#CASH HIT 6K

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

OH MY GOD WE JUST HIT 6K ???? DO YALL WANT ME DEAD GENUINELY ???

but seriously this is literally insane, i cannot thank yall enough for this i might sob im so so happy, thank you for sticking around and reading all my dumb little fics and i FINALLY have something to celebrate a milestone now, GET READY!!!

MUCH MUC LUV I LUV YALL SM

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ HEARTBEAT

tw. pseudocest, noncon, possessiveness, grooming?, age gap, blood, murder, a lot of trauma bonding

wordcount. 6k

a/n. thank yoUUUU rhi for betaing you are my favorite as alwaysssss I love you soooo much ♡♡

okkotsu yuuta x fem!reader

Blood is splattered on the ground of the dirty alley, and there’s another heavy thump when his kick once again lands on the kid’s skull and he moans in pain. He calls him a kid in his head because he’s got that shit-faced little attitude, and now an ugly gap where his front teeth used to sit, but he should be old enough to know better. As a couple passes by the narrow street, he shields things from view a little, before using the long edge of his sheathed sword to push the dumb, bloody face to the side. Because his eyes are starting to look like two overripe tomatoes from the impact, he couches down before the sandy brunet.

“You know what this is about?” Yuuta’s voice is hoarse. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but it’s been a busy week cleaning up your messes. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t mind. If anything, it makes him feel sort of useful. You’re good and kind and don’t get into trouble on purpose — which is why he’s here late at night making sure things get handled. Niisan’s got it, after all. He doesn’t bother to clear his voice. “Hey.”

“Take my cash,” the young man below him now whistles through the missing teeth, teary eyes darting around as he pats his hand all over himself to look for a wallet.

Yuuta scoffs. “I don’t want your money. If I did, you think I’d waste my time beating your face in like you had it coming?” The anxious, almost nervous lilt to his own voice doesn’t escape him. If you could see him now, you’d probably say that he was enjoying this too much - and while he is, the idea of this getting back to you doesn’t escape his mind. It won’t though, logically speaking. The kid probably wouldn’t be able to see straight for a couple hours, and you will never find out. “I want to know why you’re hanging around Rika’s kid sister.”

“Kid? W- I don’t know any Rika!” He yelps when he tries to lift his head and gets the handle of the weapon hit hard onto the bridge of his nose again, adding more blood to the mess that’s running all over the bottom of his face. Yuuta really can’t see it, lifting his top lip in slight disgust. Handsome, where? Just as much as this boy isn’t really a kid anymore, neither are you. But you’re younger, and deserving of protection — is it really so bad he wants to imagine you as his baby sister for a bit longer before you start trying to escape from under his wings?

Not that you’re going to go anywhere.

“I don’t know a Rika,” the blond whines again now, hiding his face into his hands to drool and hiccup against the cold floor.

“Orimoto Rika, has a kid sister.” Yuuta bites back, patience running really thin.

“O-I- I kn- oh, we’re in the same uni prep class!” He gets up to close his eyes and focus all his attention on not just kicking against his skull until the answers fall out. He knows that, how else would he even know to ask? The head damage takes it a few seconds to make the guy continue, sniffling. “We’re friends- or- my friend knew her. I liked her so we hung out a few times.” Yuuta’s hand is cold around the worn handle.

He takes a slow breath, watches the cloud of air as he lets it out. The promise ring glints in the light of the street, and it’s all familiarity and instinct that makes him brush his thumb over it. “Were you serious with her? Or did you tell her whatever so you could fuck her? Hm? Did you fuck my little sister?” The brunet snivels and whines under him when his foot lands back right before his face, demanding attention.

“I won’t talk to her anymore, I swear! I swear I w-won’t even - it’ll be like I never existed. Please.” The pitiful whining he’s doing, groveling like a dog below him - sort of reminds him of a younger him. Someone who didn’t have a purpose yet, and was scared of everything for it. The heavy weight of the ring clings to his hand when he lifts it to unsheath the katana, seeming to wrap a comforting palm around his own. If he could, he'd tangle fingers with her.

“P-please, let me go home! I didn’t do- I wouldn’t touch your s-sister, I didn’t know.”

