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aquaticmercy · 2 days ago

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Waste a Moment / Part 18

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by : @remoony

Word count : 1.9k

Note : This is the last chapter (an epilogue of sorts). Thank you so much for everyone who has read this story and make this such a wonderful journey! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“My Heart Will Never Let You Go”

Two years later...

Two years felt like both a lifetime and a blink of an eye. You stood at the threshold of your new home, boxes and furniture stacked behind you, with a view that stretched over a quiet, tree-lined street. The house wasn’t huge huge, but it was spacious enough and had tall ceilings and windows, with dark-stained hardwood floors that creaked gently as you moved through each room. It was perfect—comfortable, cosy— it was a place that felt like it was yours and Bucky’s from the moment you’d first stepped inside.

You watched as Yelena wrestled with a particularly awkward piece of furniture— a bookshelf that had somehow ended up at a wonky angle in the back of the moving van. She had a focused look on her face, her brow furrowed as she attempted to pull it free.

“Yelena, you good there?” Sam called out, grinning as he hauled two large boxes under each arm with what looked like minimal effort.

Yelena shot him a glare. “If Bruce was here, this would already be inside and probably assembled, Sam,” she snapped, wiping her forehead as she took a breather.

Clint chuckled, pausing beside Sam to lend a hand with the boxes. “I don’t think Bruce would fit in this house with his size,” he teased. “But he’s definitely missing out on this free labor.”

Alex, meanwhile, was just minding her own business, carrying little trinkets, because “she’s not a superhero” and isn't used to “doing the heavy lifting” which is utter bullshit— you’ve seen her carry crates of ancient tablets without breaking a sweat. You’d say something if not for the fact that Yelena is determined to let her “sit there and be pretty”— her words, not yours.

It was just the right balance of chaos and laughter, mixed without the friendly banter of people who had come to feel like your very own little family. All of them had given up a Saturday off to help you and Bucky settle into your new home.

Though you’d all been at it for hours, spirits remained high. The jokes were still tossed back and forth, handling the stress with an ease that people who had faced far bigger challenges could.

Inside, Bucky popped out with a grin, taking one look at the disheveled pile of boxes and furniture in the yard. He shook his head. “Are we sure we’re doing this right?” he asked skeptically as he made his way over to you, brushing a gentle hand over the dip in your waist.

“Have some faith in them,” you laughed, leaning into him slightly. It was strange, sometimes, how normal this all felt now— after all the ups and downs, the years of history between you, ones you remembered and ones you were reminded of— after all the doubts and fears that had once made a moment like this seem impossible.

As Yelena, Clint, Alex, and Sam worked their way inside, carrying boxes and arguing about whose arrangement strategy was best, you watched the growing pile of belongings grow and grow. It had taken time to get to this place— not just physically, but emotionally (who knew getting a property was hard? Bucky didn’t. Back then, houses cost next to nothing.)

There had been moments when you thought you might never get here, when doubts had grown too large. But Bucky had been patient. He had earned your trust, and little by little, you’d both found ways to rebuild.

Yelena finally made it into the living room with the bookshelf with a triumphant glee as she wedged it into place beside the fireplace. “See?” she announced proudly. “Teamwork.” She gave Clint a high five, nudging Sam out of the way to start helping Alex arrange the boxes currently stacked in a vaguely organised pile.

Clint set down the coffee table he and Sam had carried in, smiling as he looked around the room. “Well, I guess you’re officially grown-ups now,” he joked. “A house in the suburbs, boxes stacked to the ceiling…next thing you know, you’ll be mowing the lawn every Saturday and taking Alpine to the vet for check-ups monthly.”

Alpine, your white cat who’d stolen both yours and Bucky’s hearts, sat curled up on the carpet near the door, watching the activity with mild disinterest. Her tail flicked occasionally, and you smiled at her, remembering when Bucky had first brought her home one rainy night not long after you’d first moved in together. She’d been a little ball of fluff— shy and skittish and hated human touch, but over time she’d come to love affection and crave attention, much like the two of you had done with each other.

“Alpine’s probably relieved to be out of our cramped apartment,” Bucky said, moving to scratch her behind the ears. She looked up at him, unfazed by the chaos around her.

Sam plopped down on the sofa, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “So we’ve done the heavy lifting,” he said, stretching out his arms dramatically. “Time for pizza.”

Alex rolled her eyes but smiled, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a stack of pizzas she’d ordered on her way over. “Bird man wouldn’t shut up about food the whole way here,” she said, passing out plates.

As everyone settled around the small coffee table, pizza slices in hand, everything felt… right. You started telling stories again, with Yelena recounting the time he’d accidentally shot himself in the foot during a mission—“It was supposed to be a warning shot, okay?”—and Clint giving you a hard time about his tendency to get into mischief on missions.

Bucky caught your eye across the room, his eyebrows softening as he watched you laugh with the others. You could see it all in his eyes—the shared memories, the nights you’d spent patching each other up after long missions, the sunny mornings filled with intense conversations and coffee, the slow rebuilding of trust that had led you both here. You smiled back at him, a word less thank you for everything that had come before this.

When the others started discussing the best way to hang your artwork and where the photos should go (Alex would know best), Bucky nudged you gently, nodding toward the front porch. You stepped outside together, leaving the laughter behind for a few quiet minutes.

The sun was setting, blanketing a golden glow over your suburban neighborhood.

You leaned against the railing, watching your new street— the sound of distant lawnmowers and birdsong filling the evening air, kids playing with their bikes. When Bucky joined you, his arm brushed against yours, he kissed your temple briefly.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he said softly, his eyes fixed on the trees that lined the street, the leaves beginning to turn orange with the start of fall.

“Yeah,” you replied, letting the breeze move your hair, “It’s more than nice. It’s…it’s everything I didn’t think we’d ever have.”

He nodded, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “I never thought we’d have it, either,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Two years ago… I didn’t think I deserved it. But you… you made me believe I could. You’ve been so patient with me.”

You squeezed his hand, your eyes soft as you looked at him. “You earned it, Bucky. We both did,” you told him, “It hasn’t been easy, but you never gave up, even when things got… bad.”

He smiled, a bit of the old hesitation still there, but not much. It had been tempered by comfort and confidence, the kind that had to come with time and healing. “It was worth it,” He gestured to the house behind you, the cosy life you’d built together, “because it got us here.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, appreciating the gentle sway of the trees in the breeze and the laughter drifting from inside as Yelena and Clint argued over whether the bookshelf belonged against the far wall or by the window.

“You know, getting was the last thing I imagined for us back then,” you said, an amused laugh escaping as you remembered. “I was scared we wouldn’t make it a few more months, at one point.”

“I didn’t make it easy, did I?” Bucky chuckled, nodding. “But you kept giving me chances, and…I— I just couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his shoulder against your cheek. “I don’t regret any of it.” You whispered, “We’re here, together, and that’s all that matters.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. For what felt like a long time, you just stood there, taking it all in— the subtle chirps of life around you, the distant sound of voices and laughter inside, and the steady arms of then love if your life beside you.

Eventually, the front door swung open, and Alex appeared, hands on her hips, grinning at the sight of you both. “Come on, lovebirds,” she beckoned you both in, “We’re not done in here yet!”

With a laugh, you pulled away from Bucky, looking up at him with a sparkling smile. “Let’s get back to work.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand before letting you lead him back inside. The others had cleared more space in the living room, arranging the furniture and unpacking boxes. As you joined in, the rest of the afternoon passed quickly in a happy blur of new memories. Suddenly, the ones you’ve lost seem insignificant.

As the evening wore on, your friends began to pour out, each one leaving with a hug and a promise to visit soon. By the time the last of the boxes were unpacked and the furniture finally found its place, the house was almost dead silent, save for Alpine’s adorable purrs as she claimed her new favorite spot by the window.

Bucky draped an arm around you, then lines on his face tired but content. He looked around the room, processing the cosy, lived-in feel of the space you’d created together. “Well,” he said softly, “looks like we’re officially moved in.”

You leaned into him, nuzzling into his shoulders, a smile spreading across your face. “We did it.”

Later that night, after the last box had been stashed in the closet and the house had settled into a peaceful rhythm, Bucky found himself standing by the small dresser in the bedroom. His hand hovered over the top drawer, his heart picking up speed as he slowly pulled it open. Nestled in the back, hidden under a stack of socks, was a small, tiny velvet box.

He carefully lifted it out. He’d picked the ring out months ago with help from Alex and Yelena. Now, he was just waiting for the right time. And tonight, standing in your new home together, he felt closer than ever to the moment when he’d finally be able to give it to you.

He tucked it back into the drawer with a sheepish private, feeling an electric anticipation racing on his veins. Soon.

Very soon.

So made his way back to you.

You were curled up on the couch, half-asleep but smiling when you felt him dip the couch beside you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. As you drifted to sleep in his arms, he held you close, knowing that in this home, he’d found everything he’d ever been searching for.

-end.

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crystallizsch · 2 days ago

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jhgnngggn i’m back to thinking about post-nrc yuusha and jamil--- extremely long ramble below prepare for uh angst??? i guess???

i buried some of these lore in the tags somewhere but anyways-

yuusha and jamil exchanged hair ties when they separated and went off on their own post-nrc as a way to "remember each other by".

they both have different plans for their own futures despite wanting to be "together"— whatever that means. yuusha stayed at nrc working as staff and jamil is out travelling.

at this point though they STILL never officially “dated” but oh they were so so close SO many times to putting a label on it.

“what happened then” <- idk man they’re incredibly stupid. yuusha is still horribly noncommittal and jamil is- jamil. (“…the hell does that mean” <- SHHHH i will not elaborate)

they ended as just "really good friends" (something something on they’re on the spectrum of queerplatonic but they didn’t understand that that was the case) .

━━━━━━✦

at first they did well keeping in touch from a long distance—

yuusha never forgets to check in on jamil, texting/calling whenever possible, she was always the first to initiate.

and jamil still would’ve made the same effort of course, but yuusha always beats him to it. he sort of just expected her check-ins every day.

and he looks forward to that 1-15 notifications that he gets as soon as he wakes up. it does get him going knowing that she was specifically thinking of him at the start of the day.

that wouldn't last though. eventually, the more yuusha met more people and cultivated new relationships, the more she felt herself grow further and further apart from jamil.

yuusha thrives on physical relationships and the majority of the time the only communication and contact between her and jamil is through the phone.

and so the messages from her became less and less frequent as yuusha got more absorbed and interested in her work and other relationships.

don't get it wrong, she still cared about jamil. loved him even, in her own way.

he just became less of a priority.

━━━━━━✦

it was bittersweet to think that jamil finally had the chance to initiate the conversation.

because that meant yuusha had been thinking of him less and he had to remind her himself that— hey he's still there, remember him?— although that's not exactly what he would say. that's a bit too antagonistic and petty. surely, she's just busy. right?

yuusha would respond as if everything was normal. but the usual fondness, the usual warmth, they weren't there. her words through the screen felt dry. forced.

she can use the unnecessary punctuations and emojis she wants but she is not getting past him.

they called. it was nice to hear her voice. but. there's the same feeling of detachment. why are they talking as if this was one of their first times?

yuu, what happened?— is what jamil wanted to ask. but he would also respond nonchalantly. as if everything was normal.

jamil still tried to reach out to her. similar to how she did with him.

but it was to no avail.

their interactions felt too far gone from what they had.

eventually jamil also realized that there was No Point.

if she wasn’t going to make the effort anymore, why should he?

━━━━━━✦

professor yuusha tala walks in to her class which her signature braid and feathered hair tie.

it's lovely having gotten used to working at nrc. her students are surprisingly behaved and she enjoys teasing chatting with her coworkers. surely she isn't missing anything, is she?

and the traveler, jamil viper. he's seen most of the sights, experienced a lot of things. it's like he is slowly fulfilling his childhood dreams.

he ties his hair with the same one he's been using for years. it's a surprise it hasn't snapped yet from how worn out it looks. this really belonged to someone so cheap, huh.

he wonders why he's still using it. he had come across fitting souvenirs that could replace it.

waste of money— jamil convinces himself. besides, this hair tie is fit for every occasion and it's still holding up anyway.

he'll just get a new one when this one finally bites the dust.

if it ever does.

it's really stubborn for a hair tie.

#[—✦ rambling #-✧ oc rambles #twst oc x canon #(💜) yuusha #(💜) curry noodles #postnrc💜#(<- new taggggg)#-✦—]#ougghh platonic/romantic breakups???#SILENT breakups.#awful.#THEYRE NOT FOREVER DOOMED I SWEAR;;; IM STILL THINKING OF THEIR ENDGAME AFTER SOME UH REUNION OR SOMETHING---#anyways- proofread once and im not looking back-#also i retconned my initial ideas a bit #bc idk how to make it make sense that jamil would be the one ghosting #surely i can come up with a reasonable explanation but i cant think of anything 😭#so i’mma make it yuusha’s fault- ty you absolute girlfailure (derogatory) 👍#i kind of notice my writing(???) bleeds into my oc rambling #but i feel like i can’t call it that 😭#which i know sounds stupid but still ack #the way i’d feel so differently if this was a low effort doodle instead #i guess i’d consider this semi-writing but idk if i still want to tag it as ‘my writing’#writers i salute you bc how the fuck do you put words together

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sayyestoheav3nn · 2 days ago

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Nights Like This Short: Late Night Thoughts

Roman x black!oc

Warnings: language, smut

Word count: 1.1k

a/n: if you would like to added to the tag list, or if i tagged you and it didn’t work, please feel free to let me know 🤍

Three weeks.

Roman hadn’t seen Zoe for three weeks since they first spoke. After his win he had decided to take some time off, and although he found his time away peaceful, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

This was definitely new for Roman, and truth be told it wasn’t something he was used to.

Sure he’s fucked a bitch or two on the WWE roster, but never someone he has actually had any interest in. No one, and he means no one had caught his eye the way she did.

Not to mention how fucking beautiful she was. He remembered the way she stumbled whenever he stepped closer to her. Or the way his dick slightly hardened when she would look up at him with those big beautiful eyes. He loved the sound of her soft soothing voice, he could listen to her talk all day if she’d let him.

All these thoughts were running through his mind as he pulled up to the arena. As he stepped into the building and made his way through the corridors trying to find his private room, he bumped into Paul Heyman, who seemed to be waiting on him.

“Good evening my tribal chief, t-this way sir.” Roman silently followed his lead, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for talking. As he made it inside his spacious room, he signaled Paul to leave.

Roman appreciated the time to himself, he loves his wiseman, but he tends to irritate the fuck out of him when he talks his ears off.

As he went to change clothes, his steps were halted when he heard her voice in the hallway. He slowly turned around to open the door, when he stepped out the first thing he saw was her beautiful face. She started to walk towards him, he could tell she seemed hesitant at first.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” she grinned.

“You missed me sweetheart?” He smirked.

She paused for a moment, her cheeks were starting to redden. “Nah, I was just worried your wiseman was gonna have a stroke, he’s been a mess without you,” she smiled.

He laughed, “He’s a grown ass man, he’ll be alright.”

Speaking of the fucking devil. The wiseman popped out of nowhere, waddling over towards them. “T-triple H needs to speak with you m-my tribal chief.”

Roman was unamused, “I’m in the middle of something, he can wait.”

“B-but my tribal chief, it seemed v-very important.”

“It’s okay, go. Don’t want to be the reason the boss gets upset,” she offered a sympathetic smile.

Roman reluctantly nodded his head in agreement, “I’ll see you after?”

Her brows furrowed with confusion. “Don’t you usually leave right away?”

“Not if I have a reason to stay.”

She looked down with an nervous smile.

Roman walked away, as he turned the corner he immediately stopped and turned back around. He could see she was confused as to why he was jogging back towards her.

He pulled out his phone, handing it to her. “Your number, just in case I can’t find you after.”

She typed it in with no hesitation, most likely since she knew their boss was waiting.

“Thanks, see you later Zo.”

……………….

Roman got home late, he was pissed that his meetings after smackdown prevented him from seeing Zo before she left. The first thing he did when he got to his room, was take a shower and then lie down, his body was exhausted. As time passed he accepted the fact that he couldn’t fall asleep. As he was twisting and turning, his mind began to think about Zo. His thoughts became hornier as time passed. He couldn’t help but to imagine what it would be like to bend her over and fuck her till she came over and over again. His dick was getting hard just thinking about it, he imagined what her moans and screams would sound like. She’d probably be shy at first, until his dick felt too good for her to suppress her screams and moans.

As he was visualizing having her facedown on the bed while he fucked her rough and deep, he could feel his dick starting to throb. Roman pulled down his sweatpants and quickly slipped his hands in his boxers grabbing his big dick that already had a few beads of pre-cum dripping down. He spit on his hand and gently rolled his thumb over his thick mushroom head and slowly proceeded to start pulling on his shaft, his eyes were closed and his head was thrown back on the headboard.

“Fuck,” he moaned while slightly picking up the pace.

His big calloused hands worked up and down his veiny shaft, his groans were getting louder as he thought about how his dick would feel inside her soaked pussy. How she’d moan while he stretched her out, he’d probably be the biggest she’s ever had. She’d be addicted to his dick, the same way he’d be addicted to her pussy.

He imagined them switching positions with her on top of him, riding his dick allowing him to have the perfect view of her titties bouncing.

The thought of her moaning and squelching on his dick had him on the verge of coming, he started stroking faster. “Shit, just like that baby, ride this dick,” he whispered.

Roman imagined Zo whimpering and begging him to let her come again, but not yet, he wanted them to come together.

He’d guide her into a new position, missionary. A position that was once his least favorite, was now something that he wanted to do, with her. He wanted to see that beautiful face under his bulking body, unraveling for him. One hand teasing her clit, while the other gripped the headboard.

He was close, so fucking close.

Her tight pussy would grip and pull on his dick, their juices flowing together. “Go ahead baby, come for daddy,” he moaned, with his eyes were squeezed shut.

