#BUT I MADE THIS TO NOT FEATURE HEAVY FLASH. sorry one slipped in to keep the creative integrity of the gorgeous video

[killherfreakout]

I wanna be impossible.

Samia Bovine Excision — dir. Sarah Ritter

[wolvietxt]

𝓭ay 𝓼ix.

bucky barnes and mixed signals.

it starts with little things - bucky not answering your texts right away, the curt responses when he does, and how he seems distracted whenever you’re together, like his mind is elsewhere. at first, you try to brush it off; he’s a busy guy, after all. but as days turn into weeks, it gets harder to ignore the nagging feeling that something’s changed.

you start to pull back, giving him space, thinking maybe that’s what he needs. your texts become less frequent, your smiles a little more forced. you don’t want to crowd him if he doesn’t want you around. you start avoiding his gaze, afraid of what you might see in those blue eyes - disinterest, or worse, regret.

the silence stretches between you, a gulf growing wider with each passing day. it feels like your heart is constantly in your throat, an ache settling in your chest as you wonder if he’s slipping away.

bucky’s the one to finally notice. he’s been caught up with missions, the weight of responsibility pulling him in a dozen different directions, but the sudden distance you’re keeping isn’t something he can ignore. it’s like you’re slipping through his fingers, and he doesn’t know why.

one night, he finds you sitting alone on the couch, staring blankly at the tv. there’s a heaviness to the air, and he can’t stand it any longer. “doll,” he says softly, his voice rough around the edges. “what’s goin’ on? you’ve been… different.”

you don’t look up, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket draped over your lap. “nothing’s going on,” you murmur, but your voice betrays you, trembling with the effort to keep it together.

“don’t do that,” he says, stepping closer, his brows drawing together in concern. “don’t shut me out.”

there’s a moment of silence before you finally look up at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “that’s rich, coming from you,” you say, a small, humorless laugh escaping your lips. “you’ve been shutting me out for weeks, bucky. barely talking to me, acting like i’m not even there half the time…”

his frown deepens, a flash of confusion crossing his features. “i’ve just been busy - there’s been a lot goin’ on with the team and - ”

“i get that,” you interrupt, your voice cracking. “but you don’t even seem to want to be around me anymore.” your gaze drops to your hands, your shoulders sagging as if a weight’s pressing down on you. “i thought… maybe you were losing interest.”

bucky’s heart lurches at the raw pain in your voice, the guilt hitting him like a freight train. he crosses the room in two strides, dropping to his knees in front of you so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “no,” he says firmly, his hands reaching out to cradle your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “no, doll, that’s not it at all.”

you shake your head, tears spilling over despite your best efforts. “then what is it, bucky? because it felt like you didn’t want me around. like… like i was a burden.”

his breath catches in his throat, and he leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice a desperate whisper. “you could never be a burden. not to me, sweetheart.” his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as if trying to convey what he hasn’t been able to say. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair. “i didn’t realize… i’ve just been so caught up with everything, i didn’t see how it was affecting you. i never meant to make you feel like that.”

you sink into his embrace, the familiar warmth and steadiness of him calming the ache in your chest. “it just… hurt,” you admit quietly. “i didn’t know if you still wanted this. wanted… us.”

bucky pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands as he meets your gaze with a fierce intensity. “of course i want us,” he says, the words rough with emotion. “you’re the best damn thing in my life, doll. i’m sorry i made you feel any different.”

his thumb brushes away a tear trailing down your cheek, and you close your eyes, leaning into the touch, the relief washing over you like a wave. when you open them again, his expression is soft, but there’s something else there too - an unspoken promise that he’s not going to let this happen again.

he shifts, lifting you effortlessly into his lap as he settles back against the couch, his arms holding you securely against his chest. you curl into him, resting your head in the crook of his neck, and he presses a gentle kiss to your temple.

“i’m right here,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “and i’m not goin’ anywhere, okay? we’re in this together.”

you nod, wrapping your arms around his middle, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear soothing the last remnants of your doubt. “okay,” you murmur, your voice small but certain.

he holds you tighter, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back as you relax into him completely. “you don’t ever have to worry ‘bout me losin’ interest,” he adds quietly. “not in a million years.”

you tilt your head up to look at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the tears that still cling to your lashes. “promise?”

“promise,” he says, and then he’s leaning down to kiss you, slow and tender, like he’s sealing that vow between you. when he pulls away, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, and there’s a quiet, comforting sense of relief that settles between you both, as if the distance that had grown had never existed at all.

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[brattyfics]

Swampbound V

The rest of the day passed like a slow, heavy fog. Adla kept herself busy with chores, but her thoughts were spinning, caught up in the newly-discovered truths that had turned her world upside down overnight. 

Terry had shifted from a wolf to a man right before her eyes, and despite his wildness, he hadn’t struck her as a monster until he squared off against Jesse. Jesse, who she wasn’t sure she could trust anymore. She didn’t know how long he’d been hiding the truth or how many secrets he held, but the sharp edge of his lies cut deep. And then there was that dark mask that had slipped over his face—twice.

It all made sense now: his fussing about her walking the woods alone. They’d grown up tearing through the thick brush and vines in her backyard, never fearing what lurked out there. The worst they encountered was the occasional snake, and that was enough to send them flying back to her daddy’s arms. Gators and wild hogs were around, but they kept their distance unless you gave ‘em reason.

"Live and let live," she'd always believed in—until now. Now, she was being pulled into a world she’d only heard about in old stories—shapeshifters and whatever Jesse truly was. 

What else was hiding just beyond her sight? Had she been blind to the world around her all this time? She thought about the folks in town—faces she’d known all her life. Could any of them turn into monsters under the right moon? The idea that the world she knew was just a shadow of something far darker and deeper gnawed at her insides.

Adla ran a bath, sprinkling sea salt and lavender into the water, hoping it might settle her nerves. But no matter how long she soaked, the unease wouldn’t let go. Every few minutes, her eyes drifted toward the window, scanning the shadows outside. She didn’t even know why—whether it was instinct finally waking up, making her notice things she used to miss, or if, deep down, she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Terry.

Her mind churned with questions, pieces of old legends surfacing from the depths of her mind. Was he born like that or had it come upon him somehow? What brought him and his cousin to her little corner of the world? And Chief Burne—how had they gotten tangled up with him? But the question that weighed most heavily on her heart was personal—did Terry feel that same pull she did? Did he sense the charge in the air whenever they were close?

Was he out there right now, stalking Burne in the dark? 

She couldn’t know for sure.

As the bathwater cooled around her, the image of Jesse’s limp body flashed through her mind like lightning. She could still see herself standing over Jesse, Terry’s lips brushing against her neck, grounding her in the chaos.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for bringin’ all this trouble to your door.”

She looked up at him then, really looked at him, memorizing every sharp feature, the way the sunlight filtered through the window and highlighted his face. She knew he’d find his cousin, finish whatever it was that needed finishing, and then he’d be gone—like a phantom fading back into the night. 

The thought twisted something deep inside her.

“I need you to do something for me before you head out,” Her voice was soft, but there was a weight to it, something that carried more than simple words. Whatever she was about to ask would tether him here, one way or another, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever find the will to leave.

She didn’t know what was driving her, what compelled her to say the words, but she stared up into his eyes, searching for assurance. Her earlier ire had dissipated just like that, and all she could focus on was Terry. "Promise me you'll be careful. Get your cousin, but keep yourself outta harm's way."

"I’ll watch my back. You just take care of yourself." Terry said, his tone firm yet reassuring as he placed a comforting hand on the small of her back.

Just then, Jesse’s finger twitched—once, then again—an involuntary movement that sent a jolt of panic through her. Adla’s heart raced, and she could almost hear the ticking clock in the back of her mind, each second tightening the noose of dread.

Adla knew she should be angry with Terry, using all her energy to push him out the front door and out of her life. But in that moment, her judgment blurred. All that mattered was keeping Terry and Jesse apart.

"We need to move him outside. Make it look like he fell and hit his head! Just hurry—he can’t wake up in here, not like this!” Her voice trembled with urgency, a tight knot of anxiety coiling in her stomach. The fear of Jesse waking up to see Terry loomed over her like a dark cloud, thick and suffocating. 

Something whispered in her mind that crafting a story was the only way to hold back the coming storm.

Pulled by something she couldn’t explain, Adla snatched a mop and broom from the closet and dashed outside. Terry’s voice trailed after her, but she couldn’t make sense of his words; all she could think about was getting the place cleaned up. That one word—hurry!—echoed in her mind, pushing her hands to move faster, scrubbing away at whatever traces she could, as if she could sweep the whole mess out of memory.

As she scrubbed the porch with frantic strokes, her mind spiraled through the chaos of the morning—Terry, Burne, Jesse. The blood had dried, resisting her efforts, and she knew no amount of cleaning could erase what had happened. Still, it was the only thing she could control. Jesse would wake up and remember—he had to. Her hands moved in a desperate rhythm as dread gnawed at her. 

What would she say when he came to? And what would Jesse do?

“Adla, what are you—?” Terry’s voice cut through her frantic thoughts, but she couldn’t focus on him right now. She heard him moving Jesse’s unconscious body, his strong hands lifting the other man with ease, as if he were a child. A strange mix of gratitude and anxiety washed over her. If they could just get Jesse outside, away from the traces of his fight with Terry, maybe she could finally breathe again.

Her gaze darted to the small gash at the back of Jesse’s head as Terry set his body down, and something in her stirred—a fierce need to erase what had happened. As she dabbed at the blood seeping from the wound, she whispered, “Please don’t remember... please don’t remember...” The words slipped from her lips like a prayer, soft yet insistent. 

With every touch, she felt a strange sensation spark between them, her intentions weaving through the air like mist, settling in the fragile space between her and Jesse.

Now, as she reflected on that moment, doubt crept in. Jesse’s confusion struck her as odd. She’d staged a clumsy scene, but his memory should’ve helped him see through it.

He’d gotten riled up, insisting something was off, yet he hadn’t called her out on it. Was he pretending not to remember?

A chill ran down her spine. Had her whispered words done something? Maybe it had something to do with Terry’s supernatural abilities?

A flicker of realization tugged at her—a hint of something strange brewing beneath the surface. She didn’t understand it yet, but the fact that Jesse really seemed to have forgotten left her feeling unsettled.

With a heavy sigh, she slipped out of the bathtub, telling herself to stop chasing answers that weren’t coming. She prayed sleep would ease the steady stream of thoughts swirling in her head, but it didn’t come easily. Her eyes grew heavy as the drone of cicadas seeped through the window, growing louder until it overpowered her thoughts.

Moonlight crept in through the cracks in the curtains, casting soft, silver-blue ribbons across the room. The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, stirring cool air over her skin. Adla turned onto her side, drifting somewhere between sleep and waking—until something sent a jolt through her senses.

"I’m gon’ need your help again."

Adla’s eyes flew open. 

Terry sat on the edge of her bed, his presence too large, and too close for comfort. 

Her face mirrored silent disbelief—mouth agape, hands pressed against her cheeks, as if she were trapped in a nightmare. It had been one thing to offer her help earlier. This? This was something else entirely. 

What had she done by letting him in?

Instinct kicked in, and a rush of adrenaline surged through her veins. She moved fast, reaching for the nightstand, but then froze, her heart pounding as moonlight caught the glint of metal. Her pistol lay casually in his lap, as if it belonged there, held loosely—suggesting no immediate threat unless he decided differently.

Don’t freeze up now!

Her fingers twitched, searching under the pillow for her knife, only to find nothing but cool, empty sheets. Terry’s eyes followed her movements, a sly smile creeping across his face. “What you lookin’ for now, baby?” he murmured, his voice a smooth drawl that made her breath hitch, a mix of fear and something unnameable stirring in her gut.

He has some nerve callin’ me baby. ​​I ain’t helpless, and I sure as hell ain’t no baby!

That thought sparked something deep in her chest. She moved fast, aiming to shove him off balance, but he was quicker. In an instant, his weight was on her, wrists pinned to the bed, his breath hot on her skin.

The ceiling fan hummed lazily above them, oblivious to the heavy tension that now filled the room. She could barely breathe beneath him. His scent wrapped around her—earthy, masculine, and something a little wild beneath it all. Anger surged through her. She was furious at him for barging in like he owned the place, but even more at herself for letting him get this close.

How had he slipped in without her hearing a thing?

“What do you want?” she snapped, struggling against his hold.

“You,” he answered, his voice soft and steady like restraining her was nothing, “and that sharp mind of yours.” 

Adla’s brow furrowed.

Does he mean…in the literal sense? But before her thoughts could spin too far, he shifted, one hand gathering both of her wrists above her head, while the other reached over to flick on the bedside lamp. The soft glow cast shadows against their faces in the dark, making the moment feel far too intimate.

“Not literally,” he murmured, voice smooth as molasses. He lingered, closer than he should have, inhaling that sweet lavender on her skin. “Our deal still stands. Just curious about what you know 'bout the police chief and his boys.”

He’d promised not to bite unless she asked, but a small part of her wished he would. Let him sink his teeth in, drain her dry, and end it all. At least she'd see her father again and free from the troubles that had surfaced. The thought flickered in her mind, and she cursed herself for even considering it.

"Enough," she rasped, struggling to regain control—of her mind, her body, her will. “They’ve been shaking folks down for years. Make ‘em pay to live ‘round here. Starts small—maybe a busted window or slashed tire if you don’t pay up. But then it gets worse. Fires. People go missing. You pay, you’re safe. But not everybody’s got the money.”

"But you don’t pay, do you? Why’s that?"

Her pulse quickened. 

So he had been snooping, listening with those sharp ears of his. Cold sweat gathered at the back of her neck. What else could he pick up on without her knowing? Could he sense her quickened pulse was more than fear? Could he smell the heat pooling between her thighs? 

It was a bizarre sensation to feel while caught in her predicament, but there was no denying it was real.

“How do you know that?” she shot back, the tremor in her voice betraying her.

Terry’s eyes gleamed, a predator’s look—calm, controlled, but intense. His gaze swept over her like he could read every flicker of emotion, every tiny movement, as though she were a mystery he intended to unravel piece by piece. He echoed her words from earlier, voice smooth but firm, "I asked you a question.” 

Anger flared hotter in her chest.

Adla swallowed hard, her jaw tightening. “My daddy and Burne had an understanding. He honors it with me. I stay outta his way, he stays outta mine. That’s how it’s always been.”

Terry’s expression shifted, contemplating her words. 

“What do you know about that understanding?” 

“Not much,” she replied, frustration tightening her throat. “I was just a kid back then. Burne came around a few times, and every time, Daddy sent me out back like he didn’t want me to see whatever ugly business they were discussing. Burne never lingered, though.”

Terry’s jaw clenched tightly, his voice low and intense. “Think harder. There’s got to be something more.”

Her nostrils flared as she wriggled in his grip, her body tense against his, struggling to break free. "I’d remember better if I wasn’t being held hostage by a man who broke into my house." His grip remained firm, but she caught a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, frustration crossing his face.

“What are you mixed up in, Terry Richmond?” she demanded, searching for a crack in his armor. 

Finally, he released her.

She rubbed her wrists, sitting up with her eyes fixed on him, challenging him to explain himself.

“Did I hurt you?” Terry asked, his tone almost tender. He took her hands, fingers brushing over them slow and gentle, then pressed a quick kiss to each one, whispering sincere apologies against her perfumed skin.

She didn’t pull her wrists back, didn’t jerk away. Just held still, watching, waiting to see what he’d do next. One minute, he was charm personified; the next, red hot and demanding. 

“I’m fine,” she lied, but the heat between her thighs refused to fade, steady and pulsing, intensifying with every passing moment. She couldn’t shake it off for anything and couldn’t help but wonder what kind of root he was working on her.

“Don’t you worry ’bout my troubles,” he said, the weight of pulling her into his mess heavy on his shoulders. The fate of his cousin loomed over him, driving him to the brink. His shoulders sagged, but he held her gaze. “I’m sorry for barging in on you like this. It won’t happen again. I promise you that.”

He stood to leave, moonlight casting faint shadows across his caramel skin. She had a wild notion to ask him to stay—the house felt too lonely some nights—but that’s when her gaze caught the ink on his arm once more.

A jolt of memory struck her.

“Hold up a minute! That necklace! Chief Burne took a necklace with some kinda strange mark on it—the same one you’ve got inked on your arm!”

Terry froze in the doorway, his whole body going rigid. “You sure 'bout that?”

“Yeah! I remember it clear as day. It was real strange.” Memories of the past rolled out before her like an old film, every moment flickering back to life. “I found it once—Daddy had it tucked away in that old dresser.” She nodded toward the corner of the room.

“When I found it, he fussed at me somethin’ fierce, told me to stay outta his things. Daddy never got mad like that, not with me. The next day, it was gone. Didn’t see it again ’til Chief Burne came by and Daddy handed it over. I can’t believe I forgot!” She could still picture it—the way she’d perched on a rickety milk crate, peeking through the window to catch a glimpse of their exchange. It hadn’t held her long, but she saw enough to remember that moment.

Adla had thought her daddy’s business—and everything tied to it—had been buried with him. But now, it felt like a ghost from his past was rising to the surface. 

“What’s up with that necklace?”

Terry’s gaze shifted, a whirlwind of emotions churning just beneath the surface—hard to read but impossible to ignore. “Let’s just say it’s a piece of my family history.”

“What kinda history we talkin’ ‘bout?” Adla crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as the shadows seemed to thicken around them. Having a man in her bedroom felt surreal. Jesse always avoided this room during his visits, claimin’ it was too strange to be her daddy's old space. It felt like she and Terry were sharing something sacred and intimate, bound together in a way she couldn’t quite grasp yet.

“You think you can handle the truth? Knowin’ ain’t always what you think it is.” Terry asked, his voice roughening as he took long, deliberate strides back toward her bed. 

“I figure I’ve earned the right, considerin’ you keep breakin’ into my house.”

“You invited me in,” he said with a sly glint in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.” There it was again— that same strange fixation on the idea of being invited, like it mattered more than it should. “It’s gonna change everything you think you know. You ready for that?”

She hadn’t anticipated any of the turmoil since he’d shown up, but there was no turning back now. “Just tell me,” she urged, her fingers tracing the patterns on the comforter. When he settled onto her bed this time, it felt like an invitation rather than an intrusion.

“You know I’m a shifter…” She remembered their earlier conversation and the massive black wolf that had shown up on her porch. “...but you don’t know how it all started. You believe in magic?”

She swallowed hard, nodding. "How could I not, especially with everything that happened today?"

“It all started with a pact that changed everything for us.”

Terry’s expression shifted, turning grave. “My grandfather was a maroon—one of them ‘unruly’ slaves who had the guts to run off from his plantation and into these swamps. He was one of the first to break free. Word got around, and more folks joined him; their strength grew by the night. They’d sneak back in the dark, helpin’ anyone brave enough to follow ’em to freedom.” His voice dropped to a steady murmur, thick with resolve. “Among those he led were healers, rootworkers, and conjurers—men and women who were deep-rooted in their traditions, carryin’ the power to shape reality, but always payin’ a hefty price for it.”

An image of Jesse's grandmother flickered through her mind.

“I don’t know everything about the witches—how they do what they do,” he continued, locking eyes with her. “But they can work wonders—things that’ll stop you dead in your tracks.”

She recalled the bright light shooting from Jesse’s hands earlier, and the hairs on her arms stood on end.

“The maroons carved out their own path, livin’ side by side with the native folks in these swamps. But as the number of enslaved people started to drop in this area, the enslavers took notice. They couldn’t afford to lose any more ‘property,’” he growled, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “So they began sendin’ out hunting parties.”

“At first, they didn’t know the lay of the land, so the maroons slipped right through their fingers. But when that didn’t work, they turned to our own people. They dangled promises of freedom, tryin’ to lure ’em outta the swamp with visions of homes with walls and their own land. It was a lie, but it had a way of workin' on folks. People had families to think about, I reckon.”

It was easy to judge when you didn’t know the daily struggles they faced—sneakin’ into town for scraps, navigatin’ a world rigged against ’em, riskin’ everything just to make it through the day. Freedom came with a heavy price.

“They twisted the law, huntin’ us down like we was nothin’ but animals. Meanwhile, white folks kept gettin’ rich off our backs.”

A thick silence hung between them, both lost in thoughts of their ancestors and the unspeakable horrors they’d endured.

Terry shook his head, tryin’ to shake off the weight of the past. “Needless to say, their tactics worked. By the end, nearly everyone was dead. A few ordinary but tough souls, like my grandfather and just a couple of the witches, managed to survive. Out in these very woods, they came up with a plan for payback. Those witches could give ’em the power to rise against their oppressors, but it came at a steep cost—tradin’ their humanity for the ability to transform.”

She could piece together the unspoken parts: The maroons were worn thin, workin’ twice as hard just to get by, while white men wielded their privilege—armed with better weapons, sheltered in comfort, and backed by all who supported the chains of slavery. They had no choice.