“I hate guys who aren’t serious with her.” He clicks his tongue, and has to spit out the nasty taste that this entire situation leaves on his tongue. The weight of the sword is barely an inconvenience when both hands wrap around the handle properly. He’s doing this for Rika and him. Always. “She deserves so much better.” A mean flash of possession crosses his thoughts - how no one except him will ever be good enough. But he pushes it back, because that has nothing to do with why he’s doing this. Nothing.

+

“Yuuta~” Her voice haunts when he closes his eyes.

He’s in the sandpit of the Children’s hospital, rocking back and forth softly on the edge of it as he waits. The sun makes the sand nice and toasty, it warms his feet when he plants them down. “Yuuta!” It’s instinctive, when he looks up at the familiar voice. Rika’s hair travels in a perfect arc behind her when she runs to make it catch the light like a halo. Pretty blue dress making the shine of her hair even brighter, cheeks rosy, and her eyes glittering diamonds when they find his and she crashes down next to him. Her scraped knee is proof that it’s too hard, but he can’t help but smile when her cheek touches his arm on the landing.

Something hits the floor with a loud thump.

Yuuta turns over his shoulder to watch. There’s a smaller child that’s chin down on the earth behind them two, thick crocodile tears threatening to spill when Rika gasps. “Rika neechan~ Wait.” You pout, straightening up quicker than you should to reach your hands out to her. The girl hurries over to dust your cheeks off and drag you along behind her. It’s such a nice day out, Yuuta’s sweater is just thick enough to make his entire body warm. He stares at your face a little too long, before glancing between you two.

You’re still rounder than she is, but it’s undeniably eerie. “Your sister?” He asks softly, and Rika grins wide. She gently maneuvers you by the hand to sit next to her, then pulls you into a hug.

Her lips are pretty pink when she licks them. “This is Yuuta. Say ‘hi Yuuta’.” You parrot your sister obediently, as she waves your hand around at him. “Me and Yuuta are going to get married. So you should be very nice to him, okay?” Her sweet cheeks are the exact same as yours, long lashes and big, knowing eyes that always have him staring. You just look absentmindedly at the grass when Rika holds you into her side, but nod.

He smiles softly when your big eyes find his again. And Rika giggles. “And she’s gonna be your sister one day, so you gotta protect her well. We’re gonna be one happy family, promise?” She extends her arm to hold out a pinky finger at him. “That’s what I want.”

+

His fingers are pressing indents into your arm. It’s unusual. Yuuta’s always gentle, he’s soft and cares, but today his hand is screwed almost protectively tight around your upper arm, and you can’t say that you hate the feeling. Maybe childishly, you want him to squeeze even harder - so you’ll have no reason to get out.

You don’t come here a lot. Not since the accident tore open the painful scarred memory of it, but even before then, it wasn’t exactly your favorite place. It’s at Yuuta’s gentle prompting that you even managed to dress, and now walk however slowly between the low stone walls. The rain taps impatiently on the umbrella above, as the older boy casts you a careful glance. Then slowly bends to sit on his ankles, and grabs your hand ever so softly, meeting your eyes. His hands, though big enough to dwarf yours now, are almost velvety when they clasp around yours. It feels like he’s exponentially grown, while you’ve stayed pretty much the same.

Partly the illness. Mostly the age.

“Think you can go on?” he softly asks, kind eyes sympathetically regarding you. Like he’s making a judgment call about whether to turn back after all - debating the long walk back to the hospital. “I’ll be right here with you.”

“You’ve already gone before, haven’t you?” Your voice sounds a bit accusatory, a bit pouty too. Can’t be helped. Yuuta could be a living saint and you’d still find it hard. He clearly doesn’t take it to heart, because he smiles. His one hand then moves up to ruffle your hair.

“It’s still hard for me too, though,” his lips quirk up in an almost smile, but you can tell he doesn’t mean it. It’s sort of comforting to know that even someone like him feels it. Of course he would. Your neesan was family, but Yuuta probably knew her better than you ever could. He was beside her when she got out the two times, and was waiting when she had to get re-admitted. He was there when she got hit— there’s a comforting brush of your cheek when he stands back up and the umbrella gets so much higher. Yuuta blinks. “Come. I think you can do it.”

Your chubby cheeks flood with warmth, as you take his fingers into your hands with a nod. “Okay.”