“Fuck, baby.” That was it. Roman couldn’t hold himself back any longer, he didn’t even have time to grab a rag before his cum spurt all over his stomach. He could feel it tricking down his abs.

Shit. He got up and walked to the bathroom, grabbing a rag and cleaning himself. He couldn’t remember the last time jerking off felt that good.

There was no denying that his attraction to her wasn’t going to be a phase, a small smile began to form on his face.

The tribal chief always gets what he wants, and in this moment, his number one priority was to make his fantasy a reality.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns #the tribal chief #otc #head of the table

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ctrllhyuck · 2 days ago

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no hitter

genre/tags ✮⋆˙ enemies to lovers, college au, kim seungmin x fem!reader

word count ✮⋆˙ 2.6k

NOT PROOREAD

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　　　　

you first met seungmin at the park by your elementary school, you were playing with lia, your best friend, when out of no where some kids pushes you over.

“hey! you knocked me over, you’re supposed to say sorry.”

“i didn’t knock you over, you were in the way so i nudged you. you should be the one apologizing to me.”

“that’s not how it works! i was sitting here playing with the sand and you pushed me instead of saying excuse me. don’t you have manners?”

“i feel like i’m just wasting my time here. next time, watch where you sit princess.”

from that day on seungmin relentlessly tormented you. whether it was pulling pranks on you, starting rumors about you, and even going as far as accusing you of cheating on an exam. that’s why you had always said you hated him. at the start of your freshman year you decided to solely focus on your studies. you were never the type of person to go out to clubs or parties like your friends. you always preferred to stay in your dorm studying, watching a show or napping. seungmin on the other hand gained quite the popularity. even if you wanted to you couldn’t deny it, seungmin was handsome. you thought it was a waste that such a mean person had such an angelic face. seungmin had always excelled at baseball. he had quite the throw, which landed him a starting position on the university’s team. you two had mutual friends which made avoiding him 24/7 a difficult task for you.

“dude, please put the books down for one day. i’m literally begging you, i’ll get on my knees if i have to,” han jisung asked as he pulled on your backpack strap. han was one of the first friends you made at the beginning of freshman year. the poor boy stumbled into the women’s restroom as you and lia were walking out and the rest was history.

“han you know i don’t like going out, especially when i know seungmins gonna be there,” you responded to the boy as you sipped your iced coffee. to your left, lia scoffed.

“you know, i think you and seungmin might have a little enemies to lovers story going on,” the brunette said as she eyed your face, carefully scanning it until she found that slight flush of pink on your cheeks. you had practically known lia all your life, she was like the sister you never had. she was able to read you perfectly in any situation. a few weeks ago she had caught you staring at seungmin during a class you three shared together. when you noticed she had caught you, you let out a nervous laugh and that little flush of pink appeared. from that moment the gears in her head starting turning and she came to the only logical conclusion: you had a crush on seungmin.

renjun, your lab partner turned best friend, spoke up, “that’s actually impossible, she hates his guts.”

“okay can we get back to the real issue here, getting our lovely yn to come bowling with us,” han squeaked in an exasperated tone. the poor boy just wanted you to come out of your dorm for once and live a little. they knew parties were completely out of your comfort zone and would never force you to attend these events. but bowling? who doesn’t love a good round of bowling. the rest of the baseball team was going too, and they were actually quite fond of you since you would attend their practices sometimes.

“okay, i’ll go. but as soon as seungmin says something or does something to make me uncomfortable, can one of you take me home?,” you asked your friends as they all looked at you wide eyed. safe to say you were met with never ending “yes’s” from all three of your friends.

the night you were going bowling finally arrived. you were actually dreading it ever since you had accepted the invitation. you were unsure of what was an appropriate outfit for this outing since you lived in baggy jeans and over sized sweaters. lia had offered to come and style you (perks of having a fashion major best friend). after many no’s you two had finally decided on a denim skirt and a cute sweater.

“you’ll definitely catch seungmins attention tonight,” lia said as she spun you around in front of your mirror. you couldn’t help but wonder if seungmin had ever called you pretty in his head.

you were sitting in the passenger seat of han’s car while lia and renjun sang their heart out to sabrina carpenter. as you guys pulled up to the bowling alley you saw the rest of the team (and their respective girlfriends) standing outside. as your group walked towards the entrance you saw him. the man you “hated” the most, the person you would always avoid on campus, kim seungmin. you couldn’t help but admire his face. he was just so handsome? dreamy? you couldn’t find a word to describe him. as he turned around to greet han, his eyes caught yours. you don’t know if your crazy, but you could’ve sworn seungmin gave you a small smile as you made eye contact. the night was progressing as you made casual chit chat with some of the other guys on the team. seungmin had yet to come up to you to say a smart ass comment or make fun of you.

without anyone noticing, you slipped away from the group. you wanted to get some fresh air as the closed space had started to make you feel anxious. the cool air hit your face as soon as the doors opened, maybe the skirt wasn’t a good idea. you looked up at the sky and noticed there was a full moon, you quickly took out your phone to snap a picture of it. as you were angling your phone you heard a voice creeping up behind you.

“pretty isn’t it.” that voice alone made your stomach do flips. you knew exactly who it was.

“um, yeah, i was trying to get a picture for my story,” you responded practically tripping over your own words. the boy behind you laughed. oh how you loved his laugh.

“still get nervous around me huh,” seungmin asked as he started into your eyes, his smile never faltered. he was just so hypnotizing. you couldn’t help but feel drawn in.

“i- i don’t know what your talking about seungmin. if you don’t mind, i came out here alone for a reason.” it was as if something had snapped you back into reality. this is kim seungmin, the boy who always found the way to make you feel so little.

“cmon yn, it’s pretty obvious that you like me. everyone on the team knows it. why do you keep acting like you hate me.” seungmin kept inching towards you, every step he took invading your personal bubble. but, why didn’t you move? it’s like you wanted him there. he stopped when he was a few centimeters away from your face, your breaths mixing together. he started leaning in, and you didn’t pull away. you wanted that kiss. you wanted it more than anything.

then you heard it. the little giggles coming from behind the cars. you turned your head in the direction of the laughs, and you saw multiple phones pointing at you and seungmin. they were recording you. this was all a cruel joke planned by seungmin and his stupid friends. you felt the tears starting to pool in your eyes. how could you let your guard down so easily?

“no way you really thought seungmin was gonna kiss you,” a voice from behind you said. you knew that voice perfectly. it belonged to karina, seungmins former girlfriend. she was mocking you. every single one of them was making fun of you. you wanted the ground to swallow you. you felt your anxiety begin to bubble up. you needed to find one of your friends. you needed to be away from seungmin. you tried so hard not to cry but the feeling of humiliation was just too much. as you began sobbing you saw han walk out of the bowling alley, he had been looking for you. as soon as he saw the state you were in and everyone just standing around you he began to push seungmin and ask what the fuck was wrong with him. you weren’t sure if you purposely blocked everything that happened after out of your mind or if you blacked out. all you remember is lia helping you put your pjs on and tucking you into bed.

after the incident at the bowling alley you didn’t want to show your face on campus. you were sure the video they had taken of you and seungmin was posted all over social media. lia and renjun had assured you that it wasn’t posted anywhere, but they couldn’t tell you everyone had been sharing it thru texts.

“so are you coming to the baseball game? it’s the final, it would mean a lot if you came,” han was basically pleading with you. you felt conflicted. you wanted to go support your friend but you also didn’t want to see seungmin or the other idiots that helped him with his scheme. with a half smile you tell han you’ll try to make it.

it’s saturday night, the game is starting in 30 minutes. that’s exactly how long the bus ride to the stadium is from your dorm. after a lot of pep talks to yourself, you realized you couldn’t hide forever. you were going to have to move on from what happened that night. you knew it wasn’t the end of the world but your anxiety had made you feel much worse. you arrived at the stadium after the first pitch was thrown. you were quickly able to find lia & renjun in the sea of people. they greeted you with hugs and forehead kisses (courtesy of lia). you hadn’t been to a game since the season started so you were kind of lost to what was going on. by the middle of the 9th inning your university was up by 3. it was a small lead but they were so close to victory. three strikes was all that was needed for your uni to win the championship. you hate to say it but seungmin had been pitching amazing as usual. as he pitched the first ball you saw his face contort. you realized something wasn’t right. you saw him wince in pain and he hit the ground. he was holding onto his right hand as he was yelling things you couldn’t make out. after a few minutes you saw the coach and medical staff escorting seungmin off the field. then the announcement came, seungmin was hurt and they were switching pitchers. your chest felt heavy. you were able to see the tears in seungmins eyes. all you wanted to do was go down there with him and hug him. but you couldn’t, not after what he had done to you. after seungmin was replaced everyone could tell the new pitcher had no idea what he was doing. the game quickly ended with a grand slam from the opposing team. the final score 4-3. they had lost the championship.

you knew you shouldn’t be doing this. you should be with lia and renjun comforting han. but you couldn’t stop yourself. at first you were walking towards the locker rooms, but now you were full on sprinting. you had to find seungmin. you just felt like he needed someone and you wanted that someone to be you. as you neared the locker room you slowed down a bit to catch your breath. then you heard it. low sobs coming from inside the locker room. you carefully pushed the door open and that’s when you spotted him. seungmin was sitting on the ground, head buried in his hands as if he was trying to hide away from the world around him. you carefully approached him and sat next to him.

“seungmin.”

the boy looked up and his eyes widened in surprise. you were the last person he expected to see.

“go away. your not even supposed to be in here.”

“i know, but .. i wanted to check on you.”

you heard a scoff coming from him as he spoke, “check on me? oh please i don’t need your pity.”

“it’s not pity seungmin. you’re hurt and i wanted to check on you. i was worried.” did you actually mean what you were saying? why would you worry about seungmin? especially after how he treated you.

“this stupid injury cost the whole team the championship. it’s my fault we lost.”

“you didn’t know you were gonna get injured, i’m sure no one is blaming you min,” you stopped as soon as you said it. you called him by his nickname. a nickname you were never worthy of, or so you thought. you noticed a slight blush appear on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“only my friends call me min.”

“yeah i know, i’m sorry.” there was a long pause. it seemed like both of you were scared to speak. scared of saying the wrong thing. scared of hurting each other. seungmin was the one who broke the silence.

“i’m sorry,” you never thought you’d hear those words coming out of his mouth. “i’m sorry for what happened at the bowling alley. i know it’s hard to believe but i didn’t want to do it. it was karina’s idea.” he took your silence as a sign to continue. “she’s always been jealous of you. she heard something from one of the guys a few days back and she got mad. she really should’ve been upset with me, not you.”

“what did she hear? was it something about me,” you asked nervously unsure of what response you could get.

“yes and no. it’s something i said,” he paused and you looked over at him. his face was completely red. “this is hard for me please bear with me,” he said pleading with you.

“seungmin, i won’t be here forever,” you mustered to him as you stood up. seungmin was quick on his feet.

“wait, please.” his figure towering over you, but he couldn’t meet your eyes. “i told jeno that i- fuck this is hard,” you heard him gulp. “i told jeno that i liked you. that i’ve always liked you and that i’ve only ever picked on you because i wanted your attention.”

your mouth was agape. seungmin, the boy who you’ve had a crush on since that fateful day on the playground, was confessing to you. you were in shock. seungmin was trying to read your face but he couldn’t.

“please say something. reject me, slap me, kiss me whatever just please. i know i messed up big time but i can’t stand the idea of me losing you, please yn i-“ you cut him off with a gentle kiss on the lips. it was like you had always pictured it. his lips were soft and he immediately melted into your touch. it’s like your lips were molded to fit each other perfectly. you pulled away when you were both out of breath.

“seungmin i’ve always liked you.” you saw his face turn a bright red shade. you kissed the tip of his nose.

“i promise i won’t hurt you ever again. please stay by my side.” you could see in his face that he was sincere. you realized how in love you were with him.

“lia was right, we did have en enemies to lovers story going on,” you giggled as you saw seungmins puzzled expression.

this was just the start of your new chapter with seungmin. a new chapter in a story that you never wanted to end.

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ellieslittleslutt · 7 hours ago

Text

Brewed ❀

MEN AND MINORS DNI!!

pairings: barista!ellie x journalist!reader

the barista you visit every morning finally makes her move.

cw: none really reader is called pretty girl once and smoking? also swearing

a/n: AHHH I LOVE THIS. definitely writing a part two

wc- 1k

not proof read

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“have a nice day” she smiled at you. the kind of smile that just makes you melt. you smile back at her trying to ignore how your cheeks heat up “you too” you said turning around each step you melt further into the floor.

it was always her. that one independent cafe that charges $8 for a coffee, you thought it was worth it just to see her smile and say that line she was scripted into saying. every morning on your way to work you would stop but to order the same thing each morning, a hot latte to go with a small sandwich. on your days off you’d take the time to sit down and get some work done with your order.

this morning was no different. while you walked to work sipping on your coffee and taking a bite of your sandwich you noticed the cup had a message on it ‘you’re beautiful enjoy your coffee!!’. you couldn’t help but take a photo of it sending it to your friend lidia.

lils- get her number!

you- idek know her name how tf am i supposed to do that?

lils- she wears a name tag no? just go off that

you- pretty sure it’s fake

lils- how do you know?

you- just doesn’t fit her… whatever i’ll talk more when i get to work

when you got to work you sat down at your desk looking at the stories you have to research made but your boss. “seriously?” you mumbled to yourself as you looked at the long list when suddenly lidia pokes her head in “so cute barista?” she teased sitting next to you.

you sigh “yeah anyway think her name tag is fake it just doesn’t match her” you tell her sipping your coffee while starting your typing “well what does she look like?” she asks leaning against your desk. you think back to each time you saw her and every little detail of her “shoulder length auburn hair, always has it in a half up bun but sometimes a low bun which makes her look so pretty, pale green eyes and freckles”. lidia just chuckles “jesus you’re down bad huh?”

“shut up” you mumble your cheeks red as you hit the side of her arm and she laughs putting her hands up “what stating the facts we get paid for it” she smiles at you and back at the note on you’re cup “so think she likes you?”

“i don’t know maybe she just said that for tips? i used to do that” you shrug and you continue working on your computer “well you could just ask for her numberrr” she says again raising an eyebrow at you, rolling your eyes you go back to typing “like i said im not doing that… ill get her name first or whatever”

⋆｡˚𖦹

thay weekend you went on with your routine, heading to the cafe with your laptop and note pad to try and get some articles done so your boss gets off your ass. you sat down with your usual smiling at the barista when she walked by you.

you smile back at her then look at your coffee seeing another message written in it ‘you look like and angel’. your heart almost explode and you swear you almost passed out. you look back at her and she was leaning against the counter watching you with that smirk. god she was so hot. she gave you a wink before standing up going back to work.

⋆｡˚𖦹

over the course of the next two weeks ellie would leave little messages on your coffee cup or the paper bag of your sandwich. each time you took a picture getting all giggly and happy. you found yourself looking forward to it each morning.

one weekend you got up getting ready in your go to cold weather outfit. you had gotten your bag and keys going to the cafe with a smile. when you got there you saw ellie taking an order from some guy. you sat down opening your laptop and hopped to get a few articles written. with all the holidays this time around your boss had you working harder with more stories to write.

you stayed a few hours the barista serving you and you got your little message. this time while she was taking all the dishes she left a napkin with a proud smile. ‘my shift ends in a few minutes meet me outside ;)’ classic.

you quickly got all your things putting the napkin in your bag. you went outside to the front to see her sitting at a table on her phone smoking a cigarette. she looked up at you and smiled sitting up “hey” she said with a smile. her voice oh my lord you were dying.

��hi” you said nervously and sat down. you honestly had no clue what to do. your flirting game was abysmal. she offered you a cigarette and you took it taking a puff off it.

you both got to talking for quiet a bit. she told you her was ellie. it suit her really well. with her style and her eyes everything suit her. she told you that the cafe was only a small part time kid she took every morning and she really worked at the clinic in the afternoons. that explained why she was never there for lunch.

you told her you were a journalist and she tilted her head “no way who’s your boss?” she asked with a chuckle “maria miller you know her?” “yeah she’s my aunt” you chuckled looking at her “small world huh?” “more like town everyone knows each other here” she shrugged.”

when it got to around 1 pm ellie looked back at you “ah shit gotta head to the clinic.” she mumbled grabbing her bag “yeah it’s getting cold staying out here” you replied standing up too.

“i’ll give you my number pretty girl?” she asked with a smirk holding her phone. pretty girl? it niagara falls down there. you flushed bright red and smiled handing her your phone and she put in her number “well i would love to do this again? how about i take you out on a proper date? dinner maybe? can you do tomorrow 7pm?” all you could do was giggle and nod “yeah yeah i can make that” you reply still nervous.

“i’ll see you around” ellie says putting a hand on your arm before walking away.

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taglist: @autisticintr0vert @eveshyper @soodle-noup @puppywilliams

#tlou2 #ellie williams #the last of us #ellie tlou #tlou ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #loser!ellie #abby anderson #tlou abby #vi arcane #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane vi

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leftoverghosts · 2 days ago

Text

i am drowning

there is no sign of land.

Patrick's announcement hit you like a tennis ball to the gut. He had just gotten back from winning the junior US Open, but instead of celebrating together, he was ending things between you. The sharp sting of disappointment cut through your heart as you struggled to make sense of it all. This wasn't the end of your relationship, though.

patrick zweig x reader. patrick x tashi. mentioned tashi x art.

warnings: angst. like angst for the sake of angst. sex at the end. some curse words. not for minors. p in v sex. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. patrick sleeps with reader for a bed.

nori says: hiiiiiii, i've been lurking in the challengers tag and now have something to contribute. this is heavily inspired by the break up scene in whiplash. it just feels so patrick coded. also, i love tashi, it's not her fault that the boys were weird about her. send me ideas if you want to! xoxo.

word count: 4,818

2006, September. Per Se Restaurant, Manhattan.

