point, a dark alley not far from your house, that smelled dead and rotten.

"Someone saw you?" A voice asked you in the darkness.

"No."

"You met him tonight."

"Yes. They suspect me." You confessed, your eyes scanning everywhere. You knew Steve's team had been around when you arrived. Sam, Bucky Barnes, and probably Clint Barton. You wondered if Natasha was up to this as well.

"As expected, eventually. What are you planning on doing?"

"I will do what was asked of me. You have my word."

"We shall see, shall we?" You felt the presence leaving and stood in the rain, alone. You had to act a little faster now.

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nextonmy-tbr · 2 years

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Book Review: Normal People

Author: Sally Rooney

Genre: Contemporary Fiction

A story about two teenagers who find themselves being drawn to each other at various paths of life. He is popular, smart, attractive and starboy of the school, while she is an outcast, smart, proud, and quite a loner of the school. What happens when they both strike a conversation? A connection is made which has to be maintained yet not revealed at any cost. What happens when they both find themselves in a complete opposite situation in college? This story is about these two people trying to find themselves and each other through the course of life an how far they go to save each other. Read the book to find out…

My thoughts:

To be honest, this book started out pretty well, but it quicky turned boring to me. I just couldn’t get what the hype was about but I was hoping for the best and thinking that maybe it will turn out to be better anywhere in the later. Except that moment never came to me and in the end, I was just trying to make sense of what I have just read. So, you guessed it well, this book wasn’t it for me. I liked the authors style of writing but I just couldn’t get myself attached to the characters or the plot.

Plot:

“People are a lot more knowable than they think they are.”

So, the plot…..to me it was just two people stuck in an on again-off again relationship and were just having sex the whole book. I don’t know if I was the only one but I didn’t fid any depth in the plot (sorry if it hurts anyone’s feelings). Also, the plot at the end was difficult for me to digest to, coz there was no progress, it was just continuous circle of them getting together, breaking up coz of miscommunication and being jealous of the other partners. There were lot of people in the reviews saying that this book is realistic but I just don’t know where??

Characters:

“Don’t delude yourself, I have nothing to learn from you”

Marianne is that character that I just wanted to shake and tell her to get some self-respect. She has major self-esteem issues due her home situation. Don’t get me even started on guys in her life. Every person in her life, every single one of them were just miserable excuse of human being, this includes Connell. It would have been really nice to see her growing into confident person who loves herself and finally stands against all the wrong treatment she has suffered from her own loved ones. I was waiting for that character development but no that never came. Even in the end she lets her mother, brother and Connell treat her the same.

“You just have to repress all that stuff, Marianne. That’s what I do.”

The above quote pretty much sums up Connell’s character. He represses all the stuff whether it is his feelings for Marianne, his social life, his friends, his life, he keeps it all in. He never expresses any of it, which actually causes major issues with his relationship with Marianne. I couldn’t understand his character and his feelings. There is one place he is saying that Marianne is his best friend and he feels they both are the same person and next second he goes he is perfect with his current girlfriend and Marianne was wrong for him. Like bro, make up your mind. I definitely don’t like the way he treats her and he needs to grow up.

The only character in this whole book that I have managed to like is Lorraine (Connell’s mother). That woman, bless her soul has managed to save to save some parts of the books. Everyone deserves to have a mother like her.

So, if I were to redeem this book and recommend it to someone I would say, only read this one, if you want to find people not normal people stuff, teenagers, public image issues, on and off relationship, two people not giving up on one another. Let me know what are your thoughts on this book. You can also recommend some books to read or to write reviews on.

#booklr #book review #normal people #Marianne Sheridan #connell waldron #lorraine waldron #sally rooney

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daniellafeierab · 6 days

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boneeatingbird · 10 months

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My mom is having me move out some of my books because we're living in a very small place, and it's impossible to keep all of them with me. I know this. There's 863 books of mine in storage from our last move, and that number was once 1,092 before we left. Now I have 45 books in a tiny storage space under my bed. And now it is time to find room for them to go to storage for the next ones like one of those butterfly life charts.

But my mom wants some to be thrown out. A few of the more holy ones donated. Ok ok so I might be like a sentimental piece of crap. Or maybe like a hoarder. But how can you tell me to get rid of my books? I don't know how to tell her, someone who just reads for the book's story, about all the other people in my books.

All of these books except a small handful I no longer have are 2nd hand. They're frayed and their bindings are cracked and brittle. Some of them have bookmarks older than I am, and some have scribbles from children I'll never meet. I can tell you honestly that I've lost count of the number of books with handwriting in them, weather it be a relative's well wishes or the reader's thoughts.

Every story i read has another story in it. This one book has childhood scribbles in it from a kid who got their hand's on a parent's book. It has little scribbles and sentences with terrible grammar that say, with many more letters, 'I love my mommy!'

This other book is falling apart at the seams. It's a Good Omens book, one of my favorites I have. Half the pages in the first section have fallen out (and have obviously fallen out many times before if the tape and glue says anything) and some pages have ripples in the paper from tears. Which I'll admit I've added to myself.

And this other book? This book belonged to a library that when I looked for it doesn't exist anymore. It has a sleeve paper on the front with names on it, ranging from normal names to Greasy Gus and Laffy Taffy. Some pages inside have highlighted sections at random, and I'm ashamed to admit that it once had sticky notes inside that I accidentally made fall out when I dropped it.

I can tell you right now some of these books have lived past their author's funerals and have seen their owners pass away quietly before being tossed into a 2nd & Charles free bin with some random mail and highschool text books. These books will outlive me given the chance to continue to age.

I'm not sure if this explains it exactly, I know it didn't for my mother, but all of these little things feel special. They feel like little pieces of someone's soul where they were open and vulnerable because they know a book won't judge them for crying or for adding color to its pages. There was a person that loved these books enough to destroy them. How could I get rid of something that has so much live and pain and wonder inside it? Mom how can I face myself knowing I left a little girls 'I love you's to rot away in a landfill?

I know our time too short for this, and someone won't extend the same reverence to the books I've left myself behind in the same way. Maybe the real world is more important. And maybe these people will never know how much they were loved by a stranger. But they were. They were loved and maybe it's foolish but I want my short time spent treating these souls with the delicate affection they deserve that the paperless world doesn't really allow.

Idk it's really dumb, and definitely takes up too much space. And it's definitely really silly to like everyone around me xD Guess i just wanted to get a little rant out before I have to manoeuvre these books in to storage without breaking them.

#rambles #books #sentimental #like weirdly sentimental #sorry for being cringe #old books #mother: no books for you allex #me: but mom the dead people inside them #mom: bruh wtf #i like big books and i cannot lie #i also like old books #2nd hand books #mainly #anyway #time to hyperfixate

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delicatekittycomputer · 10 months

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"Grandaddy I need you!!! Why is it gotta be so hard, but yet so far from the truth. I'm no longer sad you left us. This month is a really bad time for me. I just want to be in peace.

I want to not have these issues. I don't want anything but to feel your presence as I go through life....

Nobody understands me or my mental issues. But in those times you were having it rough did you know what to do all the time? I have no other way to feel. IM alright. Ill just leave this in my draft.... I Just hate it!!!! How can we possibly go on in this horrible life we created.

We gotta find Peace and Love and work together. I just needed to let it out. I can't scream loud enough (legit) I'll be sitting on your side of the bed. Writing for my own self-esteem. Is there a point for this? Well yeah. Because our title was in the book all along. Let me listen to this song and I'll be right over there. Maybe we can just take a look at our lives in the eyes of our own anticipation.

Are we really alive or floating around in the world to just be fallen Rejects?" Don't ask my I had to. Just know its what could've saved me after all this time; to be continued! Don't fret for the dead my dear loved ones. They aren't seeking reverence.

Why was I not chosen for this life but brought for a death certificate?

Is this the moral of the story?....

Not even close to the end. Keep on the Good fight my grand daughter.

And in those dark and from the ashes to dust and dust to ashes. We call 🤙 oh well well seek justice first. Would you call this a Lil looney well the way I see it's what my mother said. You'll go into the world be the change to others. Or be corrupted by the Worlds sin.

But Mother do you know? That all have sinned and filled short. For we all were not made go be perfect but the example of The Love of Christ. The choice he made for all. And Man could become #Adam'sApple 🍏

Does this ever make sense. Does writers stop and take a break or keep on writing like the scrolls and tabernacles. Would you take my lines and walk through Hail Hades. But really the Devil is out in the world and is silenced by God but the Lion preys for his prayer. To Find the foul and lost soul to be returned...

Unknown; we can make this into a Better version but help me as a writer and author of my Story for its barely been published. We'll I rethink it or press pause or burn it to the ground. Does it always have to be broken and Dark. Yes. Cause that's unfortunately the Mind wanders too and finds her comfort and when it's lost or gone. What more can you ask of me.

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leif-is-finally-awake · 2 years

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Finally got around to finishing the Atlas Six and may I just say: AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

#the atlas six #olivie blake #bookblr #i started reading again due to marissa meyer #and also because of the end of tpq(was and still am sad it ended)#and now i cant stop #if I keep going authors will just find a way to continually break my soul #and also not stop thinking about all the different ends and outcomes of their stories #seriously it’s mentally exhausting #shut my brain off #for my sake

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iridescentxstars · 2 years

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perilous desires — bangchan

➳ published: 31.03.22 ➳ asylum!au || genre: smut || dark || rated: m ➳ pairing: psycho!bangchan x nurse!reader (fem) ➳ summary: getting made to work the night shift, you're assigned to the ward the dealt with the more... demented of the patients. the ones who are a danger to society. except for him - or so you think ➳ word count: 11.8k ➳ warnings: corruption, slow burn, minor character death, blood, violence, swearing, public sex, borderline joker/harley vibes, dark themes, dom/sub themes, psychopathic elements [do not read if uncomfortable] ➳ author's note: thank you to @soluvcore and @sanjoongie for reading this over! all feedback is welcome and encouraged, please let me know what you think!

When you got the job at Wayward Souls Psychiatric Hospital, you thought that you had hit the jackpot. For years, you worked hard and managed to become a qualified psychiatric nurse while not ending up on the ward yourself. You thought that everything must be looking up from here; you got a new job, your boyfriend and you recently moved in together and life just seemed to be on the up and up.

Until the rose-coloured glasses came off and you realised that things weren’t as good as what you thought they were.

You tried not to complain, you always lived to be more optimistic than most people but when everything seemed to crumble around you – even your optimism couldn’t save you from cursing the world. The boyfriend of your dreams turned out to be a cheating liar and left you in the apartment alone without any closure. The apartment itself had a few problems but those seemed to pale in comparison to the job that you had so eagerly signed up for. Wayward Souls Hospital was misnamed, you would call it an asylum more than a hospital and the jobs that the other nurses always had you doing were nothing more than janitorial at best.

Cleaning, there isn’t a wall in these rooms that you haven’t scrubbed at some point over the past month. Washing, you’re sure that you’ve cleaned every item at least three times a week. You’ve had to go down to the basement twice, by yourself with nothing more than a flashlight and radio because storms always cause outages so guess who has to go and flip the breaker? Shower time is something that you’ve truly come to hate because the other nurses always make sure that you get the ones who need to be scrubbed with hot, soapy water – and bite.

When you thought life was looking up, it seemed like you were actually looking at your future Hell on Earth and while you always smile through it all, doing your best to not let it bring you down – you slowly start to understand why some of these patients are here. Telling yourself that you could never commit arson, or murder, that you are far too kind to do such things is the only way you keep yourself sane.

“Have you cleaned the shower drains?” Ryujin comes in and asks while you lay out in the garden on your break. The garden at Wayward Souls is the only redeeming quality that this place has; patients are always encouraged to spend time outside and some can plant in the gardens but what you love the most is the rose garden and its hidden little bench by the pond. “It’s Sunday, the drains need to be cleaned.” She continues like you didn’t hear her the first time.

With a heavy sigh, you sit up and put on your best smile, “yes, I did it before I took my break.” You look at her and Ryujin narrows her eyes as if she didn’t believe you. You are certain that you cleaned those drains because you frantically scrubbed your hands and cleaned underneath your nails after you had disposed of the trash. Even while wearing gloves, a mask and a spare change of clothes so that your uniform didn’t get dirty, you always felt unclean when cleaning here because of the various bodily fluids, hair and… nails, you would find.

As if she isn’t completely satisfied with the fact that you’ve been doing your job – and doing it well – she looks over at you when you’ve finally laid back down before turning on her heel and very dramatically trips over her own feet. You don’t see it happen, you only hear her cry out for help as she lands with her back in the nearest rose bush. “Help!” She cries and you scramble to stand up, rushing to her side while you wave to one of your co-workers to help you.

“Ryujin, how- what happened?” You frantically ask, worried as you see the blood on her white scrubs. While she isn’t grievously harmed, you can tell that she did manage to gain a few deep scratches on her biceps and upper thighs but she had managed to save her face from getting cut by any stray branches.

“I tripped over something,” you look around where you are and can’t find anything that would cause such a fall. “Don’t you look at me like that!” She spits out when you look back at her, questions ready on the tip of your tongue, “do you really think I would do this to myself?”

The way that she snaps at you causes you to recoil and shake your head, hands raised defensively. “No, I didn’t say that-”

“Then what were you going to say?” You know that with the way that she’s behaving that there is no way that you could possibly win this argument so you sigh and shake your head, mumbling your apology which only causes her to huff, “that’s what I thought.” As you help her towards the building, you know that the conversation about who is going to cover her night shift is going to come into question. You’ve been there for the last few hours and so you know, you just know that you will be one of the lovely contestants that are going to be looked at to do the job.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“All you have to do is go down the hallway at set intervals and check on everyone,” Johnny says as he points at the cameras that show the ward that you’ll be covering. “We take turns, one watches while the other goes down and makes sure that the patients aren’t doing anything that they shouldn’t be doing.”

You had known that you would be chosen, your terrible luck has proven you right once more, but what you didn’t realise was that you would be pulling a graveyard shift covering the ward that everyone has so charmingly named: Eternal Darkness. You had learnt in your first week there that this is the ward where the real crazies go, the ones who are insane and a danger to society as well as themselves. A lot of them are in straight jackets, padded rooms, with no shoelaces or anything that could even remotely be used as a weapon against themselves or anyone else. The one benefit to this ward was that the majority were heavily medicated and thus, they were quiet and too out of it to care about the nurses checking in on them periodically.

“Don’t talk to Room 1003.” You hear tapping on the screen and pay attention to the room that Johnny is referring to. “No matter what he says, don’t talk to him.”

“Why?” Does it really matter? No. Are you planning on striking up a conversation with anyone when it was your turn to do the rounds? Definitely not, but it is rather curious to be told not to talk to someone when a lot of the time, you’ve been encouraged to make the patients feel as human as you possibly can in this… hospital.

Johnny thinks for a moment and you can see it in his eyes, the thought on whether he should tell you or not before he shakes his head. “He’s been here for about five years and there’s been talk that he drives people insane.”

You snort, causing him to look at you with a serious expression and you try to keep yourself from laughing even more. “Nobody can be that bad, you’re making it sound like he has superpowers or something.” Johnny shrugs and you giggle, covering your mouth to stifle the sound. While life has made things rather hellish for you lately, you still cannot believe that people are inherently bad – that there is pure evil in the world – so, while Johnny is standing there, trying to argue the case about how the patient is the Antichrist, you simply couldn’t wrap your head around it. “I’ll take the warning but I’m sure he’s not that bad, have you ever spoken to him yourself?” His silence telling you that he hasn’t and making your face soften slightly, “then you can’t be listening to the rumours that are clearly spread to disturb people. It’s like when people make things up about hospitals being haunted and that they see a ghost and as time goes by, everyone believes it without a doubt because the mind is playing tricks on them.”

Johnny shakes his head at you, sitting down in his chair while you head to grab your sandwich out of your bag, “I heard about you, the nurse with too much pep in her step. Even when you’re given the shitty jobs, you always do it with a smile and cheerful attitude.” You smile as you sit down, not finding that an insult at all because you’ve heard that a lot, “I really thought they would have broken you.” He grumbles under his breath but you manage to hear it, the words causing you to freeze slightly before you take a bite.

Has this been their goal all along, to make you bitter like the rest of them, to make you see the world in black and white with no joy at all in your life?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, one night working the shift turned into a week and the week had turned into a month; it was like some sick twist of fate had happened and you somehow got stuck doing the late-night shifts with Johnny – who wasn’t the worst person to be with but he definitely wasn’t the best. You hadn’t stopped thinking about what he said, how they haven’t managed to break you and whenever you brought it up, he would tell you one horrifying story after another about the way this place would ruin everything good about a person until they become as heartless as some of the patients here. The only benefit that comes with working this shift is that you don’t have to do the terrible cleaning jobs that they’ve been making you do since you started – however, now you are stuck with patients who love to scream at all hours of the night and try to grab your shirt when you walk past.