It’s like this that you wind up at the headstone, stepping through dredged earth that’s been walked on too much. It seems to cling to the bottoms of your shoes with intent - you squeeze Yuuta nii’s hand tighter at the sight of the family grave. It now holds three of your kin in a warm embrace under the several bouquets of wilting flowers, and however morbidly, you think that maybe you’ll be joining soon. You’re young, but it’s not lost on you when the nurses send each other pitying looks.

“Is this where neesan’s buried?” Your voice sounds pinched and small, and sort of pathetic. You imagine Yuuta nii cried when he came to the funeral, but he wouldn’t have whined. You’re whining. You don’t want Yuuta to get fed up with you. Not when he’s the last semblance of ‘family’ you have left. After a while of staring blankly at the stone, he nods, and turns over his shoulder to smile at you again, pulling you a little closer to him. Your arms loop around his waist, staring down at the pretty whites that shake under the rain. “Is this where I’ll be buried when I die?”

He freezes. You feel bad about the double take he does when his spine goes more straight, rigid limbs dropping by his side as a deep, uncomfortable breath makes its way out. Your hands wring together instead.

However long it takes for him to unlock his limbs is however long you breathe through your tears as they well up stubbornly along your lash line, before your head is pulled to his ribs into an embrace. He swallows back emotion himself. “That’s not- I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise. I promise.”

“I’m sick-”

“No.” His eyes glint with something silvery when he takes your face between both hands and lets your childishness wash over him, clenching his jaw. “What happened to Rika was an accident- I- I couldn’t do anything then. But nothing’s going to happen to you as long as I’m here. I need- you to believe me.”

You don’t flinch when he uses your cheek to turn your face his way, but the urge still sits. His eyes study your face too intently, like he’s looking for something he can’t quite find. “I promised that I’d be a niichan that protects you.”

Rain splatters into a million glistening flecks as it meets the headstone.

“Okay,” you say.

It isn’t lost on you that his jaw is set too tight as he drags you back by the hand towards his bike, fist clenched around the umbrella. He breathes a tiny, ‘Later, Rika’ before turning on his heel. You don’t manage the same. Your voice gets stuck in your throat, even when he helps you up onto the bike rack in the back, pulling your face into his chest too tight- squeezes you to mold against him. He smells nice for a teen boy. The kiss he leaves on your crown is gentle, and leaves a soft warmth on your skin — You doubt it is really meant for you.

+

The door pushes open as you’re putting clips into your bangs, tongue trapped between your teeth. You cast Yuuta a glance through the mirror when he lingers at the door, and try to smile. “I’m almost ready.” You’re no longer too keen on fighting, the longer the silent treatment drags on. After a while of watching you with his arms crossed over his chest — he walks over to your bed to plop himself down and lets himself fall backward.

“I’m sorry,” the noiret sighs at nothing in particular, as you put on a necklace and after debating for a second, some perfume. The noise makes Yuuta look, studying you when you turn. It’s easy to forget sometimes that Yuuta didn’t have to stay with you, and he sure as hell didn’t have to give up a lot of his youth to take care of you like he does. Like your other family refuses to do when all the cards are on the table. He catches your stare. “You know I love you. I… worry when you’re not right here where I can see you. We stick together.”

“I know.” Your smile only barely makes your lips move, but you do mean it. You just wish realizations like this didn’t always have to come at the cost of fighting. “For what it’s worth, I’ll probably always forgive you.” You try to laugh, and brush your hair out of your eyes a final time before grabbing your bag. “I’m only going to be out for a few hours, max.”

Yuuta frowns when he sits up. His dark hair is brushed out of his face, damp and soft from the shower. “You’re still going?”

You blank. “Yeah, Himari and Shota are waiting for me. We’re going to see a movie.” He only has to let his eyes travel over your body and clothing once, for you to read what he’s thinking. You yank the edge of your skirt a bit lower, and pull your shoulders up. “What, what?! I can’t go out looking like this? It’s basically the same length as my uniform, what’s wrong with that?!”

“I didn’t say anything,” he breathes back, empty eyes regarding you with a static sort of- indifference, you guess.

“You don’t have to, niichan! God!” You turn to walk out the room, but Yuuta grabs your wrist when you pass by the bed. Sat down like he is, eyes tracing you like a lion- Yuuta no longer looks like the boy that used to draw stars on the ceiling of your hospital room for your amusement. Your cheeks heat when he basically glares straight at you for your attitude, and mulls the answer around in his mouth. Your anger subsides as you take a breath. This is the guy who makes you fresh apple juice in the morning, and calls you up between shifts. Because he cares. He just cares.