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend.” Art had told Tashi, and Patrick had responded with “I do not”.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“I can’t believe your dad let us use his reservations. This is the coolest thing ever! I feel so grown up,” a cheerful voice interrupts Patrick’s thoughts, pulling him back to the present moment. Sitting across from you now, celebrating his triumphant win at the Junior US Open, he can't ignore the guilt and doubts that gnaw at him. Though you were never officially a couple, there were undeniable feelings between you two and Patrick had pursued you relentlessly. He couldn't resist your sweetness, especially since you’ve been friends for so long and despite being just a teenage boy with wandering eyes fixed on tennis skirts, even he understands that you genuinely care about him.

Patrick thinks with all the agony that the thing between his legs can muster, that he’s an asshole, that he shouldn’t of fucked up this situationship only to chase after a girl who made him compete for her attention. Part of him hates himself for betraying your trust and pining after someone else, but the other part of him is drawn to Tashi in a way he can't explain. She gets him, but more importantly, she understands true tennis.

Patrick fidgets with his cup of water, tracing your name on the condensation as if it holds some sort of salvation. But deep down, he knows that no amount of apologies or excuses can change what he has done.

"Listen, I have to be honest with you," Patrick finally speaks up, his voice strained with emotion.

You pause, feeling a sense of unease settle in your stomach as you wait for him to continue.

"I can't keep pretending that this is going to work out. My dreams of becoming a professional tennis player are consuming more and more of my time and focus. And when I am with you, all I can think about is training and winning matches."

As his confession sinks in, your world tilts on its axis. The realization hits you with startling clarity - his passion for tennis surpasses everything else in his life, casting a shadow over what bloomed between you. You always knew that tennis was important to Patrick, but you never fully understood just how significant it was until now. Your mind flashes back to all the times you thought tennis was just a hobby for him, a way to cope with his parents' high expectations. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you realize that this is not how you imagined your relationship with Patrick ending. You try to hold back your emotions, but they overflow despite your best efforts.

"You'll probably start feeling like I'm ignoring you and get mad that tennis is more important to me than our relationship," he continues, regret evident in his eyes. "And if you ask me to ease up on my training, I won't be able to comply because this is my passion. It's what I was born to do."

"Where is this coming from, Pat?" you ask, your voice trembling with hurt. You had never wanted to come between Patrick and his dreams, but now it seems like there was no other option.

“It’s been building up for a while.” In the midst of shattered expectations and unspoken regrets, Patrick's gaze meets yours fleetingly before retreating, unable to withstand the weight of your hurt and disappointment. The truth hangs heavy in the air - priorities laid bare, futures diverging like roads leading into different horizons. "Because sooner or later, we will start resenting each other for not understanding our priorities. It's better to end things now before they turn toxic."

"I can't believe this, I thought we were in this together." Your palms are clammy and your heart races as you try to process everything. You had been nothing but supportive of him, rearranging your schedule whenever he came home from the academy just to spend time with him. But now he’s telling you that it wasn't enough.

"We were, but I wanna be one of the greats.” He sighs.

“And would I stand in your way?”

“Yeah.”

“You know I would, you're sure about that?” You ask, wishing this would just stop. “Yes.” He reaches out to take your hand, but you pull away, unable to bear his touch after what he's done. "I'm sorry," he mutters, his face contorted with guilt and sadness, and the knowledge that he’s a liar. That this conversation is only happening because he’s chasing greatness and Tashi Duncan.

"I'm just a naive girl to you, aren't I? Someone who will never measure up to your grand ambitions.” As the words tumbled out of your mouth, your voice quivers with hurt and disbelief. You couldn't comprehend how someone that you love could make you feel so worthless. “You'll leave me behind as you chase after greatness," you cried out, feeling utterly small and insignificant in his eyes. “You don’t understand me. You never have." His accusation is like sharp, dagger-like punctuation mark, ready to cut off any lingering hopes and pierce through the heart of your relationship.

You look at him, feeling a mix of anger and heartache. "Why did you even bother pursuing me then? If your tennis career was always going to come first?"

"I'm sorry," he finally says, his voice heavy with remorse. "I never should have said those things."

His apology hangs in the air, hollow and insufficient. The bustling restaurant fades into the background as you try to comprehend the sudden change in your reality.

"Sorry doesn't fix this, Patrick," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Patrick runs a hand through his curly hair, frustration etched across his face. "I know, I know. I'm messing everything up. It's just... there's so much pressure. The tennis, my parents, the academy. And now..."

He trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You lean forward, searching his face.

"And now what, Pat? What aren't you telling me?"

Patrick's blue eyes meet yours for a moment before darting away. "There's someone else," he admits quietly.

Your heart shatters into a million pieces, each shard piercing your chest with unbearable pain. The revelation hits you like a serve you never saw coming, leaving you breathless and disoriented. You struggle to find words, your mind reeling from the betrayal.

"Someone else?" you finally manage to choke out, your voice barely audible over the clinking of glasses and murmur of conversation around you. "Who?"

Patrick shifts uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your gaze. "Her name is Tashi. We met at a party after the tournament. She's... she understands tennis in a way that—"

The name strikes a chord of recognition. Tashi Duncan. You've heard whispers about her – the rising star in the tennis world, known for her fierce determination and unmatched skill on the court. Suddenly, everything clicks into place. The late-night phone calls, the distracted looks, the growing distance between you and Patrick

"That I never could," you finish for him, bitter understanding washing over you. Of course. Of course it would be someone from his world, someone who could match his ambition step for step.

"I think she could make me really happy," Patrick says, his voice pleading for you to just get it.

“You know, I really do hope that you make it. I hope you get to be number one or whatever,” You let out a wet scoff, he could have at least let you finish your meal. “But I’m glad that I’ll never understand you, Patrick.”

With those words, the conversation comes to a halt as you both sit in stunned silence. The waitress brings over your food, but neither of you have an appetite anymore. Patrick pushes his plate away, his stomach churning with guilt and regret. He realizes now that breaking things off like this is a mistake, he’s a coward, he shouldn’t have met up with you in person.

2019, August. Parking lot of a Roadside motel, New Rochelle.

Patrick slams his fist against the side of his beat-up Volkswagen Tiguan in frustration, feeling the sting of anger and disappointment course through him. His phone remains pressed to his ear, waiting for you to pick up, but it rings on with no answer. He begins and deletes a desperate text to you, twice, before finally you're calling back and he answers on the first ring. “Hey! Got a weird favor to ask you. Your new place is near Westchester, right?” His voice trembles with nervousness as he taps his fingers anxiously against the car door.

“A whole year, that’s a new record for you. Run out of money already?”

“Shit,” he swears under his breath, trying to use some charm or magic to convince you. “You know how the tour goes. I’ve been struggling to stay afloat. But uh, how’ve you been?” He forces a smile through the grimace as he thinks about his current financial state - a checking account with only $70 left. It’s a far cry from the greatness he once promised he was leaving you to pursue.

“Go to hell, Patrick.” The line goes dead and he pulls the phone away from his face, staring at it in disbelief as if willing you to call back. He knows you, so he waits anxiously until a notification with your name appears again on the screen, accompanied by a new address.

Same day. Private residence, Bronxville.

Everyone knows that Patrick's parents have stopped providing financial support for him, and even though your own father would be furious if he knew you were aiding this deadbeat, you can't bring yourself to let him go without. It's only the occasional bit of cash for gas or food, but Patrick always finds a way to repay you in ways that you didn’t even know you needed. There is an unspoken agreement between the two of you that hangs heavily in the air.

Despite everything, you can't turn him away completely, even knowing he will never truly change. Tennis is his first, great love and with the Donaldsons in town, you can't help but think Tashi might still be his second. And you, you are nothing more than a temporary lifeline – a benefactor to someone who will never truly appreciate your sacrifices.

His heart races with guilt and desperation as he parks his car and approaches your door. He knows he doesn't deserve your help, but the familiarity of these meetings brings a sense of safety.

You watch from your living room window as Patrick's battered Volkswagen pulls into your driveway. The sight of him emerging from the car, all scruffy charm and desperate energy, sends a familiar pang through your chest. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the encounter to come.

As Patrick approaches, you open the door before he can knock. He stands there, looking simultaneously sheepish and hopeful, his eyes searching your face.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft. "Thanks for... you know."

You scoff at his attempt at gratitude, your bitterness cutting through the air like a knife. "Is that supposed to be a thank you? I didn't know you knew how to use manners," you retort, your tone dripping with resentment. It's not like you to be so angry, but Patrick always has a way of bringing out the worst in you.

You step aside, allowing him to enter and close the door after him. Patrick's eyes dart around your new place, taking in the tasteful decor and the obvious signs of your success.

"Nice place," he comments, his voice tinged with a hint of envy.

You shrug, maintaining your emotional distance. "It serves its purpose."

Patrick nods, fidgeting with the hem of his worn t-shirt. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words and shared history.

At thirty-two years old, in the final stages of your cardiology fellowship, your father still treats you like a child who is expected to become an astronaut neurosurgeon, or some other fantastical career straight out of a Barbie movie. Meanwhile, your mother constantly laments about not having any grandchildren to spoil, as if that is the sole purpose of your existence. You often snap back with sarcastic remarks, such as suggesting that your cat could use a new diamond-encrusted bowl, a sharp retort that only serves to deepen the tension between you. The truth is, you yearn for an escape just like Patrick did. If you had any talent for tennis, you would have run away long ago.

Patrick clears his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "I, uh... I really appreciate you helping me out. I know I don't deserve it, after everything."

You let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're right. You don't deserve it. But here we are."

He takes a step closer, his gaze intense and pleading. "I never meant to hurt you. Everything just got so complicated, with tennis and Art and Tashi and—"

"Don't." You hold up a hand, cutting him off. "I don't want to hear about her. Or about tennis. I’m not sixteen drooling over you anymore. I don’t need to pretend that I care. That's your world, Patrick. It always has been."

He looks down, shame and regret etched across his handsome features. "I know. I fucked up. I fuck everything up."

Despite your anger and resentment, a part of you softens at his vulnerability. You've known Patrick for so long, seen him at his best and his worst. And even after all the heartbreak, there's still a connection between you that refuses to die.

"Why do you keep coming back here, Pat?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why me?"

Patrick lifts his gaze to meet yours, and for a moment, you're transported back to that fateful dinner at Per Se, when your world first began to crumble.

"Because you're the only one who really knows me," he admits, his voice raw with emotion. "The only one who sees past the bullshit and the bravado. Even when I don't deserve it."

Your heart clenches at his words, the irony in them isn’t lost on you.

“I still hate you.” You say as you step forward and wrap your arms around him, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours. Patrick stiffens for a moment before melting into the embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "For everything."

You close your eyes, allowing yourself this moment of vulnerability, of connection. Tomorrow, you'll go back to your separate lives - you to your fellowship and the weight of your parents' expectations, Patrick to his endless pursuit of tennis glory and the shadow of Art Donaldson. But tonight, in the quiet of your home, you can pretend that things are different, that the choices you've made haven't led you down such divergent paths.

As the embrace lingers, the air between you shifts, charged with a familiar tension. Patrick pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, asking a silent question. Your breath catches in your throat as his gaze drops to your lips, and you know what comes next.

It's a dance you've done before, a temporary escape from the harsh realities of your lives. And as Patrick leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, you let yourself surrender to the moment, pushing aside the hurt and resentment that has festered for so long. His hands roam your body with a desperate urgency, as if trying to memorize every curve and contour before this fleeting connection inevitably fades away.

You melt into his touch, your own hands tangling in his curly black hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, a clash of tongues and teeth. Patrick's fingers find the hem of your shirt, slipping beneath the fabric to caress the soft skin of your waist.

A moan escapes your lips as his touch ignites a fire within you, a burning desire that consumes rational thought. You tug at his clothes, needing to feel his skin against yours, to lose yourself in the physicality of the moment.

Patrick responds in kind, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck as you head towards the bedroom. You stumble together, a tangle of limbs and half-shed clothing, until you fall onto the bed in a heap.

For a moment, you stare at each other, chests heaving, eyes dark with want. His lips trail scorching kisses down your neck, his stubble rasping against your sensitive skin.

"Pat," you gasp, arching into his touch as his hands touch wherever they can reach.

He pauses, hovering above you, his eyes dark with desire and something more, something akin to regret. "Tell me to stop," he whispers, his voice strained. "Tell me you don't want this."

But you can't. Because despite everything, the hurt and the anger and the years of distance, you do want this. You want him, even if it's just for tonight, even if it's a mistake you'll regret come morning.

"Don't stop," you breathe, pulling him back down to you.

Your shirt is discarded, followed by your bra, as Patrick's hands and mouth map the newly exposed skin. He lavishes attention on your breasts, his tongue swirling around each nipple until they peak into hardened buds. You writhe beneath him, your nails digging into his broad shoulders as the pleasure builds.

Patrick's lips trail lower, blazing a path down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans. He pauses, glancing up at you through his lashes, silently seeking permission. You lift your hips in response, and he tugs the denim down your legs, taking your panties with them.

Exposed and vulnerable, you fight the urge to cover yourself, to hide from the intensity of his gaze. But Patrick looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, his eyes filled with a reverence that steals your breath.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his hands skimming up your thighs, spreading them wider. "I never deserved you."

Before you can respond, his mouth is on you, his tongue delving into your folds, lapping at your most sensitive spots. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as he works you with expert precision, stoking the fire that burns within you.

Patrick slips a finger inside you, then two, curling them just so as his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit. The dual sensations are almost too much to bear, and you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge, your body tensing in anticipation.

"Pat, I'm going to—" you gasp, your words cut off by a moan as he redoubles his efforts, determined to unravel you completely.

And then you're shattering, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of blinding ecstasy. Patrick works you through it, his fingers and tongue gentling as you come down from the high, your body trembling with aftershocks.

He crawls back up your body, pressing tender kisses to your skin as he goes. When he reaches your lips, you taste yourself on his tongue, a heady reminder of the intimacy you've just shared.

"I need you," you whisper against his mouth, your hands fumbling with the button of his jeans. "Please, Patrick."

He helps you undress him, kicking off his jeans and boxers until he's as bare as you are. His erection springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach, and you reach out to wrap your fingers around him, reveling in the velvety softness of his skin.

Patrick groans at your touch, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Condom," he grits out, reaching for his discarded basketball shorts.

You wait impatiently as he rolls the latex over his length, your body thrumming with anticipation. When he settles between your thighs again, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of fullness. Your breath hitches as he slowly pushes forward, stretching you deliciously as he fills you inch by inch. A low moan escapes your lips at the exquisite sensation of him inside you, his thick length pulsing with need.

Patrick stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his forehead pressed against yours as he struggles to maintain control. "God, you feel incredible," he rasps, his voice strained with desire. "I've missed this. Missed you."

The confession tugs at your heart, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you once shared, the love that never quite died despite the pain and the years apart. You cling to him, your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him deeper.

He begins to move then, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm that builds in intensity with each thrust. You meet him stroke for stroke, your bodies moving in perfect sync, as if no time has passed at all. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the mingled gasps and moans, the whispered words of encouragement and praise.

Patrick's mouth finds yours again, his kisses deep and demanding, as if he's trying to pour all of his unspoken emotions into the press of his lips. Your fingers tangle in his curly black hair, tugging lightly as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter within you.

He shifts the angle of his thrusts, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. You cry out, your nails raking down his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake. Patrick hisses at the sting, but it only seems to spur him on, his movements becoming more frantic, more forceful.

"Touch yourself," he commands, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you come around me."

Obediently, you slip a hand between your bodies, feeling the heat and sweat radiating off of Patrick's skin. Your fingers glide lazily over his chest and down towards the area of need. However, unsatisfied with your own rhythm, Patrick's fingers boldly enter your mouth, collecting the saliva and making you involuntarily gag. Without hesitating, his fingers make their way back down to their intended destination, gently nudging yours out of the way. His thumb finds your clit, tracing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. The added stimulation sends electric shocks of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your inner walls to flutter around his throbbing cock.

You arch into his touch, your hands now exploring the hard planes of his chest, tracing the lines of his happy trail.

As Patrick moves within you, his eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, you can almost pretend that this means something more than a temporary escape, a fleeting connection in the midst of your fractured lives. But deep down, you know the truth.

This is all you can ever have with Patrick - stolen moments of passion, brief respites from the weight of your respective burdens. Tomorrow, you'll go back to being strangers, two people whose paths diverged long ago, held together only by the tenuous threads of history and desire.

With each deep thrust, Patrick stokes the fire building within you, pushing you closer to the brink of release. The fingers of his other hand dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he drives into you with increasing urgency, chasing his own climax.

"I'm close," he pants, his breath hot and ragged. "Give me another one. Come with me, baby. I’ve got you."

The endearment slips out unbidden, a echo of the past, of the tender moments you once shared. It's enough to send you tumbling over the edge, your walls clenching around him as euphoria floods your senses. Patrick follows a heartbeat later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he spills himself inside you, his hips jerking erratically with the force of his release.

As your breathing slows and reality seeps back in, the weight of your history, of all the unspoken words and unresolved hurt, settles heavily in the room. Patrick rolls off of you, disposing of the condom before collapsing onto the mattress and pulling you to him.

For a long moment, you lie tangled together, chests heaving, hearts racing in sync. Patrick's weight is a comforting presence, his face buried in the crook of your neck as the aftershocks of pleasure gradually subside.

But as the haze of desire dissipates, reality begins to seep in, cold and unforgiving. You feel Patrick tense against you, his body growing rigid as the magnitude of what you've done settles over him. He moves away from you, tugging on his boxers in swift, mechanical movements.

The silence that stretches between you is heavy with unspoken regrets, with the bitter knowledge that this changes nothing. You pull the sheet up to cover your nakedness, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable in the harsh light of aftermath.