It’s not always bad, you tell yourself, it could be worse. They have their shower times during the day, they also have bathrooms attached to their rooms so you don’t have to escort anyone, and the most that you’ve interacted with a patient is when one had asked you for pudding. You knew that you shouldn’t really but there was no harm in it so you snuck a pudding to him on your next round, earning a small smile that brightened your night.

The small things.

“I haven’t heard anything from that patient you warned me about,” you say one night after returning from your check. “He always seems to be sleeping whenever I walk past.”

Johnny snorts, leaning back in his chair and placing his feet up on the table, “maybe he’s dead.” He chuckles before shaking his head, “he’s an insomniac but they’ve upped his medication so maybe he finally gets some sleep.” You can hear in his voice that he doesn’t necessarily care, that it’s just an observation more than him caring about the patient’s health. “Well, it’s my turn.”

You sit there, watching Johnny on the camera walk down the corridor when you notice a face peer through the window of Room 1003. Leaning closer, you try and distinguish the face, a face that has made you curious for the entire month considering you haven’t seen it yet but you can’t tell anything from the grainy black and white stream. Other than his lips moving. “Johnny said not to talk to him…” You ponder out loud, watching Johnny stop briefly by the door before carrying on and when he leaves, the face has disappeared but your curiosity hasn’t. There are so many questions in your mind that you barely even notice Johnny’s presence when he comes back, chewing your pinkie finger in thought until he taps you on the shoulder.

“You hungry?” He asks, eyebrow raised as you sit still, pinkie still in your mouth and eyes looking at him for a moment before you come back to the present.

“Oh…” You let out a nervous laugh and shake your head, “no, I was just thinking.” You wipe your hand on your shirt as your eyes go back to the screen that shows the corridor he was just down, “you warned me not to talk to that patient but I noticed that you spoke to him.”

“Nah, he asked if I could get him a bag of liquorice tomorrow but I told him that I wouldn’t.” You look a little horrified that he would turn down a patient’s request, “this isn’t a holiday for them, they are here for a reason so why should they get luxuries?” You’ve learnt not to argue with him because arguing gets you nowhere but that doesn’t stop you from feeling bad for him. He’s been here a while from what you’ve heard so that means he’s missed out on a lot of things that he may have had in his daily life and the food here isn’t the best so you try to imagine what it must be like. It’s sad, something you shouldn’t be feeling sad about but it doesn’t stop the slight pang in your chest.

You shouldn’t, but you’re going to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes you a week to pluck up the courage to bring the patient the sweet treat that you had bought, you just weren’t certain whether Johnny would remember such an interaction so you waited and took your time to do it. You have the prime opportunity tonight, Johnny is tired and happens to be asleep every time you do your rounds which honestly, isn’t very professional but what you’re about to do isn’t professional either. Making your way down the hallway, you walk with your hands in your pockets before you stop in front of the door of your pudding patient – Minho. You’ve had small conversations with the man, nothing too deep or revealing but you’ve learnt that he loves cats and misses his three pets that he’s had to leave in the care of his friend while he’s been here. “One day,” he always says, “one day I’ll have them back.”

You never get too close to the patient’s doors when you do your rounds unless you need to check in on them but you always take a peep in Minho’s room and smile because he seems to rip all the cat pictures from magazines and sticks them to the wall with chewing gum. Disgusting but endearing in its own way.

“Here you go,” you say as you walk to the door and place the pudding cup and wooden spoon by the small opening in his door for him to take. “I had a look and saw you requested some paper and crayons?” Minho blinks as he looks at you, nodding slowly while his hands quickly take the pudding, “I can find you some colouring books with cats in them, I know that recreation time for you isn't as long as the others so that way you have something to do in your room. Would you like that?” Another nod, cautious but with the hint of a smile. It’s not surprising really, you know that a lot of the nurses here don’t seem to care much about the patients so your interactions with Minho are always touch and go because he must be waiting for the day where you turn like the rest of them.

Not that you will. You refuse to let them win like that.

“I’ll collect your trash on my next round, okay?” You say before continuing your walk down the hallway, reaching the end where Room 1003 is. “H-hello?” You say, standing on your tiptoes as you look through his window and find that the man isn’t laying on his bed, back to you, like he normally is. He’s sitting on the bed, elbows resting on his knees while staring at his hands. You cannot see his face is hidden in the dark as he doesn’t have his light on and the only light provided is what comes through the small door window, which you’re covering by looking through. “Can you hear me?” His head turns towards you and you gasp as you see him.

You aren’t sure what you had been expecting when you finally met him, when you finally put a face to the mysterious rumours you’ve heard about the ‘psychotic, twisted, murderous patient’ but what you are met with – isn’t even close to what you may have thought. His black hair is messy like he’s just woken up and his dark eyes are emphasised by the dark circles underneath, you wonder if he’s slept at all with how hollow and empty they make his eyes look, his lips are downturned but not quite frowning, more like he’s annoyed by someone speaking to him.

He stares at you for a moment, taking in your wide-eyed expression before tilting his head as his lips pull up at the corners into a slight smirk. “Ah, the angelic nurse. I’ve heard about you.” His voice is soft, surprisingly soft for the way he looks, “what do I owe the pleasure of finally meeting your acquaintance?”

It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts and respond, “oh,” you take the liquorice bag from your pocket and place it down for him to grab. “Johnny told me that you had asked for liquorice last week.” The man looks at the open slot, eyeing the bag suspiciously before looking up at you for an answer. It takes you a moment, a small smile on your lips before you look behind at the camera and realise that you may be running out of time. “I guess that I like to make sure that my patients are looked after because something like a sweet treat isn’t that bad and I think it’s silly to be denied it.” There’s a silence that falls that has you shifting a little uncomfortably in your spot as he looks at you. “Well, I better get going. Don’t tell Johnny, I’ll get in trouble.” Rushing away, you quickly head back to the nurse’s office and let out a sigh of relief when you find Johnny still asleep in his chair.

Taking your seat next to him, you look at your phone before the voice in the back of your mind tells you to look at the cameras. Squinting slightly, you notice that the patient in Room 1003 has taken the bag which has you smiling a little before you look at the window of his room and notice that he’s standing there, staring at the camera – almost like he’s looking directly at you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking at the bag, Chan grins, chuckling to himself as he lays down on his bed and rips it open with his teeth. The chewy, teeth-rotting sweet raspberry liquorice is a nostalgic taste, something he hasn’t indulged in for a few years – six, to be exact. He wonders if you’re as sweet as he chews his first piece in thought, the flavours rich on his tongue that have had nothing but bland asylum meals in what feels like a lifetime.

It would have been so easy to ask for your name but then where would the fun be in that? Wouldn’t it be much more exciting to learn everything from your conversations with Minho and then impress you the next time he spoke to you? Chan thinks about how you would react, it’s been a while since he got to mess with any of the nurses. The males refuse to give him much time or attention, refuse to play along. Johnny always ignored him, hearing his reputation and knowing it’s better to keep away than to be caught up in his web. However, the females? Ryujin was a real delight, just as crazy as they all were here but she knew what she wanted and she took it, but you? Oh, you look so innocent in comparison to the other nurses which made you perfect.

Nothing excites him more than the thought of slowly corrupting the innocent.

You wouldn’t know about anything that happens in this place, so doe-eyed and fresh, you wouldn’t have been pulled down to the level that the rest of them are at. Ironic really, how those who are meant to be helping them are just as crazy as they are but the only difference is that they aren’t a danger to society. Unlike him. Chan is willing to show you though, have your eyes opened to the chaos that resides within these walls and the more you aren’t willing to accept, the more he’ll push until you can’t resist it because everyone has a little bit of darkness residing inside them – all it takes is the right person to help drag it out.

Kicking or screaming, either way is fine.

A dark chuckle passes through his lips as he bites down on another piece of liquorice, thinking about his new toy to play with before hiding the bag down the side of his bed. He wouldn’t want anyone to notice that someone has snuck him in a treat – not that anyone would really care. Chan stares up at the roof, the darkness around him only broken by the light coming through his door window and sleep doesn’t greet him until he hears your soft footsteps coming down the hall. So pretty. He wonders if he should let Ryujin know that, he knows how jealous she can be and he’s well aware that she despises your positive attitude. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see what his last toy does to the shiny new plaything that’s come into his sights?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chan’s days are dreadfully mundane except for the one hour of recreation time he’s allowed. The day starts with their ward being collected and taken to the mess hall to eat, given their pills to keep them agreeable before sitting them down to force grey slope into their bodies, washing it down with watery, lukewarm tea – delicious. He should have played better with others, he shouldn’t have let his arrogance get out of hand and maybe he would be laying in his bed, listening to music rather than having to partake in the torture that is mass. “Pray for your souls,” the priest cries to the peeling roof while Chan cleans his nails even though they aren’t long enough to need cleaning.

“Are you ready?” His head turns towards Ryujin’s voice, her smile looking rather sweet today while she opens his door. Ah, it must be recreation time. The days blur together so much that Chan barely remembers heading back to his room to stare at the four walls, the plain off-white walls that would gradually drive him insane if he wasn’t firmly there already.

Standing up, he puts on his shoes and walks to the door, offering Ryujin his arm. “If it isn’t my favourite nurse.” He says with a charming smile, causing Ryujin to blush as she takes his arm and walks with him outside. “Are you joining me later in my room?” He whispers in her ear as if anyone cared to listen to them. Looking around, she shakes her head and Chan sighs, disappointed that he’s once again being stood up. “Ever since you change shifts, you’ve become quite a hard woman to catch.”

“I like being able to walk around outside with you,” Ryujin clings to Chan, who forces a smile onto his face. “It’s like we are having little dates, just like you promised.” Ah, yes, his words coming back to haunt him once again. “Besides, isn’t the thrill of getting caught exciting when I do come to visit you?”

Humming softly, Chan looks over at one of the nurses smoking, giving zero fucks about what is happening around them. “It does make it rather interesting to see how long it takes before someone realises that you aren’t doing your job but you know I don’t like being rushed or interrupted.” He stops and looks at Ryujin, leaning in closer and taking a soft whiff of her neck, noting the hint of cologne on her skin. “Mm, smells like you’ve been rather busy though. Is that why you were so eager to switch shifts with the sweet newbie nurse?” Ryujin pulls away, covering her neck and looking at him in shock

Oh, how did he know? She should know by now that he’s very intuitive, very good at picking up on things and figuring out people. He’s a puppeteer and she’s always been his little puppet, or well, she used to be.

He can see the thoughts cross her mind before she manages to verbalise them, the words that are meant to cut him deep and make her feel like she’s holding all the cards but as she says them, it only solidifies the thoughts that Chan’s already had playing in his mind. “You know that this doesn’t mean anything, that this was only a fairytale to help us pass the time.” Ryujin can see it in his eyes that she’s done for. “We-we were never going to be able to live the fantasy you tried to sell because you were never going to leave this place. We both know that.” She continues to ramble, digging her hole deeper while Chan doesn’t do anything other than stand there expressionless and watching her with dark, tired eyes.

“Nurse Ryujin,” she winces at the way he says her name with no emotion, “I’d like to go back to my room now. I’m tired.” Not entirely a lie, he’s tired of listening to her try and defend herself but also he doesn’t feel like walking around the same grounds he knows like the back of his hand with a woman he would rather strangle. Maybe he’ll get the chance soon but for now, he’d rather be in his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are harder to work out because you don’t give Chan the chance to talk to you, smiling at him when you walk past and check his room before he manages to grab your attention; it’s frustrating but he’s always been up for a challenge and he’s got all the time in the world to work you onto his side, wrap you around his little finger. It takes him a while to get you to talk to him, small conversations at the beginning, asking for things like liquorice and honey cashew nuts, giving you a sense of fulfilment when you bring these things to him and creating the thrill that comes with breaking the rules. Not that anyone would stop you from doing it because all of the nurses break the rules and the doctors are far worse but it didn’t take Chan long to figure out that you weren’t like the others, courtesy of Johnny and his grumblings down the hallway about how you are so proper - so good.

It takes him a month to move up from small conversations initiated by him for you to always peer in his door when you walk past, waving and waiting for him to talk to you. You don’t react too much to his flirtation, laughing it off and telling him that he must sweet talk all the nurses - yes but not since his latest obsession with you. The other nurses have noticed this, the cold shoulder that he started giving Ryujin began to spread to the others because they began to feel too easy, they didn’t challenge him enough while you provide everything he needs to keep him preoccupied. How does he catch your attention? Would you sit in his room and talk with him? Do you taste as sweet as you sound when you speak with that cheerful tone like the world couldn’t be more beautiful?

How wonderful will it feel to finally break you and have you doing everything he asks you to do?

It takes another month to get you to start opening up about your life, your life is tragically less than happy from what you tell him and Chan, of course, sympathises with you, offering you someone to talk to whenever you’re having a hard day. Such a gentleman, isn’t he? “I couldn’t do that to you, Chan,” oh, you sound adorable saying his name, “it seems rather inappropriate for a nurse to be turning to a patient like that.” Hmm, so close but he doesn’t give up; with the trouble that has started brewing for you when you start your shift, he’s sure that you’ll be crying to him in no time.

No boyfriend, barely able to see your friends and your family unsupportive of your life - he’s really going to be all you have to vent your frustrations to.

“Whenever you need a shoulder, kitten, you know you can come to sit down and rest your heart here for a moment.” He learnt that the pet name is something that manages to get a desirable response, there were many failed attempts before reaching something satisfactory. You blush slightly, looking down and brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear before muttering a soft thank you and continuing your rounds.

Five months, two weeks and six days. That’s how long it takes for you to begin opening up to him; Chan has to give you credit because he really thought you would only take a few weeks but you held out well. If you’re honest with yourself, there were moments when you nearly folded, needing to take the time to remember that this man was a patient, essentially a prisoner based on his file, and it is your job to make sure he is looked after - not the other way around. Chan could tell that there had been moments, little ones where your cheeks flushed slightly or your eyes would widen but try as he might, you would only give him a few minutes of your time each round and you would never open the door.

Until now and now that you have, he can begin the next step, the next phase and if you continue to follow the path that he lays down, it won’t be long until he has you completely under his spell.

He’s the Pied Piper luring you down the street with finely articulated words until you fall into his trap, Chan’s very good at that, it’s his speciality and he’s rather proud of it. He has the time too, the time to plan and scheme, to gently press buttons and see what reactions he gets before putting everything he’s learned together to capture you. He has already laid it all out, like a strategist putting all the pieces in place before the war begins, and now all Chan has to do is confirm that you trust him enough for him to start the game that nobody knows they are playing but him.

The metal door eerily squeaks as it opens and he lifts his head to see you standing there, holding the door and looking at the floor. Oh, how adorable you look like this, so uncertain as you take the first step towards him, conflicted between what you should do and what you are doing. “Kitten?” He raises an eyebrow, feigning concern as you stand at the entrance, just inside his room, and shake slightly. “What are you doing?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has been a hard day, so much has happened and you wanted to just disappear from the world but you couldn’t, your own need to find some kind of positive in the world keeps you from throwing everything into the fire and letting it burn. You find yourself looking at the picture of your ex, his arm wrapped around his new girlfriend, every moment your mind wandered to the news. Pregnant. You know he cheated on you, that isn’t news at all but it’s the who more than anything that has you wishing you had it in you to curse the world.

“Who’s that?” Johnny says as he notices that you’ve been looking at the picture for the past ten minutes, and several times throughout your shift. “That your sister or something?”

It takes you a moment to answer, the words feeling like bile in your mouth as they come out. “My supposed best friend.” You say, his face moving from your phone to your face and you do not need to see his expression to know what’s going through his mind. “And my ex.”

You hear the low ‘shit’ under his breath before you sniff, blinking back tears before standing up and placing your phone in your pocket. Your feet move on their own at this point, walking you purposefully towards Chan’s room and before you even realise what you’re doing, you are standing there, hands by your side in fists with him looking at you curiously. “Kitten, what are you doing?”

You raise your head, looking at him with tears beginning to well in your eyes, silently begging them not to fall. He’s concerned, why does it make your heart feel a little lighter to know that he’s concerned? Chan is a patient, you’ve always reminded yourself that he’s a patient and you shouldn’t be here but he doesn’t feel like a patient, like he belongs here, even if you know his file and know why he’s here - you are still convinced that there is some kind of mistake. Chan’s always been nice to you, never pushing your boundaries or making you feel uncomfortable; he’s slowly worked your walls and allowed you to come to him in your own time while he’s shared small pieces of his own life.

His family, his dreams, what he would be doing if he wasn’t here. You know him, so you keep telling yourself.