She reached out, her fingers skimming over his forearm, a soft touch she knew she probably shouldn’t be makin’. As if pulled by some unseen force, Terry’s hand glided down to rest on her leg, his warmth grounding them both in that delicate moment of connection.

“So they made a pact. Each full moon, the men would be trapped in the shape of a big ol’ wolf, their humanity swallowed by the beast inside. But for the rest of the month, they could shift at will—keepin’ themselves safe and protectin’ whatever was left of their kin.”

“That must’ve been downright terrifying, bein’ trapped outside their own skin,” Adla said, her mind wanderin’ to what she’d do if she had to make a choice like that.

“They weren’t about to go back to no chains or meet death without swingin’ back. That’s how I—how we came to be,” Terry said, layin’ bare the truth of his origin.

“And what about that necklace?” Adla asked, sensing the intricate puzzle was missing some key pieces. Terry’s touch and those piercing eyes were pulling her in, but her instincts remained razor-sharp. Everything he shared had begun to connect in her mind, but there was still more to uncover.

A look crossed his face, like he was digging up a memory of his own.

“That’s a whole other story. But if your daddy had it, he probably stashed away a book with a ledger too. You know where that might be?”

Chapter 6.

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A Sacrifice for A friend Angel Dust x Reader Part 4

I really experimented with this fic, it’s no where perfect. Angels pov won’t be for a while. It’s going to be angst hell. TW:Drugs, sex, usual hazbin hotel themes

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The flashing lights, the deafening noise of the music that was playing at Valentino’s club, it was all a blur. Your vision was blurry, your head felt heavy, and your body ached.

One thing was certain, your video was a massive hit and Valentino wanted to celebrate. Hell had gone wild for ‘Vixie Stick’, you.

The days blurred together into a haze of sex, and drugs. Valentino seemed to enjoy showing you off, parading you around like a prized possession. You didn't mind the attention, really. It made you feel wanted, even if it was only for your body. And as much as you hated to admit it, there was something thrilling about being wanted by so many people.

But there was always a part of you that ached, that felt like something was missing. You couldn't quite place what it was, the feeling of cold, dark loneliness that crept up on you when you were alone in your bed, staring at the ceiling. You tried to ignore it, to focus on the bright lights and endless pleasure that your day brought, but it always found its way back.

One night, at another one of Valentino's parties, you spotted a pink and white Demon across the room. He was familiar, somehow. His face was etched with pain and sadness, but there was also an unmistakable gleam of determination in his eyes as he sat at the bar with another demon. You felt drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. You excused yourself from the table you were at, making your way through the crowded room until you were standing before him.

"Do I know you?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. The man flinched before he stared back at you.

"Y/n" he said, his voice filled with a mix of awe and disbelief. "It's me. It's Angel." You searched his features, trying to find some familiarity, some sign that he wasn't just some stranger playing a cruel joke on you. But nothing clicked. You didn't know who he was.

“Who is Y/n? Do I know you?” You responded confused. Angel studied your face, taking in the confusion and uncertainty etched there. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice gentle. "I shouldn't have expected you to remember me toots.. I'm just... I'm so glad you're alive."

You felt a pang in your chest at his words. Something about the way he said it, the way he looked at you, made you believe him. And yet... you still couldn't quite place him. "Angel," you repeated, struggling to find the words. "I wish I could remember. I wish I knew who you were."

He reached out a hand, as if he wanted to touch you, but then pulled it back. "I understand," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I just.. was glad to see you"

You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his story, that there was some connection between the two of you. But for now, you were too busy trying to keep up with everything else that was going on in your life, and the deal that trapped you with Valentino.

The party went on around you, the music getting louder, the people more drunk and rowdy. You found yourself slipping into the background, you turned away, even as your heart ached for the glimpse of familiarity you had been given.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of flashing lights and blurry faces. You danced, you drank, you did whatever Valentino told you to do. But your thoughts kept returning to Angel, and the strange connection you felt with him. It was as if some part of you recognized him, some deeper part that you hadn't known existed until now.

Why did he say Y/n?

Just like Valentino did..

Angel Dust tag list: @vendetta-ari @brithedemonspawn @satansmanager @storydays @saturnhas82moons @zamadness @fizziepopangel @saitisfied @the--rebel--fae @mcueveryday @rainbowbunny15 @molarloo @anxietycomments

Story Taglist: @apollobean @kaoyamamegami @kyriekurokami @ozzersauce @idontreallyexistyet

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Danger alert with Diavolo?

<3

Diavolo - Danger Alert

Diavolo x GN! reader

Prompt: People can feel when their soulmate is in danger.

AN: Sorry I took so long with this one... or just in general. It's been a chaotic few weeks in my personal life. But all is well. So, without further ado, I hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings: Slight mention of torture if you squint

The crowded halls of RAD split like the Red Sea as the young demon prince made his way through with great haste. The air around him was not of his usual boisterous energy- it was thick and heavy, sparking a great cause for concern. 

Diavolo had been sitting at his desk with piles of papers just waiting for his signature. But the uncomfortable feeling weighing on his heart had made him lose focus pretty quickly. Something was wrong. 

He had stormed out of his office, following the premonition as it got stronger with every step he took. The way it constricted within his chest filled Diavolo with dread. It almost didn’t feel like it was his own- a phantom touch that was clutching his heartstrings and toying with his emotions. 

The chill of the Devildom air brushed Diavolo’s bangs from his face as he reached the end of the hallway and pushed the doors to the courtyard open. The feeling engulfed his whole body now. Whatever was happening must be nearby. 

A scuffle and a flash of light brought his attention to the far right corner. Curious to find out what was going on, Diavolo quickly made his way towards the area. 

Upon arrival, he was glad he had followed his instinct. Backed into the corner was you with a protection ward cast between yourself and a demon who was trying his hardest to break his way through. As commendable as your strength and resolve was, Diavolo needed to put an end to this. Your safety was his top priority, not only because you were an exchange student- but he’d come to care about you as well.

“Enough!” 

Both the demon and you startled. The prince, now in his true demon form, rapidly approached with a fury so dense it hung in the atmosphere. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Diavolo towered above the demon as he backed him into the wall. The demon whimpered at the sheer proximity. “Answer me. Or so help me, I’ll make you pay for your crime in the most heinous way imaginable.” 

“I- I’m sorry! I didn’t realize they were important to you-”

“I find that hard to believe.” Diavolo squinted. “Blatantly lying to your future king, despicable. Your body along with your very existence will rot within the bowels of my castle, I’ll make sure myself and Barbatos sees to it.” And with a snap of his fingers, the demon evaporated elsewhere. 

Beginning to compose himself, Diavolo turned to you. He needed to make sure you weren’t injured. In shock and exhaustion your body gave out, sliding down the wall to the ground. Diavolo was by your side in an instant, slipping his arms around you for support. 

“Are you hurt?” Concern weaved through his words as he pulled you closer to him. Shaking your head, you put his worries to rest.

“Good. That was quite the fight you put up. Where did you learn to create a ward like that?”

“Solomon taught me.” You said matter-of-factly. With a simple nod, Diavolo made a mental note to thank the wizard for doing so. You continued. “How did you know I was here?” 

Diavolo’s eyes softened, tracing your features as he pondered your question. He really wasn’t sure how either. The awful feeling from earlier had dissipated. Perhaps it was connected to you.

“I just had a bad feeling, so I followed it and it led me to you.” 

You hummed. “Maybe we should look into it. What if we were soulmates or something?” 

Diavolo laughed. “Then I would be happy to find that we were ‘soulmates or something.’” 

Giggling at his tease as well, Diavolo lifted you up bridal style and began carrying you back inside. No matter what the reason was, he was certain he'd do everything in his power to keep you safe for as long as you should let him.

[goldenchemo]

POSSESSION

chapter 1 | masterlist | wc: 538

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Around 9:30, nearly 5 hours after he'd alerted you of his presence, you heard a soft knock on your door. Three quiet raps. It's the same every time.

You hum, signaling for him to enter, and he quickly slips in.

exhaling, Suna speaks, "K?" you smile slightly before shrugging.

"There was nothing else to be said."

"Really now?" he narrows his eyes at you and you roll your own.

"Would you prefer I throw a party? I didn't think you liked the fanfare." you fold your legs up underneath you, making room for him.

He ignores the new spot and instead opts to squeeze in between you and the wall, laying down and sighing deeply.

"I like to be appreciated."

It's quiet for a moment while you study his face. His cheekbones are getting sharper by the week, he's really coming into himself and you can see it. Unfortunately other people can see it, too.

You know he's popular, why wouldn't he be? his eyes are complex, mesmerizing in the way they change from green to yellow when he squints, a gleam of mischief flashing through them. His skin is flawless, he looks like he's made of porcelain. He's devastatingly beautiful, all sharp angles and fatigued features.

He's a different kind of beautiful when he's in your room, though. Your lamp light casting shadows across his face, eyes usually gently closed. His long limbs curl up farther than you expect they could and the way his breathing slows and eyelids grow heavy is almost domestic in nature.

He's always so calm here, seemingly at home pressed up against you. His mouth twitches and you can see him resisting a smirk. He peeks one eye open to catch you staring. Opening your mouth, you try to think of something to say. "Do you only come in here to nap?"

"Mhm. I like your room. It's peaceful," you smile a little to yourself before going back to your phone, stretching your legs out once again, careful to keep your thighs from touching.

His words are short and to the point. There's a thousand things you could say in response. You don't know if you should try to be funny, or sincere, or tease him, so you always opt to stay silent. He takes this as a comfortable silence, though you're far from it.

He shifts, rolls over towards you so he can watch as you scroll.

His breath is warm where it fans on your arm and you lay back. If you're going to be together, you could at least try to relax, right?

Wrong. Barely any time has passed before you get a text from Osamu.

If it weren't for Suna's curious (nosy) nature, Osamu would've come in to find you two curled up next to each other, Suna practically leaning in you.

It's not that your brothers are overprotective, not of you at least. Friends for them are just few and far between, thanks to Atsumu's attitude. They tend to get possessive, unwilling to "share" their friends. They act as though you're their much younger sister despite your minute-long age gap.

To your surprise though, Osamu seems more irritated with Suna than you. His brows are furrowed and he looks slightly frustrated. When he speaks, though, all you hear is disappointment, "C'mon man..."

You can't find it in yourself to feel sorry. You look down at suna who glances at you before getting up and shuffling out of the room behind Osamu, not bothering to shut the door behind him. Always the air of mystery with him.

[happybird16]

•Chapter Three•

Naga!Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader

Summary: Growing up, the forest's edge always darkened the far corner of your small village. The giant, twisted branches overhead rendered the forest floor a terrifying, pitch black. You shouldn't be here. There's creatures here, dangerous ones.

Overall warnings: Past references to child abuse, blood, scars, gore, mystery, eventual sex, inhuman genitalia (Levi is a snake man), horror vibes.

Chapter warnings: Horror vibes, mystery

Chapter length: 4.3k

Ao3 Link

The most special of shoutouts to my beloved friend and beta @theferricfox!!!! Also, credit to @the-milk-anon for the snake banner!!

Note: a chapter 3 is a go!!! hehe

Previous chapter | Next chapter

The sheer awkwardness of the situation makes the silence painful. How do you communicate, let alone share a living space, with someone who had just threatened your life and then decided on a whim to keep you safe?

He settles back into the same spot as before, his bare back facing the entrance. The light flickers off his alabaster skin, casting shadows that play across the bulge of his muscles and highlight the curve of his spine and the broad expanse of his strong shoulders. This time, he isn't as tightly curled up, and the long length of his tail spreads out across the bedding.

"I... I am sorry for intruding, by the way," you begin, settling shakily near the fire, as far away from him as possible. To avoid touching him, you have to tuck your knees up to your chest. Adrenaline and anxiety still pulse through your veins, and you speak rapidly, "Even if I really didn't mean to."

Your feet accidentally slip forward, causing your boots to bump into the closest portion of his tail. He flinches, coiling up further into the wall with a quiet hiss. "Don't fucking touch me."

The sharpness of his tone makes your breath catch, and visions of sharp white teeth flash in your mind's eye. Filled with remorse, you quickly wrap your arms around your knees. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm so sorry."

He grumbles loudly, shifting in place. "Do you ever shut up?"

"I sorta can't right now. I'm too freaked out," you truthfully explain. The words make his shoulders visibly sag. "Not that I'm not grateful, but w-what made you change your mind?"

Will you still kill me later?

He twists his head over his shoulder, giving you a heavy, exhausted look. You can't be naive and assume that he's planning on sparing you entirely. Still, now that he's calmer, his presence seems almost peaceful. It's almost comforting. Mostly, he appears sleepy, with heavy eyelids and dark purple bags under his eyes.

Rising onto his forearm, the man twists over to face you. Resting his head in his hand, he looks almost cute in an odd way. With a huff, he points at you with a sharp-tipped claw. "You helped me."

He states it so simply, his words short and clipped. Even in the flickering light, it's impossible to read his expression, but he seems cautious. There's a tightness in his face that betrays wariness, though you're not entirely sure of what.

"Yes," you start slowly, mindful of his previous rage. "I found you buried in the snow not far from here." Waving a hand, you gesture towards the opening, as if to show him where. "I thought you were going to die. Hell, it was so cold that I thought I was going to die too!"

"I led you here," he hums, tilting his head to the side. You can see the gears working in his head. "I remember now. I was hunting when the temperature dropped."

"So, what?" you wave your hands exaggeratedly, attempting to inject humor. "You decided, 'Hey, why not take a nap in a snowdrift?'"

His eyes light up in response to your barb, and his face briefly opens up. Shaking his head, he purses his lips in thought, then points at you once again. "Earlier... I scared you. I didn't know humans could feel fear."

Surprise floods your features. It almost sounds as if he's... apologetic? There's an underlying current of curiosity in his words. "You didn't? But you said that you've killed humans before?"

His lips thin, but he doesn't answer your query. When he speaks, his eyes become distant, and his mind seems to drift away. "You were shaking and cowering..."

As he trails off, his voice carries a deep sadness. It's as if he's describing something else, something buried deep within his memories. "Are you apologizing... or..."

The Naga doesn't seem to hear you. His silvery eyes are glazed and distant, as if he's looking through you. Suddenly, he startles, shaking himself from the depths of his memories. The claws of his free hand dig into the pelt below, twisting the hide tightly beneath his sharp nails. His gaze locks with yours, sharp and focused. "You're different. From them," he asserts firmly.

Them. That sounds ominous. "I'm hoping that's a good thing?"

"I'm still undecided," he tells you with a shrug. The wariness in his demeanor has dissipated, replaced by a sense of ease. He yawns, his eyes pinching tight and his sharp teeth spreading wide. With a big stretch, he rises, shifting to sit upright against the adjacent wall.

Undecided. The word hangs in the air, leaving you with a mix of uncertainty and apprehension.

After all that has transpired, it's surprisingly easy to relax in the presence of the Naga. Engaging in conversation with him feels effortless, even though his responses are often brief and curt. There's something about the way he listens attentively, allowing you to speak before offering his own thoughts. Perhaps it's his seemingly relaxed demeanor, with heavy eyes and slow movements.

His chin dips low, almost resting on his chest. Despite his weariness, his gaze remains intense, piercing you with a simmering intensity. It's as if he's teetering on the brink of sleep, struggling to keep his eyes open and focused on you. Yet, his glare remains unwavering, his shoulders tense and guarded. Cautiously, you break the silence, "You don't like humans then?"

"Humans..." His lip curls in disdain, and he hisses the word angrily, his eyes gleaming red in the flickering firelight. "They are greedy parasites. They do nothing but take, kill, and torture for their own benefit."

You can't really disagree with that statement. Not after what you've been through. Not after what you did. “Not all humans are like that, though…,” you defend earnestly, “a-and you hurt humans too. People disappear all the time..”

Ignoring your interruption, his voice rises to an angry accusatory hiss, “We aren't all WildOnes, mindless and hungry.”

WildOnes. So that's what they're called, the creatures that torment your village from the forest's edge. The ones that occasionally wander into peoples homes to gorge themselves on human flesh. Countless hungry mouths for which the forest is named.

He gestures towards himself, saying, “We don’t hurt the innocent, unlike you people.”

You people. “So.. the humans you.. killed before.. were bad?”

“To say the least,” he replies with a snarl, his voice laced with defiance. “We only hunt and kill to survive, or to protect ourselves and others.”

As his words sink in, a sense of relief washes over you, and you find yourself taking a deep breath, releasing some of the pent-up tension that had been gripping your shoulders. The realization that you might be safe in this unfamiliar territory brings a glimmer of hope.

“Oh,” you breathe, the weight of fear slowly dissipating. “So I’m safe here?”

His eyes narrow, studying your face, and a trace of annoyance flickers across his features. With a dismissive tsk, he responds, “I thought I made that clear. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not a monster.”

The word “monster” echoes in your mind, reminding you of the countless times you’ve heard it before. There’s that word again. Between the two of you, you’re the monster here.

Feeling a sense of ease settle in, you decide to make yourself more comfortable in this unfamiliar environment. Carefully, you remove your coat and gloves, folding them neatly and placing them beside your bag. The crackling fire radiates warmth, and with the increasing heat, you realize that shedding some layers is a welcome relief. A faint sheen of sweat begins to form on your brow.

One by one, you loosen your boots and place them with precision near the entrance, mindful of maintaining order in this space. As you perform these actions, your eyes glance towards the man seated to your left, attempting to decipher his inscrutable expression. His gaze remains fixed on you, his thoughts concealed behind a veil of mystery.

Left with only trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, you wiggle your socked feet into the soft pelt beneath you. It's difficult to determine the exact origin of the fur, but its sandy tone and short, stiff bristles offer a comforting texture against your tired feet. The man beside you has curled his tail slightly, allowing you a bit more room to maneuver. Taking advantage of the cozy space, you cross one leg over the other, stretching your feet to alleviate the ache that had settled in your toes. The soothing sensation brings a momentary respite to your weary body.

His gaze locks onto your toes, captivated by their wiggling motion, and his head tilts slightly in curiosity. Meanwhile, you work the pad of your thumb into the arch of your foot, eliciting a soft hiss of relief. The boots you wore didn't provide the level of protection you had hoped for, resulting in aching discomfort that extends from your toes all the way to the small of your back.

"I don't think I've ever walked so much in my life," you remark, a mixture of exhaustion and humor lacing your voice.

His expression displays confusion as he asks, "Your feet... hurt?" The genuine curiosity in his tone reflects his lack of understanding, perhaps not fully comprehending the physical toll that extended travel can take.

When you spread your toes, his eyes widen with a touch of surprise. It's an endearing reaction, reminiscent of his behavior when you first encountered him. The thought amuses you, and you have to stifle a laugh from bubbling up.

Noticing the amusement flickering across your face, he quickly averts his gaze, diverting his attention to the furs near his hip. "How's your head?" he inquires, shifting the focus to your well-being.

As the sensation of warmth slowly returns to your extremities, you realize that you had almost forgotten about the slight headache lingering in the background. Your focus had been consumed by the pins-and-needles sensation in your toes and fingers, a welcome sign of thawing from the frigid cold.

"It's not bad," you inform him honestly, referring to the state of your head. "Just a bruise." With your hand raised, you carefully explore the back of your head, tracing your fingers over the bump that has formed. The texture beneath your hair feels uneven and bumpy. Prodding it lightly with a finger, a sharp pain shoots through your head, making you hiss in discomfort.

Concern creases his brow, and he leans forward, his expression difficult to decipher. He appears almost genuinely worried. Wincing at the sharp pain, you wave him off, assuring him, "It's just a small bump."

Apologies seem unlikely to come from him, but his concerned demeanor and the way he hovers with a slight distance from the wall offer a sense of comfort. "Do you mind if I use the fire?" you inquire, seeking permission to utilize the warmth provided by the crackling flames.

Eyebrows scrunching up in response to your question, he gives you an odd, slow double-lidded blink, as if trying to make sense of your request. After a moment of perplexity, he squints with a hint of confusion and simply shrugs, settling back against the wall. "Do what you want."

Taking that as permission, you reach for your bag and begin extracting several items from within. A village head had kindly provided you with a small bag of supplies before your departure. Among the contents are a modest amount of food, a flint for starting fires, a compact metal cooking pot, and a couple of sturdy metal cups. Considering the earlier rough treatment, you appreciate the durability of the metal cups over delicate ceramic ones.

With a clear plan in mind, you set up the tripod over the crackling fire. Then, shuffling over to the entrance, you scoop up quick handfuls of snow, swiftly depositing them into the cooking pot. Soon enough, the snow begins to melt, transforming into water as it heats up near the fire.

Watching you work, the Naga’s eyes droop further down, his shoulders slumping forward. As you continue with your tasks, you observe the Naga’s weary state, his eyes drooping further down and his shoulders slumping forward. Curiosity prompts you to ask, “Are you feeling better then? You aren’t shivering anymore.”