“Can I please go, Yuuta nii?”

After a few seconds, he clicks his tongue, staring at the edge of your skirt before tugging at it too, barely hiding a frown you can see dig between his brows. “You know I don’t like that Shota kid?”

Your lips jut out. “Yeah…” It’s getting awfully close to time to leave. You take a step back just to get his hands away from you. It’s distracting, and this is your brother you’re dealing with. “But he’s really nice. He started high school already but he used to be in my class the last three years, so… so you don’t have to worry. He knows I can’t do everything because I’m sick and he says—”

“Yeah, I’m sure he says everything you want to hear… You’re smarter than this. You don’t actually believe that.”

“He’s my friend.” A friend that makes your heart beat a bit faster when he smiles at you, but what’s it to him? “He doesn’t lie.”

Yuuta grimaces when you stare him down. “Don’t tell me about teenage boys, I used to be one.” He bristles before sitting up straighter, and though he’s technically below you, you still feel his energy tower as those big, dark eyes stay on your face. “Are you really ‘going to see a movie’? Or are you just going to sit in a boy’s room all night while I’m worried sick-”

You’re about ready to walk out, but his fingers are still looped around your wrist. “We are going to the movies! Himari and I! Just because a boy is there- ugh! Niichan, don’t make it weird!” The heat burns higher on your cheeks when you ball your fists, ignoring the pressure behind your eyes. This is so embarrassing. “I want to go.”

It’s quiet for much too long, making goosebumps appear all over your exposed skin. Then he breathes. “Come here.” His voice has more of an edge than it used to. You used to like the way your name fell from his lips. You’re not so sure you do anymore. Instead of storming out and forgetting all about him, you stare back at the sharpness in his eyes. When he pats his lap with familiarity, you jerk a brow. But you sit. His breath brushes along your neck too softly where he’s seated. It tickles on the way down.

It almost feels like… like he could wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until you stopped struggling.

Yuuta nii wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

Fingers come to your necklace, undoing it, and it drops into your lap on the pretty, blue skirt. It’s suddenly much too cold in the room, and you resist the urge to wrap your arms around yourself. It’s fine. You’re fine. Yuuta is family.

Still the untouched skin of your neck feels too exposed.

If he notices your rigid posture, he doesn’t bother fixing it. Just reaches, then pushes your head forward. The childishly familiar pink, bedazzled heart he holds up instead glints, swaying from where you left it on your side table for the night. “You get back at 9,” his lower voice sounds, “or else I’m driving out to wherever you are and dragging you back to my car.” When you don’t say anything in response, he brushes away your hair from your shoulders.

“Yuuta nii,” you start, clamming up when he drapes the dainty thing around your throat and does the closure for you. “I wasn’t going to wear that one tonight.” You don’t always want to wear whatever Rika left behind until infinity.

“I think you will,” he breathes back, and kisses your exposed shoulder. It’s less sweet, more something to punctuate his statement. If he wasn’t so familiar and soft, you’d immediately fight against the way his strong arms wind around your waist to anchor you in his lap. “Just wear it.” His hands stay against your skin, long after he’s finished. Too long, and after seconds of sitting in the tense silence, you jerk up off his lap to grab your discarded bag from the floor. The other necklace drops to the carpet somewhere, but you don’t care.

“Fine,” you bring out tightly, before giving him a last look. Your bottom lip trembles a slight bit, so you suck it into your mouth to make it stop. And tears sting at the corners despite yourself. “Later, then.”

“Tell Himari that niichan says hello. It’s been so long since she’s been here.” He gets up from your bed too, and you resist the urge to rush out the room before him when he steps around you. You can’t fight the feeling that somehow… you were just caught in your lie. Your phone beeps in your bag, as Yuuta nii disappears around the corner. Shota, probably.

+

Blood. The door creaks, swings against the wind.

Dead.

You hope he’s dead. Blood pools at the center of the showers, sinks down the drain too slowly. It sticks to the pretty porcelain tiles of the old school locker room before the water gurgles it down.

They’re dead.