“I…” Your voice breaks and Chan stands, moving to your side and carefully reaching for your hand. You tried to smile through everything, you have always tried to have a positive outlook on life and the things around you but it’s hard. So hard. Once you feel his touch, you break, the sobs wracking through your chest as you fall forward and the man has to catch your frame, bracing himself for the sudden action. “I don’t know what to do.” You manage out in between your sobs, hands holding onto him like he’s all that stands between you and the floor that you desperately want to fall to. “I tried to be so happy and optimistic in life because you have to be, you can’t- you can’t just hate the world but I want to… I want to curse it.”

That’s all he needed to hear. You’re so close, oh so close to where he needs you to be. He’s been listening for months about things in your life and he’s always been impressed how you always tried to be so calm, so sweet, so happy about the terrible card that life has dealt you. He wondered what you would be like if you got angry and threw a punch, how you tear down the world and watch it burn simply for it wronging you, Chan has dreamt about how delicious your wrath would be when you finally broke. You’re not there yet, a little broken now but now he just needs to keep pushing, keep chipping away at that patience until you are everything he knows you could be.

He can see it. Laying underneath the surface, Chan can see that you are like him. All you need is a reason to set it ablaze, to hurt those who hurt you, all you need is to see the world for what it truly is and hate it with every fibre in your body.

The sweeter they are, the crazier they tend to be.

You don’t realise that he’s helped you to his bed, sitting you down before crouching in front of you, hands gently holding yours. “Hey,” he asks, trying to catch your eyes but you sniff and lift a hand to wipe away your tears. “I’ve always told you that you can talk to me, that I’ll listen, do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head; you shouldn’t even be here, let alone crying to him and dumping your problems onto him.

Hmm, maybe you need a little more time.

You don’t notice Chan’s frown of annoyance at your reluctance, he could always change tactics but he needs to remain consistent right now. “What would you like?” A shrug has him sighing softly, trying not to show his irritation. “Do you just want to sit here for a moment before you head back?” A nod, ah, that can be worked with.

Soft encouragements have you shuffling back until your back rests against the cold brick wall and Chan moving to sit beside you, holding your hand and carefully guiding your head to his shoulder while you silently cry out the pain that weighs so heavily in your chest. He doesn’t say a word, on the outside, he looks like he’s comforting you while in his head, he’s calculating and working out the next phase of his plan. You cry, he hushes you softly, holding your hand and doesn’t look at you with pity. You would hate that so you’re thankful.

Maybe it’s not too bad, letting him be there for you, maybe it’s not too bad having someone there to comfort you when you need it but you know that it could be anyone but him - it should be anyone but him. You’ve opened that door though, even when you walk back through and close the door, the lock cannot be latched and it’ll only be a matter of time until you’re back here again.

You shouldn’t come back.

You really shouldn’t.

But you will be and he’ll be waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’ve been what?!” The woman’s shriek startles a few others who are around but Ryujin doesn’t care as she glares at Chan with enough venom to kill a snake. “How long? Is this why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder?”

Chan worked out that the best way to bring you back to him, to have you rely on him and turn to him is to find reasons for you to harbour hate in your heart. You’re too kind, it’s disgusting really, endearing sometimes but he wants you to give in to those dark feelings you felt that night and the best way to do that is to bring more to the surface. He cannot mess with your personal life, he sadly will be confined to this hellhole for the rest of his natural life, a shame really but better than prison, but Chan can make you see this place for what it really is.

Hell. For the lack of a better word but yet, through your eyes, it’s a place that helps those who cannot help themselves. True for the most part, but if only you saw what lay further under the surface and that’s what Chan wants to show you. There is no good in everyone, there is no hope here. The nurses abuse their powers, patients sleep with the staff, doctors steal pills and while there is enough funding that goes into the building to fix the problems that happen during the storms - they prefer to spend it on themselves rather than the facility that needs it.

You’ll see it soon, he’ll show you and it’ll be beautiful when you finally crack.

“You seem surprised,” he responds, looking at her coldly, “the moment you decided to fuck around behind my back was the moment I was done with you so why not find a new toy?” Chan had given Ryujin the idea that you’ve replaced her, that you’ve been warming his bed at night which has gained the desired response from the fiery woman.

Anger.

So misdirected, he thinks as he watches Ryujin storming around the garden, causing people to steer clear of her. Isn’t it rather funny how he’s the one who has discarded her, he’s the one who is playing his games with someone else and pulling your poor innocent soul into the dark unknown, and yet you’re the one she’s going after? He will never tire of such a thing but he doesn’t find as much amusement in it as he usually would have because he knows that you’ll be in the line of fire and he’ll be the one needing to save you. A tedious job for him to have to do but it’ll be worth it.

Kill two birds with one stone.

“She’s going to regret this,” the furious nurse storms off, leaving Chan unaccompanied in the garden and listening to the woman screaming down the hall. Chaos is about to unleash so he needs to move faster than intended because while he knew Ryujin would go for you - he never expected her to act so quickly. It’s not surprising since she’s had it out for you since day one but it is bothersome because he thought he might have had some time to prepare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lights went out, a loud clunk that caused everything to shut down and had Johnny sighing. You pull out your phone, the light illuminating your face before turning on your flashlight and pointing it towards Johnny, who looks just as irritated and confused as you are. During the storms that seem to happen quite often out here, the fuse seems to blow to prevent any surges and you have to head down and flick the switch but there is no storm tonight, so why are the lights out?

“I’ll head down and check the fuse box.” He stands up, grabbing his keys because the systems will be down, “you do the rounds and make sure none of the patients try and sneak out.” You are pretty sure some of them are asleep because you had just finished your rounds but you don’t want to risk it. If some of these patients took advantage of the outage and slipped back into society, not only would lives be at risk but also the reputation of the hospital - meaning you would be out of a job.

Everything seems louder in the dark, the sound of your footsteps, the deep snores from some of the rooms but before you make it to Chan’s room, a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you back, causing you to cry out in surprise and pain. “H-help-” You call out, realising that nobody is around to help you and none of the patients would either, they would use your struggle as an escape. You reach around, dropping your phone in the process, to try and work out what is going on and who’s grabbed you. “L-let me-ah! Let me go!” You manage to get free by swinging your elbow back in hopes of hitting them enough to stun them, making a break for it when you feel their grip loosen.

“You little bitch!” You hear her voice but don’t register it as you bolt in the only direction that you can think of - Chan’s room.

A large hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you into the room, covering your mouth with a low hushing sound coming out from the man in front of you. The lack of light makes you hyperaware of everything else, the heat from his body pressing you against the wall, the sound of your heart racing in your ears and the screeching coming from out in the hallway.

“Are you seriously hiding from me?” You finally realise who it is, eyes widening as you try and see Chan in front of you, barely able to make out his side profile. You can’t tell for sure, even this close, but from the low growl sounding from him, you are sure he’s unimpressed.

“Cha-” you try to speak through the hand over your mouth.

The slight tensing indicates that you need to be quiet, his body moving in closer until you feel his lips graze the shell of your ear. “Quiet now, kitten. Let me take care of you.” You shiver slightly, missing the smirk he wears thanks to the dark, “hide under my bed and don’t come out until I come to get you.” His tone is comforting, authoritative and because of how scared you currently are, you listen.

It’s cute really, how easily you follow his order but his enjoyment over your obedience is cut short when Ryujin steps into the doorway, causing you to scramble. They stand still while you press as close to the wall under the bed as you can, trying to make yourself small and invisible while Chan glares at the intruding woman. “She needs to learn her place.” The words are less aggressive than what she was prior and you wonder why she’s not telling Chan to move.

“You need to learn your place.” Chan counters, stepping forward and causing Ryujin to step back.

Chan’s file had a lot of things redacted from it and all you could gather was that he did some bad things that should have had him locked in jail but due to his seemingly unstable mind, he was locked away here to rot. You could never understand though, he’s intelligent, funny and thoughtful - you have never been able to see the darkness that resides within him but that’s why it made you so easy to fool. Even while he has Ryujin stepping back in fear, all you could think about is how Chan is protecting you rather than using your misfortune to his advantage. Chan isn’t good, not in the slightest but you refuse to believe it, not that he minded at all because convincing you that he’s not at all as bad as everyone tries to say he is provided him with some great entertainment over the past months. He’s provided you with a shoulder, an ear and now he just needs to protect you, give you those things you are lacking so that you become reliant and malleable, putty in his hands to mould you into what he sees behind your soft doe eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe his methods were a little extreme, after all, he didn’t have to kill her especially because he was the one who put the target on your back but he needed to make sure, absolutely sure, that you trusted him.

Chan looks down at his hands, Ryujin’s blood staining his skin, his white shirt, and pooling at his feet as the lights turn back on, the sounds beginning to explode around him as the asylum comes back to life. What perfect timing, even as he’s smiling to himself, his face is completely void of emotion when Johnny runs into the hall, halting halfway when he sees Chan and spots the blood. He’s standing there, his eyes wide and mouth open as if he’s about to say something but he doesn’t quite know what to say; Chan looks over at him, head tilting to the side slightly as he looks at Johnny and before anything could even be said, he turns on his heel and walks towards his room.

If anyone asked Johnny about what he saw in Chan’s eyes, he would only be able to explain it as insanity, pure crazy, which only further proves why he did it. There’s no way this was premeditated and when you tell your side of the story, it’ll be clear that Chan acted in defence - if he didn’t do anything, who knows what Ryujin would have done to you.

Chan’s voice is soft, crouching by his bed and reaching his hand under for you to take, “are you okay?” He asks, concerned about you. Not really but who are you to know otherwise? “She’s gone now, she can’t hurt you.”

“G-gone?” You ask but from the state of Chan, he doesn’t need to elaborate on what he said because it’s clear that she’s dead. “What-” you swallow thickly, voice shaky and small as he helps you stand up straight. “What happened?”

Shaking his head, Chan looks you over and brushes your hair out of your face, his fingertips lingering a little longer than they should but you aren’t about to push him away. “Don’t worry about the details,” because he can’t be bothered telling you, “however, you didn’t answer my question, kitten. Are you okay?”

Are you okay? That’s the question of the century right now because you aren’t entirely sure right now. You are shaking, you are scared and all you can think about is how you will be heading to an empty home with no one there beside you.

As you shiver, the adrenaline leaving you and the reality of the situation settling into your bones, Chan wraps you up in his arms, muttering words of comfort. They are empty, hollow, unable to be guaranteed and fulfilled but all you can think about is how nice they are. In his arms, you think about how safe you feel. Right now, you could lay down beside him and sleep, unafraid of tomorrow and what will await you in this hell when you have to recount the events of tonight to a thousand people who will find ways to blame you.

No, they wouldn’t blame you, right? You didn’t do anything wrong, she attacked you unprovoked.

Yet, she’s dead. You’re alive. How can she defend herself while you drag her name through the mud?

They’ll find every way to blame you for this, find ways to drag you further into the dark depths that surround this place and what will you do then? How will you survive when they finally break everything good inside you? Will you conform to their ways, tumble down the rabbit hole and drink their potions or will you claw your way back to the surface and hold onto the light inside you?

“Kitten?” Chan’s voice is so close, his breath warm against your cheek as he brings you back to the present, eyes searching yours for something that you aren’t certain of but he seems to be pleased to find. “You must be heading into shock, you aren’t quite yourself.” His lips pull into a soft smile as he detaches himself from you, leaving you standing in his room alone while he heads to go find Johnny. You can only see the back of his head as he walks away, the smile on his lips twisting into triumph because he got exactly what he wanted from this. Chan could see it in your eyes as you spaced out, he could see the darkness slowly creeping in and all the resistance you had leaving you.

He’s got you, Chan chuckles quietly before dropping his smile, he’s got you in the palm of his hands and now, you’re his. All he has to do is make that claim on you known, make sure that you know that you are his and that you’ll always be his and his alone until he decides to let you go. Maybe he’ll let you live a little, maybe he’ll be greedy and keep you all to himself, whatever he decides doesn’t matter because your grip on the way you view the world is slipping and soon, you’ll see everything for what it is.

Hell. There is no bright side, no greener grass, everything is dark and twisted - even you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been over a week since everything happened and you wish that you could say that you came out unscathed, that your view on the world didn’t change, but that would be lying and no matter how bad things are right now, you don’t want to lie. While you weren’t blamed for Ryujin’s death, Chan had been reprimanded for his actions and you found that unfair, you couldn’t understand why he had been placed in solitary and put on trial for protecting you. In your eyes, he’s a hero, specifically your hero, and should be treated as such but instead, they throw him into a padded cell and try to figure out what to do with him.

You walk into the office, sighing as you pull out your book and wait for your shift to start. You had arrived early because there really isn’t anywhere else that you have to go these days; you had lost touch with your friends due to work, you couldn’t stand how fake people were being which caused you to pull away from people and your family has made comments about your attitude that began to annoy you. Without being fully aware, you had slowly changed, turning into someone that saw behind the rose-coloured veil and saw things for what it is - shit.

The world isn’t as great as everyone likes to believe it is and now you can see that.

As you lose yourself in the book, the time ticking by agonisingly slow, you overhear the nurses that are on shift mumbling to each other as they walk past. “I heard that they released him,” one of them says, causing you to tilt your head absentmindedly in their direction, “the one that killed Ryujin. They said that he acted in self-defence, she apparently attacked one of the night nurses beforehand then tried to attack him.” You slam the book shut and turn to look at them, while they are completely unaware of your attention.

“I was told by one of the security guards that the power had been purposely cut and there is no footage of the incident so they can only go by word.” They continue to walk but you don’t care to hear anymore as you rush out the door and towards his room.

Chan had finally been released and while you know you shouldn’t be so happy, so excited to see him, your feet take you to him like you are on a mission. It has been painful, not physically but mentally, emotionally painful to not be around him, near him. You need him, you had come to realise, because he made your time at work worth it - or, at least, he made it feel like he did. How would your life be if you had never met the patient in Room 1003? How would you be if you had never met him? You can barely even think about the person you were before you had met him because Chan had slowly started to consume your every thought, had started to become a normal interaction in your day that life before him nearly didn’t seem to exist, like it was a blur, and that is not healthy.

Not at all.

Chan hadn’t expected you to come bursting through his door but he isn’t going to say that he’s disappointed, even though you look a little out of your depths when you open the door to him standing there, shirtless. His eyes rise to the metallic mirror in his room, catching your wide eyes as you blush and look away. “Well,” his voice is a little rough from not having been using it while in solitary, “look who came to be my first visitor~” He turns to face you and you can feel his gaze gliding over your body, causing you to heat up. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

Your eyes are firmly on the floor, shifting nervously because you had never seen him like that. You’ve only ever seen Chan fully clothed, though you know that you would be lying if you said that you haven’t been thinking about what he feels like under those boring white uniforms the patients have to wear. You would be lying if you said that you haven’t been wanting to know how his hands feel against your bare skin, lips sliding over yours as he takes your breath away. Oh, how you would be lying if you said that you haven’t moaned his name in your sleep - completely unaware of the hold he has over you. “H-hello,” you stutter, cringing at how small and helpless you sound but Chan loves it.

He’s waited for this for so long and now it’s right here, all he has to do is take it.

Chan walks towards you, each step seemingly echoing in the small room and your heart almost beats out of your chest. Time moves slowly, your breath a little shaky, body vibrating with anticipation and by the time that Chan has approached you - you’ve looked up at him, eyes wide as you look him over and take all of him in. His muscles are heavily defined, the shadows accentuating the dips of his abdomen from the light source outside of the room; he’s larger than you expected, the drab clothes that usually hang loose truly hide his sculpted body and you realise how much of a shame that is. He’s worked so hard on keeping himself in shape, something you seem to forget is probably the one thing he can do here, and he can’t show it off, be proud of it.

It’s not until you hear Chan’s low chuckle that you come out of your trance, fingers tracing over his abdomen as you had started to zone out and be inside your head. “I mean, if you want to touch, by all means, but I didn’t think it would be you making the first move~” He teases, causing you to quickly retract your hand and shake your head.

“I-I-” You begin, trying to find the words that meant ‘no, it isn’t like that’ but can you really lie at this point? Of course not, you are too far gone to be able to deny him and yourself the final reward of his game. You stop stammering as you look into his dark eyes and see his desire staring back at you. “I want this,” you swallow all your worries, all your nerves and steel yourself to the reality of what’s about to happen.

What you want to happen.

The moment those words left your lips, Chan cups your face and moves closer, your hands moving to rest on his hips as he gazes deep into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. “The moment I start,” he lowers his soft lips to graze against yours, breath mixing with your slow exhale, “I’m not going to stop.” He knows you won’t want him to, your eyes are already closed, waiting for his lips to close the small, minute distance. “I’m going to have you all to myself, my pretty little plaything to do as I please,” his tongue sneaks out and briefly touches your bottom lip, causing you to open it obediently. “Are you okay with that, kitten?” Chan isn’t really asking because he already knows the answer but it’s always best to give you a false sense of control. All you manage to respond with is a soft, pleading moan which is all he needed before kissing you, soft in the beginning, holding your face like you are glass, fragile and delicate, before his tongue snakes inside your mouth to caress against yours.