He blinks, his movements slow and deliberate, his arms still tightly crossed. His nails dig into his own skin, a display of tension. “I’m fine,” he replies tersely.

Concerned for his well-being, you glance at his bare shoulders and offer, “Are you sure? You can have my coat back if you want.”

“I said I’m fine,” he retorts sharply, his patience visibly thin. The tone of his voice carries a hint of irritation. “I clearly remember telling you that I don’t need your help, Human.”

The word "Human" lingers in your mind, creating a sense of discontent. With the water now at a low boil, you serve yourself a cup and extend the offer to the Naga, asking, "Do you want some water?"

He grunts, muttering something under his breath, before relenting with a grumpy hiss, accepting the cup. Clasping it from the top, he gently dangles it from his long and lethal talons, while the pink of his forked tongue peeks out, lapping softly at the rim.

"Careful, it's hot," you caution, but he seems unfazed. He drinks from the cup, flicking his tongue oddly into the liquid before taking a solid sip. Meanwhile, your gaze drifts to his scales, each one tiny and no larger than your thumbnail, covering his elongated form. In the warm glow of the firelight, they shine with a polished sheen, reflecting a mesmerizing array of swirling rainbow colors. Naga scales are believed to bring good luck. Shaking yourself from the thought, you smile eagerly and take a sip from your own cup.

"You mentioned 'we' earlier, so there are more of you? More Naga?" you inquire, curiosity lacing your words.

The Naga’s eyebrows raise, his expression hardening. “You know what I am?” he questions, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“The village heads never liked us speaking about The Maw. It was always sort of hush-hush, as if talking about it would only result in the bad things creeping out of the forest. Still, stories got around. Kids whispered to one another,” you tell him, “I don't remember much, to be honest. I was small so the memories are.. fuzzy at best.”

A vivid recollection emerges from the depths of your mind—a memory of an older girl who had shared knowledge of the Naga with you. She had been several years your senior, seeming wise and mature beyond her years. In the shade of a small tree at the far corner of the schoolyard, she had braided your hair while divulging myths and legends like forbidden secrets. She spoke of distorted, deranged creatures twisted by the magic of the forest, as well as intelligent beings who possessed both human and animal features—fur, scales, and feathers. However, shortly after sharing these tales, she had mysteriously vanished.

The memory carries a sense of nostalgia, the bittersweet remembrance of a lost connection and the forbidden knowledge that was imparted to you.

She'd been your friend and you don't even remember her name. The teen had seemed so much older and wiser than you at the time, but she'd only been a kid. She had been a small, curious girl, and the loss of her friendship weighs heavily on your heart. At her funeral, the haunting remark of one of the village heads, “curiosity feeds death,” still resonates in your mind.

"Children's tales," he snorts, crossing his arms. Your eyes bounce, fighting against you to lock onto his chest. "Go ahead, tell me, what do the village children think of my species?"

It feels as if he's humoring you, like this is some sort of halfway-entertaining joke to him.

"Obviously, half of the stories aren't true," you start with a laugh. "After what you said, I don't think Naga are bloodthirsty beasts who eat babies whole."

He only grunts in response, rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath. You think you hear an unhappy curse alongside a disgusted 'humans.'

“Uhh,” you struggle to think back. “Oh! Naga are said to always be decorated with intricate jewelry! Earrings and bracelets and necklaces all in bright shiny colors!” Glancing at his fur coat, still folded neatly by the fire, the mismatched furs make you frown. They never said anything about clothing, but the dull tans and rich browns are far from the bright jewel tones described in your childhood. “That's obviously not true either.”

“Not exactly,” he supplies simply. Features flat and guarded, you can't tell if he's happy with the correct assumption. “It isn't really the ideal weather to wear metal.”

Remembering the stinging chill of your daggers pommel, you nod your head in agreement, “That makes sense.”

Quirking an eyebrow, he holds out a hand in askance, “Anything else, human?”

“I have a name,” you frown, disliking the way he spits out the word ‘human’ with a hateful snarl. You can tell it's just a habit, but still it's not exactly pleasant. Giving your name, you assert forcefully, “I'd prefer if you used it.”

“You shouldn't give that out so freely around here,” he advises coolly. Finished with his drink, the cup rests carefully by the curve of his hip. It doesn't feel like he even tried to process your name. “Some WildOnes gain power from names.”

You frown. It doesn't feel like he sees you as equals. It's almost like you're just a nuisance that he can't wait to get rid of, which isn't exactly untrue. He's just humoring you, not even really listening. “You're supposed to tell me yours.”

“Am I?” He hums with a smirk. Long nails drumming thoughtfully along his arm, he pauses a moment, pretending to give the idea thought. “I don't think I will.”

So much for getting to know him. “You're kind of an asshole, did you know that?”

“So I've been told,” he chimes back smoothly, smirk widening. In the blink of an eye, his jaw hardens and his lips fall back down into an unhappy scowl. Every bit of playfulness falls away, his face stony and serious, “Now, human, do you know anything else?”

Why does it feel like he's testing you? Quizzing you in hopes of uncovering a specific line of knowledge. It's easy to guess exactly what he's searching for. You fight not to break eye contact and glance at the length of his tail, its tiny diamond shaped scales glittering enticingly like obsidian.

Your mind scrambles, trying to dig up an obvious, innocuous fact. “Shouldn't you be hibernating?”

Gritting his teeth, the Naga shifts in place. His tail shudders, the end unhappily slapping the ground near the entrance. “I don't hibernate.” From the way he says it, you can tell it's something that's been brought up before. It's a sore spot, not quite an open wound.

“You don't hibernate? So do other Naga?” You ask rapidly, eager to dig into the opening. “Aren't you cold blooded? Or something like that? Is that why you passed out in the snow? And you seem so tired…”

“Are you done now?” He cuts you off aggressively, “Is it my turn to ask questions?”

“Oh!” you start in surprise, skin crawling and heart hammering at his sudden intensity. “I didn't realize you had-”

Cutting you off, he leans forward with a stern bark, “Why are you here?”

"Well, I-" you start to reply.

Fangs on display, he interrupts you at a fevered pitch. "What's a human doing this far in The Maw? What do you want?"

"I'm on a mission," you start quickly before he can continue, your voice far too loud. His eyes widen at your shout, and his nose lets out a sharp huff. You continue, "There's another village, far on the other side of The Spine. You might know of it? We have to go around the entire wood any time we have to work with them. The journey takes at least a month, even in ideal conditions, and that's by horseback."

As he listens, his lips purse. "I don't give a shit about human trade routes. Why are you here?"

You huff, "One of my village heads has a message for someone. It's urgent."

Lies. All Lies. They fall surprisingly easily from your lips.

His eyes narrow, “What could be urgent enough to send a small girl into the jaws of death?”

Small?

Your mind whirls, and the idea comes to you as it forms from your lips, “It’s a bit personal. And medical…” Pausing dramatically, you watch his nose crinkle up in disgust. You had expected as much, given his opinion on human affairs. “You see, there’s an actual real doctor in that village, and the old man’s got a very worrying rash on his…”

"Fine. Fine," he cuts you off with a raised hand. His eyes flicker down, trailing across your form. "Why you, then? You don't seem to be some sort of warrior. Or a soldier? Why would they send you?"

"Well..." Before you can forge an answer, there's a large thud outside. It's loud enough to make you yelp, shaking the cave hard enough to bounce you in place. "Did a fucking tree just fall?" The wind has been crazy, but the trees are enormous. Is that even possible?

"Shush," the Naga hushes you quietly, his head twisting to face the entrance. His forked tongue flicks out, tasting the air. "Should have sensed him sooner."

“Him?” You shout again, the panic evident in your voice, as there’s another deafening crash that reverberates through the cave. The ground trembles beneath you, causing your heart to race even faster. The sheer power and force behind each impact fill you with a sense of dread.

“A giant,” the Naga informs you in a hushed tone, attempting to calm you down. His voice carries an air of resignation. “A big bumbling idiot. He’s early today.”

The next crash is even louder than before, sending shockwaves through the cave and making your ears ring. The sound is enough to make you instinctively cover your ears, hoping to block out the overwhelming noise. The mere thought of this giant’s immense presence outside fills you with a mix of awe and fear.

“He comes by every night?” you manage to ask, your voice quivering with anxiety.

The Naga nods solemnly, his expression revealing a blend of weariness and caution. “He's just looking for a midnight snack.”

Something large and pink presses into the entrance, bulging slightly past the rough stone lip. It twists, desperately pressing inward, a large scraggly nail scraping along the edge of the opening. Bits of stone fall free as the digit pushes and pushes into the small opening.

Fear grips you like a vice, and a scream involuntarily escapes your lips. Instinct takes over as you scramble onto your hands and knees, desperately trying to put distance between yourself and the encroaching intruder. With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you maneuver your way up and over the coiled mass of the Naga’s tail, propelling yourself towards the far end of the cave.

In your haste, you find yourself pressed shoulder to shoulder against the wall next to the Naga. The tight space and the shared proximity with the enigmatic creature intensify your trepidation. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the chilling fear that grips you. The Naga’s presence offers a sliver of reassurance amidst the chaos unfolding before you.

Together, you both watch as the mysterious entity outside continues its relentless effort to breach the cave’s entrance. The pressing appendage and the scraping sound grow more unnerving with each passing moment.

It’s a finger! The giant is pressing the tip of his finger into the cave!

The Naga hisses at the contact, his serpentine eyes narrowing as he twists his head to give you a stern look. “I said not to touch me,” he admonishes, his voice laced with irritation.

Your heart races as you realize the enormity of the situation. The giant’s finger protrudes further into the cave, its presence both fascinating and terrifying. The sheer scale of the appendage dwarfs everything around it, including the Naga and yourself.

“Is that a WildOne?” you manage to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper, the awe and apprehension intertwining in your words.

The Naga’s expression shifts, a mixture of resignation and bitterness crossing his features. “Not exactly,” he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of disdain. “Giants aren’t exactly Wild; they’re just stupid.”

As another chunk of stone falls away from the trembling entrance, your fear intensifies, prompting you to act on instinct. Frantically, you reach out and grab onto the Naga’s arm, your nails digging into his shoulder in a desperate attempt to find some sense of security. Why isn’t he as alarmed as you are?

“Shut up,” he barks under his breath, shaking his shoulder to fight off your grip, “If you’re just quiet he’ll forget what he's doing and fuck off.”

“How-” How are you supposed to calm down in such a dire situation? Your chest heaves with each breath, the primal urge to scream building within you.

“Calm down,” the Naga urges quietly, his voice strained as he fights to keep it low. “I don’t know how you managed to make it this far, but once the storm ends, this ugly idiot will be the least of your worries.” His words hang in the air, their ominous weight casting a shroud of uncertainty over the cave.

A profound silence descends, broken only by the relentless scratching of the giant outside and the deafening roar of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. The reality of the situation sinks in, and you can’t help but question your own choices and the path that has led you here. What have you gotten yourself into?

[raging-violets]

you've always been the most important person in my life. + kiley?

A/N: Saw in this post, that you were feeling nostalgic and it kicked my ass into gear to get this one up. There is also a Rated M/Explicit version of this I'm working on as well! And despite where I cut it off with a read more, this is not an heavy angsty piece, it's a fluffy one!

-

Riley had been sitting through a more than boring business meeting—who the hell actually cared what countries brought in the most clicks on their social media pages?—when she got the phone call.

Thank God, she thought, twisting her features to make an exaggerated expression of apology before slipping out of the board room. She could practically feel the jealous glares of her brothers and sister as she escaped the tedium of the day to slip outside.

Riley glanced at the number that came up on the screen and sighed lightly. Not recognizing it, a bit of trepidation rolled through her stomach. Most people had anxiety about talking on the phone, that never bothered her. She loved talking on the phone, but when it was unknown numbers, it was what made an eyebrow quirk.

Especially after that time some more than exuberant fans had managed to sleuth their ways through the internet and leak her phone number. A few well-timed cease and desist letters and strongly worked police involvement had nipped that in the bud.

Now, unknown numbers gave her pause. But something in her gut told her to answer it.

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry, to bother you ma’am,” came the voice on the other end of the line. Riley’s hackles immediately started to rise. No one called her ma’am. Her cheeks started to flush, ready to take on whomever decided to grab her number once more. Especially when it continued with, “but is this… Riley…?” trailing off a second as if they were determining if they’d actually called her, “Oh, Riley Jackson?”

She sucked in a deep breath through her nose, working to keep her temper in check and focused on the tone of the voice speaking to her. It didn’t sound young enough to be a fan, but that’d tripped her up before.

“Speaking,” she replied flatly.

“This is Mason Lee, I’m calling from the Los Angeles Sports Center.” Riley’s eyebrows came together. “And you’re listed as the emergency contact for Kendall Knight, I’m afraid there’s been an incident.”

All at once, Riley felt the heat leave her face as concern took over. “Is he okay?”

“He’s had a nasty collision while on the ice, so if you could come in, we could discuss the extent of his injuries.”

Riley pressed her lips together. Logan had always been vocal about what certain words of injuries meant. Not to mention her own dreams of being a doctor…and all of the time she’d spent in doctor’s offices due to her injuries from Robert. If a doctor wanted to speak to someone in person, it either meant there was a serious injury or a serious run of recovery that was needed.

“What the fuck did you do now, Hockey-Head?”

“Ma’am?”

Riley chuckled to herself, not realizing she’d said her mental questions out loud. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 Riley quickly sent a text message to Ronan about leaving the rest of the meeting, and hurried to the sports complex.

When she arrived and was taken back to the medicine room, Riley twisted her fingers together. Her blood pressure rose with each step she took, breath coming up faster and faster. With every step she took, images of the time spent in hospitals and doctor’s offices flashed through her head. A broken arm here, a busted lip there, cuts, bruises, sprains, abrasions. All the ways one could be abused flew through her mind.

It'd been a few years since Robert had been removed as her foster parent and had been charged and sentenced, but the memories were always fresh. It was no wonder she’d frozen when taking the MCAT with Logan.

The terror she worked hard to hide must’ve been emblazoned across her face as she scanned the area because a Asian man wearing a grey polo with the complex’s name on the front strode toward her.

“Miss. Jackson?” He asked. “I’m Mason Lee.”

“You can call me, Riley, mate,” she said quickly. “Is Kendall okay?”

Mason Lee chuckled. “Kendall’s going to be okay. I just wanted you to be aware of what happened. Kendall was practicing on the ice and he got into an altercation with some other players out here. They went around a few times and went into the boards and they’ve received some injuries.”

Folding her arms, Riley jutted out her hip. “What was the bloody fight about?” She knew the answer before it was given, then nodded when Mason said, “From what I can understand, the other guys were giving him a hard time about being in a boyband and playing hockey…”

Mason smiled at the roll of her eyes. “He’s in good spirits, but he’s gotten a few injuries. He’ll need a lot of rest and he needs to stay off the ice for the next couple of weeks. He won’t be able to perform for the next couple of weeks as well.”

“Well, he’s sustained multiple injuries, but with plenty rest, and lots of pain killers, he’ll make full recovery in no time I’m sure,” Lance explained, lifting a weight off Merlin as he spoke, “he’s very lucky he came out of this with what he did, it could have been much worse.”

She nodded, still twisting her fingers together despite them being tucked out of site. The quicker she saw him, the quicker she’d be able to breathe.

“And as if it, we don’t tolerate fighting here so he’s banned from the complex for the same amount of time he’ll be in recovery.”

“I don’t expect he’ll dislike anything less,” Riley murmured. She ran a hand through her hair, briefly closing her eyes. When she opened them she asked, “Can I see him?”

“Absolutely, he’s been asking for you.”

They walked into the room Kendall was in and he immediately looked up and smiled when he saw Riley coming toward him despite the frustration and aggression that sagged his shoulders forward. He reached out a hand that Riley took and immediately wrapped him up in a hug. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close to him.

She breathed in deeply, taking in the scent that was him and feeling him strong and study despite the bandages coating a wrist and his foot.

“Are you okay?”

It took a moment for Riley to realize Kendall was asking her the question, not her asking him.

“Yeah,” she replied, pulling back to look him in the eye. Her expression softened into a mixture of compassion and frustration; much like any girlfriend would have for a boyfriend who managed to hurt themselves. “Are you?”

Kendall smiled a sweet smile, bringing his hands down to grab hers. “You’re shaking,” he said.

She was trembling like a leaf. He knew she hated hospitals. And it wasn’t even a fucking hospital. “You called me here!”

“And you came,” Kendall replied, sounding like a proud little boy.

Riley rolled her eyes. She grasped Kendall’s face and kissed him. “I came,” she replied. “Of course I would. What happened?”

“I got into a fight.”

“I can see that!”

Kendall shot her a look, his face softening the moment their eyes met, and he sighed, shaking his head. “It was stupid, I was just skating around. And these guys started to hassle me about getting into the junior leagues and being in a boyband and…it was dumb.”

“Fucking right, boofhead,” Riley shot back. “Your leg’s broken!”

“It’s sprained,” he said, trying to placate her. “And so’s my wrist.” He kissed her again. “I’m fine, Ruby, I promise.”

Riley sighed, her shoulders slumping. “What’d your mum say?”

He looked at her. “She doesn’t know yet.”

Her eyebrows flew up at that, dark blue eyes widening. “She doesn’t know?”

“No, I only called you.”

Riley thought for a moment, thinking back to what Mason Lee had told her. Emergency contact… She took in a surprised breath through her nose, then studied her boyfriend. Her blonde, bandaged, boofheaded boyfriend.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he added quickly, taking her silence for anger. “Not on purpose, Riles, I swear I wouldn’t scare you like this on purpose.”

But she wasn’t thinking about that. Shek new he never would. No, she continued to roll the words Emergency Contact through her head, almost as if it were a mantra. “You didn’t call your mum?” she asked. Kendall shrugged. “You put me as your emergency contact, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Kendall looked her in the eye. “You’re the most important person in my life, Riles. You’ve always been the most important person in my life. If there’s anyone I want by my side with this hockey stuff, the good and the bad, it’s you.”

Riley smiled and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his, gently rubbed her nose against his. Ignored her want to make a comment about his nose poking out her eye, ignored her initial reaction to remind him that James would probably have something to say about that. Simply basked in the vulnerable moment with her boyfriend who she loved dearly, no matter how many stupid hockey injuries he would end up getting. He was about to go into the junior hockey league, it was probably going to happen more as time went on.

Time to get used to it.

“And if it didn’t hurt like hell to move right now,” his voice dropped to a low murmur. “I’d show you how important you are to me…”

“Fuck off,” she leaned back and pushed his head aside as he chuckled. She reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s get you back to the crib. I think you’ve had enough fun for today.”

After getting more care instructions from the facility’s medical team, Kendall and Riley went back to 2J, with Riley holding the door as he stubbornly worked his crutches through the lobby and up to the room. She motioned for him to sit on the couch before disappearing into the kitchen to get him some food.

She’d turned back around to find him stretched out on the couch, watching her carefully. “What?” She asked.

“Nothing, just…” Kendall smiled serenely, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She walked back over to him and leaned over, giving him a long kiss. “Especially because your call got me out of the most boring meeting I’ve ever sat through.”

“I’m so glad that both of us are getting something out of this.”

“What are you getting?”

“Time away from Gustavo.” Riley laughed at Kendall’s quick response. “And my own personal nurse.”

At that, Riley shook her head. She reached out for Kendall’s hand and hefted him to his feet before leading him toward the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Kendall asked.

“I’m running you a bath,” Riley replied, her nose wrinkled, eyes flashing. “As much as I like it when you smell like sweat…you really smell gross.”

[metalbuckaroo]

Birthday to Remember

SUMMARY// After being pulled along to a strip club by your friends on your birthday, you end up leaving with some company.

WARNINGS// smut, oral (f receiving), kinda corruption kink, pussyjob, cursing, mentions of tobacco and alcohol use

AU// Stripper!Bucky x Innocent!Readee

AN// Requests and asks are always open, 18+ ONLY Minors DNI

Masterlist

Moodboard by// @commonintrest Dividers by// @skylightlantern

The last thing you wanted on your birthday was for your friends to drag you to a strip club. You felt awkward and out of place walking amongst the room full of half naked men and drinking customers.

"This just feels weird." You sighed, following your three friends towards the bar that was in the corner. "We'll get one of those private rooms they have here for parties and a beefy man. It will be a birthday to remember, c'mon." One of them grinned.

You pitched in on the drinks and a private room, one of the men walking in right after you. Dark, chin length hair and a sweet smile that nearly distracted from the tight leather shorts that left little to the imagination.

You spent most of the time staring down into your glass, having to silently remind yourself you were suppose be having fun as your friends cheered and giggled as they stuffed bills into the waistband of the man's shorts; whose named you learned was Bucky.

You weren't really paying attention to what he was doing. More to the way the silvery metal of his arm gleamed under the dimmed lights and where metal met flesh at the base of his shoulder.