You turn your head to look at him, taking in the familiar lines of his profile, the curl of his lashes against his cheek. "What are we doing, Pat?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighs, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "I don't know," he admits, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I just... I needed this. Needed you."

Your heart clenches at his words, a bittersweet mix of longing and resignation. You know you should put a stop to this, to the cycle of hurt and temporary solace that keeps bringing you back together. But the pull between you is too strong, the history too deep.

"I can't keep being your escape, Patrick," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "I can't keep pretending that this means something more than it does."

He turns to face you then, his lake blue eyes searching yours, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable in their depths. "What if it could?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if we could make it mean something more?"

For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine it - a life where you and Patrick find a way to bridge the gap between your worlds, to build something real and lasting. But the dream fades as quickly as it forms, the harsh realities of your lives intruding once more.

"I wish things could be different," Patrick murmurs, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. "I wish I could be the man you deserve."

Your eyes search his face for a glimmer of the boy you once knew, the one who stole your heart with his reckless charm and unbridled ambition. "We both made our choices, Pat," you whisper, your fingers reaching over to brush a stray curl from his forehead. "We can't go back.”

Patrick moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to you, shoulders hunched with the weight of his thoughts. You watch him, your heart aching with a familiar longing, a desperate wish for things to be different.

“I don’t even know what you really want from me. I doubt you do either. You’re just latching onto me because I’m something steady to grab a hold of.” Your voice is soft, tentative. “Look at me, Pat.”

He flinches at the sound of his name, as if the mere utterance is a painful reminder of the intimacy you've just shared. "Don't," he says, his tone flat, emotionless. "Please, just… don't."

You swallow back the words that threaten to spill out, the confessions and pleas that will only fall on deaf ears. Because you know, deep down, that Patrick will never be yours, not in the way you want him to be. His heart belongs to the court, to the thrill of the game, to the relentless pursuit of greatness that has consumed him for as long as you've known him. And the more it alludes him, the more desperate he is to obtain it.

And you? You're just a temporary port in the storm, a fleeting respite from the chaos of his life. A reminder of the girl he left behind, the love he sacrificed on the altar of his ambition.

Patrick stands abruptly, reaching for his discarded clothes. He dresses quickly, efficiently, his movements sharp and purposeful. You watch him in silence, a lump forming in your throat as the weight of the moment settles over you.

“Will you stop?” You sit up, pulling the blanket around you. “Just sleep here for tonight, Pat. You’re being difficult for no reason.”

Patrick's steps falter as he turns to you, his grip tight on the fabric of his shirt. His face is a mix of anger and frustration, but then it transforms into a vulnerable expression that catches you off guard. He runs a hand through his hair before letting out a heavy sigh. "I know I shouldn't ask after what happened between us...but will you come watch me play tomorrow?"

#patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #challengers x you #challengers fanfic #am i too late?#norimadeit #noriwroteit

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gremlin-girly · 14 hours ago

Text

Trust Me

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, coworkers to lovers, holding hands (aw), idiots in love, winter time fun

Word count: TBA

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated (or put through AI)

A/N: This is not a Fluffcember prompt - I was just inspired :)

Prompts are from @creativepromptsforwriting

Prompts used:

"Come on, I can show you how to do it. I'm a great teacher."

"Let's grab some hot chocolate after this."

It took 30 seconds for him to grab her hand and it would take an hour for him to let it go again.

Summary: You teach Bucky how to ice skate.

Masterlist | The Bucky Barnes Collection

"Come on, I can show you how to do it. I'm a great teacher."

It was the third time you'd skated backwards past Bucky and each time it irritated him more and more. He felt like Bambi; his legs splaying uncontrollably beneath him as he gripped the railing like his life depended on it. The railing creaked under his metal hand, threatening to give way as he slid down the barrier, glaring at you with the most adorably grumpy look plastered on his face.

Your hands were folded behind your back as you drifted past, almost smugly. Almost.

Bucky had to admit, even begrudgingly, that you looked elegant - beautiful, even. Your legs criss-crossing easily behind you, stupidly long, ugly scarf wrapping around you; but the best thing you wore was your smile. Big, bright and blissfully warm, your smile had melted the Winter Soldier's icy closed off heart into a puddle and you didn't even know it.

"Trust me," you urge, holding out your hand to him. Bucky harrumphs and his cheeks start to glow pink and he tries to tell himself it's from the cold.

He reaches out, struggling to stay upright but finally manages to stand stock still. Bucky's breath catches when he realises he's gripping your hand tightly and suddenly releases your hand to a looser grip. However, your rainbow-mitten clad hand clamps down and you gently tug him towards you.

"Bend your knees a little - that's it," You watch his legs bend awkwardly, biting back a chuckle. The big ol' grump Bucky couldn't handle the ice.

You offer your other hand, coaxing his left hand away from the railing. He wobbles a moment but ultimately stays standing. You stand hand in hand facing eachother for a few moments, two puffs of breath visible between you. Both of you are rosy cheeked now, and you're both gripping eachother's hands tightly.

"Slide your feet diagonally." You say gently, moving your own feet into position.

"Doll," Bucky says worriedly, grimacing as he wobbles again.

"You're okay. Baby steps."

Bucky bites his lip, holding back a groan of embarassment as he struggles to move his legs without doing the splits. Yet he persevered.

Slowly, very slowly, but surely; Bucky began to glide across the ice. With a wide grin and a chuckle (maybe even a tiny wobble or two), Bucky let go of your right hand.

"Woohoo!" You cheer, turning easily to fall into pace beside him, still holding his right hand. "You're doing great, Buck."

"Don't let go!" He blurts suddenly, slipping forward before quickly regaining his balance. A scarlet flush creeps up his neck from below his scarf and he stammers. "Let's um...let's grab some hot chocolate after this. My treat."

You giggle sweetly and Bucky smiles nervously, his heart beating faster when you squeeze his hand.

"Alright, alright." You grin back. "I'll stay right here by your side. Then hot chocolate."

You both travel around the ice, clinging to one another, laughing and smiling; trying to ignore the fluttering in your chests or the pink dusting your cheeks.

Even though it took 30 seconds for Bucky to grab your hand, it would would take an hour for him to let it go again. He only did so to take the hot chocolates out of the server's hands. Once his hand was free of your hot chocolate, his hand easily slipped into yours again, as if it had never left.

#gremlin girly #gremlin girly writes #fluff #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff

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streamafterlaughter · 3 days ago

Text

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter VII: Choose Love or Sympathy

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev. | diaries coming soon

songs for this chapter: that’s what you get by paramore, xo by fall out boy, lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off, king for a day by pierce the veil

a/n: hear me when i say these two are absolutely in for it it. I'm also a huge fan of italics apparently

chapter tags: angst, hurt/comfort but then... hurt/no comfort (SORRY!), reader is a sensitive baby we love her, mean!Eddie, but also very sweet Eddie. swearing, smoking, drinking, reader struggles with self image / mental health (vague for now) | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Reblog/comment/like to support the author! Join the tag list!

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotine @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality |

The weekend comes barreling towards you sooner than you’d have liked. You wake up Friday morning with a sense of dread, Robin’s words on a broken loop in your head: what you ‘know’ isn’t the whole goddamn story. Everyone keeps fucking saying that, but no one has actually told you what you “don’t know.”. Chris hasn’t given you a goddamn leg to stand on, speaking in riddles and never once confirming or denying a thing. You’re an adult, and you wish these fuckers would start treating you like one.

On your nightstand, your phone buzzes repeatedly, a string of incoming text messages:

bobbins: so,, ive smoked some weed bobbins: im cool now bobbins: i still think there’s a lot we don’t know,, bobbins: but I’m sorry for insinuating you should forgive him. bobbins: i cant imagine how you felt that day. bobbins: i love u bb

You scramble to respond before she can get another five messages in,

it’s ok bob, i love u 2

The subject changes swiftly as she tosses questions about tonight at you one after the other. You send her pictures of your outfit choices, hairstyle ideas, personal protection list before finally asking her the question gnawing on your brain.

What if he doesn’t like me?

Robin responds by calling you.

“Hi?”

“Don’t be stupid.” She starts, not letting you explain. “He asked you out, why wouldn’t he like you?!”

“I dunno! Maybe he’s just looking for a hookup. Maybe he thought I’d be easy?” The suggestion sounds silly coming out of your mouth, and you hear Robin scoff at you.

“Look, if things start to stink, call me. Steve’s closing tonight, so he’ll be right down the street.”

You sigh into the receiver. “Okay, okay. You’re right, I’m probably worried for nothing.”

“Atta girl! Now go on, go headbang or whatever it is you people do.”

You snort as you say your goodbyes, and hang up the phone. Without Robin to distract you, you turn to the outfits you’ve spread out on your bed. Emo Nite is casual, sure, but you still want to look good. You decide on a pair of Tripp pants, adorned with metal hooks and chains, pairing it with an old Paramore shirt you cropped with kitchen scissors in high school. With your outfit out of the way, you sit at your vanity to do your makeup, extending your winged eyeliner a little further than you would on a normal day. When you’re done, your alarm clock reads 8:30, and you make your way to your car.

–

9:15.

The lights of the city seem to dance across the sky. Everything is louder here, bustling with nightlife you could only dream of seeing in Hawkins. You’re standing outside the club alone, nursing the end of your last cigarette. Maybe he’s running late? You don’t have a single unread text from Scotty. You type several different messages of your own, deleting each one before settling on “You on your way?” But its delivery is never confirmed. It’s grown cold outside, and you wrap your flannel tighter around you to keep the wind out. You should have brought a jacket, but you weren’t expecting to be outside for this long. You can hear the first notes of an old favorite song, followed by a bunch of 20 somethings cheering. Patrons are dressed in black, clad in leather and fishnets, their combat booted feet stomping into the venue. Emo Nite is a nostalgia cash grab, you know that, but you’re envious of everyone setting foot inside, surrounded by their friends and peers, leaving you abandoned at the door.

–

9:30.

The time taunts you from your phone screen. You’re waiting outside the club, the air brisk on your face. Every so often, the door swings open as someone enters or exits, and you turn to see if it’s someone for you. So far, none of them have been, and you’re debating whether or not to walk to the record store and ask Steve to hitch a ride back to his place to mope.

“Hey, Bee!” The voice calling you isn’t the one you’re hoping to hear, but it’s just as familiar. You find its source across the street, Macy waving at you eagerly as her bandmates and fucking Eddie follow behind. Oh, right. Like being stood up isn’t humiliating enough, now Eddie gets to tease you about it.

“What’re you doing out here, girl? It’s freezing!” Macy is sweet, holding your icy cheeks between her warm hands. You can tell she’s already had a few drinks.

“I’m, hm,” You clear your throat, “I’m waiting for someone.”

“A date? Eek! Hear that, Eds? Our girl has a date!” Her words send static through your veins. Since when are you anyone’s girl, let alone Munson and Macy’s?

“Mhm, okay, honey. Let’s go get you situated, yeah?” Eddie ushers her inside, handing her off to Fiona before returning to where you’re standing. Without a word, he lights a cigarette and offers it to you, and you take it without acknowledgement while he lights his own. After what seems like hours, the two of you choose to speak at the same time,

“How late is–” “Why did you–” “What?” “What?”

“You first,” Eddie gestures to you before pulling from his cigarette.

“Why did you tell Scotty to ask me out?”

“What in the world makes you think I told him to ask you out?”

“Look, she’s gonna kill me for telling you this, but Robin overheard you in the bathroom talking to Scotty at the bar. She walked in by accident, and you two had come in before she could leave. Anyway, you know she can’t keep secrets for shit, so she told me what you said to him. Why?” You cross your arms, attempting to hold in as much body heat as possible,but to no avail. Eddie notices, and immediately sheds his jacket, not giving you a chance to refuse it as he drapes the leather over your shoulders.

“I thought he was a cool dude. Thought you guys would hit it off.” His answer does nothing to satiate the hunger for every detail of every single thought that went through his brain up until this very moment. He is driving you fucking insane. “Hey, I bet I could get Macy to put you on the guestlist, so at least tonight won’t be a total waste?” Yet another peace offering from Eddie Munson. Hell must have frozen over.

He doesn’t wait for your approval before reaching into his inner jacket pocket of the coat that you have since put fully on to shield yourself from the wind, to grab his phone. After eagerly punching a few buttons, he holds the device up to his ear, plugging the other with his finger. “Hey, babe. I’m outside with Bee, Scott stood her up.” You can’t hear what Macy’s response is, but Eddie replies with, “You read my mind, honey. We’ll be in in a sec.” He ends the call and turns his attention back to you, his big brown eyes attempting, it seems, to read your mind. “You pissed?”

You shake your head, inhaling another drag of your cigarette. “Not really. Disappointed, I guess.” You pick at your cuticles, refusing to hold eye contact with Eddie, but that doesn’t stop him from boring his own into the top of your head; you can feel them penetrating your skull. “Could’a used the distraction.”

“Fancy me a distractor? Macy’s gonna be busy, I’m practically all by myself tonight.” You look up, and Eddie’s jutting his bottom lip out to pout at you.

“You don’t mind being seen with me?” You tease, flicking ash onto the concrete. You can’t imagine Eddie actually wants you to agree to this offer.

“Why would I? When have I ever cared what people think of me? Especially these posers.” He gestures to you, and you fake offense.

“Posers?! I’ll have you know I have met some of the most authentic punks at places like this, you dweeb!” You toss your cigarette butt on the ground, stomping out the embers with your boot.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m used to going to shows where people leave bloody. Not used to this side of the alternative Venn Diagram, I guess.” He flicks his own cigarette, mirroring your movements. “Shall we go inside?” You nod begrudgingly, and he opens the door to the club for you, stopping to give the bouncer your names.

–

The club is dark, expectedly. The lights flash shades of pink, purple, and blue as people dance and attempt to chat over the noise; and the whole scene is set to the music of your childhood and teen years. As Eddie leads you across the floor, you can feel your chest tighten, watching couples surrounding you, dancing or sloppily making out against the back wall. You let it sink in that you've been stood up. The first time in three years you’d even attempted to go on a date, and the guy didn’t even show up. You hum along to the song playing, a desperate plea for distraction from the situation in front of you. Meanwhile, Eddie leads you to a table away from the speakers, and shouts that he’ll be right back. You can only guess he’s off to wish his girlfriend luck.

While you wait, you observe the crowd around you, and it’s full of kids you knew in high school that used to bully you for liking this kind of music, dressed as caricatures with arm warmers and cheap chains dangling off their black skinny jeans. Conventionally attractive girls wear their eyeliner in heavy wings, their lips painted shades of dark red, dancing with boys in all black with long hair. You try not to think about what Scotty would have worn. You wonder if he even likes this kind of thing. Maybe it was a test, and you'd failed.

Just as you’re about to spiral into misery again, Eddie returns with two drinks in his hands. “You like shirleys, right? I wasn’t totally sure. I can go grab you something else if you want?” If you didn’t know any better, you would think Eddie was nervous.

“No, this is good. Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem!” He has to yell over the music.

“And, uh, thanks for hanging out with me. I know it’s like, the last thing you wanna be doing right now.”

Eddie takes a swig of his beer before responding, “Nah, definitely not the last thing. This is way better than listening to Steve talk about his latest conquest.” You picture the scenario, Eddie slamming his head against a wall while Steve goes on and on about Tracy, or Nicole, or whoever it is this week. The mental image makes you giggle, and Eddie’s smile seems to widen. It makes you uncomfortable, being so close to him. Luckily, though, you don’t get to think about it too long.

“Alright, alright! Thank you guys for comin’ out to hang with us! We have a guest for you tonight, please welcome Macy Miller, frontwoman of Statuesque Dolls!” The crowd cheers politely, these things never have people worth freaking out over. Macy takes the stage, clad in a silky black dress that hugs her form perfectly. Next to you, Eddie is whooping and hollering, “That’s my girl!” It makes your stomach churn. You’re reminded again that you’re supposed to be here on a date. You’re supposed to be someone’s girl.

“Alright, I got a couple of songs for you guys, but I need all of you up and shaking some emo ass with me, got it?!” You can’t deny Macy knows how to work a crowd. She gets people to migrate to the dance floor, and Eddie offers his hand out. “Can I have this dance?”

“Um,” You hesitate to take his outstretched palm. “What about Macy?” You point lamely to where Macy is killing her cover of Fall Out Boy’s XO.

“What about her? It’s a dance, Bee. I’m not, like, asking you to sleep with me or some shit.” Eddie frowns at you, like you’ve offended him.

He does have a point, though. One dance won’t kill you. You accept his gesture, taking his own massive hand in yours, and hope to god he can’t tell that yours is sweating. He leads you to the dance floor, waving to Macy from the crowd as he does. There’s a burn in your stomach when she blows him a kiss, and he pretends to catch it in his mouth. You’re close to bailing when Eddie turns his attention back to you, clearing his throat.

You stare back at him, eyes wide with fear that he’s going to bail, and you prepare to tuck your tail between your legs and call Robin. Instead, Eddie takes your hand again, and yanks you into his embrace. You bump into his chest, but he recovers the fumble by holding you there, free arm resting hesitantly on your waist. You’re frozen, having no clue where to put your hands, so Eddie takes the lead. He drops the hand he’s holding on his shoulder, and moves your other to meet it on the other side. He then rests both his hands on your hips, giving you enough space between his body and yours to breathe, but barely.

The song continues, melodramatic and overtly horny. That, combined with the warmth of the drink in your veins, plus the closeness of Eddie, makes you feel almost good. It’s difficult not to overthink, though, having him in your personal space, your bodies pressed together on a very hot, crowded dance floor, moving in ways you definitely wouldn't have done three hours ago.

“So,” Eddie muses, looking anywhere but at you as he speaks, but still able to move in sync with you. “How’s your day goin’?”