You don’t think you’ve ever been kissed like this before but then again, you don’t think. You can’t think. Everything that he is is soon overtaking your senses, your body reacting to his touches rather than a conscious decision, like Chan knows where all your sweet spots are, how to coax the lewdest noises from you, and the right amount of pressure to have your body putty under his fingertips. Your body moves under his command, arms holding onto him only to keep you from being too far away from him, even if it’s just an inch, as he guides you to his bed.

Chan could be laying you down in a bed of soft petals from the way he gently lays you onto the single bed, pulling away to gaze down at you, triumphant in his success but you take it as adoration. With a quick glance over at the open door, he’s quick to close it, not wanting any unwanted visitors disturbing the moment that you’ve both been waiting for - for different reasons. “You look so pretty like this,” you’d look even prettier tied up and spread for him but Chan takes what he can get, “can we play a little game, hm? I don’t want to waste this time with you greedily indulging but I also want to make it special.”

“Special?” You look at him, eyes shining with the excitement that had quickly replaced your nerves. You would never be doing this, the old you that is - the you that held onto your sanity and your sweet naive views - but unknowingly you were shaped into everything Chan wanted you to be. Without realising it, you became hungry for the insane, seeing the world as dark and twisted as he did and while you are still foolishly holding on to the way things once were - you’ll soon be his pretty kitten on his lap without needing to be told.

Chan nods, moving closer, hand outstretched as you sit up to look at him, his fingers gently under your chin. “Pretend with me,” he says, voice so soft and sweet like he’s confessing his love and your head moves on its own, up and down in a trance-like nod. “Pretend we are in your room, laying in your bed as we kiss. Pretend that you’re mine, you are everything I want you to be and I’m all yours. I’m yours to do as you please while you are mine to have how I want. Can you do that for me?”

“It’s just pretend?” You ask, blinking a little and Chan nods. He could pull out all the stops but he needs to make sure you can handle him first - a toy isn’t good if it breaks the first time you play with it. It takes you a few seconds to think before you give him another nod which has Chan almost groaning with how sexy he finds your obedience. If you keep this up, maybe he’ll be able to keep you like this for the entirety of your employment here - or until he’s bored.

“That’s a good girl,” he leans forward, kissing you again and smirking against your lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That first night had started it all, your slow descent into madness soon became a full tumble down into a hole that you are no longer capable of getting out of.

Chan’s hand grabs your thigh, sliding up your skirt while his lips attach against your neck, sucking a dark mark against your skin as your head tilts back with the softest moan leaving your kiss swollen lips. You had taken a week off to visit family, a rare occasion that you had discussed with him before going but it didn’t stop him from grabbing your wrist and dragging you to a secluded area the moment he saw you. His possessiveness is showing as he bites down on the fresh, sensitive mark and growls before finding another patch of skin to cover in his claim. Strong fingers push your panties aside and drag through your folds, coating themselves in the slick that had begun to lubricate your entrance, readying you for what will inevitably come.

Once upon a time, you would have said that this is unusual behaviour for the man but it really isn’t and you know that by now. Chan is dominant, demanding and very possessive of what is his.

You are his.

What he doesn’t appreciate, no fault of yours because you couldn’t exactly describe your current situation to your family, is when someone tries and make a move on what is his. A family friend had tried to set you up with their son, a handsome man and someone that the old you would have gone for in a heartbeat which is why Chan is making it his mission to remind you that he’s the only person who could make you feel the way he does. He’s the one who helped you see the world for what it is and unlocked a side of you that relished in the darkness of it all.

“Kitten,” you moan lewdly at the way he growls your pet name, teeth dragging down your jugular as he rubs your slick against your throbbing clit. “Did you consider it?” You shake your head because you didn’t, it wasn’t even a thought in your mind because your entire world has been surrounded by Chan. “Are you sure?” He adds the slightest bit of pressure, testing to see whether you would be allowed to cum tonight or whether he would be keeping you dripping and on edge for your entire shift.

“You,” you mutter, groaning slightly when he harshly bites down on your shoulder, hands gripping his strong biceps to keep you from falling. “Only you.”

“That’s a good girl,” he says, pulling back to look at you before looking around. The area is quiet, usually is at this time of night but Chan wants to make sure that you will not be disturbed because he’s not going to be done with you for a while. Absolutely not. “Turn around,” he commands and you are immediately reacting by turning around and getting into the position that he’s trained you to be in. The one where your hands rest against the wall firmly to keep you from being squashed against the rough surface, legs spread enough for Chan to lift your skirt and slide right in when he’s ready.

Chan loves to relish in you, in everything that you are and the way that you sound but it seems that his jealousy, albeit unwarranted, is getting the best of him as he pulls his hard cock out from his loose pants and strokes himself until he’s completely hard. He doesn’t want to waste any time, you’ve been gone for a week and that’s too long since he’s been had you so now that you’re here - why wait? Your panties are ruined in seconds as he rips them off you, the pain from the tearing fabric pulling at your skin causes you to wince but you don’t make a sound other than a soft moan because you know that you’ll be leaking cum for the rest of your shift and that thought alone has you clenching around nothing.

The tip of his cock is brushed between your folds, pre-cum and your juices mixing to lubricate him until Chan is satisfied enough to push into your heat, stretching you in a way that you’ll never get used to no matter how much he fucks you. Your head falls forward as your lips part in a soundless sigh, eyes fluttering closed as he slowly pushes in until his body is flush against yours. He cannot take his hands off your body, sliding underneath your shirt as he massages your breasts, lips pressing to the back of your neck before the beast takes over. That’s how you refer to him when he’s buried deep inside you, reaching all the places that your fingers could only dream to touch because he loses all sense of himself when he fucks you; Chan cares very little about anything other than the high, the feeling that comes when your body is spent completely and barely able to handle anything more, the way you cry his name with tears in your eyes from being overstimulated but begging for more.

He’s a beast and you are the helpless lamb offered to appease his hunger.

The way he fucks you, hips snapping as he pulls your body upright so that his teeth can tug at your earlobe, his growl vibrating through his chest and resonating through your soul, it’s the most emotion Chan’s ever shown. The man who would kill you in your sleep without blinking an eye, fucking you in all the ways that you’ve fantasised but never voiced - how could you not see this as anything other than a proclamation of his love for you. As crazy as it may seem, and you no longer see it as such, Chan loves you in the ways that he can.

Chan loves what you provide but why would he try to change your mind when you feel so good like this? Do you want love? He’ll make you scream his name. Do you want to see the stars? He’ll call you out in the middle of the night and fuck you until you see them. He craves you, in so many ways that it drives him even more insane than he already is, and he has you craving him so badly that you’ll tell yourself that this is love.

“You feel so good, kitten,” his breath is hot against your cheek, his voice deeper than usual from the exertion. He lets go of your breasts, adjusting your position slightly so that you are braced for what’s to come. “Since you’ve been good, maybe I should let you cum?” One hand grips your hips, his own never faltering in their fast pace, while his other hand sneaks around the front of your body and between your spread legs.

“Ah,” you sound, potentially alerting anyone who could be walking by but that’s the whole thrill of it all, isn’t it. The idea of being caught has always turned you on. “Ch-Chan-” Your hands are resting against the wall, nails dragging slightly down the harsh brick as he rubs your clit mercilessly, knowing exactly how close you are and how to get you to scream.

“It’s cute watching you try and hold it all back,” he chuckles, slamming into you hard and causing your body to jolt forward, pressing your chest against the wall. “I bet you want someone to come and watch, to stand there and see how pretty you look being fucked like this.” You shake your head but the way you lick your lips, clenching tightly around him, proves otherwise. “C’mon then, kitten, scream.”

You try and hold back, buckling under the intensity of the orgasm, biting down on your bottom lip so hard that it bleeds but you still can’t keep yourself from screaming, the sound muffled but still loud enough to discern what is going on. Chan doesn’t stop there though, only slowing down his ministrations enough to give you a moment to breathe, give you a false sense of security, and once you’ve settled enough to respond to him checking in on you - he’s back at it again.

Fucking you until he’s done, until his jealousy and possessiveness have settled for the night and boy, what a long night it’s going to be.

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xoxo-teddybear · 3 years

Text

What Have I Done? - Bakugou Katsuki- pt.2

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of suicidal thoughts, fluff, insane behavior, nsfw, noncon! Dubcon!, murder, stalking, abusive behavior, yandere!Bakugou, cursing, blood, lowkey kinda slow burn (meaning the beginning is a little boring BUT IT GETS GOOD I SWEAR😭)

Ep. Warnings: Angst, hitting, cursing, stalking, kidnapping, murder

Summary: It’s been awhile since you’ve left him. Two months actually but it was two months too long. Katsuki was slowly going insane and I guess you could say he officially has because he’s officially snapped. You become his main target, his number one priority, his entire being even though you’re trying to leave him. But Katsuki won’t let you. You’re his..and in the words of Bakugou Katsuki..you always will be.

A/N: ....I made it a yandere story y’all. OH SHI-

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

Chapter 1

Twitch, twitch, twitch. That’s all Katsuki’s body been doing. Either his eyes or his fingers, his body is uncomfortably moving. Shit doesn’t feel right for him. And he knows exactly why. You left him.

The first week was horrible. All Katsuki did was cry. He even kept his destroyed home in shambles because he couldn’t find the motivation to do anything. If it wasn’t for Kirishima, Katsuki would have starved himself to death. The second week was just as bad. Nothing but a crying baby being taken care of by his best friend.

The third week is when Katsuki become a drunkard. He made Kirishima and the boys of the Bakusquad constantly take him out whenever. As long as the place served alcohol, he would go. He would go and drink himself to sleep. While he was intoxicated he would cry about how he misses you and how he was a terrible husband. He always said you deserved better but he was too in love with you to let you go. The 4th week was pretty much the same.

After a whole month without you, Katsuki threw himself into depression. For the entirety of the second month, he locked himself within the walls of his home. Thankfully, it was now considered a home environment once again after his dear friends cleaned the place up for him. Katsuki stayed inside all day, drank his soul away every night, and sobbed constantly. Constantly regretting how he neglected you, how he mistreated you, and how he hurt you. He doesn’t even know how he even brought himself to do that. Even though he’s been alone for almost 2 months, he still had hope that you would come back. That things would go back to normal and he would be a better husband to you, just like he promised.

Katsuki felt himself going mad and slipping away, but what pulled the trigger was what Kirishima brought to him on the 6th week.

—

Flashback

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”

Katsuki looked down at the papers in his hands. Kirishima had walked in with a nervous and sad look on his face when he gave Katsuki the papers you had the red head deliver. “Sorry man...”

Katsuki shook as he stared at the divorce papers with wide eyes. He saw you already signed it and all the paper needed was his signature. His face grew dark as something in his mind snapped. Katsuki turned to his friend and instructed him to get out of his home.

“What? Man are you alright?” Kirishima said. He walked to his best friend and when he reached a hand out for him, Katsuki pulled on his arm and pushed him out the door. He slammed it shut and locked it as he looked at the papers.

A scary smile grew on the man’s face. His eyes grew crazy as he laughed maniacally. Hysterically. As if what he held was the most hilarious thing in the world. His palms began to spark as he used his quirk to destroyed the papers. The quick blast made his hair floof around a bit and when it was over, a pile of ashes lay at his feet.

“She-....she thinks she can leave me?” Bakugou began to walk to the framed picture on the coffee table. He picked up the picture of you both on your last anniversary and ran his finger over the image of you. “Poor Princess....you can’t leave me. You need me. Just as much as I need you. I mean..hehe...look at what I mess I’ve been. I can only assume you must be worse. But it’s okay, love...I’ll find you soon enough..and I’ll help you feel better,” he walked to his bedroom and layed down on the soft mattress as he held the frame close to his chest as he stared sinisterly at the ceiling, “and we’ll never be apart again.”

—

The 7th week was when it began. Katsuki took some time off of work. He was gonna be too busy for hero work. He had something much more important to do. He had to bring you home.

Katsuki spent the 7th week looking for information on you. He was up 24/7 reading all he can, talking to as many people as he can, and doing all the digging he could until he found you. Unfortunately for him but luckily for you, he found nothing. It pissed him off. How could you have completely erased your existence? Did you just go into hiding or was he not searching hard enough.

This time, the luck switched. Katsuki was just walking to the store when he looked to the far side and saw you in a cab. He had to do a double take to make sure he wasn’t mistaken but after a good glance and taking a picture for confirmation, he knew it was you. His body almost betrayed him as he almost went in to run after you but luckily his brain stopped him. He had to think. Katsuki hid in an alleyway nearby as he watched you from the side. When the driver continued down the road, that’s when he began to follow you. He used his hero training and quirk to keep up with the car. He followed you for miles until the cab finally stopped at some hotel. He watched you walk in and decided this was far enough.

He knew where you were now. He could wait a little longer before snatching you up. If he did it now in broad daylight, chaos would break out. He had to wait for the perfect moment to get you back. He was okay with waiting. He knew where you’ve been staying, how to get there, and knew what time you got back from wherever that cab picked you up. And then it hit him. The cab.

Katsuki went back to look at the picture he took of you in the cab and checked the license plate. With this information, he went home to find where the vehicle was.

Katsuki busted the door open to his home and ran straight to his in-home office. He went to log onto his work laptop that he used for hero work. The laptop contained the tools and websites that would allow him to find the cab. He finally reached the site he was looking for and went back to the picture. There, he typed in the license plate number.

“よ 57-342” he whispered aloud. Finally, he located the vehicle and went to find it. Katsuki followed the location until he found the house where the driver stayed. He waited in hiding, hoping someone would come out and hoped that the someone would be the driver. He waited and waited until finally, after almost 2 hours of waiting, a man came out. Katsuki quickly pulled up the picture and made sure it was the same person who was driving you, and to his luck, it was.

He quickly ran to the driver before he could get into the cab and pulled him into a dark corner. He slammed the man up against the wall and pulled up a picture of you. “Listen! You dropped this girl off at a hotel, I need to know where you picked her up! Tell me! Now!”

“W-whoa!” The driver exclaimed as he took notice of Katsuki’s identity. “Y-you’re Dynamight!”

Katsuki sucked his teeth at the fact that this guy knew who he was but then again, he wasn’t surprised. He was the number 2 hero after all. “Yeah! I am! Now tell me where you picked up my wife you dog-faced loser!” He screamed.

“Y-you’re wife??” The man looked at the picture and recognized you and the name you gave him. “Oh! M-Miss Y/N! Yes! Uh-..uh- I- she- I- ..I picked her up from a gym!” The man exclaimed.

“What gym?! Tell me!!!” Bakugou shouted at the man.

“I-I’m sorry! I don’t know if I can! She- she said she got divorced so how can I trust you’re her husband?!” The man shouted in fear.

“Are you calling me a liar?! I’m a fucking pro-hero! Why would I pull some bullshit like that! Tell me where my wife was! What?! Gym?!” Bakugou screamed once more. In fear, the man gave Katsuki the information he needed.

“Hosu Gym!” The man shook and Bakugou stared for a minute to scare the poor guy before dropping him to the ground. As he walked away, the man spoke up once more. “D-Dynamight, sir. I-If miss Y/N doesn’t want to see you..and you’re forcing information out of people..I’ll have to tell the authorities..sir.”

“You’re not gonna do a damn thing. You hear me?!” The pro screamed. Bakugou side eyed the man as he watched the driver get up from the ground.

“Sir. From the small conversation we had in the car, Miss Y/N said she was divorced-“

“We aren’t divorced!!” Bakugou said as he made a random explosion to intimidate the man. “We are still together, and she is still my wife, and none of this is any of your business!” Bakugou began to walk away but heard the driver grumble something under his breath that triggered something in his brain.

“I can see why she left a crazed man like you...” the driver mumbled. Katsuki quickly snapped his body to face the man and jumped on him. His burning hand found it’s way around the man’s neck and began to squeeze.

“The hell did you say?! You’re gonna wish you never said that you fucking fool, cuz now those are gonna be your last words!” Bakugou said before he activated an explosion and killed the man. Katsuki took deep breaths before realizing what he did and for some reason, he felt no remorse. And he knows why.

“That idiot should’ve known better than to talk about me and Y/N like that...s’his own fault he died.” Bakugou said before walking away from the gruesome scene. He acted like nothing happened as he made his way to Hosu Gym. He just needed to know what time your got there and when. Then, he could finally go home before continuing his plan for the next day.

—

The blonde decided to wait for some time before he went into the building. It was getting dark and so the gym would be closing soon. He waited and waited until finally, the place was empty. Empty except for the man who worked at the front desk.

Katsuki slipped in right before closing and hid himself in the locker room. He waited 10 minutes before going out and finding the one employee he saw. After exploring the area, Katsuki found the man sitting on a bench. He snuck up behind him, and pounced. He covered the man’s mouth as he tugged him into the back room. Once inside, The blonde threw the man in and locked the door to prevent anyone getting in or out.