Wondering how he got it or if he could feel when someone touched it, rather than thinking of the smooth way his body moved.

One of your friends said something to him that you couldn't quite make out. Bucky nodding and looking over at you with a half smile.

"Want the birthday special?" He asked, moving to stand in front of you. Your face warmed at his words and you swallowed thickly, shaking your head. "No, it's fine."

"Oh, come on. Don't be a prude." One of the three girls groaned, poking one of your crossed legs.

Wetting your lips, you glanced up at Bucky who looked at you with welcoming eyes. "Yeah, okay." You nodded.

Your stomach flipped when he took the drink from your hands, handing it to your friend before the cool metal of his left hand nudged at your knee for you to uncross your legs.

Bucky placed his hands on the back of the couch, your shoulders trapped between metal and flesh as he leaned down to talk in your ear. "If you're uncomfortable with anything, just pinch me."

You gave another nod and he smiled, flashing his pearly whites as he leaned his knees against the edge of the plush cushion on either side of yours.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest when he tugged at the laces of the shorts to loosen them before taking your hands in his.

Bucky was eating up every reaction you gave. The way you chewed your bottom lip as he guided your hands along the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, your fingers feeling every dip in the smooth skin and grazing over the barbells that pierced through his nipples.

He especially liked the way you weren't trying to rush his hands to go under his shorts; letting him be in full control.

Your eyes went wide when he stopped your hands at the waistband of the leather, the sound of your heart beating and blood rushing in your ears almost drowning out the sound of your friends giggling and squealing.

And the sound of the door opening.

"Buck, you've got a set." Another man said from the doorway. "I'm in the middle of a session." Bucky huffed, looking over his shoulder but not moving your hands. "Cap is gonna fill in."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Bucky finally let go of your hands, but his close proximity wasn't letting your body relax just yet as he leaned to peck a kiss to your cheek. "Happy birthday." He chuckled before standing.

A broad blonde took his place, this one letting you sit in peace and stare into you half empty glass.

"I'm gonna head home." You exhaled, glancing at the happy looks on your friend's faces. "Fine, buzz kill." One of them muttered.

Pushing through the crowded club, you pushed the heavy metal door open. Bucky was leaned against the concrete wall of the building not far from the door, now in a pair of sweats and a hoodie as he smoked a cigarette.

"The birthday girl." He grinned, blue eyes meeting yours as you stepped closer. "Want one?" He asked, holding the cigarette out towards you. "Uh, no. Thanks."

"Listen-" he cleared his throat, pushing away from the wall to stand in front of you. "I can find someone to cover for me if you need some company on your walk home." He offered before bringing the cigarette to his lips.

"I'll be fine, I'm not too far." You shrugged, looking to the sidewalk. "You can't walk alone, it's one in the morning." Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "That's different than walking with a stranger?"

His tongue jutted out across his bottom lip, eyebrows twitching upwards. "Well- I was about five seconds away from putting your hand in my shorts around thirty minutes ago. I think I'm a little better than a stranger." He teased, leaning forward slightly. "Besides, your friends kinda seem like assholes."

He wasn't wrong. They were sometimes pushy, telling you to loosen up a little and dragging you along with them to places where you felt out of place.

"Ok, fine." You exhaled. Bucky cracked a smile and dropped his cigarette, stomping it out under his shoe. "Let me get my stuff, just wait here for a second." He said, brushing his fingers to your forearm.

"Thanks, for walking with me." You said as you unlocked your front door. "This isn't the worst side of town but it's not the best either." Bucky said with a small laugh.

"I forgot to tip you, by the w-" his warm hand stopped yours from digging in your wallet, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it. Just- invite me in for a drink." He shrugged.

You narrowed your eyes at him, cocking your head to the side. "You're not a creep, are you?"

Bucky laughed, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "No, just don't want a pretty girl to spend her birthday alone. Plus, I had someone take over my shift."

"Well, my apartment is dry. So, you're out of luck on that drink." You smiled, opening the door to walk into the small studio apartment. "That's fair."

Bucky was good company as the two of you sat on the couch in your living room, telling you funny stories about his time working at the club and listening intently to anything you said. The lighting in your apartment made his eyes even more blue than you'd noticed earlier and his features look sharper, framed by his dark locks.

Over the last couple of hours he had slowly moved his way closer to you. Close enough that you could smell his woodsy cologne mixed in with the scent of cigarettes, his metal arm resting on the back of the couch as his right hand would occasionally brush against you when he'd talk.

"You're cute, like a bunny." He said with a small laugh, making your face heat up. "Thanks, I guess?" You mumbled, chewing your tongue as he lifted his hand to your cheek.

He hummed in response, leaning closer until his lips brushed yours and your breathing hitched.

You pressed a hand against his chest and leaned away slightly. "I've never..." You trailed off, hoping he'd get the point. "I figured that much. Can go as far as you want, or we don't have to at all."

"How many girls have you said that to?" You silently cursed yourself for saying it as soon as you did, biting down on the inside of your cheek. He just chuckled and brushed his thumb over the tip of your nose. "I'm more of a long term guy. Pretty sure I can count who I've slept with on one hand."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." You said quietly, pulling at a string on the seam of your jeans. "I know." Bucky said before slotting his lips over yours, the kiss gentle and sweet.

The taste of cigarettes and mint gum flooded your tastebuds when his tongue slipped past your lips to press into yours, the softness of his plump lips contrasting the scratch of his stubble.

Bucky just felt so welcoming, his touches cautious to wait for you to stop him as his hand moved from your cheek. Fingers ghosting down the side of your neck to leave goosebumps in their wake, along the buttons of your blouse and finally stopping to wedge between your thighs.

He pulled away, leaving your breathless as you blinked your eyes open to meet his lust filled blue ones. "Remember to pinch me if anything makes you uncomfortable." He teased, pecking a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Things were moving fast, clothes quickly discarded on the path from the couch to your bed. Bucky's hands and lips only parting from you long enough to rid another clothing item that shielded his skin from yours until all that stood in his way was your underwear and his leather shorts.

You weren't sure if it was the head rush from only knowing Bucky for a few hours after holding out for so long, or the way his darkened eyes looked you over as he bent his body over yours.

"You're so beautiful." He breathed, leaving a brisk kiss to your lips before trailing wet kisses down your neck and chest.

Your hands gripped onto the sheets harder the further down your abdomen he got, trying to keep your breathing even as fingers hooked in the waistband of your underwear.

Bucky looked up at you one last time before dragging the fabric down your legs, tossing them to the side and taking his spot back between your legs.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as he peppered kisses to the inside of your thighs, cold metal and warm flesh gently massaging the outsides of them as his stubble scraped at your skin.

A squeak erupted from your throat when he sunk his teeth into the supple flesh, making you move your leg away from his face to pull the skin from between his teeth.

Bucky chuckled and placed a soothing kiss on the mark. One to remind you that none of this had been a dream.

An excited chill ran down your spine when his hot breath fanned your dripping folds. Bucky giving one last glance before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, a soft chuckle bubbling in his chest when your body jolted and you drew in a sharp breath.

"So responsive, I could get use to that." He winked, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit.

Bucky basked in every breathy sound and reaction he elicited from you, moaning at the taste he wanted to burn into his memory. In hopes he had another chance at this, the slice of heaven he held in his hands.

The chance to have his own angel to bend and mold into his filthiest dream.

He moved his hand to ease his middle finger into your heat, groaning at the immediate flutter of your walls as your hands fisted the sheet and chest heaved with a soft moan.

"Oh, c'mon. You can be louder than that, bunny." Bucky purred, curling the long, thick finger to find the sweet spot to set off the reaction he wanted. A louder moan pulling from your chest when he found the rough patch just inside your cunt making him smirk. "There it is."

He locked his lips around your clit again, fingers curling into the spot that pulled the vulgar sounds from your sweet lips as he sucked and flicked his tongue over the bundle of nerves. An unfamiliar feeling quickly building in your lower belly.

"Bucky-" You keened as white hot pleasure surged through you, your trembling thighs closing on his head as his metal hand moved from your hip to grope at your chest.

His fingers pinched and grazed the pebbled bud before massaging the flesh under his palm as your back arched, your breath catching in your throat and ears ringing.

Bucky lifted his head from between your legs, finger continuing to stroke your walls to work you through your orgasm as he pulled the laces of his shorts loose.

Your skin felt like it was on fire, every nerve alive as you opened your eyes again to Bucky standing at the end of the bed and shoving the shorts down his thick thighs. Erection springing free to give a glance of the two barbells on the underside of his cock. One under the ridge of his swollen head, the other at the base.

Your heart pounded in your ears when he moved back between your legs, stomach flipping from the nerves as his leaking tip ran through your folds and prodded your entrance. "Wait-"

Your hand pressed to the firm muscles of Bucky's stomach made his movements still and eyes flick up to meet your nervous expression. "We can stop if you want. Or we can try something else." He suggested, leaning on his palms to catch your lips in his briefly.

You nodded and let out a shaky breath. "Yeah, something else." You breathed.

A whimper passed your lips when he rocked his hips forward, the barbell sliding over your clit sending shocks of pleasure through you.

Bucky's bottom lip disappeared behind his teeth as let out quiet groans from the feeling of your slick coating his shaft.

"Talk to me, bunny. This okay?" He panted, gaze raking over your naked form that still had the sheet clutched tightly as melodic sounds spilled from your lips.

"Feels good," You panted, words slightly slurred from the dizzy feeling in your head caused by the pressure quickly building again. "So good." He moaned, holding his base to have better guidance through your folds.

You bit your lip into your mouth as tears prickled your eyes from the second wave of warmth that spread, choking out a moan as his pace quickened.

"Fucking shit-" Bucky huffed, his grip on your thigh tightening and release spilling onto your lower abdomen.

You inhaled a few deep breaths, trying to steady your heart beat as he pecked a kiss to your knee before standing from the bed to grab a piece of clothing for clean up.

You pulled the blanket from under you to hold to your chest, waiting for him to get dressed and make an excuse to leave like you'd heard your friends talk about after a hook up.

Instead, he wandered towards the kitchen, finding an empty can as he lit a cigarette, your eyes staying fixed on the way the muscles in his back rippled with his movements.

"C'mere." Bucky said with a soft groan as he got under the blankets with you, sitting the can on the nightstand. "You're staying?" You asked, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

"If you want me to, yeah." He shrugged, holding his arm out for you to lay on as he placed the cigarette between his teeth and grabbed a pillow to cushion the metal.

You gave a soft yeah and cuddled into his side, the soft whirring of his arm under the pillow helping you slowly drift to sleep.

You felt yourself waking up as the bed dipped under the weight of Bucky moving, deciding not to fully wake up and let him leave in silence.

"Hey," Bucky whispered, moving his body over yours to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder. "Hmm?" You hummed in response, peaking an eye open to look at the slate blue eyes that held adoration in them.

His knuckles brushed down your arm, a sweet kiss placed on your lips as he gave you a soft smile. "I gotta go, but I left my personal number under your alarm clock. Give me a call sometime."

You nodded and smiled lightly at him, another kiss pecked to your lips before he left the bed to gather his things, walking towards the door.

"I'm gonna hold ya to that, bunny."

TAGLIST: @likeahorribledream @cxddlyash @iwannabekilledtwice @bookstan0618 @glxwingrxse @yliumy @pineprincess @makbarnes @cupcakehinch @doasyoudesireandlive @magicwithinnightmares @andy-is-gay @stucky-my-ship @marvel-3407 @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @i-l-y-3000 @avoxzy @impala1967666 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @supernaturalbaesduh @bucky-hues @suchababie @eireduchess

[inagetawaycarxo]

Caught Out | Connor Rhodes FT Jay Halstead

Requested By Anon [I got a request, it is Connor x Reader x Jay. Reader is a pediatric trauma surgeon and very talented. She and Jay are dating when she finds Jay cheating on her with Hailey. The reader decides to leave Chicago and go to the city Connor is in. A few months later Jay shows up at Connor's door begging for the reader to take him back until he finds out she and Connor are dating and is happier with him.]

Pairings: Jay Halstead x Reader, Jay Halstead x Hailey Upton, Connor Rhodes x Reader

Featuring: Y/n, Jay Halstead, Hailey Upton, Connor Rhodes.

Summary: Y/n finds Jay cheating on her with Hailey and leaves Chicago to go see Connor

Warnings: angst, cheating, nudity, sex [kind of], betrayal, crying, jealousy, mentions of explicit sexual content, errors I missed.

w/c: 1513

Your eyes were heavy with sleep. All you wanted to do was go home and sleep. Especially you wanted to cuddle with Jay. But no, the universe had other plans for you.

A yawn escaped your mouth as you parked your car. Putting the handbrake up. Then turned the car off. You grabbed your work bag from the front seat. Slinging it across your shoulder. You took the keys out of the ignition, as you opened the door. Getting out of the car. Shutting the door and locking the car. You quickly rushed into the apartment complex. Rushing to the apartment you shared with Jay, all the while taking the apartment keys out of the bag.

Once you reached the door. You put the keys into the keyhole. Unlocking the lock.

Your hand grabbing the doorknob. Turning the doorknob. Opening the door, and walking in. you closed the door behind you. Your eyebrows furrow as you heard moaning and squeaking of the mattress coming from the bedroom. Dread filled your body as you slowly walked to the bedroom. Breathing hitching. You peaked at the half-open door. Your hands cupping your mouth. Muffling the gasp. Your heart felt like it was shattering into millions of pieces. As you looked away. Yet the image of Jay on top of Hailey, thrusting into her was burned into your mind.

You turned around. Rushing to the front door. Your gasp must have startled them because you heard the rustling of sheets, a few curse words slipping out of Jay’s mouth. It made you rush to the door faster.

Jay rushed to put his boxers on. Hailey quickly put her clothes on. Guilt washing over them.

“Y/n,” He shouted. As he exited the bedroom door. Hailey trailing after him. He saw you stop at the door. Hand hovering above the doorknob.

You turned around to face him with a look of heartbreak. Tears falling from your eyes like a waterfall. Lip quivering. Jay felt his heart clench. Guilt washing over him like a ton of bricks.

He was about to say something, but he heard footsteps behind him. Your gaze turned to Hailey, looking more crestfallen. You turned around quickly. Grabbing the doorknob and twisting it open. Opening the door and exiting the apartment as well as his life. Tears fell from his eyes, but he only had himself blame….

Tears blurred your vision as you drove out of Chicago. All you had on you was your work bag. Lucky had it had your wallet and phone in it.

You quickly wiped the tears away with the back of your hand. Hearing your phone vibrate constantly. You ignored it. Focusing on the road. Heartache engulfing you. You turned the radio on low hoping it would soothe your heartache, but it didn’t.

It seemed the universe didn’t want you to forget what you just saw. A sad song about cheating played on the radio. It made you burst into tears, as you drove. Doing your best to subside them. The only person who knew you well enough was Connor. So, that’s where you were going. Maybe if you would have picked him and left Chicago with him, instead of turning him down then none of this would have occurred and you wouldn’t have been heartbroken.

Self-doubt started to crawl inside of you. You should have seen the signs. The stolen glances, late nights at work, or what he claimed as work. How your works always put a strain on the relationship. But then anger sets in. he was the one that cheated on you. He was the one that wrecked the relationship. He used to accuse you of cheating on him with Connor before Connor left Chicago, but he was the one that was being unfaithful, he was the hypocrite.

It would have hurt less if it were a random girl, but no it was Hailey. His ex-girlfriend and his partner. You had a feeling this would happen. You just hoped it never did…

It was early morning when you reached Connor’s place. Parking your ear in his driveway. You put the car in park, putting the handbrake up. Turning the car off, taking keys out of the ignition. Then grabbed your bag. Opening the door. Slowly getting out of the car. Shutting the door then locking the car. Walking sheepishly to his door. Heart hammering against your ribcage. Hopefully, you aren’t intruding.

Connor must have heard a commotion outside and came to investigate. The door swinging open as you reached the top step.

Connor looked slightly shocked to see you outside of his door. His shock turned into a concerned look as he took in your appearance.

“Y/n, what happened?” He asked. As he rushed over to you. His hands cupping the side of your face. His touch made you melt. More tears fell from your eyes. Lips trembling.

“He cheated on me with Hailey,” You gasped out. Anger rises inside of Connor. Has Jay lost his mind? He thought to himself.

You fell into Connor. Connor wrapped his arms around you. As you bury your head into his chest. Crying till there were no tears left.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Connor spoke softly as he rubbed soothing circles on your back.

Connor led you inside of his place. Sitting down with you on the couch. Hugging you close to his chest. Eventually, you told him what you saw. Connor’s jaw ticked as you told him. You eventually fell asleep on Connor’s lap. Not that Connor minded it. Connor starred at you as you slept on his lap. His fingers combing through your hair ever so softly. He loved you, and he was going to prove it to you now that you were no longer with Jay…

TWO MONTHS LATER

You felt two arms wrap around your waist from behind you. Connor pressed himself into your back. While you poured coffee.

“You look so sexy in my shirt,” Connor spoke into your ear. He pressed a soft kiss against the shell of your ear. His beard trickling your earlobe making you giggly.

“Mm... just in your shirt?” You teased. Quirking one eyebrow.

“You look sexy all the time, even sexier when you are naked, underneath me,” He spoke. Voice deepening with lust.

Connor spun you around to face him. You smiled as you saw his eyes darken with lust. Taking your lower lip in between your bottom lip.

“We have work soon,” You spoke. Arching an eyebrow as a warning.

“Then let’s make it a quickie,” He growled out. Before he could kiss you, the doorbell rang, as well as a knock interrupting Connor and you.

Connor let out a frustrated huff. As you made your way to the door.

“If it’s the next-door neighbor, tell then I’m out of sugar,” He spoke. You let out a laugh. Grabbing the doorknob and twisting it open.

You felt your heart leap into your throat. Your eyes were wide as you looked at the person in shock. The person happened to be Jay.

“Jay…” You brokenly gasped out.

“Y/n, I finally found you,” Jay gasped out. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months. Your heart was beating so fast you could barely hear your thoughts. Breathing quickening.

“W…what are you doing here?” You gasped out.

“I want you back, I’m sorry for cheating on you with Hailey,” Jay started to say. Taking a deep breath. When he said Hailey’s name your mind immediately flashed back to the night you saw him cheating on you with her. The words cheating and Hailey stung. It was like he was pouring salt on a wound.

“These past few months have been hell, I’ve been torturing myself these last few months, Hailey isn’t the one I want, it’s you,” Jay confessed. While you stared at him in shock.

You were about to say something when you felt Connor wrap a protective arm around you. Pulling you close to him. Jay looked slightly uncomfortable, confused, and jealous. Jealous of the fact you melted right into Connors touch. Like you felt safe.

Connor glared at Jay. His jaw clenching. He would have punched Jay, for what he put you through, but restrained himself.

“You have a lot of nerve coming here, in fact, you can keep torturing yourself because she doesn’t want you back,” Connor snapped. Speaking for you. You felt your heart flutter. Glad Connor spoke up for you. Because you couldn’t form the words to speak.

She can speak for herself,” Jay growled. Glaring at Connor.

“I am speaking for the both of us, and as her boyfriend, who loves her more than you ever did or could, LEAVE,” Connor growled out. Slamming the door shut, but not before Jay saw Connor give you a soft kiss on the cheek. Your face lighting up with happiness. Jay felt his heart shatter into pieces. He lost you for good. His insecurities and jealousy of Connor and your friendship pushing you towards Connor. Jay felt heartache flood through him, he only had himself to blame…

[electronikmilk]

Papa’s Punishment

alternative title: Accidentally Fucking Around and Finding Out

ive been working on this for so long and im sick of lookin at it

rating: explicit/nsfw

Copia x f reader 

contains: dom copia, possible abuse of power, spanking, and pet play. 

You had dozed, then awakened to find that you were still bound in Copia's ornate bed-chamber deep within the abbey walls. 

No, he wasn't Copia anymore. He was Papa now. And you had to address him as such when he wore the paint. That was what he said when he had his Ghouls drag you into his chamber after you had called him the silly little nickname that the other sisters called him behind his back as a joke. Ratman. It was innocent enough since he was fond of the small rodents, or so you thought. Copia's face had grown dark as soon as you uttered it, and it frightened you enough to fall silent after a fit of giggles. Then he reached out and gripped your chin tight before leaning close to address you. 

"Mm. Funny." He said in a way that sounded like he didn't find it funny at all and glared down at you, "It is bold of you to be disrespectful to your Papa when he wears the paint. And that is all I will be to you now. I'm not Copia, not Cardinal, and especially not Ratman. I am Papa, and I will not accept any other title, sister. Perhaps a little lesson is in order so you will remember this." 