You snicker at his poor attempt at conversation. “Well, I got stood up, and now I’m dancing with who I would have bet this morning wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. All things considered, I think it’s going pretty horribly!”

The ice seems to crack as you speak, Eddie visibly relaxing as you sway to the music. “Okay, that’s fair. Are you pleasantly surprised?”

You look up at him, but his eyes are locked over your head, staring where Macy stands onstage, swaying with a few friends in front of the DJ booth. You shrug. “Jury’s still out.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes at you. After what feels like an eternity, the song ends and Macy queues another rock anthem to get the crowd moving again. You’re unmoving as Eddie unwraps himself from you. “We should do this again sometime.” He states, unreadable.

“What, dance?”

“Sure, or just, y'know, hang out. Be civil for once. It’s been awhile.”

You roll your eyes. “You know this can’t be, like, a normal thing. It bruises our reputation as sworn enemies.” A feeble attempt to make it a joke, though you know in your heart you can’t be friends with Eddie. The earth would cave in on itself.

Eddie chuckles. “Whatever you say, Bee. See ya ‘round.” And he leaves you alone, disappearing into the crowd.

–

It’s 11:30 when your phone buzzes. You’re four drinks deep, stirring another dirty shirley at the bar, observing the people around you having fun.

Scotty A: Hey! Totally meant to text you. Got stuck at work.

An avalanche of thoughts rumbles through you, most of them not safe for work. You don’t even know how to respond. There’s no apology, no groveling for your forgiveness, not a hint of actual, real regret. Like you don’t matter. It exhausts you to even think of what that date would’ve been like had he shown up. You type your response between gulps of liquid courage.

“Are you fucking serious?”

The "..." bubble appears, but quickly vanishes. You gape at your phone, wishing you were home so you could let out the blood curdling scream building in your chest. The anger vibrating through you needs an escape, so you lurch from your seat at the bar, rushing quickly out of the club. Eddie whips his head around as you pass him. You think you hear him call your name, but your eyes have started stinging and he’s the last person you want to see you cry.

The night air hits you hard, bringing separate tears to your eyes. Following your therapist’s advice, you start a box breathing exercise. Breathe in, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Breathe out, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four.

“Hey,” The voice startles you into a hiccup. “You okay?” Eddie has made his way outside after you, leaning against the wall. “Saw you dash outta there like something caught fire. Got worried.” He says it nonchalantly, and it takes you aback. Instead of responding, you flip your phone screen towards him. His eyes scan the page before they focus back on you, shaking his head. “That is so fucked up.”

Your voice breaks with your next question. “Did you know this was gonna happen? Scotty’s your friend.”

Eddie’s face drops into a grimace. “How would I have known? Why would I have told him to hit you up if I knew this was gonna happen?”

It frustrates you how reasonable he’s being. You want someone to yell at, someone to blame, and Eddie just so happens to be the closest target. “I don’t know! Maybe you did it as revenge, or something equally as immature. Maybe you wanted me to feel the same way you did when–”

He interrupts, shaking his head feverishly. “I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone. Even you.” The words are a knife to your chest. You don’t like remembering what you did to Eddie that night, but it’s your fault for bringing it up. “I told Scotty to ask you out because he said he liked you. Crazy concept, I know, but i suggest you stop thinking everyone’s out to get you. I thought it would be fun, hanging out with you and him. I’m sorry it didn’t go how you planned, but blaming me isn’t fucking fair, Bee.”

He’s right, but you can’t bring yourself to back down. “It’s not fair to take someone’s brother away for six years, but you had no problem doing that.”

“Fuck you, Bee. Seriously.” He spits the words before turning on his heel, and heading inside. You are once again left alone, outside, in the cold.

–

#st #fics #munson #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson x y/n #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x oc!reader #hurt/comfort #hurt/no comfort #slow burn #angst #enemies to friends to lovers #modern au #reader is not an elder emo per se... she's 23-24ish #stranger things

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animasolaoriginal · 18 hours ago

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I n f a t u a t e d ♦️TWENTY

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN TWENTY

The trip through the mall continues. More obstacles and surprises await. And a decision that will change her life forever.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use/power play. Jealousy. Sex toys under clothing. Forced public masturbation. Orgasm denial/control. Cockwarming. Vaginal sex. Fingering. Spanking. Oral cockwarming. Oral sex. Collaring. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 11k

A/N: As this is the finale of Season Two, we have another Big Angst Episode ahead of us. Or you have, I already know what happens. Enjoy! (But be aware: there is so much going on here... mind the tags!)

NINETEEN 🟥 TWENTY

They spend the rest of the afternoon strolling through the mall, and by the end of it, she is sore, her insides are buzzing, aflame with the need for release after hours of walking around with those damn toys vibrating inside her. He's either forgotten he turned them on or doesn't care too much about her discomfort, and she's not willing to ask him to make it stop. This is her punishment, she has to pull through to make him proud. To make him praise her.

She's desperate for it, that itch that needs to be scratched worse than the constant stimulation, and it grows every time she sees him smiling at whichever woman is serving them next. That horribly annoying (and annoyingly pretty) waitress at the cafe, the shop clerk that ran after him to sell him a new tie, that girl who handed out fliers for a local festival, the older woman giving out samples of cheese or whatever, no matter who, he's always been so goddamn nice and friendly and flirty, and she hates it.

He's charming, yes, and handsome, and sure, she is the girl whose hand he is holding, but whenever another woman steps forth, he starts to ignore her, would even let go of her hand if she wouldn't squeeze it so tightly. Sometimes he'd look at her then, his eyes dark, and she doesn't know if it's anger or annoyance or something else, but she always ducks her head, lowers her eyes, and just hopes they'll move on soon.

Eventually they do, and he pulls her in front of the cinema that's located at the far end of the shopping center. He steps behind her and wraps his arms around her shoulders, nudging her to look up at the large sign showcasing the available movies to watch. Instead of focusing on the choices ahead of her, she savors the touch, his warmth, his strength, leans against him happily, hands placed on his strong arms.

“What are you in the mood for, baby?” he whispers, his voice that low thrumming right in her ear, vibrating all the way down to mingle with the other vibrating things inside her. Her cunt clenches hungrily around the toy. “Some generic romcom with a boring guy and a too-hot-for-him girl? A murder mystery where it's usually the butler with the frying pan? Some historic tale that's probably good to fall asleep to? Or a nice, gory slasher movie full of blood and fake boobs?”

She giggles softly at the way he lists the films, and he turns his head slightly to press his lips to her jaw. “I don't know...” she says quietly, licking her lips when her cheeks burn up. “I don't mind either way...”

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning his chin on her shoulder. “How about this thriller about the jealous girl who kills off anyone who looks at her lover the wrong way?”

She freezes, clearing her throat. “Um, which one is that?” she asks, trying to hide her surprise, feigning ignorance.

So he knows about her jealousy, is that it? Was it that obvious? Probably. He's been the first man she's developed some sort of feelings for, and with how he has claimed her, it felt only natural to do the same, to claim him. Is that how it works? She isn't sure. (Also, did he refer to himself as her lover just now or is she reading too much into it?)

Instead of replying, he kisses her cheek again, then grabs her chin and turns her head, meeting her lips while looking deep into her eyes. “Sounds intriguing, though, don't you think?” he whispers between slow and soft pecks.

“I... I don't like violence,” she croaks out, gripping his arm tighter as she leans into his kiss needily. “Can we watch the love story instead?”

He huffs a laugh, his warm breath tickling her lips. “You wouldn't call that a love story too?”

“Killing people for love? Not my kind of romance...”

“No?” he breathes, nuzzling his nose against hers. “Well, it is unusual, but I'd certainly appreciate the gesture.”

She frowns at that, but he only winks and leans back, letting her go. His hand is around hers when he starts walking towards the booth selling the tickets. “Romcom it is, then,” he tells her and buys them each a ticket and some popcorn.

She's shifting in her seat, squirming all the way through the commercials until he finally acknowledges her discomfort. “What's wrong?”

“Sitting is... uh... a little... well, weird,” she stammers out quietly, biting her lip. Walking she has somehow gotten used to, but the soft seat makes her sink deeper into the cushion, causing the stiff harness to dig into her flesh and the toys to push deeper, and with the constant buzzing they move against each other through her walls, and her muscles can't keep up with the clenching.

She sees him frowning in the semi-darkness of the room. When he pulls his phone out and the light of the display hits his face, she notices the smirk. “Oh,” he says with a low chuckle. “Forgot about your two best friends,” he adds, but she knows he didn't. “You could have said something, darling,” he tells her with a stern gaze that she can't take serious with the way his lips curl.

“I'm sorry. It was okay when we were walking...” she whispers back, waiting for him to turn the toys off. Of course he doesn't immediately indulge her, and instead turns them up a notch, then another, and some more, and she grips the armrests of the chair and bites her tongue as a loud moan wants to spill from her lips.

Luckily the room isn't too crowded, there are a few other couples, a small group of women, a larger group of girls, but none of them in their close vicinity. He chose the last row for them, the corner seats, pretty much in the far back, overlooking the rest of the auditorium. And the volume of the commercials does drown out her little squeaks as she presses herself deeper into the seat, thighs clamped together tightly as she fights the sensations.

“Do you want me to turn them off?” he whispers, phone in hand, leaning over to her side. “Are you sure you deserve that?”

She stares at him, sunken into the seat, hands white-knuckling the chair. “Please...” she gasps out, her insides convulsing painfully. The strength of the vibrations goes through her entire body, makes her teeth chatter if she wouldn't grit them. The way the toys hit her oversensitive flesh makes her see stars. If she'd be allowed to come, it wouldn't even be that bad, but she's fighting the burning tension so hard that her muscles start cramping.

“Please what? Use your words, baby.” He's teasing her, and she hates him for it.

“Please... turn them off... or down... but not... like this... please... it hurts...” she stammers through tight lips. “You... you told me... to tell you... when it... when it hurts...”

He hums softly, his thumb sliding over the screen of his phone. “That I did,” he whispers, and she feels the buzzing grow weaker until it finally stops. She still feels the echo of it, the aftershocks, but slowly her body relaxes again.

“Thank you,” she breathes, closing her eyes for a moment.

Of course it's wrong to assume he'd let this go so easily. So when she feels his hand between her sticky thighs, she isn't surprised, but it still startles her. Eyes flying open, she stares at him in the dark, stiffens when he slips his fingers over the harness, then fumbles with the belt holding it together.

She's too weak to move much, to protest, so she lets him unfasten the leather strap that spans over her mound, and in the next moment his fingers don't pull on the dildo, but push in next to it. She cries out quietly, quickly raising a hand to cover her mouth. He watches her intensely, fingers probing, stretching her already tense muscles, pushing the toy this way and that, nudging all the sensitive spots that make her thighs twitch.

Her free hand closes around his wrist and tries to pull him away, but he narrows his eyes at her, and she whines into her palm, hand falling back to the seat. He continues his poking until he finally grips the base of the toy and pulls, only a little, nudge after nudge, before he pushes it back into her clenching cunt, out and in, in and out, a slow rhythm that makes her thrash her head against the backrest, her muffled noises luckily drowned out by the movie beginning with a happy dance song.

She feels like crying though, overwhelmed by the sensations, too sensitive to really enjoy the motions, but he doesn't care, keeps pumping the dildo in and out, and the heat builds up inside her, more and more, stomach tensing, her body contorting in the seat, hips bucking, legs kicking helplessly. He leans over her a little more, his free hand gripping hers and pulling it away from her mouth, and she stares at him in shock, biting her tongue hard to keep the noises down, but he seems to have mercy, finally, and presses his big hand over her quivering lips, holding her jaw, pressing her deeper into the cushions as he doubles his efforts.

Her eyes roll back, stars and black spots dance all around her, head is filled with cotton that's sizzling at the edges, the heat almost unbearable as it gathers in her lower stomach, at the end of her channel, heating up with every deep plunge of the toy, and she's so close, drowning in pleasure but it's not enough, only a few more nudges, a few more...

Suddenly he's pulling back, taking his hand off her face, leaning away, and the dildo slips from her clenching core and leaves her empty and hanging mid-air as shock settles in the place where pleasure has been, and she falls, collapses into the seat, and can't help the loud “No!” that comes out as a whine that echoes through the large room.

And she freezes as she realizes just how loud she's been, staring at the screen and the seats in front of her with wide eyes, holding her breath, further pushing away the sensations deflating inside her. Luckily the protagonists are fighting on screen, bickering back and forth, and her outburst could have easily been a reaction to that because no other cinema goer notices anything or cares enough to turn around.

She huffs a deep sigh and closes her eyes, hiding her burning face behind her hands as she lets the tears flow. It's only a moment of forced reprieve, in which her mind goes into overdrive (she can still feel the heat burning away inside of her, she's been so close, she may not deserve it, may not be allowed, but she would have loved to see it through to the end, no matter how public the place is, she would have done it, would have let him push her over, after hours of being denied, of being edged with no release, and she's been so freaking close...), but the turmoil stops the second she feels his hands on her waist as he manhandles her onto his lap. Not the usual way, but facing the screen, her legs falling open over his strong thighs as he pulls her back against his chest and wraps his arms around her waist.

His cheek scrapes against hers. “Did you really think I was gonna make you come?” he whispers into her ear, making goosebumps pebble her skin. “No, baby, not yet...”

She whines quietly, gripping his arms. Her chest is heaving, heart still thundering within, the burning cotton doused with shockingly cold water, leaving it charred at the edges but still filling up her head. She stares blankly at the screen, barely follows the story, just lets her eyes rest on the moving pictures, lets the sounds sink into her body. She feels numb now, frozen in place, denied to go anywhere else.

His hands move then, one holding her hip, pushing her slightly down his legs, the other fumbling with something behind her. She barely registers anything anymore. How he lifts the back of her skirt, how he grips her waist again and pulls her back, how he moves her legs to rest between his, but when his voice thrums in her ear, she perks up.

“Come sit on my cock,” he breathes into her, heating up the cotton in her head.

She grips his knees when she leans forward on shaking legs, raising her rear and her hips, nudging against him until she feels the warm tip of his cock against her wet skin. Grinding slightly, she hopes for him to just slip in, surely it must be easy with how she's been stretched and prepared over the last hours, but it's not easy without looking at what she does.

“Please help me...” she whispers as she looks at him over her shoulder.

There's a smile on his lips, but it looks dark and menacing, causing a shiver to run down her spine. He still indulges her when he grabs the base of his length and guides it to her entrance, then grabs her hip with the other hand and pushes her down, hard, swift, and she gasps, slapping her hand back over her mouth, as she feels him sinking deep and deeper until he bottoms out, pushing through tense muscles, scraping over sensitive flesh, prodding her deepest spots.

And then he just rests there, or she is, on top of him, impaled and stuck. He pulls her back against his chest, and the tight squeeze nudges the plug in her ass, making her whimper into her palm. She's braced on his legs, her own pushed together as he strains his thighs against hers, caging her in, holding her in place. His arms come back around her waist, further limiting her movements.

She wants to buck her hips, grind on him, find any kind of relief from the tension building up all over again, but he clicks his tongue quietly, and she stiffens, just sits there, on his cock, staring at the screen through bleary eyes, with her cheeks burning and the tears rolling uncontrollably.

Eventually they dry on her warm skin, and she becomes numb again. She still feels his warmth, his strength, his steady breaths on her neck, his hands occasionally rubbing along her side or over her breasts and down her stomach, and she leans into him, into the closeness, her hands relaxing on her lap. The cotton is gone, or expanded so much she can't make out the difference. Her head feels empty, no thoughts, just him...

A freeing void. A space only for her.

And she relaxes enough to focus back on the movie, watches it with growing interest, reacts to hectic scenes by twitching and tensing up, coos when the couple-to-be is touching or, God forbid, kissing, even laughs softly when the comic relief character does something funny.

She forgets about the all-consuming need to climax, or any need for that matter. She doesn't forget about him, big and strong behind her, holding her on his lap, his cock deep inside her, warm and cozy like it should be, using her hole to keep him happy and content. That's her purpose after all.

He moves sometimes, shifting in his seat, rolling his hips upwards, teasing her, and she lets him, leaning into it, into him, smiling softly when his fingers brush against her chin to turn her head. He looks softer now, relaxed, proud of her? She hopes so, but it doesn't matter either way. She has no needs, no wants, this is all about him.

He presses his lips to her cheek and makes her mewl, then turns her back to focus on the rest of the film. She grows tired after a while, the plot sizzling out on the screen, becoming predictable and silly, or she's just too exhausted to follow along properly. Her eyelids grow heavy, her head lolls back against his shoulder, and she breathes deeply until the noises around her become a comforting drone that lets her slip into a dark soothing nothingness.

She wakes up to a soft hum, then a nibble to her earlobe, and when she stirs with a tired groan, she is already being lifted, the pressure within easing for a moment before she is draped over the seat in front of her, her hair falling over her head when she dips down into the soft cushions, a surprised yelp escaping her before she braces on her arms and lifts her head a bit more.

The auditorium is dark and empty, the movie over, the other people gone, and he stands behind her, hands on her hips, and without waiting for her to wake up more, pushes his hard cock back into her clenching hole. She wails quietly, arms shaking as she leans on them, trying to hold her heavy head up. He seems to be in a rush as he starts pounding into her right away, with hard thrusts, hips slamming into her legs, making her bounce on the backrest of the chair.

He's quick and hectic, driving himself deep, chasing his own orgasm, but as he does so, he doesn't seem to care that her clit keeps rubbing against the fabric of the seat, back and forth, making her howl and cry. She's still sensitive, and the added stimulation makes her head spin, the tension within coiling up tightly, ready to spring free, and it's when he groans behind her, picking up the pace, ramming and rutting into her, that she squeezes her eyes shut and parts her lips for a drawn-out moan as the pleasure finally, finally, washes over her tense limbs, like a cold soothing breeze after stewing in the sun for too long.