“W-What is going on? D-Dynamight, what is happening?” The employee asked in fear. He assumed a threat was going on or some trouble was taking place outside of the gym. He had no idea the trouble was standing right in front of him.

“I need you to tell me when this lady came in.” Bakugou said and pulled up a picture of you. The man looked at the picture and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize-“

“YOU WILL! This woman came in here today and I need to know what time! TELL ME!” Bakugou screamed as he lit sparks in his palm. The man shook in fear at the hero’s booming voice and began to look harder. After a minute, he finally spoke.

“I- I remember. She came in hours ago! Sometime around 12 to 2!” The man said in hopes the yelling would stop. It didn’t.

“ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?! There’s a huge space in between! I need to know exactly what time she came in! Don’t you morons have a sign in?!” Bakugou screamed.

“We do! We do sir!” The man nodded his head in fear. Bakugou huffed before walking over to him and dragging him by his collar to seat him on the chair in front of the computer.

“Then get into your data base and FIND MY WIFE!” The blonde screamed. The worker nodded frantically before getting right into it. Bakugou watched his every move and the computer. He kept a sparkling hand right next to the man’s head to keep him intimidated as he worked. Eventually, Bakugou saw your profile picture on the screen when the man scrolled down. “Stop. Her. Check what time she came in.”

The man read the drafts and spoke. “1:30 p.m.”

Bakugou nodded before walking to the door and unlocking it. He turned to the trembling man and gave a quick warning with a sinister smile. “If I ever find out that you told anybody, even your own damn friends or family, about what happened tonight, I won’t hesitate to come back and kill you. Am I clear?”

The man gave a quick and jittery “y-yes sir!” As he watched the pro-hero leave the room. Once Bakugou was gone, the man let out a breath of relief and allowed the few tears he was holding back to fall. Bakugou Katsuki definitely struck fear into those of the lives he met.

With this simple information, Bakugou smirked as he walked out the gym doors. He knows where you live, what gym you go to, what day you go, and what time you arrive. You were always a very punctual person. You had a schedule and you followed it through and through. He completely trusted the fact that when he came back here next week, he would be sure to see you. All he had to do now was wait 7 days.

—

7 days have passed and Katsuki was waiting for your presence in the gym. After finding out you arrived at 1:30, he showed up almost an hour earlier at 12 just in case. He waited and waited for you to show. He was almost out of patience, but after seeing that it was only 1:00, he settled the slightest bit. It wasn’t until he took notice of a familiar figure at the desk.

The man Katsuki had threaten nights ago was shivering and shaking in his boots as he greeted people at the door. He was aware that the pro hero was in the building and after the incident of what went down that night, he was definitely scared for his life. Bakugou began to walk to the man and said man could feel a scary aura coming around. When he turned, he was greeted with the sight of a smirking Katsuki.

“Hey friend,” Bakugou said with his hands in his pockets.

The man jumped at the sound of his voice and his scary presence made his eyes teary. “H-Hello Dynamight.”

“Thought I’d just come by to warn you again. When Y/N walks through those doors, don’t you fucking dare try telling her about me or my presence here. Got that.....” Katsuki said looking down at the man’s name tag. “Hiro Itadori? ‘Cuz if you do, your body goes boom. Understand?”

“Y-Yes Sir!” Hiro said as he looked to the ground with wide eyes as he felt himself break into a cold sweat. Bakugou patted the man’s back, causing him to flinch but when the hero walked away right after, Hiro calmed down. Unfortunately, that only lasted for about a second before you walked in.

“Hello Hiro!” You joyfully said. Your voice reached the ears of your ex-husband. Or more so, your “supposed to be” ex-husband. His ears perked up and he smirked as he hid behind a corner wall, taking the view of you in.

“Y/N.” He whispered to himself. He smiled and a blush bloomed on his porcelain skin as he admired you from afar. You were just as beautiful as he remembered. If anything, your looks seemed to have only gotten better. He watched as the man nervously greeted you and allowed you to go through with your workout. Katsuki smirked as he knew the man gave no hint at him being there, and so he would be able to watch you in peace.

Katsuki wasn’t there to keep tabs on your workout and what exercises you did. He was there just to watch you. Of course, while doing so, he admired you, but he was there to gain selfish intel. He watched you from start to end. Once you finished he followed you to your next location. It was still early and so it was safe to assume you weren’t heading to bed yet. He followed you back to your hotel and waited in another area until you walked out again. Sure enough, you did.

For the rest of the day, Bakugou followed and stalked your every move. He watched where you work, where you spent your free time, he followed you to the new cafe you seemed to enjoy, and then he followed you back to your hotel. Instead of waiting in another area and watching from afar, Bakugou climbed the side of the building and watched you from your hotel balcony through the glass door. He payed attention to your every move and noted what time you went to bed. Satisfied with the day’s revelations, he went back to his own home.

Knowing this information, Katsuki was able to sleep a little more peacefully. For the next few weeks, Katsuki followed this procedure. He became a full time stalker, even going so far as to call out of work for some time to put his full attention in you. He watched you like a hawk. He took note of everywhere you went, where you ate, who you spoke to, and what you did. All of it became engraved into his brain.

Now, Katsuki stood at your balcony for the umpteenth time as he stared at your sleeping form. It was deep into the night and with the moonlight on his back, he found enough courage and craze to open the door. He walked in quietly and shut the door, blocking the chilly air from seeping in to awaken your unconscious state. He approached your bed and crouched down to meet your face.

“Still as perfect as ever,” he whispered as he removed a few strands of hair out of your face. His touch didn’t seem to startle you and Katsuki took it as your body naturally indulging in his familiar touch. He blushed at the feeling of your oh so soft skin as his fingertips grazed your pillowy cheeks. His hand finally cupped the side of your face as his thumb drew circles along your skin. Your head unconsciously nuzzled into his warmth like it used to and Katsuki couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t worry Teddy Bear...I’ll bring you home soon.”

With that, Katsuki leaned down and softly placed a kiss on your lips. This was the lightest kiss he ever bestowed upon you. The pressure and weight was similar to a feather and the blonde struggled to restrain himself once he came in contact. He craved more but his mind knew better. Reluctantly, he pulled away and removed his hand from your face. He walked away, back to the balcony to take his leave but not before turning to look back at you. “Real soon.”

—

You woke up to a sense of familiarity in your room. Although you were alone, you could’ve sworn there was this chilling presence. It was faint but it was there. Taking in a breath and looking around at your surroundings, you reluctantly got out of bed and got ready for the day.

You did the usual. Got ready, got dressed, had breakfast, and went about your day. You went to the market to picked up a few things and ended up staying much longer than you liked. You walked in during daylight and came out when the sun was setting. You sighed in disappointment.

“Guess I can skip the gym this one time. I might as well get back home, read a book or two..” you went on talking to yourself about your schedule. You walked with the groceries in hand as you enjoyed the scenery on your way back, however, even with the shining sun creating it’s golden hour with a beautiful purple sky, you couldn’t help but feel wary of the stillness in the wind.

—

‘Where the fuck is she?!’ Bakugou thought to himself. He waited at the gym all damn day. He waited and waited to see your beautiful face but you never showed. If he had known that you would’ve skipped out on the gym today he wouldn’t have came here and wasted his time. Today was supposed to be the day. The day you came home.

Shaking off his negative thoughts, Bakugou continued with his backup plan. Although it would hurt his soul to bring harm to his precious princess, he reminded himself that he was doing this for her. He’s been so broken for the past months, he could only imagine how destroyed you must be. Hurting you was his way of helping you.

And so, Bakugou made his way to your hotel, where he found himself standing infront of your glass door at your balcony. To his dismay, you weren’t there. He released a huff before climbing down and once again, began to wait. He waited and waited in hiding, constantly on the lookout for you. It’s hard to find you in the city when you don’t follow your daily schedule, but knowing where you currently resided to get your rest made his job much easier.

Finally, after some time, he heard the familiar and comforting sound of your humming voice as you sang a little song to yourself. Bakugou took the sight of you in and blushed at your beauty from afar. He allowed himself to soak in the sound of your pretty voice before making his move. “Sorry Princess.”

—

You finally made it to the hotel. After your long stroll, you couldn’t wait to get some rest. Except, the closer you got, the more tense you became. You could feel the suspenseful aura in the air and your pace soon slowed down. Eventually, you came to a stop as your nerves got the best of you.

“Hello?” You said in the wind. You looked around and saw nothing but the pitch black night illuminated by the street lights and stars.

“Is someone there?” You asked again, turning your head another direction. Nothing but leaves in the wind. You released a sigh and continued your walk but became startled due to the sound of squirrels fighting in the trees.

“Ah!” You screamed and dropped your bag. After taking notice of the two animals going at it, you chuckled to yourself and turned to pick up your bag, unfortunately being startled once again at the sight of shoes in front of you. “AH!”

You jumped back in fear and took a fighting stance before you settled and relax at the sight of your supposed ex-husband. “Bakugou..it’s just you.”

“Mm, nope.” Bakugou said as he bent down to pick up your bag and hand it to you. “It’s Katsuki.”

His words sent your eyes rolling as you took your bag back with a hesistant hand. Something seemed..off.

“Not anymore. Thanks for the help. Bye.” You attempted to walk on to your hotel entrance but his arm stopped you.

“What? That’s it? Thanks? Bye?” Bakugou asked while gently pushing your body back in front of him. “We should talk, Y/N.”

“There’s nothing to talk abou-“

“There is.” Bakugou said with a firm voice, grabbing your full attention. Seeing your doe eyes look at him with caution caused him to settle. Bakugou sighed through his nose and allowed his hands to rest on your waist. “I miss you, Y/N. I want you to come back home.”

You shook your head at the idea and scrunched your eyes as you tried to step out of his hold. “Bakugou..”

“Hear me out, okay? It won’t be like last time, Teddy Bear-“

“You don’t know that-“

“I do. Because I’m going to try harder for you and I’m going to hold onto you and I’m not gonna ruin us for a second time. I still love you Y/N. I always have and I always will.” Bakugou sweetly said. You looked at him with the same eyes of caution before you placed your hands over his, giving him a sign of hope.

“I’m sorry, Bakugou,” you said, pulling his hands off of your waist. “I sent divorce papers. I don’t want to be with you anymore. I don’t love you anymore.”

“You don’t mean that.” Bakugou said with full confidence. Although you pulled his hands away from your waist, you still allowed him to keep a hold on your own hands.

“...I should.” You said looking down. With each word of denial, Bakugou took a step closer, invading your personal space. “You should get going-“

“No, Y/N-“

“Bakugou-“

“Baby. I know you still want me. I know you still love me and I know you’re excited that I’m back. I love you...and you love me. So just admit it.” He said, inches away from your face. You stared in his eyes with a look of longing...and a hint of love. He was right. You did still love him. But after the neglect and harm he’s brought you, you didn’t know if you did want to go back. You didn’t know.

Sensing your hesistation, Bakugou slowly moved in to close the gap between you two. His hands let go off yours as he wrapped his arms around your waist. His face inched closer to yours and when you didn’t stop him, he continued. Finally, he gently placed his lips upon your own and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel something again. His kisses always brought a comforting feeling of butterflies in your stomach and after a second of feeling his warm lips, you kissed him back. Your hands found way around his neck as you pulled him in deeper and you could feel Bakugou smile into the kiss. It was hot and passionate. You were out in the open but for a moment it felt like no one else in the world existed. You would’ve gotten lost in the kiss had it not been for you remembering the situation you were in with the man.

Reluctantly, you gently pushed Bakugou off of you, but he still managed to press his forehead to your own. “Katsuki...you should go home.”

“Not without you.” He softly said. You shook your head as you completely pushed him off of you and gathered your things.

“Please...just go.” You said and began to walk away but Bakugou held onto your arm to stop you from moving any further.

“I’m not leaving without you, Y/N. Come home.” He stated.

“Bakugou! Just leave!” You shouted as you turned to him. When you faced the blonde man, you were shocked to see a crazed smile decorating his face.

“Too bad. I’m not asking Y/N. I’m telling. You’re coming home with me. Tonight.” He said and you scoffed at him with slight fear.

“You’re crazy!” You said and tried to shake his hold off of you, but of course failed.

“About you? Yes.” He said as he pulled you in closer. You squirmed against his hold until he pressed you in his chest and kept you in his grasp. You continued to fight against him but he grabbed your face with one hand to force you to stop and look at him.

“Let me go!”

“Listen! You either come home with me the easy way..or my way.” He warned. You looked at him with fear laced all around your face as you watched his insane side surface. You began to squirm again and fight once more.

“I’m not going!” You spat. Bakugou just released a simple laugh before caressing the side of your face.

“Yes. You are.” With that, the gentle hand on the side of your face formed into a first as he swung and knocked you out. You dropped unconscious in his hold and Bakugou was quick to carry you princess style and walk away, abandoning your groceries on the sidewalk.

“Shoulda listened. Cant believe you forced me to hurt you like that, baby.” Bakugou spoke to your unconscious state as he walked back home through dead city streets. “Don’t worry though, I’ll take care of you once we make it back. And then, we’ll never be apart again. I promise.”

—

You awoke to chains being locked on your wrist that were tied against a headboard. You layed on a large mattress in a dark room with a dim light. As you looked around, you recognized the familiar place. The place you used to make love for hours with your ex-husband. The place where movie dates and cuddle sessions were a must. The place you locked yourself in before leaving your last relationship. Katsuki’s bedroom.

You tried to jump out of bed but the restraints pulled you back down. You tried to scream and only muffled sounds could be heard. Katsuki taped your mouth shut. You tried using your quirk but it didn’t work. You looked to your restraints and saw the cuffs he used to hold you were quirk restraining cuffs. With nothing else to do, you tossed and turned in the bed as you allowed the muffled sounds to be as loud as they could. Eventually, the ruckus you were making brought the attention of your captor. Katsuki Bakugou.

Hearing all the noise, Bakugou busted opened the door to be met with your frustrated and teary eyes. You glared at him as he smirked at your locked up state. He took the opportunity to walk up to you and caress your face.

“I’m so sorry I had to hit you baby,” he said leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. “But you left me with no choice. All you had to do was come home on your own free will and I wouldn’t have had to do all that.”

You began to tremble with anger and fear as you stared up at the man. Your teary eyes challenged his insane rubies as he sat on the side of the bed.

“How does it feel to be back? Hm?” He asked, ripping off the tape. You groaned at the pain and grew sick as you saw Bakugou pervertedly lick his lips at the sound. You leaned back and huffed with heavy breath before answering him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Let me go!” You screamed. He only looked at you in confusion as another sinister smile took place on his lips.

“Why would I do that, Teddy Bear?” He asked, allowing his thumb to create sweet and soft circles on your cheek.

“I don’t want you anymore Katsuki! I don’t want to be with you!” Bakugou merely raised a brow at your words and continued to listen. “You burned me-“

*SMACK*

You looked at the man in front of you with fear and shock written on your face. Your cheek stung as your face now turned to the side but Bakugou quickly changed that by taking you by your chin to make you face him and wrapped a hand around your neck, chocking you. You gasped for air as Bakugou’s smirk became replaced with a frown and his brows became pointed.

“How dare you?! You’re asking what’s wrong with me but what the hell is wrong with you?! You left me, for months, Y/N. I was heartbroken. I was basically dead with you gone. I did you a fucking favor bringing you back. If I was so fucked, I can only imagine how horrible you must’ve been feeling. You’re lucky I came and save you. Saved us. And now, we can be happy again.” He explained.

“K-...Katsuki-..p-please!” You forced out, trying to beg for air.

“SHUT UP! I saved you, Y/N. So don’t even try to mention the little accident that happened so long ago, baby. Now you can forgive me. And don’t worry..I’m ready to listen to all the apologies you surely have for me...even if I have to choke them out of you.” He seethed with his hand tightening. Your eyes began to pop as the blood flow began to fill your face. Your eyes turned red as you struggled for air.

“I-...I-I’m..K-Katsuki! ...I’m sorry!” You shouted as best as you could. Luckily for you, the second you did, Bakugou’s hand lost its grip and simply rested on your neck. You choked and coughed as you relished in the sweet taste of oxygen. He smiled and leaned down to give your lips a sweet peck to shut you up and tapped your cheek before he walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned around to look at you and give you your official welcome back.

“I’m glad you’re home, baby. Can’t believe you really tried leaving. You’re mine, Y/N. And you always will be....don’t forget it.”

He slammed the door shut, walking away from the room with a smile. And you?

You cried.