Before you could say anything, Copia snapped his fingers, and that was when his two Ghouls surrounded you, grabbed you by the arms, and marched down the halls with you in tow. Everyone within the corridors stopped and watched as the Ghouls dragged you along. Two sisters from the convent whispered to each other and turned their gazes away as if they might be taken away at any second too. They knew where you were going, and it was sure as hell somewhere they didn't want to be, for it was a place of great shame and mystery. You let your head drop in humiliation before your peers, not standing the way they saw you. It was a relief when you finally arrived at Copia's chamber and were taken inside. You said nothing to the Ghouls as they fastened leather cuffs around your ankles, then bound your hands over your head with silk rope. 

"Sorry, sister," One of them had said. They removed the coif and veil of your habit, then pulled out the pins that held your hair in place so that it fell loose, "We're just following Papa's orders. I'm sure you understand."

All you gave them was a contemptuous look until they left. 

You had struggled against your restraints until you eventually gave up, falling asleep despite your buttocks pushing against the hard stone wall behind you. How long had that been? There was no clock or window in the room, so it was hard for you to tell. Perhaps a few hours. Long enough for you to wake up with a sore neck, anyway. The room itself lay in shadow and unbroken stillness. You winced as you turned your head to look around the room. The only illumination offered to you was from a small antique lamp on an ink-stained writing desk in the corner. The dim light threw long uneven shadows on the high arched ceiling above. A king-sized bed sat against the wall opposite you with a canopy bed frame draped with black cloth. It made it look like a dark, cavernous mouth that was ready to swallow you whole. A tall mahogany bookshelf containing several taxidermied rats positioned in various poses stood near the door. You made a face at the furry ornaments. It was definitely Copia's room. 

Your stomach growled, and the sound of it in the stillness of the room made it seem more like a lion's roar. How long Copia planned to keep you in here and what his intentions were, you didn't know for sure. You just hoped he wouldn't starve you. The thought sent a sudden jolt of panic through you; your mind flashed images of you left to rot in a cell in the abbey basement. You knew that the cells had been abandoned for centuries, just collecting dust and acting as storage for Yuletide decorations. But Copia had changed since he finally became Papa Emeritus IV. You had always thought him awkward as a Cardinal, sometimes even amusing in his antics, but he was always just that: awkward, no one to be scared of. It was a curious and abrupt transformation; He held his head high now, and his stride was no longer unsure or clumsy. When he wore the paint, he had an air of authority, of strength and pride no one knew he had. He wanted respect, and he demanded it among the clergy with an iron fist. Everyone was to address him as Papa only and woe unto anyone who didn't comply. At first, you had to admit his newfound confidence in his power was something to admire, covet even. That is until the sisters of the order were no longer safe from his wrath, then it became something to be feared. Copia had forgiven slips of the tongue and had given warnings that he said he would only offer once. If it happened again, however, there would be a severe punishment to follow.  

Sister Claire was the first to be punished. Claire had always been hotheaded and often butted heads with her superiors for the sake of her own amusement. She had been no different with Copia two months ago. On your way to your weekly duty to clean the chapel, you stumbled upon Copia, two Nameless Ghouls, and Claire in the middle of the empty hall. You seemed to go unnoticed by all four. Curious, you slipped into one of the corridor's alcoves and peeked around the corner, as not to be seen. As you listened closely, you caught the tail end of a heated argument over the state of the abbey's gardens. Claire was on a tirade, ranting about how Copia's lack of dedication to employing a proper gardener made the grounds look like it was in shambles. She had addressed the new Papa as Cardinal several times, much to Copia's irritation. The former Cardinal stood back with folded arms and a frown while the hot-blooded sister babbled on about how this needed attention and how that needed fixing. She addressed him incorrectly the entire time. It amazed you how bullheaded Claire could be. 

"Cara," Copia finally interrupted after Claire had called him Cardinal for the fifth time, his voice becoming stern. "I understand that you're upset, but I have made it more than clear that everyone within this church is to call me Papa. And frankly, I will not tolerate your blatant disregard for my rules." 

"Don't you 'Cara' me!" Sister Claire shot back, " And I'll call you Papa when I'm damn well good and ready. But until then, I think I'll keep calling you Cardinal, Cardinal." 

"Basta! Enough!" Copia shouted suddenly, grabbed Claire by the wrist, and dragged her behind him as he headed further down the hall, luckily away from your direction. "I have been patient with you, sister, with all of you. But no more!"

Claire resisted, trying to wrench from his grasp and yelling at him to let her go. Copia ignored this and tugged her along anyway. When she started cursing and slapping at him, Copia gestured for a Ghoul to take her about the waist and carry her. Claire shrieked like a banshee and kicked her legs in the air when she was lifted. Copia gave the Ghoul a sharp command for them to silence her, and the Ghoul clapped a hand over Claire's mouth, muffling the scream as they hauled her away. You watched the whole display in shock, unable to move or look away. When all four of them disappeared around a corner, you crept out from your hiding place on shaky legs. You quickly made your way to the chapel without encountering anyone else, and it was a relief to you. You tried to put what you saw out of your head, but as you tended to your regular duties, the sound of Claire's screams resonated in your head. 

You didn't see Sister Claire again until late into the evening. She seemed no worse for wear, having neither a bruise nor scratch on her. But she was timid, quiet, and obedient, you noticed when Sister Imperator asked her to sweep and wash the floor, which she almost scurried to do. When the other sisters asked her where she had been, Claire just shook her head frantically. Her pretty face grew red, and a look of shame and fear that concerned you twisted her features. 

"I can't tell you!" was all she said and nothing more. 

It wasn't too long until other insubordinate sisters fell victim to Copia's fury. Each one disappeared into his chambers for hours at a time, and when they were set free, none of them spoke of what they went through. You could only speculate, and what you brewed up in your head terrified you. All manner of dark medieval tortures often raced by: pears of anguish, iron chairs, Spanish donkeys, breast rippers, and thumbscrews. You knew all of that was impossible, however. None of the other sisters had a mark on them when they returned; they barely even a hair out of place, so what kind of punishment was wicked enough to force them all into silence? Whatever it was, you tried so hard to avoid it. You never spoke out of turn, tended to your duties without complaint, you even baked a cake for Copia on his birthday. But despite all your effort, misfortune still befell you over a joke that wasn't even that funny. Your throat tightened as tears began to prickle behind your eyes, and you dreaded what kind of torment waited for you in this dark room. 

You were almost lost in your contemplation of it all when you heard the heavy wooden door open. You saw the tall, lean figure of Copia enter the room and close the door behind him, a plate of food in one hand and a blood-red velvet bag in the other. He almost seemed like a specter, dressed in a figure-hugging black suit --the one that you said he looked handsome in to gain his favor. His face was bare of paint, save for his eyes. He had lined them with black, smudged eyeliner, making his mismatched gaze smoldering and intense. 

He made his way to you with both items in hand. He stayed back a few feet, the velvet bag swinging slightly at his side. The faint aroma of roasted chicken found your nose, and the delectable smell of it made your mouth water. Copia gazed at you with narrow eyes, his expression unreadable. You lowered your eyes and sucked in a breath, petrified of what was to come. You waited for yelling, cursing, for the food to be thrown at you, anything, but Copia just muttered something under his breath, went to place the plate and bag on the bed, then returned to undo all your restraints. You stood there free with stiff, aching arms. You wanted to stretch them but didn't dare make any movement that Copia might disapprove of. You kept your eyes down, only bringing them up once to see Copia sit on the edge of the bed with the plate in his lap, then darting them back to the floor. You felt the subtle pressure of his gaze on you for what seemed like a long time. 

"Come here." Copia finally broke the silence.

You obeyed and took a tentative step forward. 

"No." He said sharply, making you freeze, "On your hands and knees. Crawl to me." 

Your head jerked up, eyes wide in shocked disbelief. Your breathing hitched, and your heart started to hammer. You hesitated, and Copia frowned at you. He raised his gloved hands and slapped them together once, hard. It sounded like the cracking of a whip in the quiet. "Now, sister." 

You let out a little yelp and dropped to your knees. You hurried as you crawled over to Copia, stopping just before his feet. He gave a hum of satisfaction.

"Ah, excellent. You're obedient. That is good, my dear. It will make your ordeal go more smoothly." 

Ordeal. The word made you shudder. 

"But first, you must be hungry, si? You've been waiting here a long time."

Your stomach let out another grumble. You said nothing. You kept your eyes fixed on the glossy leather of Copa's black shoes as your apprehension deepened. You didn't want to look up at him; all at once, he seemed large, mighty, and terrible, like he could crush you underneath those patent leather soles if he so desired. He could make you suffer, and no one would witness it. It was just you and Copia. You and Papa.

"Say 'yes, Papa' or 'no, Papa,'" Copia said. "And I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be respectful." 

"I...I-" You stammered, then you swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself, "Yes, Papa." 

"Good girl." He said. "Now, kneel up and look at me." 

You did as commanded, and you realized as you looked up at him that you were crying. Through the blur of tears, you saw Copia's hand reach for your face. You flinched a little, then relaxed when you only felt the fingers wipe away your tears and smooth your hair back almost affectionately.

"Oh, come now. I have not been mean just yet, my dear. Don't cry." He soothed, "There will be plenty of time for that later, but if you're well behaved and do what I say, Papa will be gentle with you. Do you understand?" 

You nodded, sniffling and letting Copia caress your face. It comforted you, if only a little bit.

"Answer me properly,"

"Yes, Papa. I understand." You said.

"Very good, very good," Copia said. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead before letting you eat the slices of succulent chicken breast on the plate with your hands. After you finished, he took a sprig of green grapes and fed them to you one at a time. He watched in obvious amusement when you spat the seeds into your hand and timidly discarded them onto the plate, careful of every move you made. When he got to the last three, he took one and held it up just out of your reach. He smiled when you blinked up at him, confused. 

"Up, cara," He said, "Show me a trick." 

You bit your lip, blushing, and again, you hesitated. You shook your head before you realized what a mistake it was. Immediately, Copia took the plate, set it aside, and then gathered you up to toss you over his lap so that your legs dangled over the floor. You gasped in surprise and fear when he flipped your skirt to expose your panties. When you felt the sting of his gloved hand spank you hard, you couldn't help but let out a cry. One great slap after another fell on your buttocks, sounding thunderous in your ears. You heard yourself taking in sharp gasps of pain with each strike. His hand seemed solid and heavy like a paddle as it spanked you, over and over, hitting you on the right cheek, then the left, and then covering your thighs with smacks while your ass stung and throbbed. You clenched your teeth to stifle your cries, and when you tried in vain to wiggle away, Copia held you in place and rewarded you with more vigorous blows, swift ones that whipped you like a strap. And soon, you realized you were becoming frantic, tears streaming down your cheeks. You tried to be still, but your body squirmed and writhed of its own accord. Now Copia worked only the backs of your thighs, where the punishing hand lingered and struck hard until you were sure that the flesh there was red and inflamed. 

"Papa, please!" You finally wailed and broke into choking sobs.

The blows stopped. You didn't move. You just shut your eyes and wept as Copia's hand now moved along your buttocks languidly. He stroked your thighs as if to soothe them.

"Now, do you see why I ask you to do as I say?" Copia crooned, "I can be cruel, sister. Much more than this, I assure you. The other sisters know what I can do, especially Sister Claire. She knows the worst of it. Lucifer's name, she was like a devil herself, all teeth and claws until I tamed her. The other Papas have spoilt her and the others rotten. Not just the sisters, but the brothers, too, and the priests, the bishops. They all have little to no manners, no respect. So I have to take it upon myself to teach them." 

You shook against his legs as he told you this. He rubbed little circles in the small of your back, then he squeezed your buttocks, sending a rush of sensation along your body that made you flush. You thought of poor Sister Claire and what she must have gone through that was enough to break her. Vivid images of whipping belts, heavy wooden paddles, and flesh crisscrossed with angry welts made your stomach sink, so you stopped. 

'I have to be good.' You thought. It was better to surrender than suffer the same fate as the others, better to leave with your good reputation with Copia intact. After all, he said he would be gentle if you obeyed, and you decided you would. You hoped he would keep his word, and you let your body slacken in resignation.   

"I like to play games with them." Copia continued, "I like to order them around the room, fetching whatever I throw for them because it pleases me or whatever else suits my mood. Sometimes I even strap them down and use the paddle. But I never hurt them, not severely. I happen to be a reasonable man, after all. Oh, but that would be too hard for you, wouldn't it? You're too sweet for the paddle, too soft. It's just a pity you disobey me, call me names. Do you think yourself too good to call me by my proper title, sister? Too good to follow my direction?" His hand tightened threateningly on your thigh, then you felt it leave your skin, and you were terrified he might spank you again. 

"No, Papa," You said in a panicked whisper. 

"Do I need to punish you like the others?" 

"No, Papa. I'll be good, I promise." 

"Yes," Copia sighed, his hand now playing with your hair instead of punishing you, "You will be perfect for me, won't you?"

"Yes, Papa." 

"Good."

Copia pulled you back up and set you on the floor. You had stopped crying, though your lips still trembled. You knelt there and awaited his command. Again, he took a grape and held it up for you. This time you didn't hesitate to take it from his fingers with your mouth. He held the next one high enough to make you raise yourself up on your heels to get it. He then tossed the last grape into the air, over your head so that it bounced and rolled a few feet away when it hit the floor. 

"Fetch, little puppy." He commanded, a smirk playing on his lips. 

You obeyed shyly. When you crawled back and dropped it into Copia's open hand, he let out a hearty laugh. 

"You're easy to train." He said and popped the fruit into your mouth, "Perhaps I should make you my little pet when we're finished here." 

You didn't really want to eat it, but you did anyway, seeds and all. Copia beamed at you, his smile genuinely kind. 

"Lovely, my dear." He whispered, his voice low and sweet. Then he gathered you in his arms once more and kissed you deeply. It sent a shock through you, settling into a knot in your stomach that made you shiver against your will. Copia kissed the smoothness of your forehead, kissed your soft hairline, your eyelids, and the tip of your nose. They were tender, gentle, like butterflies that brushed against your skin with their silky wings, and you lifted your head to receive them. He kissed your cheeks, then returned to your parted lips. You let out little sighs as he kissed you despite your fear, which now melted away a little bit as your body seemed to soften all over. Copia moved and rose to stand, pulling you up with him into his embrace. He pulled you closer to his body once you were steady on your feet; his kisses left your face to explore along your jaw and the line of your throat. His slim arms were surprisingly strong as they held you, and his lips were soft. They tickled against the sensitive skin of your neck as they trailed down. His hands started to roam your body, stroking your hips, groping at your ass and the backs of your thighs. It sent delightful shivers along your skin and down your spine. It made you feel weak, dissolving, aroused. Any fear you felt a minute ago faded into a haze of sudden lust. You couldn't stop yourself from throwing your arms around his neck and moaning. The action made the kisses harder, more fervent. When you felt Copia open his mouth to bite you here and there as if to taste you, you whimpered, and your body melted all the more. You felt your breasts against his chest, and you wanted to press them to him harder. You almost did when Copia pulled away, slipping out of your arms. The loss of sensation was nearly gutting.

You stood there dazed, swaying, and taking in uneven breaths. Copia's own breath came heavy and deep as he straightened his clothes to disengage himself. You could see his arousal through the tightness of his pants, and you bit your lip. If only your punishment could be just this, but you knew it wouldn't be. Copia appeared to be fighting to contain himself, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Once he was composed, he let out a quiet laugh. It was almost musical in its softness. Your body burned as you watched him, aroused but at the same time fearful of punishment. You would do anything to please him, to keep him gentle like this, so you waited.  

"Pardon me, cara. You gave in much faster than I anticipated, and I almost lost myself." Copia said, catching you in his gaze again. His lips spread slowly into a grin when he observed you flushed with desire. "And still, you wait for my command. I admit I didn't quite expect you to be as obedient as you are, and I would reward you, but I want to play one of my games with you first." 

Before you could protest, he took the velvet bag off the bed, opened it, and plunged his hand inside. He pulled out a spiked leather collar that looked like it was meant for a large dog. A black leash was affixed to it. You felt your breath leave you when Copia undid the collar and eyed you with a deliberate leer. You swallowed, then lifted your head so that Copia could fasten it onto you. He shook his head.

"Not yet." He said, "Take off your clothes." 

Your face burned as you obeyed. You took a few steps back and hurried to shed your dress, slip, shoes, and stockings, but you hesitated yet again once you were in your bra and panties. You felt so naked already, so vulnerable. You didn't know if you could bear it to be completely nude. You tried to shield yourself by bringing your hands up and wringing them. It did little to conceal you. Seeing this, Copia approached and kissed your temple. 

"You can keep them on. Now, my little puppy..." He buckled the collar to fit snuggly around your neck and left the leash dangling between your breasts. "You have been very, very good so far, apart from your little slip of decorum, but I want to see just how obedient you can be. You know a well-trained dog always follows its master's commands, yes?" 

An icy prickle crawled up your spine, sending shivers through your arms and making your heart clench in your chest before hammering hard again. 

"Yes, Papa..." You said as expected though uncertainty and fear laced your voice. Copia rubbed your shoulders, his hands firm and soothing at the same time. His touch made you feel almost woozy, dreamy even in your unease. 

"I will make it simple: Tonight, you're my pet, sister, and I am your master. As your master, I will give you commands, and you will do them as perfectly as possible to please me. Do what I tell you, and you will be rewarded. Disobey, and you will be punished. Ah, don't be afraid; I don't think you will disappoint me much, but..." Then he pressed closer to you, leaning in close to your ear so that you felt his breath caress your skin, "I confess I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy spanking that plump bottom of yours." His hand slid down and grabbed your ass before giving it a playful swat. You blushed. You felt the arousal rise in your core again. It flooded in, threatened to sweep you away in its erotic current, and you lowered your head, overcome by shyness. Copia lifted your chin and shook his head at you again.

"No. None of that." He admonished, "I want you to keep your gaze up and your manner attentive. And don't hide your body. I have been fair enough to let you keep your underwear on. Now let me see you." He took both your wrists and forced them down to your sides, then prodded your shoulders so that you straightened your back. You stood erect and grew embarrassed now that your posture didn't hide you. Copia nodded in approval, "Yes, much better."

His eyes roamed up and down your body, taking every inch of you in. You wanted so desperately to cover your stomach, your chest, to tear off the collar. Of course, you didn't dare any of it. You couldn't imagine what he would do to you if you were foolish enough to disobey him again; you didn't even want to think about it. 

For a moment, Copia seemed to be thinking, then he smiled. His eyes gleamed like gems in the lamplight. He took the leash and wrapped it around his hand a few times to make it short.

"Clasp your hands behind your back and keep them there. And open your legs wider." He said, then nudged your feet apart until they lined up with your shoulders. You kept your hands behind your back as commanded. It was worse than keeping your hands at your sides. This position arched your body a little more and forced your breasts out. You felt dreadfully exposed, and what was even more excruciating was having your legs apart. But what could you do other than what was commanded? Could Copia be so cruel as to punish you even if you threw yourself at his feet and begged for his mercy? You weren't sure, and you didn't want to risk it. He would have his way, and there was nothing you could do about it. Then you wondered, did you even mind? The pleasure that had built now ebbed away slightly, but it wasn't far from reaching you again. If Copia touched you, it would surely wash over you again. Part of you wanted to drench yourself in that pleasure, to swim and melt in it completely. A corner in your mind wished with all your might that Copia would let you; the rational part of you recoiled at your desire, it being so undignified and sudden. You tried to let your head drop a little, and immediately Copia pulled the leash up with a quick tug that snapped it back in position.

"I said to keep your head up," He said, his voice low, menacing. His hand didn't drop or loosen the leash, so your head remained up. "I will not tell you again, sister. Now be still and don't move until I tell you to."

Copia gazed down at you with such ferocity that you stood rigid and kept your lips pressed together tight. The new Papa was frightening looking but very handsome in the dim light that made his face angular, his eyes even more smoldering. You marvelled at him for a moment, then with a shock, you felt Copia's free hand on you. You felt his fingers trail down the side of your neck and down to your breasts. He grabbed at your right breast, cupping it as if to feel its weight, then kneaded it slowly until it sent shivers through you. His thumb brushed over your now hardening nipple through the material of your bra. He did the same with your left. He then imprisoned the nipple and squeezed it rhythmically between his fingers before reaching for the other to give it the same treatment. A rush of shameful pleasure shot through you and settled between your legs, making your sex grow warm as if it could also blush, and you held back a moan with great effort. Copia pulled on the leash, making you lean slightly closer to him. 