She goes limp as the lights still flicker behind her eyelids, her thighs twitching against his, toes curling in her shoes, hips stuttering, her arms losing grip before she collapses into the seat, no longer caring that she's upside down, no longer caring about anything. He must have felt the tight clenching of her cunt, and there's a pause in his thrusts, but only for so long before he continues, hammering into her fast and hard until he grunts and stills deep inside her, hands digging into her waist, holding her, his body shuddering against her rear as he spills his warmth into her depths.

He pulls out soon after, and she feels his cum dripping out of her clenching hole, a satisfying sensation somehow, like a caress on irritated skin. The moment only lasts so long before she feels something hard rubbing along the inside of her thigh, gathering his spend, and then the dildo pushes back into her, plugging her up, sealing his seed, warm and comforting inside her. Her muscles clench, but she feels too loose to hold the toy, though she doesn't have to worry as he then fastens the harness back around her mound, holding the item in place.

She barely registers any of that with her head hanging upside down, the seat pressing into her stomach. She's just a limp body, draped over furniture, a doll someone forgot to take with them. But he doesn't forget, she's pulled upright then, and his hand finds her throat, holding her as he presses her against his chest.

“Did you just come?” His voice sounds angry, and she doesn't know why. She still feels like floating, relaxed, content, and he should too. He came inside her, didn't he? They shared this beautiful moment... why is he so upset?

Slowly the cotton in her head dissolves, and her eyelids flutter, she inhales deeply, swallows against his hand, her eyes focusing back on his face. He stares at her, hard, stoic, and she blinks, blinks again, licks her dry lips, then furrows her eyebrows as cold dread crashes through her body. “Oh...” she breathes out.

Her punishment. She wasn't supposed to come.

A pained whine escapes her, and she raises her hands to grab his wrist, looking at him pleadingly. “I'm sorry,” she whispers. “I'm sorry!”

He stares at her, then shakes his head. “I'll remember this,” is all he says as he lets her go, fixes his clothes, then hers, even untangles her hair, before he grabs her hand and drags her past the row of seats out of the auditorium.

Her legs are shaking badly, and the soreness of her body returns with every step. The toys shift inside her, tormenting her all over again, even more so with how sensitive she still is, the stickiness between her thighs feels hot and uncomfortable, the welts on the backs of them sting, the skin tight and burning.

But the ache in her heart seems to be the worst. She didn't mean to disappoint him, but how was she supposed to stop that with how he handled her over the seat?

It's not fair.

She's fighting tears as he pulls her after him through the mall. After a long trek in uncomfortable silence, they stop in front of a coffee stand, and before he turns to the woman behind it with his order, he turns to her, raises a hand to wipe at her wet cheeks and gives her a pointed look. Pull yourself together, it says, she's sure, and she nods, biting her lip, swallowing hard.

She is then forced to watch yet another display of his charming personality as he flirts with the barista, who laughs and throws her hair back, enjoying herself a little too much as the tall handsome man talks to her in a soft voice that is usually reserved for her. Grinding her teeth, she clenches her hands into fists (he's just let her stand there, a few feet behind him, completely ignoring her).

Suddenly a voice chimes in her head, one she hasn't heard before, or never paid enough attention to. Run, it tells her, use his distraction and flee, get out of here. He cannot keep treating you like this! You are more than just a hole, a doll to move, you don't deserve this!

She freezes, panic rippling through her. To her own surprise, she looks along the crowded hallways, eyes scanning the various exit routes. It would be easy to slip between the other people, with how small she is, he wouldn't even notice while he's fixated on that woman at the coffee stand.

Just go. Move! the voice urges.

And then, she does, driven by the coldness spreading within her, turns slightly, takes one step, then another, putting a little distance between the busy man and herself, and her heart is pounding hard in her chest, loud in her ears, drowning out everything but the nagging voice. She reaches a group of people in front of a window display, she just has to move between them, out of sight. Cold sweat spreads all over her body, her limbs are tense and shaking, tears burning in her eyes.

She doesn't look back, but she wants to, wants to turn around, go back to him, throw herself into his strong arms. Where is she even supposed to go? All alone in a place she's never been to? She has no money, no ID, nothing. Just those damn toys inside her holes and the bruises on her skin. A sight she doesn't want to share with anyone (but him).

What if she went to the police, told them her story, what happened, they'd treat her like a dumb victim, just another case file, and what if he got arrested for it, or accused and then cleared of all charges because he's rich and can afford lawyers who'll kick him out of anything. It's her word against his, and his wrath will be even worse. He'll find her, she's sure, he told her he won't let her go, she is his.

She is his.

It's her purpose to serve him, to please him, to make him happy, proud, make him praise her. And she needs the praise. She is a good girl! She did everything he's asked of her! She made mistakes, yes, but she'll make it better, she'll redeem herself. She can still make it better. She just has to turn around...

And so she does. Sniffling pathetically, she stumbles back the way she came, back to him, back to the coffee stand, where he's still standing (and flirting), and even though his back is turned to her, she can imagine that beautiful smile on his handsome face, the twinkle in his dark eyes, things she wants to see, for the rest of her life.

She's so focused on him, on her own guilt burning through her, that she suddenly trips over her shoes, those damn shoes that give her two inches she doesn't know how to balance on, and she falls, with a shriek, landing hard on her hands and knees, several sharp pains assaulting her at once, and the tears come without warning. She feels horrible, for trying to run away, for the state of her body, for embarrassing him in public.

He's with her immediately, his hands on her elbows as he pulls her to her feet, cradling her in his arms, genuine concern on his face as he looks down at her. She sniffles, cries without restraint, lets it all out as he presses her to his chest, soothing her with soft hums. “I'm so sorry,” she wails into his shirt, gripping at the fabric, holding onto him.

He rubs her back, his hand warm and comforting, easing the hiccups that shake her small body. “It's okay, shh, calm down, it's okay,” he whispers. His voice does calm her down eventually, and she leans against him, tired and sad, but glad to be back in his arms, having his attention, his comfort.

Leaning her back by her shoulder, he watches her, wipes her tears from her flushed face, tilts his head. He doesn't ask what happened but he can't know that she tried to escape from him. He shouldn't either. He's already angry with her, she can't handle more. “Sorry,” she mumbles again and rubs her burning eyes, hoping he'll brush this off as her being too clumsy to stand on those damn shoes.

He frowns at her, then bends down to pick up his coffee cup. She's leaning into him when he drapes his arm around her shoulders and guides her past the group of people she's attempted to hide between. What a stupid idea. Why would she ever leave this man? She'd be stupid to try, she is stupid for trying. He's giving her so much, changed her whole pathetic life, gave her a purpose. She's still afraid of his anger, of the rest of her punishment, but she'll live. He won't kill her, won't throw her away if she breaks, she is his. And he'll keep her, no matter what. He has to!

It's a reassuring thought in the midst of her doubts and fears while her body screams for her to make it stop. She doesn't care about the soreness anymore, the prospect of more pain, her heart is aflame with a feeling that's burning down anything else, a feeling so strong she'd rather die than leave him, a passion, a need, a growing obsession. For him. And only him.

The sun is setting when they eventually reach his car on the emptying parking lot. She's caught deep in her mind, already making plans of how to make it up to him. He pulls her to the trunk, opens it, and, without warning, crouches down beside her, his hands slipping under her skirt. She gasps, gripping the cold metal of the car and his shoulder, her eyes darting around the lot, but nobody seems to be close enough to see them.

He's fumbling with the harness, opens the belts and then pulls the leather straps down her legs. The toy in her cunt moves first, her muscles unable to hold it, probably more willing to push it out after such a long time. He catches it before it slips out fully, and while she's burning up in a mixture of shame and relief, he turns her around and pokes at her butt plug, moves it in and out for a moment to ease her muscles, then pulls it out, one ball-shaped bump at a time. She sighs deeply when it's gone.

The loss of pressure feels heavenly, but only for a moment, then she feels strangely empty, lost without her new best friends, as he's dubbed them. She watches him discard of the glistening dildos in one of the bags in the trunk, before he closes it with a thud and nudges her towards the passenger side of the car. Her core is clenching around nothing now, her wetness a steady stream down her legs until she presses her thighs together, trapping it. She should feel embarrassed about it, but she can't bring herself to care anymore.

He guides her into the car, buckles her in, doesn't look at her when he closes the door and walks to his side. He's punishing her with silence again, and when the engine roars to life and he drives off the parking lot, she lets out a quiet sigh as she wrings her hands in her lap nervously. But she only has to stew in her dark thoughts for so long before he pulls onto a service road leading into the forest at the edge of town.

She swallows hard when he kills the engine and gets out, then opens her door, unbuckles her and pulls her out as well. Her legs are shaking, the air is cold around them (adding to the ice inside her stomach), and he leads her towards a fallen over tree trunk. Sitting down, he pats his lap, and while she's confused why he would stop here to let her sit on there, she's corrected in her assumptions when he pulls her close and drapes her over his lap with her ass in the air and her hair falling over her head.

Bracing on his thigh, she knows what's coming. She can already feel the sting of his hand on her ass cheeks, but... nothing happens. Instead she feels his hand in her hair, pulling it back and her head up by gripping it hard, then his other hand is in front of her face, holding something, and even in the darkness around them, with only the last glow of the setting sun behind the trees, she can see that it's her panties, the soft pink ones he took from her (before they visited Mistress' sex shop). They're bunched up into a ball, and before she can wonder why he's showing her that, he pushes the fabric against her lips, and she's too surprised to stop it, opens her mouth almost willingly, then croaks a muffled wail when he shoves it past her teeth.

“Bite down on that,” he tells her, his voice harsh and dark.

She sniffles through her nose, tasting the remnants of sweat and his cum on the fabric, her spit seeping into it, her jaw aching already, but she nods into his hand, holding the gag in place, forcing herself to endure. He lets go of her hair, shifts her on his lap, then pushes her skirt up and exposes her bare ass. His hand rubs over the soft skin, teasing lower at the welts still straining on her thighs, and she prepares for the first impact, for the pain crashing through her, but again, nothing happens.

His fingers tease between her legs, nudging them apart, before he slips them between her wet folds, her cunt clenching in anticipation. The first poke comes as a surprise, making her cry out into the panties between her teeth. His finger slips deep, then pulls back, pokes in again, harsh and fast, a sudden stab that confuses her body. He adds another finger, repeats the motion, sudden stabs, deep, plunging into her wet hole, the squelching noises loud in the quiet forest.

She squirms slightly on his lap, her fingers curling into his jeans, her feet kicking uncontrollably. He keeps fingering her, now with three fingers, pressed tightly together as they invade her cunt, stretch her, penetrate deep, then scissor out, pushing against her tight muscles. She moans voicelessly.

He leans over her then, hot breaths on her ear. “One day I'll put my entire hand into your cute little cunt, and I'll play you like a puppet.” His lewd words make her clench around his fingers, and a soft chuckle escapes him. “Oh, you'd like that, hm?” He pushes his fingers deeper, then rips them out, gives her time to scream into the gag, before plunging them back in roughly. She writhes, wailing, confused and aroused, and he has to push his other hand onto her back to keep her still.

The fingers disappear then, leaving her empty once more, but when he presses his wet fingertips to her throbbing clit, she arches her back and wishes he'd finger her some more. The sudden stimulation makes her jump, thighs twitching, legs kicking, her breaths ragged, her muffled noises loud in her ear.

He draws tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing, prodding, pushing, pinching, and the edge is near, she can feel it, that tension coiling up, lights flickering behind her eyelids, but she should have seen it coming: it stops before she can get anywhere, the sudden darkness almost turning red with how frustrated he leaves her.

In her angry haze she hears the sound of his belt buckle, then a strange scratching noise, and without seeing it, she knows, he's pulled his belt from the loops of his jeans. A sudden coldness crashes through her, freezes any other emotion, and the sheer panic is back, of pain she never wants to experience again, of leather hitting her soft skin, digging into her flesh to leave ugly red welts.

She's squirming on his lap then, panic turning into the hysterical need to get away, but he only has to grab her arm and twist it to make her stop moving. She howls into her gag, and he has to use both hands to fold her arms behind her back. She stiffens when she feels the leather she's expected somewhere else being wrapped around her elbows and her forearms, holding her arms in place.

Rolling her shoulders against the restraints, she realizes she can't move, and somehow that eases the panic instead of making it worse. At least to a degree. Without being able to do anything else, it forces her to focus on her breathing. Gagged and bound, she can only kick her legs, but he doesn't seem to care about that when his hand is back on her thighs, fingertips teasing up her skin, fingernails scraping over her bruises, making her gasp and shiver under the sensations.

And then he slaps her, a hard and sudden blow against her left ass cheek, catching her completely off guard. Her scream is muffled, and she almost chokes on all the spit gathering in her mouth before she tries to ground herself by biting down on her panties when he does the same barely a second later on her other cheek. He does that a few more times, and she squirms and cries out with every slap, body convulsing against the pain shooting through her.

Her skin is burning, blood pulsing in the same rhythm as her rapidly beating heart in her chest. His hand smooths over the irritations, making her whimper, and more so when he slips it between her thighs and pushes two fingers into her again. Then another slap echoes through the forest, making her jump and squirm and clench heavily around his fingers. The angle is different, he's using his other hand, and he hits spots he hasn't hit before. With his fingers stuck in her tight cunt, he repeats the motion, hitting her left cheek, then her right, the sides and the soft slope that leads into her thighs.

Not an inch of her ass is left untouched, and all she can do is cry and whimper, wail and whine, struggle and clench, and clench some more. It's a strange stimulation, and the pain bleeds into pleasure, flares up white-hot, then smooths into gentle darkness. Light, dark, slap, clench, slap, clench. He's properly fingering her now, moving his digits in and out, while the blows of his other hand become calmer, still strong and unrelenting, but spaced out more, keeping her on her toes (that hurt from how hard she's curling them in her shoes).

She wouldn't say she relaxes into it, but she finds herself lying still on his lap, legs twitching under every blow, but the rest of her body seems to give in to her fate. Her breaths are ragged through her nose, tears clouding her vision, streaming down her face, the panties in her mouth soaked in her spit. Her fingers twitch in their tight hold on her back, the leather of his belt cutting into her skin.

He gives her three more blows, on the left cheek, then the right, then onto the back of her thigh, right against the tight skin of her welts, and that last one makes her arch her back, a muffled scream stuck in her throat, her legs kicking frantically, the pain blindingly intense. For a moment she thinks she's dying, so close to finally being released into the void, but through the torment of that last blow, he pushes his fingers faster into her clenching cunt, presses his thumb against her clit, and the pleasure burst through her lower body.

She's whining into her gag, if she could have said anything she'd beg him to allow her to come (because that is what this is all about, isn't it?), and he seems to understand her struggles, when he suddenly whispers, right against her ear: “It's okay. You can come. Come for me, baby girl.”

And she does, that tight coil inside her stomach breaking free with a sudden snap, before wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her, lights like fireworks exploding behind her eyelids. Her body spasms on his lap, and she can't stop it, can't control anything anymore.

Her legs fall open, and he keeps fingering her, keeps pressing on her clit, prolongs the sensation burning through her nerves. She's whimpering, moaning, crying, head empty and full at the same time, her hips bucking, and he curls his fingers and bullies another spot, and she seems to come again, clenching around his digits as she goes stiff, then breaks out in more convulsions, and those bring a strange relief as her wetness splatters against his hand and down her trembling legs.

She's positively breathless when she goes slack on his lap, and he eases her down gently, caresses her fluttering walls, pulls his fingers out and rubs over her mound, between her puffy lips, then smooths the soft skin of her inner thigh before resting his hand on her calf.

“Well done,” he says quietly. “That was intense, hm?”

Her head is hanging limply off his leg, hair falling over it, she doesn't care, everything is spinning anyway. Being upside down only adds to it, and she wants more of it, doesn't want it to stop. Delirious in that strange space full of pain and pleasure, she barely registers how he lifts her head, pushes her hair away, his other hand on her jaw, easing it open, pulling the drenched fabric of her underwear out of her mouth. Drool follows the motion, and he wipes it away, turning her head slightly to make her face him.

Blinking her eyes into focus, she's able to see his smile, the twinkle in his eyes, a soft expression that makes her feel warm all over, even warmer than the burning skin on her butt and thighs, the echoing sensation pulsing through her core. It goes straight to her heart, and despite the state of her body, she smiles back, weakly, shyly, but genuinely, and he caresses her cheek with the back of his finger.

“Thank you,” she croaks out barely audible.

“For what?” he asks, tilting his head.

Her mind is reeling, but the words spill from her lips as if he's planted them there himself. “For... for taking the time... to correct... my m-mistakes... to p-punish me... for my... d-disobedience...”

He nods with an approving smile. “And what did you do wrong?”

Her voice is a shaking hum, her lips trembling as more words tumble over them. “I was... ungrateful... I denied you... I... came without permission... I tried to... run away...” The confession leaves her without revision, and as soon as she's done, she's stiffening, her eyes widening while his darken, the smile vanishing from his face.

“You tried to run away?” he repeats, the grip on her jaw tightening, his voice cold and stern.

“I... I didn't mean to,” she whines softly, struggling in her bend-over position, turning her shoulders and straining her neck to better look up at him. “You... you were... flirting with that woman... and I... I felt... I thought you... I... I didn't think,” she sums up her stammering. “B-but I came back!” she cries out, looking at him pleadingly, struggling against the belt around her arms. “Because I need you! I can't be... without you...”

He takes in her frantic words with a strangely calm expression. Then he clenches his jaw and she feels his hands on her waist, pulling her up and into a standing position. She wobbles on her shoes, can't seem to find her balance without being able to use her arms. He grabs her shoulders and stares down at her, towering over her menacingly.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he says quietly. “But you know what I have to do, right?”

She swallows hard, licking her dry lips. “Sp-spank me again?” she croaks out, the pain rushing back into her buttocks as her mind remembers what happened.