A/N: Back by popular demand, we have part 2 to “What Have I Done.” How was it? In my opinion the beginning SUCKED! But I promise it’ll get better! The story will focus on Y/N and Bakugou’s new lives now so stay tuned and I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Tag list: @captainchrisstan @jazzylove @bakugous-trauma @konohahoee @whatdidshesayyy @chibiiichann @lover-of-helios @unicornlover25 @tamakisropebunny @iliketobullydeku @peacchfuz @fairybnha3 @ebiharachan @levimeko @5sos-wdw @naluciosa @anime-weeb-bnha @bakucumsackslut @asteria-obey-me

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 3 years

Text

Black T-Shirt

Captain America and The Winter Soldier

Pairing; Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary; Bucky in that black and tight T-Shirt has you in desperate need to have his dick in your mouth.

Word Count; 1588

Warnings; NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, cursing, language, dirty talk, pet names, oral (male receiving), masturbation (female), Daddy!kink, face fucking, mention of bodily fluids.

Authors Note; sorry that the beginning is literal trash! I just didn’t know what in the hell to write leading up to the big event lol. I hope you all enjoy regardless <3 Minor spoilers to TFATWS 1x04!

Main Masterlist || Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Credit @ brucelangley for the wonderful gif

Watching Bucky in that tight, black t-shirt all day had your mind in other places than the mission. Places of sin and pleasure as your mouth was watering in need to have his dick in your mouth at the way the shirt clung to his muscular body. But the busy day of finding Karli and the Dora Milaje threatening to come for Zemo gave you no time to pull him somewhere to the side for him to bring you to your knees and to suck him off.

Until the Dora Milaje arrived at the place you were staying, and all hell broke loose with spears and arms swinging everywhere, which resulted in Zemo’s escape.

“Get your stuff. We're leaving in 20 minutes to find him,” Sam ordered the two of you. 20 minutes? That was more than enough time to get what you wanted out of your boyfriend.

“Come here.” You took his hand and rushed the two of you into the bedroom where you could carry out your little mission. “What is it? Where's the rush?” Bucky questioned when he saw the rush you were in.

“I need you.”

He caught on pretty quickly in what you needed when your hand was placed just above his bulge. Your soft and pleading eyes were begging for him. How could he ever say no to a face like yours?

“Get on your knees, and I'll give you what you want so much doll.”

There was no trace of hesitation in your soul as you sunk to your knees in front of him and looked up as innocently as you could muster.

The belt buckle being undone by him was like sweet music in your ears. When he pulled down his jeans with his underwear, you came face to face with his throbbing cock that was full and erect for you only. The need for him to be in your mouth was just as great as your need for him to use your mouth to the fullest. Fuck, he looked so beautiful as you peeked up at him through your lashes.

When he went to pull off his shirt as well, you stopped him immediately. “No, keep it on.” The way the shirt clung to his muscular body had your core scream in need. The print of his abs could be seen from how tight it was. His biceps teasing to burst out any second from the tightness of his short sleeves had your tongue peek out to wet your lips.

He traced your lips with his thumb, and you gave it a light kiss before you allowed entrance for him. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked and swirled your tongue on his digit, making a groan emit deep from within him at your mouth being so obedient to him.

“Let's put that mouth to good use, shall we kitten? Are you going to be a good girl for Daddy?” He asked as his hand found its place at the back of your neck to encourage you on.

Oh, Daddy? So he was in that mood now. Then you knew he was going to use and abuse your mouth to the fullest.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

Your hand wrapped around his base as you looked up to him for permission to continue. The slight nod of his head was the signal you were looking for.

You opened your mouth to let your tongue trace his throbbing vein on the underside of him. The feel of you on his most sensitive part had him shudder at the feeling your tongue was giving him.

Your tongue swirled at the head of him. It ended with a light suckle to his mushroom tip like it was a delicious and tasty lollipop.

That was enough teasing for him. He needed more, so his hand at the back of you pushed your mouth more on him. All the way until your nose met his base, your tongue teasing his length as you managed to take him in fully. The feeling of him so deep in your throat made you cough around his entire cock. The vibrations felt wonderful on him as it made him shiver down his spine.

He needed more. With his hand holding your head in place, his hips thrust quick and sharp into your mouth, taking all it had to offer.

“You take me so well, doll. Such a good girl for me.”

He kept his dick deep in your throat at all times, fucking it to his liking, bruising and abusing it to the fullest, until you showed signs that you needed a break which he kindly let you have.

He couldn't help but hiss out at the loss of you around him, already missing having you on him. It was something he never could get enough of.

Your lips were swollen from the actions Bucky laid on you, and your eyes were watery at him tickling the back of your throat with every thrust of his hips. All in all, you were a beautiful mess for your Daddy, and he couldn't stop praising you for being so good to him.

The saliva from your mouth was trickling down his length, and it made you hungry to taste him again and again. You could never get enough of him in your mouth—the place where only he belonged.

His cock twitched when you looked up at him through your long lashes, and he couldn't help but wrap his fist around himself, making quick strokes to hurry up the process of cumming in your mouth.

“Show me that pretty tongue.”

Sticking it out for him like he asked and giving it a wiggle, he laid his head on the tip of it. Switching between tapping his head on it and making sinful strokes on himself.

The image of him looking so in control and dominant where he was standing tall and towering over you had your clit tingle in delight. You couldn't help yourself when you undid your pants some so you could snake your hand in your panties and give it the attention it so desperately needed.

“Look at you. Such a needy little thing. Needing to touch yourself while you suck me off.” His movements ceased to a halt. It was his way of saying it was your turn now to continue where he left off.

You took him in your hand to jerk him off as he did just a moment ago. The focus was on his red and sensitive tip. Your other hand was working on yourself to bring you to orgasm as well.

“Does it feel good, Daddy?”

“So good, kitten. Keep going.”

His eyes were closed shut, and his head leaning back some at the pleasure you were bringing him with your expert hand.

When you felt like he had enough, you let him in your mouth again for him to do as he pleased. His sounds of pleasure increased in volume as he fucked your warmth.

Encouraging flicks of your tongue were given to him as he fucked your face raw to his liking. Using your mouth for his pleasure, and you loved every second of it.

He was going to cum in your mouth; you could feel it, see it, and you wanted nothing more than have him shot his delicious seed down your throat. He twitched in your mouth and his muscles tensed up in preparation to let himself go. You were close to finishing as well as your hand was working on your clit.

He pulled himself out again, much to your disapproval, as he once more wrapped his fist around himself, making quick strokes.

“Open your mouth and show me that tongue.”

Doing as told, you opened wide for him to empty his cum on your desperate tongue. Your eyes were large and innocent when you looked up at him.

He was so close. His hand was losing the steady rhythm that he had. His vibranium one went in your hair to pull hard, making you emit a yelp at the pain.

“Fuck, I'm cumming, kitten. Cum for Daddy as well.”

The coil in your stomach snapped as his loud, and heavy grunts filled the air as he came all over your tongue and lips. Ropes of him decorating it so beautifully like an expensive artwork at the museum.

Once both of you came down from your high and he emptied himself entirely on you, he took a second to admire his work. Proud of how beautiful it looked.

“So pretty baby girl, Now swallow all of it.”

You closed your mouth and swallowed his load with no second thoughts. It was ingrained in you to do so. Like it was second nature. You showed him your empty mouth, which made him let out a satisfied groan of approval.

His thumb traced your lips to collect some of the remaining cum and pushed his digit into your parted lips for you to suck him clean.

“Such a good girl for me.”

A few seconds later, there could be heard a knock on the door and Sam's voice speaking from outside.

“Look, I don't know what the hell you guys are doing in there, but we need to leave, like right now.”

You and Bucky stifled a laugh at knowing that Sam most likely knew what was up with the two of you.

“Come on.” He helped you to stand up on your feet. “Let's get cleaned up, and then we have to leave.”

Credit @ firefly-graphics for the wonderful divider

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nameless-shrimp · 3 years

Text

TWO GHOSTS || OSAMU DAZAI

↳ PAIRING: Osamu Dazai x GN! Reader

↳ TYPE: one-shot

↳ WORD COUNT: 1.6k

↳ WARNINGS: mention of reader's depression, Dazai's unhappy thoughts, mild angst and hurt/comfort, heavy grammar errors

↳ SYNOPSIS: Dazai prepares a treat for you, but once he realizes you're not in the happiest mood, he tries to help. However, he feels the same.

↳ AUTHOR'S NOTES: i haven't been feeling well so i needed to release my emotions through writing, and i wanted some dazai comfort. so this came out in the process. i challenged myself to use apple pie and ghosts in one fic for an autumn-themed fic, and i hope you guys like it. :)

↳ AUTUMN PROMPT LIST

He dances along to the music softly blaring from the old radio. A gentle strum of guitar echoing across the kitchen. The scent of freshly baked apple pie rests on the marble counter; he smiles in pure delight. Pride. Dazai feels proud knowing that his finished dessert has been completed to an elegant mouth-salivating piece—and he chooses not to let Kunikida take full credit for stopping by his semi-clean apartment to take care of the prepping.

Rather so, Dazai will thank him later by saving a slice.

The door clicks open. His eyebrows raise in a giddy manner. He unties his messy apron, fully ready to swing his arms wide open. Soon, the grin falters to a frown, seeing your face look down at the floor below you. Droplets of rain drip from the bits of your clothes. With the way your body nearly stumbles from one step in; the bag settles down to the floor in a flash, and you walk past him. Nose dipping high to the air; adrenaline at its peek from the apple pie.

Dazai remains still for a moment, watching the ghost deep within your soul, hoping to try to find a moment of existence within the act of living. A mind reader, he’d call himself, and he smiles, understanding the tension that arises from your slumped figure. You almost limp your way to the kitchen—exhaustion overtaking your shoulders before you push yourself onto one of the high chairs.

He walks in the kitchen with a trail of his fingers on the counter. Tap after another. The rain still dies down to its steady beats of pitter-patter from the outside. Dazai keeps a smile on his face; inhaling the scent of pie that arouses the air, and he throws his arms around you in an instant. His sleeves pick up rain droplets, but he pays no mind to this.

“One of those days, my love?” He asks; you remain quiet. Dazai doesn’t push it further. He holds his head back—kitchen light washes the room to a mellow white. Instead, he departs for a brief moment. A click of the plates remains audible to you, though your head remains low. And he returns back, with a fork and a—somewhat—properly cut slice of apple pie on the plate. “Kunikida and I made this for you.”

“More like Kunikida made it,” you force a chuckle. He stiffens, aware of your unusual change of displeasuring nature, yet his heartbeat remains to match with yours. “Right?”

“Yeah.” Dazai responds. “He did.”

He cuts a small bit and offers to feed you. Of course, you give in; sweetness hitting your peak, lost in the sugary adrenaline high. And Dazai leans in to kiss you, lips tied together into a gentle connection. Lips taste so sweet; looks remain real to his eyes, almost lost in the hazel-lit structure of his irises while indulging the bittersweet of dessert and empty emotions.

He takes your hand with his before you can try to take another bite. Dazai wails a finger around, shaking his head. “Dance with me, my sweet,” he laughs; you frown. And you insist on fighting back, though you decide to soothe his words with your everlasting glow.

The two of you start to sway along to the simple guitar music that continues to echo in the background. Ambience noise of nothing but faint strums; the moon dances on Dazai’s good side, head resting close to your head. He keeps his heart steady, closely matching yours, with the genuine taste of sugar that dwells upon his lips. The ghost remains in your heart—an empty, hollow figure, where he recalled that you both shared the same stories; tongue-tied feelings that were left to be hidden from amongst the crowd though you bestowed these emotions to each other—galaxies hidden across the irises of one another.

Two shallow spirits standing amongst one another in hopes of finding what it would be like to have a heartbeat once more. Dazai allows himself to be mindful of his heart—now racing its pace once your smile rises. He closes his eyes, lips pressing against your forehead; warmth radiating from the skin. Body close to the shallow atmosphere of your heart, ghost trapped underneath the ribcage, with both of you dancing underneath the kitchen light. Maroon souls swirling in half-empty glasses; apple pie as a side.

Despising the world as Dazai did, he recalled every moment you shared with him together. The amount of degradation he put upon himself was unfathomable, no surprise—a list led to infinity. Though if a world were to call a man to be hopelessly in love with a similar paranormal empty spirit such as his, it would’ve been him, for the relationship that he cherished with you. Hand connected with yours—in spirit, and through the hardships of what life had offered through the plentiful seasons of the year, even around the time of the colored leaves on the trees.

“Osamu?”

He opens his eyes, continuing to sway his body as you follow along. His palms are met with your cheeks; tear-stained eyes noticeable to him. Dazai places more kisses along your forehead in hopes of easing the mental burden—to wash away the hurricane, as he always hopes. And he tilts his head, eyes lost in a hazel of orange. “Yes, my love?” He responds.

You sigh deeply, closing your eyes. The dam breaks, and the tears sprinkle. “Do you love me?”

He blinks mindlessly before shaking his head. “Of course I love you. With all of my heart. You’re important to me, forever,” he chuckles before kissing your forehead once more. “Why would you ask something like that?”

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, wiping away a few tears. “You seem so quiet today. That’s all. I got worried.”

Dazai remains silent—ironically. For a moment, he glances at the apple pie resting on the marble counter along with your barely-touched piece on the table. He licks his lips; sweetness on the tip of his tongue, yet his throat still stung. And he continues to grow his usual smile, allowing you to be engulfed by his arms. Trapped. Yet it was home. A comfortable gesture he always did in hopes of having the moon twirl around your figure; this time, slowly and closely inching towards the kitchen window.

“Don’t worry, my sweet,” he says, tone so honey-like. “I will always love you…”

He puts his head down, sighing deeply. A ghost deep within him, cravely so desperately for a type of joy when your presence was not around, regardless of the immense suffering that he’d go on the daily. Yet he was reminded that his presence was not alone, and Dazai allowed his own walls to crumble down for that moment—he squeezes your body close to yours, matching your beats along with his; chest to chest. Rather than fortifying his walls, instead, he gives his emotions to you—an open desire. Yours. His. Together—tied as forbidden spirits.

“I’m just trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat.”

tags: @whorefordazai @tender-rosiey @internetkilledtheroxstar @sadcannibal @bsdparadise @pompompurin1028 @amemuraa @tetsustation @milky-toast @missrown @requiem626k @jessbeinme15 @kyuus4ku @so-chile @kiyokoxd @dazaiaiko @meatbun-aku @chuuyasboots

#bsd dazai x reader #bsd dazai x you #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x reader #dazai x y/n #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai imagines #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #dazai #Spotify

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zaffrenotes · 3 years

Text

To Ruined Friendships

Fandom: Westworld Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader Rating/Warnings: PG-13; spicy language, alcohol consumption, heavy smoochin Author's Note: This entire thing was inspired by a dream I had about one black hat cowboy who cannot for the life of him consume a drink without looking like he's going to inhale it. I tried to work on my other WIPs for an entirely different fandom, but my brain refused to focus on anyone other than Logan Delos. I don't have the energy to create a sideblog for this, so any Logan fans who happen to find this from the tags, please don't judge me for the other fandom(s) I'm in. I already know, lol. Word Count/Reading Time: +/- 2600 words (10 minutes reading)

hell if I know who to tag for this...if I ever write more and you want to get an update, leave a comment, I guess?: @the-blind-assassin-12 @ao719 @the-soot-sprite possibly @ofpixelsandscribbles @burnsoslow

Another night rubbing shoulders with the elite in a penthouse, and all you want to do is retreat into one of the half dozen empty rooms to rest your feet. Beauty always has a price, and tonight your feet were being sacrificed to the stiletto gods in the name of fashion. As a waiter weaves between guests, you deftly trade the empty crystal flute in your hand for a fresh one off their tray, the slim glass chilling your fingertips.

A tiny, imperceptible sigh slips past your lips as you look out at the wall of windows, city skyline twinkling in the distance. Glancing through the crowd, you try to find a familiar face of one of your girlfriends, when you feel someone’s fingers on your back, ghosting over the ink at the base of your spine. Over your shoulder, a warm, though somewhat world-weary voice makes your body tingle. “Hey gorgeous, I was wondering if I’d see you here tonight.”

You know he’s grinning before you even turn your head; a sly smile spreads across your painted lips when you see you were right, and you lean in to press your cheek to Logan’s in greeting. His beard tickles your face, and the movement is small, but you feel him pull you closer to him, pressing his fingertips into your smooth skin. “You know me,” you reply, gently squeezing his bicep for balance, noses nearly touching as you both move to kiss the other cheek. “Any excuse to squander part of my father’s fortune on a party dress.”

His cheek twitches up as he grins wider, and once more, the grit in his voice makes you want to find a dark corner and do unspeakable things with him. “Only you could make a napkin’s worth of fabric look like couture,” he teases, stepping back to admire your outfit. “I own pocket squares larger than what you’ve got on!” His gaze lowers appreciatively, taking you in, before settling at your feet. You shift your weight from one hip to the other; tilting your head back to take a sip of champagne, you’re surprised to see his dark eyes on you as you swallow and lower the glass. There’s a hint of something there, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Been here long? Why don’t we find somewhere quiet to catch up? You can let your hair down, along with… anything else, to get comfortable.” Were it not for the playful expression in his eyes, his proposition would warrant throwing the remainder of your drink directly into his exquisite face.