"Kiss me," He whispered. As soon as he commanded, you moved to catch his lips in a deep kiss almost too quickly, still keeping your hands behind your back. Copia sucked at your mouth, then opened it with his tongue as his hand went between your open legs and, without warning, stroked your sex through your panties. You uttered a sharp cry against Copia's lips before you could stop yourself. Your body immediately acknowledged him with a twitch of your hips and a soft discharge of fluids while you struggled to swallow another moan. You squirmed, resisting the urge to close your legs with everything you had. Copia broke away from your lips to kiss your earlobe, then he nibbled at it as his hand continued to stroke you. His fingers moved in slow circles now, pressed harder until they found the sensitive mound of your clitoris through the moistening cloth. You gave a soft, open-mouthed gasp and your hips jerked forward in supplication. You wanted to grind yourself on his fingers, rock your hips for more, but the sheer gracelessness of it seemed too much for you. Besides, you weren't sure if it was something he would approve of or chastise, so you stayed as still as you could, your legs starting to shake under your weight. Copia pulled back and smiled at your flushing face, then pulled the crotch of your panties to the side and glided two of his gloved fingers along the delicate folds of your labia. The fingers teased at the moist lips and continued to massage your clit in more circles, even slower ones that drew out the sensation. Breathy moans spilled from your lips. The pleasure washed through you, mounting and mounting as he worked you. Beneath your ecstasy, you felt a twinge of embarrassment at how quickly you had become wet for him. It was forgotten in an instant once Copia slid a finger inside you, then a second. You shuddered and cried aloud. Your sex quivered at the sudden penetration, and your cry melted into a long, low moan. Copia kissed the corner of your mouth.

"That's it," Copia said softly, pulling his fingers out, then sliding them back in slowly. Then again and again. "Don't resist me. Be a good girl for your Papa." 

Your hips moved forward at the sound of his voice. Once so frightening, but now smooth and rich as velvet. He was so close to you now, and for the first time, you could smell his cologne. It was warm, spicy, and delicious to you, almost intoxicating. Your eyes stared through heavy lids at Copia's lips. They were full yet strong, set into a faint smile that struck at a cord of desire in you that made the penetration even more pleasurable. You wanted to kiss and kiss those lips until you had your fill. You felt your sex start to throb, and you began to gasp, but before it became too much for you, Copia dropped the leash, withdrew his fingers, and pushed you back, that seductive little smile still there. You let out a disappointed moan that would have been humiliating had you done it to anyone else. 

"That's enough for now," Copia said, "Get down on your knees." 

Your mind whirled as you let yourself float down until you sat on your heels on the floor, your legs still slightly apart. Your thighs trembled under you, and your throbbing craved relief. You kept your hands behind your back. You feared that if you let them fall to your sides, you would lose control and throw yourself at Copia in desperation. The only thing you allowed yourself to do was writhe, clasping your hands as tight as possible. You felt the wetness of your sex between your legs, sticky, slick, and hot. 

You let out a sigh, looking up at Copia, your lips parted, your body wanting more.  He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor.

"All fours." He ordered.

You fell onto your hands and knees. You arched your back, your buttocks lifted as if to be presented. Your body tingled in arousal at doing so, knowing that Copia could see you doing it. You wiggled your hips a little bit, and you were shocked at your own boldness. 

'Fuck it, I don't care. I don't care.' You thought.

Copia stepped forward, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. 

"Good girl," He said, and he crouched down to take a closer look at you, "Does my little puppy want more?" 

"Yes, Papa." You said softly, "Please." 

"Then I think you should clean up the mess you made." Copia held up the hand that touched you. The gloved fingers were still glistening with your juices. He touched them to your lips, and you took them into your mouth without a thought. You sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl around the digits. The taste of leather and your own fluids mixed with your saliva, and when Copia pulled them away, you swallowed. The flavor lingered, both tantalizing and odd to you. 

Copia stood and made an airy gesture to your bottom.

"Wag your hips for me." He said, and he laughed when he saw your face go red, "It's no use being shy now, sister. Unless you want me to take my belt off and make good use of it. You don't want that, do you?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You shook your head. 

"That's what I thought. Now, put your face to the floor and swing those hips." 

Your face flamed as you lowered it until you all but kissed the floor, your ass high up in the air. You churned your hips and hoped it was pleasing. You felt Copia take the leash from the floor and give it a quick tug. 

"Faster. Arch your back more."

You lowered as you were told to do and arched your back almost uncomfortably, your cheek sealed to the floor. A groan escaped you at the touch of the cold stone on your chest. Then in utter submission, any sense of pride, if there was indeed any in the first place, left you, and you wagged your buttocks back and forth like an excited dog wagging its tail for its master. Above you, you heard the creak of the bedsprings as Copia sat. You felt another tug on the leash, and you lifted your head. Copia sat back on the bed with his legs spread apart, the bulge of his erection in full view. Your sex seemed to swell at the sight of it. 

"You please me very well, sister," Copia said. He tugged on the leash again to bring you forward. "No more playing. Come here, let Papa reward you." 

"Papa..." You whispered. You hurried to him on your hands and knees. You kissed the tops of his shoes on an impulse, then his ankles. Copia didn't protest, so you kissed his knees and dared to run your hands along his inner thighs and kiss them as well. His thighs were rather shapely and solid under his clothes, pleasant to touch. When your hand rubbed over his groin, Copia let out a soft moan. Encouraged, you leaned over and kissed the waist of his pants, still rubbing the bulging sex. 

"Undo them." Copia's hand stroked your hair.

You didn't hesitate to undo the button and zipper of his pants. And now you were staring at his cock through his boxers, a small wet spot formed on the dark cloth. Again, you leaned down, placing a little kiss there, then you darted your tongue out and licked it. The hard cock twitched in its prison as if it asked to be free. You looked up at Copia with lustful, inquiring eyes, and you were delighted when he nodded at you. 

"Yes, cara. You can touch it." 

You pulled the elastic fabric down until his cock sprung free from its confinement. It stood tall and thick. A bead of clear fluid seeped from the tip, and you stared at it, surprised by its length and size. You took it in your hand, stroked it, felt its hardness and warmth. You couldn't help but wonder if the others knew Copia was quite well-endowed. You caressed the shaft up and down, tightening your hand every so often at the base of Copia's cock. Copia moaned as you did so, his head lolling back slightly. Your heart fluttered in your chest. It felt good to know that you gave him pleasure, that you pleased him enough to avoid his wrath and to even reward you. What an honor this must have been! A ripple of relaxation washed over you. You closed your eyes and took the tip of the cock into your mouth, suckling on it before taking it deeper in.

Copia gasped above you and bucked his hips. The action drove the shaft even deeper into your mouth, and you sucked on it hard, bobbing your head with a steady rhythm. It nudged the back of your throat, droplets of salty liquid mixed with the taste of his skin. Copia's thighs shivered, and his breath quickened. You moaned as you continued to push up and down on his cock until his hips started to shake. 

"Fuck, sister," Copia grunted, "That's enough!"

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head away. He didn't pull you hard enough to hurt, but you still gasped once you felt the fingers grip your hair. When he released you, he motioned for you to stand. You obeyed.

"Take everything off and lay on the bed." He told you, almost breathless. 

The collar was the first to go; you unbuckled it and threw it aside, happy to be rid of the awful thing. You unclasped your bra and let it slip from your shoulders. Though the air was cool on your now naked breasts, your nipples grew hot and erect. A sudden, inexplicable desire to entice Copa came to you as you lowered and stepped out of your panties. 

'Do it.' Your lust-clouded mind ordered you, and you did. 

When you straightened, you locked eyes with Copia as you ran your hands over your breasts, pushing them together and biting your lip. A dark look flickered across Copia's face, and he stood with a low growl. He snatched your upper arm and yanked you to him. 

"You dare tease me in my own room after I've given you an order?" He hissed, then gave a wicked smile, "You must like being punished, sister. But we will save that for another time." 

He turned to fling you down onto the bed. You fell back onto the mattress; the sheets and coverlet were soft and plush underneath you. You had little time to enjoy it before Copia descended on you with rough kisses, his hips grinding against yours, his cock prodding at your thigh. His hand grabbed and kneaded your breast hard. But you wanted him so badly that you scarcely noticed how tight his fingers dug into your flesh. He then gave it a cruel slap that drew a loud moan from you. It was an exciting mix of pain and pleasure, and you wanted more.

"Again." You pleaded. You arched your back to offer your chest to him, and you wrapped your legs around his hips. Copia rose from his kisses. It was his turn to lock eyes with you as he lifted his hand and struck you again, just a little bit harder than the first time. You whimpered and squirmed underneath him. Copia positioned and moved his hips so that the shaft of his cock rubbed along your slick pubic lips, grazing your sensitive, engorged clitoris. You strained against him, tried to rock your hips to feel more of that rigid member. Copia looked amused by your torment. 

"Tell me what you want." He leaned down again and sucked at your nipples, bit at them playfully with his teeth. Your hands went to cradled his head to you, little sighs and moans leaving you unrestrained. 

"Fuck me." You murmured into his hair. 

As soon as the words left your mouth, Copia rose, brought his cock to your opening, then drove it into you in one fluid motion. You cried out. Your head fell back, and your body seemed to explode in pleasure. His cock was a thick, piercing thing inside you, bathing in your juices as he drew back and plunged into you. His thrusts were brutal, delivered in almost snapping motions that made the bedsprings creak under you. You heard yourself unleash loud, guttural moans with each solid thrust, wholly overcome by denied passion. Copia buried his face in your neck, his breath making the skin hot as he panted. The agonizing pleasure rose in your core, swelling, ready to erupt in a shower of sparks behind your skull, in your loins. Then all at once, your wet sex tightened around Copia and throbbed violently until you were all but screaming in ecstasy. You clutched Copia while the spasms rolled through you, and you let your legs spread wide, allowing Copia to slam into you unhindered until he also gave a small cry and shuddered above you. Hot, gushing fluid flowed into you and lay you back with your chest heaving in gasps. 

Copia pulled out and collapsed beside you. You turned on your side to face him; his features were soft-looking, almost angelic in their exhaustion. His eyes drooped closed, his forehead glistened with sweat. You brushed his disheveled hair back, leaned close, and kissed his brow, tasting the saltiness on your lips before pulling away. Copia opened his eyes, gazed at you lovingly, then took you and cradled you to his chest. The fabric of his suit felt luxurious on your naked skin in the afterglow, and you snuggled close to it, sighing. You both stayed that way for a few minutes, with Copia threading his fingers through your hair. You yawned, and your eyes started to feel heavy.

"We can't fall asleep," Copia said, shaking you a bit to rouse you, "I've kept you here long enough, and the other sisters must be out of their minds with worry by now." 

"Yes, Papa." You nodded, sat up, and winced a little. Your privates ached from their hard riding. You tried to hide it, only making a slight noise in your throat. It seemed you couldn't fool Copia, however. He also got up and rubbed your lower back, kissing your cheek.

"Was Papa too rough with you, cara?" He asked. You shook your head. 

"No, Papa, I'll be fine. It'll pass." You reassured him. 

"Alright, but I will have Cirrus check on you later tonight anyway," He patted your hip, "And what happened here must be a secret. You know this, right? Otherwise, I'd have to gag you and march you through the grounds. It's a little, eh, display, you could say, that I've come up with to officially demonstrate my authority to the others. I have yet to put it into practice, and It'd be unfortunate to have you be its first victim." 

You bowed your head, not in fear, but again in reassurance.

"Yes, Papa. I won't tell anyone." You said obediently. You crawled out of bed and gathered your clothes. Copia zipped and buttoned up his pants, then stood as well and straightened his hair. 

"Good. Now, get dressed and get back to the convent. Tell the Ghouls to run you a bath when you get there. Say it's my orders, and they'll do it." 

"Okay." A bath sounded lovely to you as you redressed. If only Copia could join you...

"And sister," Copia's voice came low, playful. You turned, and you saw his eyes gleam at you. Your pulse quickened.

"Yes, Papa?" You asked.

"Don't forget that I said I would save your other punishment for next time." He winked at you, and your heart soared. 

"I won't." You smiled. 

"Good girl."

You bid him good night, then left his chamber, secretly hoping that that time would be soon.

[starlightsearches]

Just listened to “Lovely” by Hot Freaks and it totally feels like an Eddie song! Definitely feels like it could play over him creeping on the reader or something 😂

NSFW Prompts

15. “i’ve always imagined what you’ve looked like under those clothes.”

Thanks for the requests, friends!

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, noncon, drugging, stalking, reader is implied to be a sex worker, no actual smut but it's still pretty heavy

Honey.

He can't stop thinking about honey. Not since you bumped into him on your way out of the diner. Smiling at him with your shiny wet lips stretched wide over your teeth, saying, "sorry, honey, I didn't see you there," resting your hand on his shoulder as you brushed past him out into the rain.

He thinks about honey coating his fingers, the saccharine scent filling his lungs. He thinks that's what your skin would taste like, underneath the piña colada-scented oil you brush across your shoulders and over your collar bones.

He knows that he's not your type—girls like you had never looked his way before, and he sees the kinds of men who lead you into cabs after a night at the club—but isn't that what makes you such a great match? What was the phrase people were always saying?

Opposites attract?

The sun's just setting, the glare on your windows fading in a flash, and he can see you again through the sheer curtains, sitting in the center of your warmly-lit room.

You've slipped into that pretty gold dress, the one that dips low at the front and curves in the back, skirt barely brushing past your ass cheeks. It's the same dress you'd been wearing the first time he saw you.

The thrill starts low in Eddie's stomach, spreading through his limbs warm like sunshine. You must be expecting him.

Eddie palms his copy of your house key, hand slick with sweat. He's planned for this, dreamed about it—he's thought of nothing else for weeks.

It was time for you to officially meet.

You dab at the edge of your lips, admiring your own reflection more than actually fixing the application of your lipstick, turning this way and that, letting the glitter you wear around your eyes catch in the light. It was a good sign when you couldn't pull your self away from a mirror.

You're so busy, you don't even notice the other face reflected in the frame.

Not until it's too late—you look up just in time to watch his dark green eyes go wide behind thick glasses, too late to scream when you feel the sting at your neck. A slick, wet warmth emanates from the spot, coating your limbs and making them heavy.

It doesn't feel like drops, or coke, or weed. It's more like a blanket tucked around your body—but from the inside—keeping you still and you're waiting to go under, but your consciousness doesn't fade. It stays with you, even as your knees buckle.

"It's alright, darling," the man whispers, staggering a little under your weight as you fall against him, "there's no need to be afraid; it's just me."

But you don't recognize him at all.

Not for lack of trying—you search his features for anything familiar, and nothing comes. He blushes hard as he sets you down on the bed, watching your gaze travel over him, completely missing the hatred behind it.

Whatever he drugged you with hasn't made you numb. You feel every tremble of his clammy hand as it travels over the skin of your thigh, stomach reeling, tears burning your cheeks and smearing all the makeup you'd so carefully applied.

"I've always wondered," he says with a haunting kind of reverence, "what you'd look like under these clothes. Can I?"

He's actually asking for permission, like he hadn't gone out of his way to shut you up. He just stares with his big dopey eyes on yours. Whatever response he wants is the one he thinks he gets, stroking higher, pushing the yellow sequins up, up, up until there's just cold air in their place.

He says one word, hand firm on your stomach and that's when you have to shut him out.

"Lovely."

[volleychumps]

can u make another iwaizumi angst with happy ending pls? where iwaizumi has been going through some shit and s/o tries to take care of him but being the clusmy ass, s/o ends up pissing him off big time and it turn to a huge fight? make me cryyyyyy and then mend me with a fluffy ending! thanks!

Phattest of the bets- here we go Hajime>:)

Outburst. (Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader)

Warning(s): angst to fluff kinda fic, slight cursing, oop if you’re heart hurted I hope I mended it :), timeskip! Iwaizumi, slight blood due to light injury 

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“Y/N.”

“Hey.” 

You let out a breathy laugh when Iwaizumi stumbles through the front door, bag brimmed with important papers hitting the floor with a slight thud before he collapses on top of you, arms wrapping around your waist tightly. More laughs bubble out of your throat as you struggle to support him, ignoring the heavy weight of the boy before lifting a hand to stroke his hair lightly. 

“Tough day at the university?” 

“You have no idea.” The spiker huffs against the juncture between your shoulder and neck, and you hum, pushing him slightly to examine Iwaizumi’s sharp features, smile growing when he leans into your touch. 

“Can we just go straight to bed?” 

“You have to eat first.” You reply softly, helping him shrug his jacket off before kissing him on the cheek, frowning when you see just how dark the circles under his eyes were. “Are you sleeping okay?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Iwaizumi’s reply is short as he brushes past you, voice strained as your frown deepens with worry. “Let’s just get dinner over with so I can get the hell to sleep.” 

You blink at his tone, contrasting from before you told him he couldn’t have what he wanted. Almost like a child, in this situation. 

“I can bring it to you-?” 

“Y/N. I said let’s get it over with.” 

Your eyes widen a fraction, retort almost slipping off your tongue like venom before you bite it. Like your loving boyfriend, you had a slight temper- but today you decided to make an exception, seeing how exhausted he was after working the overtime shift. Pressing your lips together, you nod before entering the kitchen with him on your tail. 

“I made agedashi tofu!” You try to lighten your voice, glancing behind you to see his reaction to his favorite food, hoping to see that same grateful smile pass his face-

but it doesn’t.

“Thanks.” Iwaizumi’s tone is dismissive as he continues to scroll on his phone through emails for school, and you wilt slightly-wishing he could see the flash of hurt that passed your face. 

Wordlessly, you prepare the dish on a plate before walking over to him and begin to set it in front of him, catching a glimpse of his phone screen in the process. 

“Is that for the sports science exam coming up-?” 

“Jesus, fuck-” 

Iwaizumi flinches away from you, annoyance filling his features at the fact that you were looking at his phone screen,

not noticing that he wasn’t the only one startled in the process. 

Your jaw slackens when Iwaizumi’s broad shoulder collides with your arm holding the platter, the food falling onto his thigh as you lift a hand to your mouth-

the dish was still piping hot.

 Your breath gets caugh in your throat as you rush around to soak a towel, filling a glass with ice as soon as it happens to aid the redness growing on Iwa’s thigh- your boyfriend falling scarily quiet. 

Iwaizumi stares at the burning food on his thigh, something in him finally snapping. 

“Here-!”

“Why the fuck can’t you do anything right?” 

Huh?

Your grip loosens on both items as you freeze with a doe-eyed expression on your features. Iwa’s voice was scarily soft as he chuckled humorlessly, dark eyes looking at you with a piercing look that read danger.

And then his voice rises, the coil inside of him lit. 

“Are you usually this goddamn clumsy?! Jesus fucking christ, Y/N! Do I need to give you a visual example of how to place a shitty plate on the table?! Because here-!” You flinch when Iwaizumi grabs the glass from your hand, slamming it on the table afterwards as the glass breaks into shards, a gasp slipping your throat. 

“Did you get it through that pretty, empty little head of yours?!” 

Iwa softly gasps when a choked sob leaves your throat, the burning on his thigh and his now-bloodied hand suddenly unnoticeable as he realizes how far he had escalated a small situation. You swallow back the lump in your throat, slowly falling to your knees to try and pick up some of the shards. 

“Ow-!” 

“Y/N don’t-” Iwa reaches out for the fingers you had pricked, tone suddenly soft. 

“Don’t touch me!” You hiss, eyes blurring with unshed heat as you retract your hand back in a flinching motion, Iwa’s eyes widening a fraction as you slowly raise to your feet, blood trickling down your fingers as you let the venom slip. 

“I go to school too. I get home half an hour earlier than you do, and I’m tired as hell- but I still went out of my way to make you your favorite food because I know you had exams today!” 

Iwaizumi flinches as your tone raises, wanting you to yell some more because he deserved it- 

but you don’t. 

“I do it because I love you, you dickhead.” Your voice cracks, Iwa’s chest brimming with guilt as he looks at all the prepared food behind you, ready to pack his lunches for the next week. “But you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to pretend like you’re the only one who’s tired and has shitty days and use it as an excuse to treat me like that. Get over yourself because I’m pretty damn tired too, and I don’t deserve this shit.” 

The tears are streaming freely now, Iwa going to stroke some away- heart sinking when you flinch back as if you were afraid of him. 

“I-I’m sorry I burned you.” 

Iwaizumi’s expression remains stoic as you rush past him into your shared bedroom, hearing the slam of the door echo throughout the apartment. Only when he hears the lock turn is when he covers his mouth tightly with his palm, his own set of tears dribbling over his knuckles as he muffles his sobs into his hand. 

You were afraid of him. 

Iwa takes in deep breaths through the nose, hope sparking in his heart when he hears the door open only to shut tightly a few seconds after. Stepping over the shards, he goes to investigate with a heavy heart-

only for more drops to fall off his knuckles and onto the floor as he picks up the burn ointment, bandages, and disinfectant. Slowly, regret and guilt brimmed in his chest, he slides his back against the door until he’s sitting, hanging his head between his knees as one hand loosely holds the bottle of burn ointment. 

Even in a fight, you cared about him. 

The one good thing in his life right now, and he let his temper win.

“Y/N.” His voice croaks, grip tightening on the ointment. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry that I’m an idiot. I don’t care about the burn or my cuts anymore, what about your hand?” 

Iwaizumi feels a small sense of relief when he hears your own back against the door, sliding until you’re on the floor with your knees tucked into your chest. His voice softens even more, wanting to selfishly see you. 