He shakes his head. “There are other ways to punish you, but you have to understand that you force my hand here. You did something wrong, and there have to be consequences. And I'll think of something, don't worry.”

She chews on her lip, nodding as her eyes fill with a new batch of tears. “Yes, sir,” she sniffles.

His loud exhale hits her warm cheek, then he pats it with his hand. He guides her back to the car and leans her against it, before he goes back to the fallen tree and picks up something off the ground. Shaking it out, she sees it's her soiled panties, now drenched in spit, caked with cum, and covered in dirt and pine needles. He could have left them there, she thinks, but then realizes he doesn't want to leave a trail, evidence of them being here. Of her fate.

They vanish back into the pocket of his jeans before he opens the passenger door. He considers her then, with her wild hair and reddened skin and with her arms tied behind her back. Sighing, he grabs her waist and carefully sets her down on the seat. The soft leather is cold against her burning skin, and she can't help the wince and sharp inhale when he lets go of her, her own body weight pushing her down on her bruises.

He doesn't buckle her in, though, just closes the door and walks around the car to his side, then slides behind the wheel. He pulls his seat belt down while he looks at her. She holds his gaze, even though her vision is blurry and her stomach feels tense and she just wants to curl into a ball and wallow in her sorrow, but he has other plans.

His hands are under her elbows, pulling her towards him. He makes her lie down on her stomach with her head resting on his thigh. She has to angle her legs, her shoes nudging against the window. Leaning over her, he reaches for them and pulls them off, then throws them onto the backseat, and she's grateful. They were just another thing on the long list of her aches.

He pulls her a little further until her face sits right over his groin, and she swallows and licks her lips in preparation, looking up from under her lashes. He meets her gaze, inhaling deeply.

“This is neither a reward nor a punishment,” he then says while his hands move to open his jeans and push his underwear down. “Just something for you to pass the time and me to feel good, okay?”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

He grabs his cock, semi-hard, and guides it towards her mouth, and she opens it willingly, tongue out flat. He's warm when he pushes between her lips, his scent filling her nostrils, his taste exploding on her tongue, her body shivering slightly as saliva pools around him. He arranges her head on his thigh, pulls her a little closer until she lies on his lap properly, suckling softly on his tip, unable to move away even if she wanted to (which she doesn't). His hand is on her cheek, brushing her hair away gently.

“Try to swallow,” he tells her, and she does, it's not easy in her position and with something between her lips, her mouth unable to close, but she manages, and he pats her cheek again. “Good. Now relax, we'll be driving for a few hours.”

She hums against him, nestling into his lap, fingers twitching and tingling in their restraint, feet dangling in the air, her lips tight around his cock. It's a comfort, being so close to him, knowing he still trusts her enough to let her do this. He cares about her, she knows it, and her confessing to him that she tried to run away is probably hurting him as much as it hurts her. She should have never done that. Stupid voice of reason. Destroying everything.

She has no idea which punishment awaits her, but whatever it is, she deserves it, and she'll fight through it, to make him proud, to show him that she wants to stay with him, no matter what. She is his, and she'll make sure to remind him.

By the time they finally reach their destination, as the lights of the city rush by in a blur, she is not in a happy place, not in the subspace he wanted her to be. She kept thinking back to how she disappointed him, what she did wrong, seeing the anger and sadness in his eyes, and no matter what plan she tried to think about to make it all better, she never came to any conclusion, still doesn't know how to mend the rift between them. She thinks there's a rift, even though her lips are still closed around his cock, and his hand keeps coming down to caress her hair.

Yet it's nothing like the first time she had to cockwarm him. She may have spaced out for a bit, but always came back by herself, with her mind reminding her of everything that went wrong, showing her the faces of the various women he's flirted with, and she was in a constant up and down of rage and anger and jealousy, and hating herself and hating him and hating those women. But mostly hating herself because she feels like a failure.

She was struggling to keep the drool in her mouth, unable to wipe it away with her arms tied behind her back, and she thought back to soiling his pants and how he belted her after that (and she doesn't even know if that was the reason why it all escalated, he told her he doesn't even need a reason), and her wounds stung and burned as she remembered how she got them, and the new ones are tight and warm, and yet she's grateful he made her lie on her stomach to keep the pressure off, while also fearing he'll snap again and hurt her even more. It's all so confusing, and in all that time her cunt kept clenching, needy for the thing that was stuck in her mouth.

She's absolutely miserable when he stops the car. His hand is under her jaw, gently nudging her to open her lips, but she hums, eyebrows furrowed, not wanting to part from him just yet. She moves her head closer, pushes down on him to take him deeper, and he lets her. He's hardened significantly during their silent car ride, and she feels the need to finish the job.

It's hard to bob her head without her hands to steady herself, so it's sloppy and uncoordinated, and she could be doing this better if he hadn't tied her arms together, but this is part of her redemption, another punishment, not the last one, but it doesn't matter. It has to be done. He notices her struggle and puts his hands on her head, gently guiding her movements. She looks up from under her lashes, and seeing him so calm and patient makes her vision blur again.

She's been so ungrateful. Not a good girl. A horribly disobedient thing that shouldn't be allowed to suck his cock. She still tries her best, wraps her lips around him, presses her tongue against his bulging veins, sucks long and hard, swallows around him even though it hurts, and when he pulls her closer, his grip tightening, she tries to relax to let him into her throat. Tears mix with her drool when she gags around him, body jerking, hating herself even more for not being able to take him properly, but he doesn't seem to mind the mess this time, only moves her head up and down, bucks his hips slightly, and fucks her face until he starts groaning quietly.

She keeps her eyes closed even though she wants to see him relax under her ministrations, but she tells herself she doesn't deserve the sight. Instead she keeps sucking hard, hollowing her cheeks, fighting her gag reflex whenever he hits the back of her throat, holds her breath when he pushes deeper, forces herself to stay still, relax, and let him use her like he should be using her.

Her head is spinning when he finally comes down her throat, a low grunt escaping him as he presses her head down hard, holding her there, his cock throbbing between her lips, and she doesn't fight it, too exhausted, too tied up in her own self-pity. Slowly he pulls her head back, pats her cheek, tells her to breathe, and she does, rasping heavy breaths, before she swallows, spit and cum, and he wipes her tears away when he turns her head, caressing her jaw.

“Good girl,” he whispers hoarsely, and she sniffles, the praise tainted now, because she doesn't deserve it.

She can't remember how they end up in the elevator to his penthouse, but she's there, in his arms, sees her reflection, this tiny girl with messy hair and a flushed face and swollen lips and wet eyes, all light gone from within. Averting them, she looks at him and meets his warm gaze, soothing and comforting, and it only makes her sniffle again. His eyebrows furrow slightly, a sternness crossing his features, as if he wants to tell her to cheer up, to stop fussing, and it's enough to calm her, to stop the nagging thoughts, at least for a moment.

The ding startles her. The doors slide open, and he carries her further. She closes her eyes and leans into him, remembering how she left his apartment with almost the same mindset, miserable, thinking he'd bring her back to her old life, leave her behind, but now she knows she's staying, he'll keep her, and she should be grateful, happy, but she can't bring herself to feel that just yet.

Her eyelids flutter, and she looks around barely noticing anything. Well, until he doesn't carry her to his bedroom or the guest bedroom, but to one of the rooms he told her not to enter. He nudges the door open with his hip and turns the light on with much the same gesture, and her eyes widen.

She remembers his penthouse as dark and masculine, warm wooden floors with white walls and dark furniture, luxurious light fixtures, no clutter, barely any plants. Minimalist. The view she has now is anything but. It's colorful, a room exploding with soft hues of pinks and yellows and blues, white accents. Thick pale pink curtains cover the night view of the city, there are various plush looking rugs scattered over the hardwood floor, adding to the cozy feel.

A desk stands in the corner, looking out of one of two windows, the space filled with boxes and plastic containers that feel strangely familiar. She blinks her tears away, focuses on the rest of the room. One wall is covered in fairy lights that give off a soft glow, then there are two doors on the other side, one leading to a bathroom she can't look into, the other opening up into a large closet that's already filled with various clothes.

And then there's a big bed facing the windows, covered in throw pillows and blankets and soft looking quilts, and atop one of the pillows sits a used looking stuffed animal. Mister Wolfie. She can't help the sob when it forces its way out of her throat.

This is her room, from her old shitty apartment, her room, in his penthouse. Cluttered and cozy and filled with her stuff (well, he replaced the furniture, the desk, the chair, the bed), the stuff she had to leave behind. He even added new ones, a nice sofa and a large bookshelf, thrice as big as her old one, already filled with books, and again she recognizes the few things she had owned. He even brought the old mirror with the thick white frame that's now leaning against the wall next to the bed, showing her startled reflection.

She's crying softly, completely overwhelmed, by the time he sets her down, holding her by the shoulder as he finally takes off the belt from around her arms. Her toes sink into the soft rug, and she rubs her wrists for a moment as she looks around, still not able to process it all. He had her place brought into his, made her her own little corner.

His hand finds her wet face, and when his thumb nudges her chin, she looks up at him, biting her lip, sniffling. “What do you think?” he asks, with a soft smile on his face.

She swallows hard, blinking new tears away. “I... I don't deserve this...”

He tilts his head, frowning slightly. “Baby, listen to me,” he says and cups her face with both hands. “You do, you do deserve this. You've been such a good girl for me, you did everything I asked, and more. I couldn't wish for anyone better, okay? You made mistakes, yes, and I'll have to punish you for them, but you'll take it like you did the last one and then we'll move on, yeah? I want you to feel comfortable here, with me.”

“I do!” she croaks out quickly, furrowing her brows. “But –”

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, silencing her immediately. “This is your room. You can retreat to it when I'm not here or when I have to work. I still expect you to spend the night with me, in my bed, and I will use you whenever I want, how we established, right?”

She nods into his hands. “Yes, sir.”

“You are mine,” he says and lowers his head until his nose brushes against hers. “All of you is mine. Whenever, wherever I want.” He tilts his head and presses his lips to hers, but he's gone the moment she tries to kiss him back, straightening back up to walk to one of the nightstands.

She watches him with growing curiosity, slowly going back to telling herself that this is her purpose, and it's an honor, a privilege, that he cares so much about her, enough to bring her shitty little apartment into his prestigious penthouse. It's not something she's expected, not in a million years, but she is slowly accepting that it's okay to be happy about it. No matter what'll happen next.

Yet when he returns to her, she stiffens as she stares at the item in his hands. It's a thick leather band held together by a small lock between two metal rings, with another metal ring in the back. A collar. She swallows.

“I didn't intend to give this to you just yet,” he tells her, and she looks up at him, “but I think this'll do nicely as part of your punishment.”

She's breathing heavier when she watches his long fingers fidget with the collar. The lock clicks open when he presses his thumb to it, then he pulls the leather band apart.

“Hold up your hair,” he tells her quietly, and even though her hands are shaking, she follows the order, gathers her hair and twists it into a messy bun she holds at the back of her head.

He walks behind her and snakes his hands through her arms, then she feels the soft leather pressing against her throat. He turns her to face the mirror and meets her gaze. She's so tiny and frail with him bulking behind her, his big hands still moving the collar with enough finesse. The lock clicks shut again, and the thick band sits around her neck, not too tight, but barely loose enough to maybe slip her fingers under it.

“Only I can open this lock,” he says, his finger running along the thick edge of the leather before he grabs her wrists and makes her let go of her hair, his fingers weaving through it before he puts his hands on her shoulders, leaning down a little. “This collar is a sign of my possession, you are my possession, my property, my good little girl, aren't you?”

She swallows, her throat moving against the wide leather band. “Yes, sir,” she says breathlessly.

He moves his hand along her neck, then hooks a finger into the metal ring at the front of the collar. “As your punishment, because you tried to run away from me, I will leash you,” he says, gently tugging at the collar, making her sway a little. “To this room. You can go to the bathroom, you can shower, you can sleep. You'll always have food and water. You will stay in this room until I say otherwise. I may visit you, but maybe I won't. We'll see. Gotta keep you on your little toes, right?”

He turns his head and presses his lips to her cheek, catching a tear that slipped from her eyes. He inhales deeply, watching her closely.

“No need to cry. You'll get through this, we'll get through this. You understand that this is necessary, don't you?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, licking her lips. He nods, then lets go of her and shortly leaves the room. She just stands there, on the soft rug, staring into the mirror that used to stand in her old apartment. The collar isn't too bad, but it feels heavy in a way that's important. It needs some getting used to, but she'll manage (once she stops being so overwhelmed by it all).

A sudden rattling sound makes her flinch, and she turns around to see him carrying a long chain made of thin but sturdy looking metal links. There's a ring on one end, and the same small lock that he opens with his thumbprint once more. Standing in front of her, he attaches the chain to her collar, and she feels the weight of it immediately, a gasp escaping her. He notices her reaction, raising an eyebrow.

“You'll get used to it, don't worry,” he tells her, then walks to the far wall and into the closet, pulling the clanging chain behind him until it uncoils and tugs on her, making her stumble forwards a few steps. Her hands fly up to grab it and hold it in place. It feels smooth and not as heavy as she has thought. Probably stainless steel or aluminum or something, she has no idea and frankly doesn't care. It won't change anything.

She sees him attaching the other end somewhere in the closet, before another tug runs through the long line. He glides the chain along his palm as he returns to her, smiling softly. His hands find her shoulders, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her blouse before he pushes it off her shoulders, then opens the small buttons and the bow in the front.

A shiver runs through her when it falls to the ground. He keeps watching her as he moves his hands lower to slowly push the skirt over her hips. She steps out of it mindlessly, holding his gaze, holding her head up even though the chain drags it down a little. “Look at you, so beautiful,” he coos, turning her around once more, hands gliding up and down her sides, fingers teasing at the swell of her breasts.

The chain rests between them, the metal cool on her skin. She feels exposed but strangely confident as well. The way he looks at her makes her stomach tense and her cunt clench around nothing. He inhales deeply, wrapping one arm around her back to press her to his chest, then turns her slightly.

“Look in the mirror,” he tells her, and she does so, over her shoulder, and gasps at the sight. His free hand moves down her back and gently over the bright red skin of her ass cheeks. The bruises bleed into the still reddened welts on her thighs. “You've taken your last punishment so well, you can take this too. I'd prefer it if I wouldn't have to punish you at all, but I'm sure you'll learn your lesson. You already did, didn't you?”

She nods, biting her lip. “And I'm sorry,” she whispers.

“I know you are,” he replies and nuzzles his nose into the soft skin behind her ear. “And you'll be a good girl and make me proud, won't you?”

“Yes, sir,” she breathes, closing her eyes as her breath quickens.

“Good,” he says and leans back abruptly, his hand smacking hard against her rear, making her cry out in pain, tears burning in her eyes. He steps away and picks up her clothes. “Now get some rest, maybe take a shower. You will remain like this, understood? No clothes, even if your closet is full of them. This is part of your punishment.”

She swallows, the collar seemingly tightening. Her lungs burn. “Yes...”

He watches her, then looks around the room once more. “I don't care how you pass the time, read or –” He waves his hand over the boxes on the desk. “Do some arts and crafts or whatever you did with these things.”

She licks her lips, wants to smirk at his words, but she feels too empty, the weight of her new situation pulling her down like the chain does the collar. She carefully sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing through the sting of her skin against the cool material of the quilt, and mindlessly moves the chain links through her hands.

“I have one condition, though,” he continues, oblivious to her struggles. “If I catch you with your fingers in your cunt, I will have to think of yet another punishment. Unless I give you a toy to play with, you will refrain from touching yourself, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, almost automatically, not even having the desire to do what he suggests. If there is one desire burning within her, it's to be in his arms, to feel his warmth, his strength, his dominance, (his cock in her cunt), but it sounds as if he's going to leave her for a bit, and that might just be the worst punishment.

She notices how he looks up into one corner of the room, and she frowns at the sight. It's hidden, but it's obvious: a little dome made of dark glass, a camera mounted to the ceiling. And even though she should be appalled by it, it makes her feel a little better. If he's willing to keep an eye on her when he isn't here, then that's better than him forgetting about her completely.

When he takes a step towards the door, she jumps up quickly, the chain rattling quietly. He stops, looking at her, his eyebrows rising up when she falls to her knees in front of him. Her hands itch to reach out to him, but she keeps them on her thighs, clenched into fists, and looks up at him.

This is my purpose, she reminds herself, my place, on my knees in front of him. He may do with her whatever he wants, but she wants this too, if not for herself, she wants it for him, to make him happy and proud. And she's grateful to be given so many chances. She truly is. Her mind is still reeling, trying to process everything that's happening, but when the words finally make it out of her mouth, she just lets them spill.

“Thank you, sir,” she says quietly, blinking away tears as she focuses on his face and his face alone. Nothing else matters. “For doing this, for this... my room, for your... patience with me... for... everything...”

The corner of his lips twitches when he reaches his hand out to touch her face, fingers slipping into her hair, thumb brushing against her bottom lip. She parts her lips, and he watches her for a moment, before pushing his thumb into her mouth, pressing hard onto her tongue. She closes her lips around his digit tentatively, giving it a gentle suck, the motion calming her instantly, her mind going quieter until he is all there is. Only him.

“My good little girl,” he coos, slowly moving his thumb back and forth between her tight lips, pushing deeper. “Welcome home, darling,” he adds, and she closes her eyes, fighting new tears that come for a completely different reason now. A familiar heat settles in her stomach and much lower. That traitorous itch flaring up all over again.

And she knows, she will do absolutely anything to be praised, to be his good girl, to make him happy. Even if it means wearing a collar and a leash, answering to his every whim. This is her purpose after all.

NINETEEN 🟥 TWENTY

End notes: And there we go: our dear Darling is collared and leashed, fully submitting. Or is she? Well... her story isn't over yet. I am working on Season Three, so there will be at least ten more chapters. Soon.