But you know Logan. You’ve known him too long for the invitation to be anything but amicable, much to your dismay. You’re well aware of the caliber of women he’s taken to the bedroom, and while you consider yourself attractive enough for the circles you keep, there’s no way he would ever see you as more than just a family friend. Knowing that doesn’t keep you from stroking his ego and taunting him at every opportunity, though. “My hair’s already down,” you tease, grinning as you roll your eyes at him.

“You know what I mean,” he replies, brushing your tresses over one shoulder. His thumb lingers on the strip of silk there, slipping between the material to rest on your skin, before pulling away. “We’ve known each other for years now, you’d think there would’ve been one night of indecency.” Before you’re able to respond, he glances up, noticing one of the other guests. “To be continued,” he says, raising his brows to you. He’s already begun to walk away.

“As always,” you reply, raising your glass to him.

You catch his eye more than a few times as you both make the rounds, catching up with friends and being introduced to new acquaintances vying for a way into social circles and business ventures. He winks at you before throwing back a drink, appearing as if he’d take a bite out of the glass to get every last drop of liquid from it. You nod as you pass by him while he converses with another guest, your arm linked with a friend’s as you walk off to powder your noses. You even catch him looking at you from across the room like he wants to ask you something, but the moment disappears when he pulls his phone from his pocket to take a call.

The evening goes on much longer than you anticipated. Even with windows of interesting conversation to pass the time, you begin to grow weary of the company, drowning out a discussion around you while you stake a claim on one of the pristine white couches. Your legs are crossed in front of you, one foot dangling in the air, while the one closer to the floor looks like it’s about to snap away from the rest of your leg. You’re balancing the weight on a sliver of one side of the heels, and you gaze out at the outdoor pool, wishing you could sit by the edge and dip your feet in the cool, chlorinated water.

Scanning through the guests once more, you notice Logan at the bar. He’s in the middle of a conversation with two gentlemen, but he catches your eye, glancing over long enough to notice your legs again. He flicks his eyes upwards to the rooms, tilting his head at an angle in silent question. You scoff and shake your head, blinking slowly to dismiss his invitation, and give up your position on the couch to go to look for the bathroom. He simply smiles as you cross the room, before returning to the conversation at the bar.

You’re outside on one of the balconies, forearms resting on the brushed steel railing as you lean against metal and glass, absentmindedly staring out at the city. The cool night air feels refreshing against your skin, now warm and flushed from too much champagne and not enough food; there’s never enough food at these things, and you would sell your soul for a plate of loaded nachos or even a tiny slider. Behind you, there’s a click and a hiss from the plate glass door opening. Jovial music and conversation from inside filters through the temporary break, and you sigh to yourself in preparation of putting on your party face to make idle conversation.

“That is one hell of a view.” An all too familiar voice fills the air after the door hisses shut. Logan.

You respond without turning around to acknowledge him. “Your family sure knows how to pick a party venue, I’ll give you that.”

“We do, but that’s not the view I was talking about.”

Body warming at his suggestive tone, you turn around to see Logan’s eyes fixed on your backside, unashamed of his blatant ogling. There’s a glass tumbler in his hand, with barely a sip’s worth of what looks like whiskey in it. “There you go again, getting a girl’s hopes up,” you tease, fidgeting with your hair.

“You know you’re fucking gorgeous, especially in that dress tonight.” His voice travels as he walks over to a darker part of the balcony, swirling the remnants of his drink.

Emboldened by the alcohol still coursing through your system, you play along, walking slowly towards him. “Let me guess, next you’re going to tell me it would look even better in a pile next to your bed.” You roll your eyes at him, but your heart begins to race at the idea.

He grins warmly at you, a tendril of hair knocking loose when he tilts his head and shrugs. You want to reach forward and smooth it back in place, and run your fingers against the side of his scalp. His hair’s longer than it was before; he’s been away at the park for a longer visit this time around. His unnervingly dark eyes are practically black in the shadows, eyeing you like prey. Extending a hand towards you, he reaches for the strap on your shoulder again as if to adjust it, but instead he lifts it and lets it fall off the slope of your skin, staring at the unblemished swath of flesh before him. You feel the material fall until it rests in the crook of your elbow, thankful to be holding up a glass to keep the silk from falling away any further off your body. “A dress like this? I’d have the decency to hang it up first.” He tugs at the fabric again, pulling it up over your shoulder to return your modesty.

“Keep saying shit like that, and one of these days I might believe you.”

“Should I keep talking then?” He chuckles.

You exhale, shaking your head with disbelief. He takes another step away from where you can be seen, and you follow him. “I’m not drunk enough to take you seriously,” you scoff, looking just beyond his gaze.

Logan reaches forward again, fingers landing on the base of your glass, and he pushes it up towards your mouth. “Then by all means, take another sip,” he grins.

“Bullshit,” you utter through a nervous smile, though you don’t stop yourself from tipping the edge of the flute to your lips and tilting your head up, downing half the contents in one gulp.

“Fuck it,” he whispers.

You swallow, and effervescent bubbles tickle the length of your throat so much that it takes you a second to register feeling Logan’s lips at the juncture of your jawline and earlobe. The way his beard brushes against you as you pull the glass away from your lips makes you lose your grip, and the flute falls to the ground, shattering near your feet. You gasp with surprise, unsure if it’s from the shock of dropping the glass or from the fact that Logan fucking Delos just kissed you.

In one swift movement, Logan wraps his unencumbered hand around your waist to pivot you away from the broken glass. His drink-laden hand blindly stretches out to set the glass on the thin metal railing, and he kisses you properly this time, impossibly soft lips on your open mouth and both of his hands are on your waist. He tastes sweet, smokey and woody from the whiskey, setting your lips on fire as he kisses you. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, gripping at his suit jacket as he leads you both towards an exterior wall. The shock of the cool wall against your exposed back makes you gasp again, and you push Logan away. “What’re you doing?” Your head is swimming, blood pulsing from the alcohol and the rush of emotions as you search Logan’s eyes for an answer.

“Might be ending our friendship,” he laughs wryly. His eyes land on your lips, before looking up to meet your gaze. “Want me to stop?”

The look in his eyes is intense; two black pools stare into you, daring you to continue. You tug the lapels of his jacket, pulling him close as your pelvis tilts forward to meet his. “Finish what you start,” you whisper, Cheshire-grin giving away your desire. He kisses you again, grabbing hold of the back of your thighs as he lifts you. You spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he presses you up against the wall, the pair of you kissing each other like it’s your last night on earth. There’s an urgency in your actions; if there’s a moment of hesitation from either of you, the spell will break, so you ignore the burning in your lungs to kiss him again. When you feel how hard he is pressed up against you, you tilt your head back and let your eyes flutter closed. He takes it as an opportunity to swirl his tongue against your neck, and you think about feeling his tongue elsewhere on your body.

Your back presses against the wall even more, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist tighter, pinning you in place. As you utter curses of pleasure into the night air, your feet feel relief for the first time all night, weightless as you destroy any propriety that existed with Logan Delos.

You can feel the sun against your eyelids, and the soft sounds of someone typing away at a keyboard. Between the dull ache at the base of your skull and your throbbing temples, you smack your lips together a few times, grimacing at the dryness in your mouth. You turn your face into what you think is a pillow, but determine to be a fleece blanket due to its soft yet formless design. There’s a faint aroma of coffee in the air, and you hope your roommate left some in the carafe. “Dear god, don’t let me drink that much ever again,” you groan, voice strained and scratchy from dehydration. “I made a complete ass of myself in front of Logan.” A minute passes without your roommate’s usual prodding; all you hear is typing now and then. “How’d we get home?”

You’re met with more silence, but your level of irritation is nothing compared to the hangover headache growing with each passing minute of consciousness. You’re about to ask for Tylenol, when you hear the click and hiss of a glass door opening, followed by the sound of someone splashing in a pool. The apartment you share with your roommate has no access to a pool, let alone a back door made of glass. Opening your eyes feels like peeling apart pieces of tape, but with effort you blink slowly and allow your eyes to focus, trying to ignore the glare from the midday sun. You realize the fleece blanket you were resting on was your arm, nestled in the sleeve of a plush bathrobe. It was the kind of robe often seen hanging in the bathroom of high-end hotels.

“That was a side of you I haven’t seen before. Good morning, sunshine.” The voice is distinctively, impossibly Logan’s, with a new note of lightness to it that wasn’t present during last night’s party. “Care to see something interesting?”

You push yourself off the sofa slowly, adjusting the robe on you - apparently you fell asleep wearing it, and you have no idea where your dress or shoes are - and sit up. Logan’s dressed casually in black, seated at a desk a few feet away, with multiple monitors in front of him. One looks to be running code or tracking stock market activity, but he disconnects the laptop in the middle of the desk and carries it over to the couch, taking a seat next to you. There’s a video clip paused on the screen, and he waits to make sure you’re alert enough to watch, before letting it play.

The video shows a clip from the hotel’s CCTV cameras, pointed at the infinity pool. The only lights are coming from the pool walls, and the timestamp reflects it was the middle of the night, long after the party would’ve ended. There’s a naked male figure treading water matching Logan’s build, and then an undressed woman appears from the bottom edge of the frame, preparing to jump into the pool with him. You gasp, covering your mouth with one hand, making out a tattoo on her lower back - your tattoo - before cannonballing into the pool and making out with Logan just before dipping under the water’s surface.

Logan pauses the video, beaming an annoyingly adorable smug expression across his face as he resists the urge to tease you right away. Instead, he leans over, pecks your cheek, and eyes the glimpse of cleavage availed to him between the folds of your robe. “Lady’s choice - I could fuck your hangover away, or there’s coffee in the kitchen. What’ll it be?”

#logan delos #logan delos x reader #westworld #zaffrenotes writes #apparently for more than one fandom now #is this a fluke?#cw: alcohol #cw: swearing #cw: mild citrus #more than a lime but less than lemons #I love the way Ben cannot drink or eat like a normal human #it's endearing and I love him for it #chomp chomp Bennie

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ellsbclls · 3 years

Text

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here.

Your secret hideaway.

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response. “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare.

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you.

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice. “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way.

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her? “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb. “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach.

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking.

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening.

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake.

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss.

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines.

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse.

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears.

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill.

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open.

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene — opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you.

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you. “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide!#I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Hit It Till It Breaks

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Mafia AU, NSFW, Drug Dealing, Dub-Con/Non-Con Sex, Dub-Con/Non-Con Drug Consumption, Drug Addiction, Manipulation, Humiliation, Degradation, Prostitution, Slight Pet Play

Prompt: Hard At Work

Summary: Growing up, you’d always loved fairy tales and happy endings. You’d always believed that despite how bad things might seem or get, there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. But you’re quickly realizing that this isn’t a fairy tale, that there is no happy ending, and that sometimes, you only go downhill, farther and farther from the light.

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt.

(Thank you as always @sawamooora for helping me keep this a coherent degenerate mess~)

It’s hard to believe that bright eyed girl holding her college diploma in the photo on your nightstand was you not that long ago. And your heart clenches when you remember how hopeful you had been. So excited to venture out and experience life. Ready to enter the job market. Ready to be an adult.

Doors opened and closed. But you hadn’t let it deter you at first. It just wasn’t meant to be. You can’t expect to get the first job you interview for!

But then more and more doors opened, only to be shut in your face.Your rose-tinted glasses began to crack as your funds quickly dwindled, as you lowered your standards, desperately mass applying to any small time company vaguely related to your major, only to be turned away at every step.

And now, here you are, barely able to make rent, barely able to even feed yourself with the little you have from odd part-time jobs you’ve managed to stitch together into some sort of financial life line.

Well, you HAD been barely able to make rent, but your hands tremble when you stare at the letter notifying you that your rent will begin to increase starting next month, mind speeding into a panicked haze as you unsuccessfully try to think of what to do, how you can possibly afford to live even in this dump anymore. And before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re scrambling, stumbling to your bathroom, throwing open your medicine cabinet as you rummage for the little pills that you know will help slow down your racing thoughts and provide much needed clarity.

You swear everything seems clearer as soon as the smooth texture hits your tongue and you can finally breathe, slumping down on the cold tiles of your floor, pill bottle still clutched in your hand as you allow yourself to relax, praying for any ideas to flow through you. And it hits you like a ton of bricks when your grip on the plastic container accidentally loosens and the bottle clangs against the floor.

A humorless chuckle slips past your lips as you stare at the rolling cylinder.

Drug dealing. Fucking drug dealing.

You can’t believe you’re even thinking of going down this route, but your mind flashes back to old roommates, old friends, old classmates who had nonchalantly made a pretty bundle on the side, carelessly tossing around and selling all types of prescription drugs on campus. And you vividly remember how simple they had made it seem, how they had all gotten away with it. Scrumptious meals, pricey alcohol, far beyond a college palette, and beautiful clothing were the only “consequences” for their crimes.

If they could do it, you could too. Or so you’d like to think.

But as naive and ignorant as you are about this line of work, even you know there’s a difference between selling to silly college students on campus, and selling it at a popular nightclub owned by an infamous crime syndicate.

Even as far removed as you are from the more seedy underbelly of the new city you live in, you know of the Seijoh Syndicate. Everyone in town does. It’s hard not to when they literally run and own the entire place.

Oikawa Tooru and the rest of the Seijoh Four run their domain with an iron fist. They’re practically nonexistent, merely a scary story to keep people in line, for those who abide by the laws and keep their noses out of trouble, but an all too real nightmare for those who choose to defy them. And you shudder, remembering the horror stories you had heard of exactly what happens to those who decide to try and start their own nefarious business and practices on Seijoh streets without Oikawa’s permission.

But surely they wouldn’t pay you any mind? Right? Surely a mere girl in her early twenties selling the leftover prescription medicine she has in her cabinets for one night won’t do any harm?

Maybe it’s stupid to go to such a prevalent and well known club, especially one that’s notoriously favored by the Seijoh Four. But you convince yourself that it’s the most crowded venue in the area with a target demographic who’s guaranteed to buy you out, even at the obscene prices you plan on charging. How would anyone even notice you? Where else could you go? What options do you even have?

So despite the nervous pit swelling in your stomach, you soldier on, plastering a cheery smile at the bouncer who easily waves you in without a second glance, slipping into the sweaty mass of bodies, going deeper and deeper until you’re surrounded - skin, bones, and muscles pressing against you on all sides, safe from any prying eyes.

Or so you believe.

You know who the Seijoh Four are. You even know their names. But never have you met them, never have you ever seen a picture of what they each look like. Not that it would help you if you did when you’re so laser focused on finding potential customers, not even bothering to look around to see if anyone’s watching you. So you carry on, unaware of the four sets of eyes looking at you in amusement from their roost high above the writhing crowds.

There’s nothing subtle about the way you sloppily nudge people, practically shoving your pills in stranger’s faces, almost wildly waving your merchandise around you in a desperate attempt to pull in buyers. Sweaty nervous hands fumble as you exchange little plastic baggies for wads of cash and Matsukawa raises a brow in disbelief while Hanamaki cackles when you drop your merch and payment, getting on all fours on the trashed dance floor to recollect your goods.

It might be the most amusing show they’ve had in a while, but Iwaizumi feels a pang of pity at the wild hopeless look in your eyes and he swiftly stands, brusquely telling the other three that he’s going to go down and tell you off with just a warning, only to be stopped when Oikawa smoothly stands to his feet, effectively blocking Iwaizumi’s path.

“Now, now Iwa-chan. Don’t be so hasty. Let me go talk to the cutie. I’ve been so bored recently and she looks like she’ll be fun! Plus you’ll make her cry with that scary face of yours.”

Suddenly the sight of you bumbling around isn’t quite as entertaining as the remaining three men watch the brunette prowl towards you, heavy realization of what’s to come sombering the mood.

You’re frantic, flitting about the throngs of flailing limbs and swaying bodies, frustration from not being able to get through your supplies fast enough weighing at your conscious. Sure, you’ve managed to accrue some cash, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough to even feed yourself for the coming week let alone make a dent in the daunting rent that looms over you. And you can feel hot tears prick at the corner of your eyes when you see that it’s almost closing time and you’re still stuck with more than half your inventory, no closer to figuring out how to survive. So when a hand firmly rests on your shoulder, you whip around, ready to take your anger out on the poor soul who’s managed to catch you at the worst time. But you freeze, vicious words stuck in your mouth when you see the handsome man beaming down at you, a thick wad of rolled up bills haphazardly dangling from his fingers.

“I heard you might have some stuff I’d be interested in.”