“Y/N? Tell me you’re okay.” 

You stay silent, examining the scarlet on your finger as a few more stray tears slip your eyes, wanting nothing more than to hold him. 

“Tell me you’re okay, Y/N. Please-”

“To be honest, I’m kind of scared.” Your voice falls to a whisper as Iwaizumi clenches his fist in anger at himself, hanging his head even lower as he wonders if what was done was the slightest bit reparable. 

“I get it if you don’t want to be with me. Just say the word and I’ll-” 

Your legs are moving before you can think, and suddenly your hand is on the lock twisting it and throwing the door open. Iwaizumi’s eyes widen as his jaw slacks, tackling him into a hug from behind, standing on your knees as you hug him tightly in his sitting position. Iwa curses, loving the feel of you holding him as heat begins to flood his eyes again, the fear of losing you becoming too much to bear. 

“Don’t say even more idiotic things.” You whisper, hugging him even tighter as you feel Iwaizumi- solid, strong, stone-hard Iwaizumi- quiver as he wonders what he did to deserve someone like you. 

He sniffs, wiping his eyes with his sleeve harshly and turning to you with puffy eyes before handling you with a gentleness that you rarely got to see, sitting in front of you silently as he fiddles with the bandages and disinfectant. 

“Let me see.” 

“Hajime, yours are worse-” 

“Don’t care.” He mutters, gently taking your wrist as if you were porcelain, before opening some disinfectant and eyeing you. 

“Hold on to my arm. It’s gonna sting.” 

You bite your lip, clenching Iwa’s muscle as the sting of the disinfectant seems less painful than usual, not being able to hold back your soft smile when he takes the utmost care in wrapping the kitten bandage around your finger. 

“You next.” You go to grab the disinfectant, frowning when Iwa shakes his head. 

“I don’t deserve it.” 

“Why so sad?” You attempt a joke, pulling Iwa’s hand back and beginning to give him the same treatment as Iwa tries to keep a straight face, eyeing you as if you were some beautiful discovery before pulling you tightly into his embrace as his chin rests on your shoulder. 

“Hajime I’m not done-” 

“I love you.” 

You smile into his shoulder, pretending not to notice the tears that were wetting the back of your shirt. 

“Don’t be afraid of me. Don’t flinch away from me. I’m so goddamn sorry-” 

“Hajime.” 

“What?” He furrows his brows as if you were challenging him when you pull back, wondering if you would tease him for his heartfelt words before you kiss him fully, smiling into it when Iwa sighs as if he was releasing pent up emotion. His hand holds you there for a minute before he pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, thumb stroking your cheek distractedly. 

“We’ll get through this.” 

Iwa’s lips quirk up in a half smile before he kisses your temple, using both hands to cup your face. 

“I don’t deserve you.” 

“You’re right, you don’t.” 

Iwa rolls his eyes at your cheeky grin, still finding you perfect despite the red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. 

“Brat.” 

“Dickhead.” 

“Can we...go eat dinner after we clean up?” Iwa looks off to the side, suddenly embarrassed as you gape at how unbelievably cute he was being, before holding his hand out to you.

You smile softly, eyes suddenly dry before standing and wrapping your bandage-wrapped finger around his. 

“Yeah. I made your favorite.”

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General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @dreebbles @savemesteeb @yams046

[xjoonchildx]

greedy | myg x reader | chapter one: you like milkshakes?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now.  until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.3K

notes: confession, i am struggling these days with my insane attraction to min yoongi.  this guy has it all.  looks and talent and mystery and sweetness -- he’s the total package. so i really wanted to give him a story in this AU that i’ve come to love so much and i truly hope you guys enjoy it.  

i also hope you guys know how much i appreciate every single one of you. i see your reblogs and comments and likes and i try to answer every one because it truly makes my day.  you guys make my day.

i could not post this fic without shouting out the amazing @hobi-gif because honestly, if hope didn’t read it, did i even write it? and i’m sending major love to three people who are such a source of laughter and support for me, @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna @taetaewonderland. you guys keep me in stitches.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece! Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

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Yoongi had fucked up.

He’d misread the massive man’s approach, tracking him in one direction when the guy was actually headed in another.  That’s how the asshole managed to catch Yoongi off guard with one meaty fist to the face. 

It didn’t matter that it was hundreds of pounds of fat -- not muscle -- behind that punch.  It was wielding more than enough momentum to blow up the side of Yoongi’s face like a bomb. 

That’s the night he landed in the ER at Songdo at nearly two in the morning, pressing gauze to his bleeding face.  

That’s the night he found himself chuckling inside an empty exam room, reading triage paperwork that made him sound like some kind of war hero instead of just an idiot who got caught looking the wrong way.

That’s the night he met you.

“Rough evening, Mister Yun?” 

Yoongi had looked up from the floor just as you’d breezed into the room, tablet in hand.  That moment marked the second time he’d been caught off guard that night.

“That looks like it hurts,” you’d murmured sympathetically, eyes raking over the bloody mess on his face.  Your gaze was clinical -- professional -- as you assessed his grossly swollen eye and the half dozen bleeding cuts that surrounded it.  

But then you’d stopped looking at him -- and stepped back to really look at him.  

Yoongi had taken one look at your enormous, dark eyes and your soft, sweet face and he was dumbstruck.  He’d blinked back at you with the only eye that could still move.  

“You’re a doctor?”

“Nope,” you’d replied casually, turning to reach for a pair of latex gloves. “I’m a janitor. But I’ve always wanted to give this medicine thing a try. You don’t mind, right?”  

Your eyes had sparkled then, bright with humor -- and Yoongi couldn’t help but grin despite the pain pulsing from the left side of his face.

“Here’s the deal, Mister Yun,” you’d said, pulling on your gloves.  “I’m a resident.  And I’m more than qualified to handle the -- situation -- on your face, but if you feel more comfortable waiting for the attending, I’m happy to step back.  Good luck seeing him before sunrise, though.”

“Nah,” Yoongi had chuckled.  “I think I’ll take my chances with you.”

“Good call.”

You’d leaned in close after that, gloved fingers firm under his chin as you turned his face from side to side.  You’d smelled fucking amazing.  The light, fresh scent that lingered on your skin sure as hell beat the disinfectant odor in this place.

“What happened to you tonight, Mister Yun?”

“It’s a funny story, actually.”

“Oh, great,” you’d said dryly.  “‘Cause it turns out, I love funny stories.”

Yoongi had flinched when you’d peeled the gauze back, exposing the angry wounds to the air.  But he’d forced himself to sit dutifully still as you got to work cleaning the caked blood off his face and eye.

“Thing is, I work for the circus,” he’d started, hissing under his breath when you swiped across an open cut above his eye.  “One of the elephants got rowdy while we were practicing a number tonight and just kicked me right in the face.”

You’d stopped dabbing at his eye then, one brow raised and a cynical slant to your mouth.

Yoongi liked that you knew he was full of shit right away. 

He liked that you’d played along anyway.

“God, I hate when that happens,” you’d said with feigned outrage, cutting your eyes at him as you dropped a piece of bloody gauze on the tray at his side.  

“I know, right?”

That’s when Yoongi had won a real smile from you, wide and genuine.  That's when Yoongi made the mistake of looking at you for just a moment too long.  

He knew it by the way your smile fell away as you cleared your throat and turned your focus back to his damaged face.

“Well, I have good news for you Mister Yun,” you’d said after a while, eyes scanning the freshly cleaned wounds.  You’d run your gloved fingers gently over one particularly deep slash over his eye and Yoongi felt a shudder run up his back.  “I’m pretty sure you’re going to live.”

“Well, that is good news.”

There was that smile again.  

It seemed like no time at all before you had him all patched up -- cuts sanitized and sealed with skin adhesive; swollen eye cleaned and medicated.  Yoongi had felt a strange kind of disappointment as he’d watched you gather your supplies, pull your gloves off and drop them in the trash can near the door.

“You’re all set, Mister Yun,” you’d murmured. “Watch out for those elephants, okay? I’d hate for them to ruin a perfectly nice face.”

Then you were gone.

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

Thing is -- Kim Namjoon is a rules guy.

It doesn’t matter that he runs a criminal organization -- or that the men in his employ are gangsters in custom ties and suits.  He expects dirty work done clean because that’s what sets the Gajog apart.

Rotate hospitals.  Use fake names.  Pay in cash.

All of those protocols are in place to keep any one of the Gajog from drawing unwanted attention.  Truthfully, Namjoon’s operations usually run so neatly his men rarely have to seek treatment for anything beyond the occasional black eye or broken bone.  That’s why he’d rather trust his men to legitimate doctors in legitimate hospitals than hand them over to some back-alley hack.

Thing is -- shit has gotten a lot more heated of late.  

An audit of the Gajog books has turned up millions in missing won, stolen over time by street-level guys all over the city.  Yoongi and Hoseok are the ones on the front lines, tasked with confronting those men -- getting them to pay and getting them back in line.

Sometimes they play ball.  Sometimes they don’t.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Yoongi knew the moment they arrived at the crumbling warehouse in the Nowon district that shit was probably going to get messy.  Their contact was fucked up -- sloppy drunk -- and belligerent from the jump.

After that, everything was a blur.

At some point during the scuffle, Yoongi heard his hand crunch under the heavy weight of the man’s steel-toed boot. The pain was still flaring hot from his knuckles when Hoseok finally took the guy down.  

Right now Yoongi should be at Asan or Gachon or any of the other half-dozen hospitals in the city.  He should have dragged his tired ass and bloody hand across town because those are the rules.

But instead -- for the second time in a month -- he’s sitting under the sickly fluorescent lights in an empty exam room at Songdo at nearly three in the morning.

Hoping to see you. 

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

Yoongi is gingerly flexing his aching fingers when a light knock sounds at the door.

It was a long shot that you’d be here tonight -- and an even longer shot that you’d be the one treating him. But when the door to the exam room opens, it’s you on the other side.

Yoongi’s pulse picks up in response.

“Sorry to keep you waiting tonight Mister -- ”  you stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide on his before darting back down the tablet in your hand.  You scan the screen slowly then look back up, gaze critical.

“ -- Mister Woo.”

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi replies casually.  “It’s no problem.”

You approach him slowly then, disbelief etched into your delicate features and Yoongi takes in every detail.

It’s like he’d forgotten how pretty you are since the last time he saw you.

You’re nothing like the flashy women who like to hang around the usual Gajog haunts.  You’re the kind of pretty that doesn’t cost hundreds of thousands of won a month to maintain.  The kind of pretty that doesn’t come off at the end of the night. 

Yoongi swallows thickly as you eye him, lips parted like you’re about to fire off a hundred different questions.  But you don’t.  

You play along.  

Again.

“Right.  Let’s get to it then, Mister Woo,” you say carefully, slipping on your gloves.  “What happened to your hand?”

“Well, you see, I’m a hot air balloon operator.”  

His mouth quirks into a smile and your eyes flash in response.  

“Wind was nuts today and the basket came down on my hand.  I think I might have broken something.”

“Hmm,” you murmur.  “Hot air balloon operator, huh?”

Yoongi winces when you take his hand between your gloved ones, gently applying pressure to each knuckle.

“Yeah.”

“That’s an interesting way to make a living, Mister Woo.”

Yoongi chokes down a groan when you press against one particularly sore spot.  You back off the pressure, turning to make a note on your chart.

“Well, I’m an interesting guy,” he whispers.  

You look up at him then, dark eyes focused and intense.  

“That you are.”

You’re looking at Yoongi like you can see inside him and the scrutiny makes him squirm.  He lowers his eyes to the floor and keeps quiet while you clean his hand and apply ointment to his cuts.

“Mister Woo, it looks like most of these are surface abrasions, but the knuckles concern me.  I’m going to have to send you for an X-ray.”

“Yeah, okay.  It hurts like hell.”

“I bet it does,” you say quietly, typing into your tablet.  “Someone is going to come and take you back when they’re ready.  I have to go check on some other patients, but I’ll be back when we have some images to go over.”

“Sure,” Yoongi breathes.

You take another long look at him before standing to leave and Yoongi wonders for a moment if he’s made a mistake. Maybe he’s misread you like he misread that brawler who caught him with the nasty punch all those weeks ago.  

You could be off to flag a security guard.  Or leaving to call the police.

He really should have just followed protocol.

Yoongi sits in the quiet of that exam room waiting -- ready -- for trouble that never comes.  Because when a knock finally sounds at the door, it’s not the Korean National Police.  

It’s the X-ray technician.

Maybe he didn’t misread you after all.

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

It takes hours for you to come back.

“Mixed news tonight, Mister Woo,” you say upon your return.  “You have hairline fractures in three of your knuckles, which explains the pain.  Unfortunately, that means I’m not going to be able to do much for you beyond wrapping your hand.”

Yoongi nods.  “Got it.”

“And you should probably lay off the ballooning for a while,” you say under your breath as you lay out your bandages.  “Just a suggestion.”

“Good idea,” Yoongi chuckles.  “Safety first.”

You fix him with another one of those long, indecipherable looks before getting to work on his hand.  But you don’t say anything and the longer the silence stretches on, the antsier Yoongi feels.

“So…” he exhales, clearing his throat, “... you like milkshakes?”

“Everyone likes milkshakes,” you return evenly.  You don’t take your eyes off his hand or the flexible material you’re carefully wrapping around his sore knuckles. 

“Lactose intolerant people don’t like milkshakes.”

“Lactose intolerant people like milkshakes as much as the rest of us,” you argue.  “They just can’t tolerate them.”

“What are you, some kind of doctor?”

Your lips quirk with the threat of a laugh you manage to suppress but Yoongi catches the expression before it disappears.  You seem to relax after that.  He does, too.

“Dijeoteu has the best milkshakes in the city.  Ever been there?”

“Can’t say that I have,” you admit, taping off a bandage.  

“It’s not far from here.  Open twenty-four hours.  I hang out there sometimes.”

“So you’re a milkshake-drinking hot-air balloon enthusiast,” you murmur, inspecting your handiwork closely.  “Anything else I should know about you, Mister Woo?’

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Not really.  That about covers it.”

You hum thoughtfully under your breath as you finish wrapping the bruised knuckles.

“All done.  How does it feel?”

“Better,” Yoongi admits.  “Thanks.”

You gaze at him then, thoughtful -- expression soft with something that looks almost like concern.  Yoongi drops his gaze down to his bandaged hand.

This is the part where you’ve finished -- the part where you leave.  

This is the part where he should say something to you but he has no idea what or how.

“I would say come back soon, but this is a hospital and that seems wildly inappropriate,” you announce, voice breaking clear through his stupor.

You turn back to him just as you’re walking towards the door, and for a moment Yoongi thinks you’re going to give in and ask him any one of the dozens of questions that must be swirling around your mind.

But you don’t.

“Try to take care of that hand, Mister Woo.”

Yoongi nods.

“Thanks, Doc.”

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

YOU

Doctor Lee is on his Houdini shit tonight, apparently.

The ER is packed -- waiting room crowded with crabby patients -- and you are, once again, running yourself ragged to get to every last one.  Lee is, once again, nowhere to be found.

“Page him again,” you call out as you pass the charge nurse outside an exam room.  

A quick scan of your tablet confirms the toddler behind this magic door has been vomiting all night.  You shut your eyes and wish a slow, violent death on your absent attending.  Vomit is the single worst phenomenon in medicine.

“I’ve paged him three times,” Nurse Ko calls back.

“Page him again,” you repeat, forcing a smile and pushing into the room.

Thirty minutes and one change of scrubs later you are checking charts on the next patient in line.  You pat the pocket of your new scrubs and realize you’ve left a half-eaten energy bar around here somewhere.  

No chance you’ll get that back.

Lee picks this moment to reappear, back from doing God knows what.  He strolls down the hallway like a man with nothing on his to-do list.

“You paged for me?” he inquires casually.

“A few times, actually,” you mutter.  “I’m getting killed out here.”

“Relax,” Lee purrs, condescension dripping from his tone.  “We’ll get it done.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from firing back the half-dozen nasty responses that spring to mind. There is no we when it comes to Doctor Lee.  He’s always been flighty and inconsistent, but these days he’s practically a missing person.  You’re still not sure how hospital management hasn’t figured out that he’s making his resident run the overnight ER.

“There’s a guy down the hall who says he swallowed a magnet,” you say, waving a hand in that direction.  “If you can pick him up I can get to this head trauma.”

Lee sighs like it’s a major inconvenience that you’ve asked him to do his job.

“Yeah, I’ll grab it.”

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

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time you have a chance to catch your breath.

You walk out to scan the waiting area and to your relief, there are only a handful of patients yet to be seen.  Then your eyes land on one young man -- slumped into a chair in an oversized coat, hat pulled low over his eyes.

You freeze.  

The man in the chair must feel your stare from across the room because he straightens, giving you a better look at the face hidden under the brim of his hat.  You let go of a breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding.

It’s not him.  

It’s not the mysterious man with the fake names and the bogus stories and the insanely handsome face. You shake your head as you look back down at your tablet, silently chastising yourself for even entertaining the thought.  

You shouldn’t still be thinking about this guy and you know it.

But it’s driving you nuts that you can’t figure him out.

He’s never tried to play you for pills and that seems to be the only thing people lie about these days. But if his problem isn’t drugs it’s certainly something because no one lands in the hospital that many times, with that many phoney stories unless they’re up to no good.

So you ignore the nonsensical disappointment you feel when the guy in that chair is not the guy. 

Because deep down you know he’s either in trouble -- or he is trouble.

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

Your pager goes off for a second time and you silence the alert, tossing it onto a nearby blanket.

It’s not like you’re hiding out in here -- not really. 

It’s just that you’ve already had one patient cough up blood on your sneakers and another swing at you when you refused to give him narcotics, so this night is off to a spectacularly bad start.

Besides, Doctor Lee could use a taste of his own medicine.  

This week has been the worst, by far.  You’ve been seeing at least three patients to his every one and you’re exhausted.  If there’s any justice, he’s walking into the exam room where the infant with explosive diarrhea is waiting to be seen -- you check your watch -- right about now.

The door to the linen closet cracks open and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

“What, you thought I didn’t know about your little hiding place?”  Nurse Ko asks with a grin.  “I find everyone’s hiding place, eventually.”

“Haven’t found Lee’s yet,” you gripe. 

“Yeah, well he’s sneakier,” she laughs.  “Here, I brought you something.”  

She tosses a granola bar at you and it lands in your lap.  

“Thanks,” you sigh, ripping it open.  You take a bite and Ko leans against the doorframe.

“I don’t page you for my health, you know.”

“I know,” you whine around a mouthful of dried oats.  “I just needed five minutes.”

“Well, I’ve got a guy out here who says he’ll only see you.  Doesn’t want Doctor Lee and says he’ll wait as long as it takes.”

A piece of the granola bar lodges in your throat and you cough around it, spluttering while Ko looks on, amused.  She waits for you to collect yourself.

“Is he -- ”

“ -- hot? Yes. Very,” Ko smiles.  

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment at both the observation and the fact that it’s coming from a woman in her sixties.

“I was going to say young,” you grumble, standing and dusting your hands off with a towel.

“That, too.  Come to think of it, I know I’ve seen him here before.  You have some kind of admirer, jagiya?”

You flush.

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

“Good evening, Mister Kim.”

You hope the air of nonchalance you affect when you enter the exam room is enough to mask your jitters.  

Your mystery patient looks back at you with those dark eyes and a half-smirk that makes your heart trip in your chest.  You take a steadying breath as you look down at your tablet.

Get it together, girl.

“What brings you in tonight?” you inquire lightly.  “Sword-swallowing accident?  Lose a fist fight with a bear?”

Your mysterious patient chuckles under his breath.  

“Where would you get a couple of outlandish ideas like that, Doc?”

You look up at him just as the teasing smirk on his face becomes a full smile and heat blooms in your chest and face.  You force yourself to tear your gaze away.

“I dislocated my shoulder.  Did you know I work air traffic control at Incheon?”

You shake your head with amused weariness as you make notes on your tablet.

“Crazy night.  One of the planes nearly slid off the runway and I threw my shoulder out trying to get it back on track.”

“Did you save it?”

“Saved it and all 227 people on board.”

“Bravo, Mister Kim.” 

“Just doing my job,” he shrugs.  

You set your tablet down on the exam table with a thump, eyeing him as you reach for a pair of gloves.

“The charge nurse says you asked for me.”

“I did,” he admits.  “You never told me what your favorite kind of milkshake is.”

You cock your head to the side as you look at him.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mister Kim,” you murmur, feigning ignorance. “According to my records this is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”

“Oh, yeah.  Right,” he chuckles.  

“You need some help getting undressed?”

“Yeah,” he admits, slipping one arm out of his leather jacket.  You lean in to help him pull the other side off, compelling yourself to ignore the way he smells like soap and sweat and man when you’re this close.

“It’s strawberry.”