I am taking an uploading break though as I visit my family over the holidays. Stay tuned for 2025 I guess :D

Thank you for reading and joining me on this wild adventure.

This started as a smut story, a dumping ground for my darker, kinkier ideas, but then the characters developed and plot was added and there was angst and confusion and drama and feelings? It's now so much more than just smut (even though every single chapter has at least one smut scene in it, wow what a feat...), and I hope to bring Sir and Darling's story to a proper end eventually.

See you soon!

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN

ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾️SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN TWENTY

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

#ao3 original work #dead dove do not eat #dom/sub #d/s dynamic #praise k!nk #free use kink #older man younger woman #size difference #modern au #joel miller smut #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #arthur morgan smut #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #mattheo riddle smut #original fiction

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stayevildarling · 1 day ago

Note

Hello I know you are very busy so only if you have time please but maybe you could do a Delia, Mina, Billie, and Reader sick fic? I know you have written a few but I just love a sick fic and another one is always a treat. Thank you for your wonderful work in this fandom. Sending love!

Cordelia Goode x Wilhemina Venable x Billie Dean Howard x Reader- Echoes of Comfort

A/N: hello dear anon!🫶🏼 I think you literally requested this months ago and I‘m so sorry for never writing this until now. considering I was badly sick the last few days, I thought about writing this.

tw/tags: established poly relationship, female reader, mention of sickness, mention of vomitting, mention of pain, mention of fever, mention of cramps, mention of doctors, mention of medication, mention of anxiety

word count: 3.6k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay @whitelotus00 , @ninaahelvar , @paulsonsratched , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometimes , @wastdstime , @p1pecleanerwitheyes , @queen2234 , @ihartnat , @lifebyinez , @ahsatanizgay , @blu3dimples , @stepintomyworld

It all started the night prior, settling into bed with your lovers, ready for the last day of work this week tomorrow before spending the weekend with your girlfriends. You had a nice evening really, enjoying a warm cosy bath, your favorite pairs of pyjamas and cuddles. Since dinner your tummy felt a little off, at first brushing it off for some indigestion but the feeling never went, eventually turning into nausea. And as the hours passed, the feeling only got stronger and stronger, leaving you restless through the quiet hours of the night. You tried water, some music to calm yourself down but nothing seemed to help and as you didn‘t want to wake your lovers, all you could do was snuggle into their arms and wait for sleep to take over.

But when you woke up the next morning, the nausea was even stronger, leaving you a little anxious. You had just started working this new job a few weeks ago, scared of their reactions if you needed to call in sick. Billie was already gone by the time you woke up, Wilhemina also on her way and Cordelia in her office. You tried to sit up slowly, sip on some water before trying to get up to slowly get dressed. It being friday meant your short day and you wondered whether you may be able to get through today but as soon as you stood up, you knew it wasn‘t meant to be, a wave of nausea and dizziness overtaking you. You quickly sit back down, grabbing your phone and calling out for the day, knowing there was no way you‘d manage to get through today anywhere else beside bed.

Seconds later the nausea hits its peaking point and you can tell what‘s about to happen. In a quick attempt, you try and get up but fail miserably and so all you can do is reach for the bag that you put beside your bedside last night, unable to find a bucket with your state. The retching echoes through the silent academy as well as your sobbing moments later, throwing up always making you cry even though you never understood the reason. It takes mere seconds for the door to burst open and for the supreme to rush inside, her eyes wide and the concern written across her beautiful features. „Oh sweetheart“ she coos, watching you empty the contents of your dinner into the bag. She wastes no time in flicking her wrist and making a bucket appear, replacing the bag with ease. She quickly sits behind you, putting your hair up for you as she soothingly strokes your back, waiting for it to pass with you.

It takes a little while until it finally stops and she wastes no time before using her magic to make the bucket and contents disappear and make a new one appear beside bed just incase. Your sobbing continues before some panicking settles in, hating to be sick and the fear of it happening again. „Y/N, can you tell me what‘s wrong baby?“ she tries, not sure what your sobbing means. „Hurts“ you manage to coax out despite the strange taste and she gets up to face you, seeing your scrunched up expression and how you are holding your stomach, your body slightly curled up. „What hurts baby, your tummy?“ she asks gently as she wipes your tears and all you can do is nod in response.

„Okay sweetie, how about you lay down for me and get some rest?“ she offers and you look at her through exhausted eyes before you glance towards the bathroom. „Brush teeth“ you mumble and she nods before she takes your hands, noticing your legs shaking and stabling you. She sits you on the edge of the bathtub before brushing your teeth for you, her brown eyes keeping you safe as her touches are feather light. She notices your clothes are stained in sick, not having seen this before as the concern distracted her. She wastes no time in changing you into some comfortable loungewear and socks before helping you lay back down. The supreme stays by your side, helping you to some water before you close your eyes, struggling through the pain of the cramps and the aftermath of vomitting.

The supreme steps out of the room a little while after, noticing that your state isn‘t improving much, your face pale and the signs of pain obvious on your features. She reaches her phone, the concern evident on her features as she debates who to call. Billie was undeniably always there for you three but equally the medium often struggled with her own anxiety and she didn‘t mean to worry her too much. In the end she opts for Wilhemina, knowing the redhead was mostly the one telling her when shes overreacting with worry but always having the right amount of worry and the ability to stay sane in these situations. Cordelia hated this, hated seeing you sick, hated that she couldn‘t do much or make her magic fix it as she didn‘t know exactly what was causing you pain and those symptoms.

„Cordelia?“ the redheads voice echos through the speaker and the woman knew if Cordelia called her at this time in the morning, something was bound to be wrong. Her thoughts immediately travel to you, how you hadn‘t been out of bed this morning, how she thought it may just be your schedule as she hadn‘t memorized it so far with the new workplace. How she noticed the bag beside you but didn‘t question it further until now. „Y/N is sick“ is all Cordelia says to confirm the redheads concern. The worry practically radiates from the supreme and for a moment Wilhemina remains silent, hating the fact of you hurting more than anything else in this world. „What‘s going on?“ the redhead questions after a moment, knowing Cordelia to sometimes worry too much after all.

„I‘m not sure, she was sleeping and then I heard her being sick and she‘s in pain“ the supreme explains and Wilhemina‘s eyebrows furrow as she listens to the woman explain further. „Do you think she needs a doctor?“ the redhead asks and there is silence again before the blonde speaks again. „Maybe? I don‘t know.. I can‘t get away though, there is no one for the acadmy and I.. I- Mina I don‘t know“ the supreme sighs, clearly overwhelmed by your state and soft whimpers of pain closeby. „I‘m on my way, get her dressed and ready“ Wilhemina instructs and Cordelia sighs gratefully before hanging up the phone.

Moments later she returns with your shoes and a coat, as well as a bag for the car, her rational side always there despite the concern. Your eyebrows furrow before she speaks softly „Mina is coming and will get you checked out my sweet girl“ she coos as she places a kiss on your forehead and checks for a temperature. You frown, hating doctors and the thought of having to go to one but the pain is too strong to fight her so all you do is nod as she gets you dressed and lays you back down, waiting for your redhead girlfriend to return.

It takes less than twenty minutes rather than the usual thirty for Wilhemina to return and when the door opens, your eyes flutter open, seeing the concern in her eyes. „Hi little one“ she greets you softly before glancing at Cordelia. „How has she been?“ the redhead mouths and the blonde informs her about no more being sick but the signs of pain and how quiet you had been. The redhead doesn‘t waste a lot of time before she helps you sit up and locks eyes with you. „I‘m just gonna take you to get checked out little one okay?“ she asks and you nod before they help you downstairs and into the redheads car. The place is less than ten minutes away and despite the silence, the redhead can tell you are in pain by your posture but also how you seem much more awake now.

By the time she pulls over and opens your door for you, she can see the tears in your eyes and her eyebrows furrow as she looks at you. „Is the pain that bad little one?“ she asks carefully but you shake your head. „I‘m scared“ you admit and it hits her then how terrified you are of doctors, how bad your health anxiety is but that you never ever mention it to her considering her struggles and past. How Cordelia had mentioned how much you struggle with medication, that you hate doctors and hospitals, that your anxiety always makes you fear the worst. „I understand it‘s scary but I‘m right here and I won‘t go anywhere okay?“ she reassures and you nod as you see the honesty in her eyes, feeling safe and sound as her hand reaches for you. It doesn‘t take long until Mina walks you inside, fighting the usual snappy receptionist and her complaints about you not having an appointment.

Moments later you are laying inside one of the rooms, getting some blood taken from your fingers, so tired that you mostly don‘t notice whats happening around you. The doctor shows up minutes later, asking a bunch of questions which Wilhemina answers due to your fatigued state. „Alright, I‘ll just examine you then“ she smiles at you softly and you nod as she begins pressing down on your tummy, asking if the pain is getting any worse which you shake your head to. You answer some of her questions before she leaves for a moment to look at the blood results. „Test results are fine, her infection levels are 0.29, anything up to 0.5 is completely normal“ she tells Wilhemina and some of the words reach you in your tired state. „I assume some food poisoning, or a small infection but nothing serious, if it gets any worse over the weekend take her to ER though“ the doctor explains and Wilhemina nods as she listens carefully.

„I can give her painkillers and anti sickness through an IV or give you a prescription to take home“ the doctor explains and Wilhemina glances at you, seeing your eyes widen at the mention of an IV before she opts for the second. The doctor nods and leaves for a moment before you smile at Wilhemina through tired eyes „Thank you Mina“ you mumble gratefully and she returns the smile before murmering a soft „you‘re welcome sweet girl“. It doesn‘t take long for the doctors to finish writing everything down and sending you both your way and almost instantly as you get into the car, you fall asleep, the exhaustion weighing heavy on your body.

The next few hours are a blur, Cordelia and Mina took you back to bed, giving you the medicine that the doctor had prescribed for you but you are in and out of it for a while, mostly asleep and some soft whimpering escaping you, barely awake enough to register what‘s going on before falling asleep again. Cordelia made sure to send the girls home for the weekend early so she could stay with you, Mina equally by your side, the two of them taking turns, already having informed Billie and asking her to pick up some essentials for you. Despite the sleep supposedly helping your body, your entire body feels sore by the time you wake up, your forehead burning, despite your body shivering, your legs aching badly as well as your lower back. Tears sting in your eyes as you wake up properly for the first time in hours, mouth dry and feeling the weight of the sickness slowly dragging you down.

„Hey sweet girl“ Mina coos softly as she notices you waking up but as soon as she gets a proper look at you, her features drop seeing how much you are shaking. „Delia, get the thermometer“ she instructs and the next thing you know is feeling the cool sensation in your mouth as the blonde gently soothes you through it. „She‘s burning up“ the supreme sighs and Wilhemina doesn‘t waste any time before walking to the bag from the pharmacy, reaching for some of the painkillers and some water. „Open up little one“ she instructs with a soft smile, placing the tablets gently in your mouth before leading the glass of water to your mouth. „Drink up“ she instructs and you do, your mouth feeling terribly dry. You sigh heavily before laying down again, Delia reaching for a cozy blanket that she wraps you up in. Seconds later you are asleep again, your body clearly needing it to fight off whatever it is you are battling at the moment.

„She‘ll be just fine“ Wilhemina encourages as the supreme sits beside her, the two of them watching over you. And despite the concern fading from the supreme with having Mina by her side, the redhead doesn‘t like this, knows you shouldn’t be burning up like this. For now, all they can do is watch and stay close to you, one of their hands lingering nearby as they take turns in giving you little head scratches and checking your temperature. It takes a few hours before Billie returns and your eyes immediately open as you hear the door open and the light turn on. The medium stands there with a bag in her hand, the concern radiating from her features as she sees you on the bed. „God babydoll, you are so pale“ she sighs as she sets her things down and walks over to you, her manicured hands cupping your cheeks. „You‘re burning up too“ she mumbles, glancing at both Wilhemina and Cordelia almost accusingly, wondering why they didn‘t do anything about the state you are in.

„She‘s had medicine and what the doctors gave her, as well as water“ the supreme explains, calming down the medium a little. „She needs to sleep it off“ Wilhemina reassures before Billie raises an eyebrow. „Has she eaten anything? had some tea? she looks awful“ the medium sighs as her hands still hold onto you. „She hasn‘t been awake for any of that“ Wilhemina explains and Billie nods, understanding how awful you must me be feeling. The entire thing feels like a fever dream, both shivering while feeling your forehead is a volcano about to errupt. Your entire body aches, legs hurting so much that you can barely make it to the bathroom to pee. Your state concerns your three girlfriends, especially the soft whimpers escaping you and how pale you are.

„We should try and keep her awake a little to get her to eat and drink“ Cordelia encourages, causing Billie and Wilhemina to nod. They waste no time as the medium walks downstairs to collect the rest of the things she had bought for you, Cordelia joining in order to make you some tea as Wihemina stays with you, watching over your shivering frame. „Little one are you cold?“ she whispers and you nod before shaking your head seconds later. „So hot but cold too“ you manage to mumble and she frowns seeing your body shake but feeling your forehead burning up. The redhead looks at the time before realizing it was almost time for some more medication, turning a little in order to collect them but when she does, she feels your cold hand reaching for hers. Your teary eyes plead with her not to leave and for a moment it almost brings tears to her own eyes, never having seen you so clingy before, never having seen you look so awful and sad before. „It‘s okay, I‘ll stay“ she reassures before she leans a little closer, positioning herself behind you before she takes your shivering frame into her arms and places you in her lap.

Instantly you relax, the shivering stopping momentarily and her cold hands soothing your head as you feel the little circle motions calming you. It takes mere seconds before Billie returns, the medium of course having gone all out there on things she had bought for you, never not spoling you rotten especially when you are sick. She bought some supplies for soup, some tea, some electrolytes and also some self care things, some new pj‘s after hearing you were sick in your favorite pair, some cozy socks after hearing how cold you had been and a little teddy bear, knowing those are your favorite and knowing you deserve all of them. But Billie also knows its way too soon for most of those things as you are too out of it and so she softly places the bear on your night table before approaching with the cold bottle of gatorade.

„Babydoll?“ she whispers carefully, seeing you so comfortable in Wilhemina‘s arms. Your eyes open for a moment, rolling back as you feel the fatigue and how tired you are. The sight of you worries both blondes deeply as they kneel in front of you and they exchange glances for a moment. „Sweetie, we need you to drink“ the supreme encourages and you frown at the thought of it and seeing both a glass of water and the blue bottle. Instinctively you try and reach for the bottle but your shaking hands betray you. Billie frowns again as she opens it for you, passing it to your mouth and smiling proudly as you take slow and gentle sips. Once the amout is sufficient, Cordelia places some painkillers in your mouth and hands you some more to drink before you exhaustedly collapse against Wilhemina‘s chest.

Sleep washes over you in seconds again and Billie sighs heavily, hating to see you like this. „Poor baby“ she coos, as she runs her nails through your hair. They decide on settling between you and Wilhemina, watching over your sleeping form. You are in and out of it for the remainder of the night, waking up occasionally to drink some more and by the time you wake up and need to pee, you find both blondes asleep beside you. However, as soon as you move slightly in Wilhemina‘s arms, they are awake in an instant and by your side. „Sweetie, are you okay?“ Cordelia asks with concern in her voice and you nod before whispering „Just need to pee“. The supreme nods before she walks over to the other side, holding your hand before leading you to the bathroom. She waits patiently for you to finish and when you do her hands move to your forehead, sighing in relief as she notices your temperature much more normal now.

„How are you feeling baby?“ she asks and you smile at her before whispering „Much better but sore“. She returns the smile feeling reliefed, frowning when you mention feeling sore however. „Would you like some tea? a hot water bottle?“ she offers and you nod gratefully before she leads you back to bed, positioning you beside Billie and Wilhemina who wait patiently for you. „You feeling better little one?“ the redhead asks as Billie snuggles into you sleepily. „Yes much better“ you whisper and she cups your cheeks before pressing a kiss to your forehead. „I‘m so glad little one, you had us worried“. You pout apologetically as she pulls you a little closer into her chest. Delia returns moments later with some tea, having made it the right temperature to drink and you waste no time in taking some sips, the warmth feeling comforting as well as the heating bag on your sore stomach. „Thank you Delia“ you whisper gratefully and she waits patiently for you to drink up before taking the cup and placing it on your night table. „Anything for you my sweet girl“.

By the time the next morning comes around, you are feeling and looking much brighter and your girlfriends can tell, the colour having returned to your face, no signs of pain in your eyes and actually speaking to them. „I‘m so glad you‘re feeling better“ Billie coos as she holds you in her arms. „We make sure you rest today sweet girl“ Cordelia coos as she hands you some oats for breakfast, wanting to go gentle as you hadn‘t eaten anything the day before. When lunchtime comes around, Billie draws a bath for you, having bought you some bath salts and getting you dressed into the pyjamas she had bought for you. Her gestures causes some tears to swell in your eyes, feeling the love and care from your girlfriends and they frown at first, worry overtaking them but quickly replaced by relief as they realize why. „Thank you for taking care of me“ you whisper as Wilhemina dries and takes care of your hair for you.

„Always sweet girl“ they almost coo in unision and after a while you find yourself back in their arms, body still a little tired and week, needing to catch up on some rest as the bath exhuated you. „That was awful“ you sigh after a while and they can‘t help but chuckle before pulling you closer. „It really was, you had us freaked out“ Billie smiles as she presses a kiss to your cheek. And in their loving embraces you manage to giggle again for the first time in a few days, knowing no matter what life may throw your way, you would always have your girlfriends to rely on, caring for you and soothing you back to health. You relax in their steady arms, feeling the love from their actions, the affection in their words and the feeling of home and where you belong. With them, always.

#sarah paulson #asks #cordelia goode #wilhemina venable #ahs #american horror story #anon #billie dean howard #sarah paulson x reader #cordelia goode x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #billie dean howard x reader #ahs coven #ahs apocalypse #ahs murder house

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