You don’t have to question it before it’s confirmed. Before the heavy, silver cleaver is lodged into the side of the already ruined skull. All of them. All of the boys of the soccer team seem to be present, though you don’t want to try and count. Counting makes it real. This shouldn’t be. The heavy thump makes way for a gross squelch when he yanks the metal out, and keeps the body down with his foot.

The spatters on his face are still wet. You can’t help the way your voice comes out when you breathe in deep and try to keep the tears from spilling over. The cleaver’s red and sticky and so is his hand, up to his forearm, his forehead from wiping his hair away. All of it, ruined.

“Y-yuuta nii?”

The metal door of the locker slams closed with the wind and hits you in the back, sending you skittering forward a few steps before you force the air out of your lungs with a stuttered pant.

With a soft smile, he turns over his shoulder. “Shhh.” The blood’s crusted under his nails when he presses a finger to his lips, then waves you closer. “Help niichan out?” His eyes glint over, before his smile goes a little wider, and he whips the blood off the weapon onto the ground. “S’ your fault I had to do this after all. We can clean up together. Hm?”

Your breathing is so shallow that you can feel your heartbeat in between your ears. You aren’t sure why you nod. The guilt tastes bitter on the way down.

+

Rika was dead on impact. She didn’t have a chance, even after she fought so vehemently against what took your mom. You know that. Even if she didn’t get struck by misfortune then, she might’ve not lived past her teens.

Yuuta doesn’t seem to know. He also doesn't seem to consider the same for you either— letting you toy with the edge of his shirt where you’re curled into him in your too-small bed. The hospital wants you back for another check-up.

It’s true that you’ve already outlived your sister, but that doesn’t mean it’ll last forever. Yuuta nii doesn’t want to hear it. As he brushes your hair with his fingers, you scratch the arm where the IV’s always get attached with an absent minded pout. Until Yuuta notices, pouting down at you. “Are you still feeling dizzy? I can make you some green tea if you’ll let go of me for a few minutes. Lots of honey like you like.” You quickly shake your head.

To him this is final, the worst you’ll ever get, and in reality that’s probably not the case. You don’t tell him though. His deep eyes stay on you a little too long. “What’s wrong?”

Sometimes you wake up and can’t open your eyes past a blurry sliver, your head tight enough to make your skull feel like it’s caving in. Times where you have to clasp your stomach painfully tight to hold yourself together — stumbling in tears into Yuuta’s room. Like you’ll disintegrate in his arms unless you lock him around yourself. This isn’t as bad, but you still feel bad.

Feverish and cold all at once, achy where your stomach goes up and down. You can’t mention the possibility of having to go back into urgent care without aniiki spiraling, so you keep your mouth shut. “I don’t like green tea,” you guiltily admit instead, and stare up at him when he holds a few knuckles to your head, studying you.

His expression scrutinizes you a little tighter, before he pets over your crown. He presses a soft kiss onto your lips. It’s Rika that loved it, you want to say, but for some reason you can’t make the words come out. He sighs, slightly put out, but then nods. “If you’re feeling better later, maybe you can help Yuuta nii with the curry. Okay?”

“Mhm,” you smile up at him, and you can see how the muscles in his jaw unclench.

His soft hands cup your face intently, staring down at you too intently. It starts sweet, until the feeling of his breath dust over your face and you watch as he flicks his eyes all over you. “You look so much like her. I can tell now that you’re getting older though,” his thumb smoothes over your soft cheek. “We should see if there’s something in Rika’s stuff you can still wear.”

“Won’t be able to fit it anymore, niichan.” Your voice comes out apologetic, though you don’t know why.

“Hm. You might be right.” His look goes more distant before he pulls you closer. Legs tangled, arms loosely looped around you. “You’re still smaller than me though. Luckily.” He takes a deep breath, before nuzzling his nose into your crown to breathe long and deep. His warm hands trail over yours before squeezing. “I love you, you know that? Always will.”

You stare at the wall of mementos past Yuuta’s shoulder. Suffocatingly cram packed. Her pictures. Her music poster. Her pre-teen bottle of perfume you wear only on special occasions. Your hands stop toying with the edge of his shirt to brush instead along his forearm until you meet something that isn’t skin. Yuuta’s quiet, but his breathing is slightly pinched— you don’t mean to.