You blurt the words out, anxious to give your brain a task that doesn’t involve analyzing this man’s smell.  Something about the mischievous twist to his mouth tells you he knows you’re flustered by his nearness.  

“I would have guessed chocolate,” he muses, reaching one hand down to grab the hem of his shirt. He drags it up his abdomen and you will your eyes to stay on his face -- refusing to give him any indication that you have more than a clinical interest in what lies underneath.

“Everyone likes chocolate,” you argue, taking over when he can’t get the shirt up any higher.  You push it over his head and carefully work it off his shoulder.  “I don’t want to be like everyone else.”

“Mission accomplished, Doc.”

He gazes at you then -- chest bare and eyes sharp beneath those inky lashes --  and you feel a bolt of awareness run the length of your spine. You pray the heat you suddenly feel all over your body is not manifesting in damning spots of color on your face.  

You remind yourself to get back to work. 

He sucks a breath between his teeth when you press gently against the inflamed muscle and tissue.

“My shoulder’s been shit for years,” he confesses.  “I screwed it up when I was a kid and it hasn’t been the same since.”

“So this happens to you from time to time?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then I’m going to have to refer you for an MRI,” you say, and he groans when you press into his shoulder again.  “There could be a lot of scar tissue in here, but I won’t be able to know what’s going on until we get some clear scans.”

Your eyes flick back to his.  

Every word that’s ever come out of this man’s mouth is a lie -- but there’s something that feels honest about the way he’s looking at you right now.  Something that makes you feel seasick, unsteady.

“Turn to the side for me,” you say quietly, and the thin paper that lines the exam table rustles as he complies.  The relief you feel when he pivots away from you with those eyes and that look is whole-bodied.  

“For now, the best I can do is probably pop -- “

Your words trail off as your eyes lock on a wound that sits just a few inches from his spine, just above the line of his jeans.  The edges are white and soft with age -- the area long-healed -- but the trauma is unmistakable.  

Textbook.  

The anger you feel as you stare at the wound doesn’t make any sense.  

But you feel it anyway.

“Is it still inside of you, or did they pull it out?”

“What -- ”

“-- The bullet Mister Kim,” you interrupt sharply.  “If it’s still in you, I promise it will come out the second they load you into an MRI machine.  The hard way.”

The muscles of his back flex as he stiffens.  Tension bleeds into the lines of his body and into his voice when he finally speaks.

“It’s out.”

Neither of you says another word.

The room feels hollow now, painfully quiet without talk of elephants or hot air balloons or milkshakes.  The two of you work together silently to crack his abused shoulder back into place.  Somehow he manages to endure that pain without making a sound.

In the end, it’s you that has to speak first.

“That should hold you for now,” you say tightly, standing to toss your gloves in the trash.   You grab your tablet to make notes.

“You mad at me, Doc?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter, fingers flying over your screen.  “I don’t even know you.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re mad at me?”

You tear your eyes away from the screen to find his.  

There’s no teasing or humor there anymore.  He looks boyish and unsure like this, peering back at you with somber eyes from beneath long black bangs that have fallen into his face.

“No more stories, no more bullshit.  Tell me who you are.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can think better of them -- before you can consider how stupid it is to interrogate a complete stranger with a now confirmed history of violence.  Before you can consider that you have no right to the anger that now streaks white-hot through your veins.

“I can’t,” he breathes quietly.  “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head in disgust.

“Are you dangerous?”

Before he even speaks, you get your answer.  You get it in the way color erupts across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.  The way he looks away from you and down to his hands.

“I guess that depends on who you ask,” he whispers.

“I’m asking you,” you fire back.

He doesn’t answer.

You stand there for what feels like an eternity, waiting for him to say something in his defense. Waiting for him to pull another gag and tell just one more ridiculous story.  But the seconds tick by and he says nothing.

“A nurse is going to come by with a sling. She’ll help you get dressed, too,” you say tightly, walking to the door.

You don’t know why your heart feels like it seizes in your chest when you turn to give him one more look.

“Take care of yourself, Mister Kim,” you say quietly.  “And don’t come back.”

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

Glossary:

Dijeoteu: dessert

Jagiya: sweetie, sweetheart

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

Tag List!

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[certifiedskywalker]

Quiet Your Mind - Wanda Maximoff

You have trouble sleeping most nights. Something in you is restless and, luckily, Wanda often is as well.

Too hot, then too cold. Too close, then too stretched out. Regardless of how you laid, sleep did not find you. Like a shadow, it danced near before waltzing away in the light that, every so often, flashed out from behind the window blinds. Whether the source was the city, with its skyscraper residents flicking off their lamps, or lightning bugs, with glowing little bodies, or passing planes, roaring in the sky, or-

It did not matter. You accused the numerous, possible origins of the light for keeping you awake. Each time the sheets drew you in and the pillow whispered to you a lullaby, the flash would stir you again. It would spark another endless spiral down a winding list of geneses before you tired your mind out and begin the cycle again. Blaming the light made your fight for rest easier to wage and to lose, time after time.

The light was physical. Much to your dismay, you could see it, name it, blame it. It was harder to pinpoint anxiety or the intrusive thoughts that fled as soon as they arrived ready to disturb you. Worry was faceless, a stalking stranger in your head that blocked your only escape: the sweet release of sleep.

Yes, it was easier to blame the light for stealing your sleep each night.

Though, a faint knocking against your door proved to be the best culprit. For a moment, you thought you imagined the sound. Perhaps your lack of sleep was finally making you delirious. So, you stayed still, sprawled out on the bed with blankets kicked about. A moment passed and there was only the echo of the sound in your mind.

Then, the knock returned. 

Unable to refute it, you kicked your legs over the edge of the bed and let your feet hit the floor. Cooled by the night’s dark, the ground sent a chill up your legs that darted along your spine. As you shook off the feeling, another knock, a touch louder than before. You sighed, the exhale sinking your shoulders, as you found the wherewithal to stand.

“I’m coming,” you said as you stepped towards the door. “I’m coming.”

Your fingers wrapped around the metal knob and turned. With an easy pull, you opened the door to reveal Wanda. She looked as tired as you felt, with dark circles under her eyes and a frown etched into her full, rose petal lips. At the sight of her, so wonderfully cast in the dim hallway light and the shadow of your bedroom, the air was knocked out of your lungs.

“Your mind is loud. I can hear it through the walls.”

You were already speechless, but the bluntness of Wanda’s greeting, or lack thereof, made your search for words impossible. Her eyes danced along your face, reading your features, or reading through them. You never could tell with Wanda. Whenever she looked at you, it felt as if you were truly being seen. In that, you felt a fear and a comfort.

“You can’t sleep.”

“Yeah, I-I mean no,” you took an unsteady breath to collect yourself. “Yes, I can’t sleep.”

Wanda’s mouth quirked upwards at your stammering. “You clearly need it.”

Her teasing caught you terribly off guard. Before you could process what Wanda said, a nervous laugh slipped past your lips. Heat rose and bloomed across your skin, and in that very moment you remembered Wanda could read minds. Panicked, you glanced back up at her, met her hazel gaze. She must have noted your wide eyes because she started to shake her head.

“Don’t worry.”

“Are you….are you reading my mind?”

“No, I don’t read minds anymore. I don’t often like what I find,” Wanda’s smile faded as she spoke. “But I can feel yours, your thoughts and how they’re keeping you awake.”

“Oh,” you sighed, unsure as to whether you should be relieved or concerned. How could Wanda find rest if she was distracted by the rest of others? The annoying light that flashed in your window could never compare to that. 

“Let me help you.”

“Wanda, it’s late,” you began, trying to meet her gaze but failing. “I don’t want to keep you up, so…”

You trailed off, too suddenly aware of your heart’s hastened beating to speak. In the hopes of calming yourself, easing the rapid thumping in your chest, you took a deep breath. It helped very little, but gave you enough airy courage that you lifted your eyes to Wanda’s once more. She was always beautiful, but something about how she leaned against the doorframe, how her eyes never left your face since you opened the door, heightened her intimidating allure.

You couldn’t put it into words but you felt it, her power over you. It made you nervous. No, it made you excited, even in your hazy, sleepless state. Wanda centered your senses, made her your focus rather than the little details, the light and sounds, that stole your rest away.

How could you refuse her?

“So, if you want to, if I’m, if my mind is keeping you up, then y-yeah. Okay.”

Wordlessly, Wanda wandered into your room, leaving you in your still open doorway. You watched her sit herself on the foot of your bed. She looked so small, silhouetted against your mattress. The sight would be difficult for a well-rested you to comprehend: Wanda, in your room, late at night and, seemingly, waiting for you. Suddenly, it was hard for you to swallow.

You pushed the door gently slowly closing it before you walked over to your bed. Wanda’s gaze was fixed on you as you moved. You glanced over at her as you sat by her side. The way the mattress dipped below your weight led your thigh to rest against Wanda’s. Through her black pajama pants, you could feel the warmth of her body against yours. On instinct, a trembling sigh passed over your lips.

Wanda wore the hints of smile as you glanced at her. Her hazel eyes, despite the darkness that pervaded your room, shone bright. They were even brighter when the light peeked out from between the window blinds. Though nothing could distract from the tiredness in her face.

“You might want to lay back,” she said softly, her Sokovian accent shining through.

“Oh, yeah.” 

At her suggestion, you scooted back along your bed until you could lay stretched out where you had laid before. As you reclined, you took the chance to draw in a long breath. You held it tight in your chest in the hopes of calming the still wild beating of your heart. When you felt the bed’s springs bend under Wanda’s weight as she leaned back with you, your held breath came out in a rushed exhale.

“You’re nervous.” Her voice was still but warm when you looked over to find Wanda watching you. She was laid on her side, her head rested on one of your extra pillows with one of her hands tucked beneath it. Your forced your eyes to meet hers, tore them away from her lips.

“And you’re sure you’re not reading my mind?” She tilted her head against the pillow, giving you a pointed look that, even in the darkness, sent a another bolt of prickling excitement through you. “Yes, I am nervous. Your powers…”

“They rage around inside me, and I have no idea how to control them when I am angry,” she lifted her free hand and wangled her fingers. Threads of scarlet magic appeared, glowing in the dark, lapping at her knuckles before they traveled up towards her fingertips. “But with you...everything is easy. Like before.”

You did not need her to elaborate on what ‘before’ meant. Before this moment, before Sokovia fell from the sky and her brother fell to the bloody dirt. Before you met and Wanda’s parents were still alive. You only looked back at Wanda, unable to help the frown that claimed your lips when her sad eyes met your gaze.

“I trust you,” you murmured.

Red tendrils reached beyond Wanda’s fingers. In the gentle crimson light the magic shed between you, you could see clearly how Wanda’s lips wore hints of a small smile.

“Then close your eyes and let me quiet your mind.”

You did as you were told and fell into the dark behind your eyelids. The moment you saw nothing, the image of Wanda’s face filled your head. If you were to open your eyes, you would see the same scene and that made rest nearly impossible to reach. Then it wasn’t.

Warmth pervaded your heavy limbs, eased each one until you felt yourself lifted outside of your body. Your thoughts immediately shifted from Wanda to the gentle mercy that she was providing via her magic. Floating, it was the only way to describe the lightness. Your hand in particular felt as if it were swaddled in flames made of feathers: warm and soft.

Though, a spark of curiosity began to burn in your chest. Wanda’s face entered your mind, pulled you from the rest her powers promised. Slowly, you peeled open your eyes. You saw only darkness at first, but then, as your eyes adjusted, you saw the outline of Wanda’s face. The red glow of her magic was dimmed but you barely registered the light; even the glinting that stretched from your window. No, that did not matter to you anymore.

You only cared about Wanda, her presence, if she was resting too.

“I can feel your eyes,” she said suddenly, “even in the dark.”

White hot but fleeting embarrassment washed over your face. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Wanda replied. 

Before you could insist or pretend to have fallen asleep, you felt your hand truly float. But the flight was short lived as you realized how. Wanda’s fingers, still twinged with the scarlet glow of her magic, were intertwined with yours and lifting your joined hands to rest between you on the bed. You studied your entangled fingers, the feather-like flames you felt all long your skin. 

When you glanced up to Wanda’s face, her eyes were focused on you. Another wave of warmth washed over you when you saw that some of the restlessness had left her face. Silently, she pulled your joined hands closer and softly smiled at you before she said:

“Just sleep.”

She pressed her lips to the back of your hand. It was the softest kiss you had ever seen and it was the last thing you saw before your mind quieted, plunging you into the darkness one last time. You dreamed though, dreamed of waking the next morning to Wanda by your side with that same, loving smile on her face. For the first time, with no lights to distract you or thoughts to worry you, rest came easy with Wanda by your side.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭 || 𝐍𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐝!𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞

summary: Steve always loved tying you up when he had to work.

warnings: SMUT. dom!steve. heavy bondage; hogtied. degradation. dirty talk. rough oral sex. overstimulation. asphyxiation.

word count: 1,730

author’s note: based off the gif of Chris Evans telling Dodger to “Stop”, but then Nomad!Steve came to mind and the rest was history. 

📖 Master List

This work has Adult Content. If you click “Keep Reading” you have agreed that you are over the age of 18 and are willing to view such content.

The dark kitchen flooring is harsh under your naked chest as a puddle of drool forms below your face forcing you to keep your head elevated. The ropes were pulled tight this time around leaving no room for compromise.

You teethed around the small red ball gag, softly groaning from the ache and the pressure forming in your tendons. You’d need a long, soothing bath after Steve was done with his meeting.

Pins and needles prickled your feet as they reached towards the sky bound securely to the rope forcing your hands to your lower back. Any time you shifted your rope covered arms, your ankles would move with them, making it impossible to have any control.

Your shoulders were starting to groan under the tension. Maybe if you were able to turn to one side your feet would no longer tingle and the pain in your upper body would quell.

You could feel his eyes the moment you started wiggling more than usual.

He always loved tying you up when he had a meeting, he relishes knowing you’ll be there waiting for him. The obvious distraction of peering over his laptop to find you so helpless drove him mad. He couldn’t help but smirk when you’d huff at him through the gag and writhe for his pleasure.

You angled your feet as far to the side as you could without dislocating your shoulders but without good momentum you were going nowhere.

His boisterous laugh meant he was still paying attention to the conversation coming over the small speakers but you knew he’d be keeping a close eye.

Swinging your feet to one side you threw them to the opposite almost succeeding and rolling to your side but you fell back onto your belly with a soft grunt.

“One moment.” Steve said with a hint of annoyance.

He muted his mic and walked a few paces to your struggling form, still pathetically attempting to turn on your side.

His fingers dove between the band of the ball gag and your scalp keeping you stock still. He tipped your head up looking down at you through his lashes, “If you make any more noise, I won’t hesitate to get the wand and leave you strapped to it until dinner.”

You whimpered under his hard stare, eyes falling to the floor in humiliation.

“Understand?”

You slowly blinked in response, moaning around the gag causing more drool to slip out the corners of your lips.

“That’s my Good Girl.” Steve beamed, slipping his hold from the gag and turning you back onto your belly. Your ribs compressed against the flooring uncomfortably causing you to groan as he walked back to the table and unmuted his mic.

“Sorry about that. Now, where were we?”

His eyes flicked to you, wishing you’d make a noise just so he could watch you suffer a bit longer in the intricate bondage. The thought of standing over your body as you squirmed and cried out to him made his cock harden.

“Not a problem, Mr. Rogers.” A fellow colleague chimed before breaking off into hapless chatter.

The discussion passed by slowly. You stared at the base of the kitchen island and at the rug where you’d stand while doing dishes, barely listening to the conversation.

It was hard work keeping your head up for so long. The muscles in your neck screamed at you to let them rest. The tendons were burning and felt ready to snap at any moment. You tried to move again, wiggling your secured body as much as you could away from the growing puddle beneath your chin.

You struggled endlessly, trying to not hit the ground with your knees as you gained enough drive to fall onto your side with an ‘oopmh’. Your face pinched, a mix of fear and failure painting your features knowing everyone on the call heard you. 

If your jaw could tremble it would’ve once your eyes landed on Steve.

He hid the fiery blaze well when a co-worker asked if everything was ok. Steve flashed his million-dollar smile and smoothed a hand over his beard, “All good, Ma’am.”

As much as the pain receded in your arms and your feet no longer felt numb, the shame of disappointing Steve consumed you. You let your head fall to the side, resting while you could because once the chat was over you knew there would be hell to pay.

Not long after you shut your eyes you heard feet pounding closer to your frame shocking you from the light slumber.

Steve pulled you back onto your belly by your arms and loosened the knot at your knees before forcing a wand vibrator harshly between your thighs and nestling it against your folds flicking the power on to the highest setting.

Your body jolted sharply in the binds. You wriggled trying to lessen the intense vibrations as they pulsed through your core.

“You brought it on yourself, Doll.” He crooned, stepping on your arms with his wing tipped shoes forcing you to pause your movements, “If you want to make it up to me, you’ll stay still.”

He unlaced a cord of rope from your ankles and unstrapped the ball gag from your tired, over stretched lips. He gave you a moment to work your jaw around, easing the tension it held before looping a strand of rope around your neck and pulling taut.

Your head was now locked in an upright position by the rope around your ankles keeping you exactly how he wanted.   

“You fucked up big time… but I’ll just take it out on these pretty little holes.” You whimpered pitiably as his fingers dove between your lips causing you to sputter and cough. His free hand pulled out his girthy cock and tapped it over your tear-stained cheeks.

The powerful sensation between your legs was making you squeal and shimmy your body, unsure if you were trying to get away or move closer to the wicked piece of plastic.

“Look at you making such a mess.” He grinned wickedly as he lined up his cock to your swollen, spit soaked lips. “These are my fuck holes. Isn’t that right?”

You instinctively nod, cutting off your air with the rope as it pulled on your ankles. Your eyes bug fearfully as your breathing diminishes quickly. Steve loosens the tension with his fingers, sliding between the rope, “Gotta be careful, Sweetheart. I’m the only one who decides when you breathe and when you don’t.” He says with a sly grin.

Suddenly, his cock slides past your lips with a swift punch to your tonsils and it makes you heave.

“Shhh, you’ve taken my cock like this many times, don’t be so dramatic.”

His hips shove forward, grunting with every pass over your tongue as he slots his hands behind your head and literally skull fucks you. There was no time to breathe, his thrusts were so fast and steady you only got air when he allowed it.

Spit and precum fell from your lips, traveling down your neck and gracing your bosom as his balls slapped against your sticky chin. Steve looked like a lewdly pantied watercolor as you shed tears freely while he had his way with your mouth.

He pushed on your ankles, forcing the rope to tighten around the sensitive column of your neck, muffling, frantic moans vibrated his cock as you struggled in your binds like a wild bird caught in a net.

“I love it when you get desperate, makes my cock so fucking hard.” He growled, releasing his grip on your ankles and sliding free from your lips.

You suck in panicky breaths before his bulbous crown is kissing your lips once more. The rope eats into your skin with every needy thrust, pushing you closer to the edge as the vibrations from the wand make your core spasm.  

“Can’t believe you haven’t come yet. You must be learning, Doll.” He teased, leaning over your frame and grabbing the wand, “But right now, you’re gonna come.”

Spit landed on your plump cheeks, dripping down to your puckered hole, “Gonna have you screamin’ around my cock. Hell, maybe I’ll even make you pass out. I’ve always wanted to try that.”

There was no time to consider his threat as a digit swirled around your rim before pushing past the tight muscle. His cock rumbled from your hearty moans as he fingered your ass, double penetrating you brazenly.

Everything was too much and not enough. He brought you to the edge so quickly as he dragged his finger over your walls and invaded your taste buds with his musk.

“There’s nowhere to go, Sweetheart. I want you to come, so you’re gonna come.” He ordered before shoving his length into your throat and cutting off your air. Your body shook in the confines when he added a second finger, spreading you open obscenely.

The twisting in your belly goes taut and you scream your blissful release around his thickness. He slides from your lips finally allowing you to breathe as you suck in copious amounts of oxygen and try not to cough them away.

Steve shifts back onto his knees, sliding his fingers from your hole before wrapping them around his spit soaked length, curling with precision as the burning in your lungs tempers.

His face pinches with ecstasy as he jerks his cock over you, ragged grunts fill the room when he comes with a deep growl. Warmth hits your face in abundance; splatters of thick seed coat your skin, sticking to your brow and hairline. 

The spend slowly dries in a rich layer as you hear him shuffle and zip his pants. “Well, you’ve got about another hour and a half to go before dinner.” Steve mentioned in passing, as he glanced at his wrist watch.

Steve didn’t bother to wipe his seed from your face, pleased with how debauched you looked hogtied on the kitchen floor. His sticky spend sealing your eyes shut as you writhed under the forceful vibrations from the wand still strapped to your mound.

He fixed the ball gag back into your mouth, “tsks” at your annoyed whimpers when you pathetically fought him. By the time he opened his laptop and set to work again, you screamed out in euphoria as your second of many orgasms that afternoon consumed you.