You wonder if this is all a dream, if the man in front of you is (ironically a devilishly) handsome angel swooping into save you when he casually asks you how much stuff you still have, how much you’d be willing to sell everything for, not even blinking an eye at your outrageous price tag. You’re so stunned by how quick he is to call it a done deal, not resisting even a bit as he wraps his hand around your wrist, pulling you after him, saying some vague comments about wanting to go somewhere a little more private since it’s a bigger trade. All you can think about is how you’ll finally be able to eat something other than instant noodles and not have to worry about rent as you throw yourself back into interviewing, too lost in thoughts to be wary of how you’re being dragged farther and farther away from the rowdy crowd.

But the sound of a door slamming shut behind you jolts you back to reality and Oikawa fights back a laugh at how adorable you are, eyes blown wide like a deer in headlights as your head swivels side to side, dismay and panic making you tremble when you survey the private room you’re in, throat nervously gulping when you notice the three other occupants.

You’re so predictable and Oikawa just rolls his eyes fondly at how you swiftly turn around, trying to lunge towards the door in an attempt to escape, taking his time to leisurely make his way towards you, brown orbs taking in every inch of you as Matsukawa and Hanamaki hold your writhing body in place.

It’s so satisfying watching you crumble to pieces before his very eyes at just the mention of his name, despair and fear swirling beautifully on your face when he continues to introduce the rest of the Seijoh Four. It never gets old, that deliciously addicting feeling of power he feels when people tremble from just a few syllables and he relishes in your pleading apologies and your tears, patiently waiting for you to finish your little sob story, barely listening to the details as he focuses in on how gorgeous you are, broken and vulnerable.

And really, there’s no need for him to pay close attention to your blabbering anyway. It always comes down to one thing…

“So you need money, cutie? How about working for me?”

“Oye! Oikawa-”

“I’m just asking her some questions, Iwa-chan.”

There’s tense silence and your eyes nervously flicker back and forth between the two imposing figures staring each other down, green and brown eyes clashing in a silent argument. But as if they’ve somehow come to a conclusion, Iwaizumi tsks and looks away while Oikawa turns his attention back to you, a sickeningly cheerful grin on his face.

Blood curling fear lances through you and you’re almost grateful for the two pairs of strong arms holding you tight, their grip keeping you from falling to your knees as your legs threaten to give out under the pressure you feel as Oikawa thoughtfully looks at you.

You know the smart answer would be to adamantly say no and promptly figure out a way to leave this moment far behind you, even if it means forfeiting any money you had made tonight. But...a job is a job, right? And surely a job in the Seijoh Syndicate would be more lucrative than anything you’re doing now, right?

Oikawa hides a smile at the way he can see the cogs in your head turn, apprehension turning to curiosity as you stutter out questions about pay and what the job would entail. Desperation is a good look on anyone, but it suits you particularly well and just like that, hook, line, and sinker, he has a new cute live-in maid to replace the recently vacated role.

Working as Oikawa’s maid is more...normal than you would have expected. Not that you’re complaining and other than the embarrassing maid outfit he makes you wear, complete with frilly bow and garters, the chores are mundane. Bring breakfast to him and wake him. Clean his room and do his laundry when he’s away at meetings or jobs. Make sure guests have refreshments when they come over to his large estate, a mansion you now also call home.

If you’re honest, it’s much more relaxing than the multiple part-time jobs you had been juggling previously, and with free board, free food, and the substantial paycheck that regularly makes its way to your bank account, you can see your future brightening up again. When your duties are done for the day, you resume practicing for interviews and keeping up with the industry, feeling emboldened and empowered to finally resume working towards the career path you had always dreamed of.

But the more time you spend with Oikawa, the closer and more entangled in your life the brunette becomes. Alarm bells ring wildly in your head as you’re forced to join him for meals, forced to dress in elaborate gowns and jewelry while you’re waltzed around on his arm, forced to travel around the world with him, and attend to him like a glorified assistant. He’s too charming, too familiar, too bold, and you can’t help but feel like you’re racing towards some inevitable crash as he easily brushes aside any boundaries between the two of you.

You know so many women would kill to be in your shoes and you can understand why, not completely immune to his playful smile and the lilt of his voice yourself. But you know better, know exactly how dangerous it would be to get involved with a man like Oikawa Tooru.

It’s clear from the crimson stains on the clothes he leaves for you to either dispose of, or have cleaned. It’s clear from the wails and sobs of woman after woman he uses and tosses aside like garbage on an almost daily basis. It’s clear from the guns, knives, and weapons, most of which you don’t even know the name of, filling up all the walls, drawers, and cabinets.

So you do your best to keep your distance, building titanium walls around your heart. Always polite, too terrified of what would happen if you pissed him off, but cold enough to deter him from more amorously or intimately testing his boundaries.

And it seems to work as he turns his eyes towards other women, leaving you alone after throwing a few flirty comments and winks your way and ultimately falling in bed with some other poor damsel. But you nervously gulp when it’s just the two of you one night and just as you’re ready to make yourself scarce after turning down his bed and laying out his pajamas, his voice beckons you over and you anxiously bite your lower lip at the sight of pills of all shapes and sizes splayed out across his desk.

Other than your prescription medicine, you don’t have a lot of experience with drugs other than the few blunts here and there during your college years and you had always strictly kept to your recommended doses, never even entertaining the idea of taking more. So the sight in front of you is overwhelming and you hesitantly stare anywhere but at the table surface, anxiously waiting for Oikawa to explain why he called you over. But what you’re not expecting is the warm hand gently grasping your wrist and holding your arm out, small objects being carefully placed in your outstretched palm, and soft coaxing from Oikawa to “give them a try”.

Every part of you is screaming to throw the pills and make a run for it, begging you to come up with some excuse or just outright reject his offer. But it’s as if your body is frozen and he firmly pushes your hand to your mouth, grip tightening enough to make you wince when you hesitate to listen. The slight pain is enough to remind you that you’re not exactly in any position to negotiate and you force yourself to down the pills and gulp down the glass of water he holds to your lips.

The last thing you remember is the unsettling feeling of beginning a descent to an unknown place from which there is no return as Oikawa pulls you to his bed. And then euphoria floods through you as your body slots against his larger frame.

It feels good. Too good. Unnaturally good. But it’s intoxicating and you can’t help but let yourself drown in the hazy waves crashing down upon you, feeling lighter, freer, happier than you have for years. You vaguely register roaming hands, a hot wet mouth, a body on top of yours, something hard pressing against the apex of your thighs, filling you, consuming you in heady pleasure only amplified by the drugs coating your insides.

Bliss. Pleasure. Pure unadulterated joy. And then nothing.

When you come to, the weight of what had happened last night comes crashing down on you, making your foggy mind throb even more and you can feel bile rising inside of you as a toned arm around your waist tightens its hold on you. Oikawa grunts in annoyance when you claw your way out from his hold, scampering on shaky legs to his bathroom, heaving and expelling the contents of your stomach, trying futilely to cleanse yourself of your employer’s touch.

You flinch when you hear footsteps approach, shrinking into the corner of the tiled room, body crouched and curled into a tight ball as you try to save any shred of dignity you still have by hiding your naked body as much as you can from his prying eyes. Salty drops threaten to trail down your face when he hovers over you, sweetly cooing down at you “not to be like this”, “you liked it so much last night”, “come back to bed with me” only to stream down your face when his countenance swiftly changes, handsome face glowering down at you before brusquely turning away and snapping at you to “get on with your work then if you’re going to be an annoying bitch”.

It’s easy to convince yourself that you’re just being smart, just trying to survive as you obediently wash up and don your humiliating uniform, that it isn’t just you being a coward as you submissively go about your usual work day, still sitting with thighs pressed against Oikawa’s legs at meals, making no move to brush off the heavy arm he slings around your shoulders, only slightly flinching when his fingertips teasingly play with the hem of your skirt as he converses with the rest of the Seijoh Four.

But you can’t deny that all you are is a weak fool, desperate to live when you shakily accept the pills he pushes towards you again that night, silently crying yet not doing anything to prevent the inevitable as you swallow any self-respect or pride you had along with the smooth pellets under his watchful gaze, too scared of the glimmer of gunmetal you see on the inside of his jacket to even think of resisting.

And history repeats itself. Over and over again.

Oikawa smiles at how different you are from that skittish creature who fled from his every touch, smirking at how naive and innocent you still are as you try to hide how eager you are for your daily dose, unaware of how he’s slowly been increasing it every night, ignorant of how you unconsciously lean into his touches, pretty lips wrapping around his fingers as he hand feeds you.

Do you know what an animal you are in bed these days? Do you realize how little there is left to differentiate you from one of his filthy whores when you’re so doped up on whatever he gives you, moaning like a pornstar and leaving vicious red claw marks on his skin as you bounce on his cock?

And he knows it’s time to move onto the next phase of your conditioning when there’s not even a speck of shame in your clear eyes when the sunlight begins to filter through the window, knowingly smiling in satisfaction when instead of slinking off to wallow in your regret you shimmy down between his legs and begin to nuzzle and mouth his morning wood, face full of nothing but wanton desire as you take his cock in your mouth.

He doesn’t give you anything that night. Or the next night. Or the one after that. He doesn’t so much as even look at you outside of your usual eye contact, not a single flirtatious word slipping past his lips.

You should be grateful. This is what you wanted, right? To keep things strictly professional between the two of you. To not be coerced into the artificial pleasure you’ve been swallowing on a daily basis for the last month now. To not feel like just another warm body for Oikawa to taint.

Your interview notes and open tab of job listings are right there, begging for your attention, practically screaming at you to pursue the life you’ve always dreamed of.

Yet here you are, not even a week later, on your knees in between Oikawa’s legs as he leisurely reclines in his chair, peppering his inner thighs with kisses and rubbing your face against the growing bulge in his trousers, begging and pleading for another dose, feeling utterly empty and cold inside, unable to sleep, unable to focus, unable to function without the nights of hazy ecstasy.

Your heart drops at the long disappointed sigh the brunette releases.

“Drugs are expensive, cutie. I was just being nice and letting you try some new batches we’ve been producing, but now that they’re on the market, I can’t just keep on giving them to you for free.”

He rolls his eyes when you adamantly tell him you’ll pay whatever the price is, a condescending smirk splitting his face from how quick you are to shut up, soul crushed when he reveals the extravagant cost, a price he knows you can’t afford with the salary he’s providing you with.

But he artfully softens his smile as he begins to unbuckle his pants, sliding the fabric down and letting his throbbing cock spring into view, chuckling when it lightly slaps your face as it’s released from its confines, wondering if you’re drooling from the sight of his erection or the pills he’s playfully placing along the length of it.

“I know you don’t have that money, cutie. But I’d be willing to accept other forms of payments.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before you’re rushing to take him in his mouth and he loudly laughs at how obscene you look, slobbering all over his length, fervently bobbing your head up and down, hastily trying to deep throat him to reach the pill strategically placed right at the base of his shaft, lips puckering as you inhale the drugs, swallowing around him in a way that has him groaning as you stuff your face full of chemicals and pre-cum. And it doesn’t take much longer for him to wash your mouth and throat with warm rivulets of sticky white fluids as he watches the goods take effect, his balls tightening and cock straining with arousal as you reach between your legs, fingers playing with your tight dripping hole while your lewd moans vibrate against him.

It’s pathetically endearing how you can’t keep off of him after that, insisting on sitting on his lap during meals, your cute ass grinding against his clothed cock, always dropping to your knees in between chores, warming his cock in your greedy mouth, always asking him how many pills you’ve earned so far. You really are just his little slutty drug addict now, aren’t you?

But he needs you to be more than that, needs you to learn that you belong to anyone who’s willing to give you the high you crave, needs you to realize that you’re just a free use drug addicted whore for anyone and everyone to use.

So despite how tempting it is to just plunge balls deep inside your tight little pussy, he shoves you off of him one night as you try to grind against his body, feigning exhaustion and boredom of your body, watching in amusement at the panicked crazed look that flashes across your face at his words. Well aren’t you a beautiful sight, throwing yourself at his feet and groveling, saying you’ll do anything for another dose.

Anything, huh?

In your defense, even through the daze of your withdrawal, there’s still a wary expression on your face when Matsukawa and Hanamaki enter the room. Maybe you aren’t as broken as Oikawa had thought. But when you see the little baggies filled with the tablets you’ve become far too familiar with twirling between the duo’s fingers, you practically lunge at them and Oikawa finally allows himself the pleasure of reaching into his pants and stroking himself to the debauched sight playing out in front of him.

Maybe he needs to fuck you in front of a mirror more often if this is what you look like from an outside perspective. It’s like you were made to be used, to be just a warm toy for men to use and Oikawa can’t help but think you look best like this, cocks penetrating both your front and back holes, your body squeezed between two bodies. And he fondly smiles at how you have Hanamaki’s face between the palms of your hands, your lips locked in a sloppy kiss as your tongue ravages the strawberry blonde’s mouth, searching for the pills the man had playfully placed on the tip of his tongue in front of your very eyes before winking at you and telling you to come and get them yourself if you wanted them so badly.

They keep your daily training a surprise, mixing up who gets to wreck your body each day, how many cocks and rounds of cum you’ll need to pay with, what pills and dosage you get. Always keeping you lost and confused, making sure your mind is just a muddled mess that can only think of reaching your next high by any means necessary.

Hell, even Iwaizumi takes part when he realizes that you’re beyond the point of no return, that Oikawa wasn’t joking when he said that there is no other choice for you anymore. This is your life now. This is who you are now. This is your “happily ever after”. He knows all that, can see all that in the way your dazed eyes only come to life at the sight of your addiction, your otherwise listless body perking up at the sound of the tiny objects rattling in their container. And yet a small sliver of guilt has him growling at you to get on all fours, ensuring your face isn’t visible, turning you into just another body for him to mindlessly use as he pleases.

It’s an uncomfortable position, borderline painful as your knees rock back and forth on the hard floor with every brutal thrust of Iwaizumi’s hips. But you don’t care, the aching pain in your legs just dull background noise as you fixate on the tablets scattered on the floor in front of your face, dropping your entire upper body low to the ground, only your hips raised high as your mouth snaps forward. You’re so close and you mewl as your lips make contact with the first pill, uncaring of the pitiful sight you make licking and lapping the floor, whimpering when a hand firmly grabs you by the hair and roughly pulls your face away from your feast.

“Maybe we should get you a dog bowl, cutie. It’s humiliating even for you to be eating from the dirty floor like that. Hold her hair for me, Iwa-chan.”

You crane your neck back and forth, jaw jutting forward as you frantically fight against the tight grip holding you back, mouth drooling and tongue extending like a ravenous animal. But it’s no use and you whine, too focused on your unfinished “meal” to notice how Oikawa is still standing in front of you, cock pulled out from his pants, his hands rapidly fisting the shaft. And only when thick white spurts glaze the remaining pills do you whip your attention towards him, staring with hopeful wide eyes when he crouches in front of you and grabs your face.

“When Iwa-chan lets go of your hair, you’ll get to have the rest of your treats, but you also have to eat the special seasoning I’ve generously given you, okay? If I see even a speck of it left, you’re not getting anything tomorrow, understand?”

Oikawa laughs at how vigorously you nod your head and with a nod in Iwaizumi’s direction, you’re released and the two men watch on as you lick the floor until it’s sparkling clean, slumping your face in the mess of your own drying saliva as you reach euphoria once more. You wail as Iwaizumi shoves you off a cliff and into floating clouds of bliss with one last thrust, the drugs in your system weaving a comforting cocoon around you that you melt into, unable to escape its soothing pull, giggling in content as his seed fills you to the brim.

There’s silence as Iwaizumi pulls out of you, tucking himself back into his pants before sitting besides Oikawa, joining him as he continues observing your used and drugged up body sprawled across the floor, a dopey smile on your face as cum begins to leak out of your spent pussy.

Minutes pass and Iwaizumi sighs, knowing what Oikawa is waiting for him to ask despite how insistent he has been over the years about not wanting to be involved in this particular side of the business...

“Are you going to have her start working at the brothel soon? She seems just about ready.”

“Not yet. I want to give her a few test runs first before I have her work full-time at that establishment. She’s only been with the four of us, so I’m curious to see how she is with a complete stranger. It’s perfect timing too since Sawamura is coming over for a meeting soon and I know he won’t damage the goods if I gift her to him for a night or two. Plus, she hasn’t completely lost her mind yet so we can get some more use out of her before we toss her aside...”

The brunette rambles on, tone light and airy as if he’s just discussing the weather or a TV show he watched, as if he’s not mere feet away from a woman he’s utterly destroyed and rebuilt into just another brainless profit-making doll.

And Iwaizumi tunes him out, already having heard almost this exact speech countless times by now, unable to even keep track of how many others like you there have been in the past, unwilling to think about how many more there will be in the future. But he snorts at Oikawa’s typical closing line.

“I guess it’s almost time to find a new cute maid.”

#haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader #tw: yandere #tw: drugging #tw: drugs #tw: addiction #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon

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