You glance between you two to the plastic your finger hooks onto. The bracelet she made in the hospital care ward for Yuuta that he still wears despite the fact that the color has long peeled off of the cheap beads. “You loved neesan, right?” Your lashes almost brush when you look back at him, watch him trap his tongue between his teeth for a moment as pink sits on his cheeks. His hand wraps around yours to tangle fingers.

“I… did.”

He swallows. “She made the hospital seem a little less lonely.” The mementos seem to stare at you from across the room as he speaks, and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach refuses to fade. If anything, it gets more painful. Tighter. “We’re going to be together forever though. And I,” he squeezes your hand, voice fading to barely a whisper, “I love you. Love you so much.”

There's a cold slid over your fingers when he moves. You allow him to slip off the band, gently, and almost as if he wants to give it to you without you noticing, his fingers slide the cursed thing onto your hand instead. His smile is gentle, makes those dark eyes look a little less pressing. “When you’re cleared from going back to the hospital, we can find me a matching one. We still have to get married, right?”

The room feels cold.

“... Okay.”

+

“Let’s kiss?”

It’s too late to be early when the shared bed gets crowded over on your side. “St- I’m going to sleep, Yuuta nii. Stop.” You don’t open your eyes to the touch, definitely not to the gentle brush of his fingers over your lips when he gets too close. Always too close- it’s suffocating. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“Don’t be like that.” He sounds happy. He always sounds like that when it has to do with you, and it doesn’t take long for your eyes to flutter open when the thumb instead pushes into your mouth. “If we get married, this will be normal. Don’t pull back.” He pushes onto your tongue to make you hold it in your mouth all heavy and tasting of him, then leans in to push his forehead to yours. Deep, possessive eyes pinning you in place.

“You don’t want to?” It almost sounds mocking. You know you brought this on yourself. You asked to go home early, you asked to invite friends. Maybe this is payback the way big brothers give it. There’s tears that spring up anyway when his other hand slips under your shirt and he squeezes your soft belly. As the spit he wipes on your lips gets kissed away by an impatient sigh. “I’ve wanted to for such a long time. You wouldn’t ask me to wait more.”

“Yuuta nii. We’re siblings, aren’t we?” The ring glitters. Your hand is clenched into the front of his shirt as warm hands grab down your body— hands you love. Hands you trusted.

“Of course we are. That’s why I’m doing this, silly girl.” Hands that push your underwear down your round hips despite you fighting to keep them up. He giggles when you burn with embarrassment, before pressing kisses to your temple. “I love you. I love you, I love you. Who better to kiss you than big brother?” You shake your head, try to push- he doesn’t budge. Just keeps your body in place under his with his weight.

“G-get off of me, Yuuta! Stop being so weird!” You cry, pushing until he grabs your wrist and forces it down beside your head. He’s still smiling though, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like you’re still a child acting out. It’s that which makes you squirm more, and the glare digs into your forehead when he gets on top of you. “Stop~ I don’t want to kiss.”

Instead he laces his fingers with your ring hand, as the other patiently flutters down to rub over your pussy. You don’t want to. You don’t. Yuuta just smiles when he tilts his head to regard you, and squeezes your fingers a little tighter. “Rika-chan asked me to take care of you. Don’t get so mad.”

+

It’s getting cooler and cooler and cooler the longer he stands. Pressed in the corner of the sterile, greenish blue atmosphere with white sheets draped over your body. He takes a long, deep breath until the nurse finishes up with the checks, taking freshly drawn blood away in a vial. “You’re the guardian?”

The red stands out against your complexion as your restless sleep drifts deeper— he shifts in his seat to lace his hands together. “Her big brother, yes.”

She doesn’t bother to pretend to care when tapping her clipboard, gives a distracted smile. “The doctor will be here within the next hour, okay? Please wait here until then.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Yuuta’s quick not to let the smile quirk up onto his mouth when she’s already walking out before he finishes. As soon as the door falls into lock he gets up from the uncomfortable chair to kneel by your bedside and grasp your hand.

Soft. Small.

He hates to admit that he could spend hours here by your side; but the truth is the truth. He could, and he has. And he will, until it is no longer necessary.

Yuuta kisses your hand with a gentle smile, feeling your heartbeat thump under his lips. You mumble, he swears he can hear his name. “I’m here. Niichan’s here.” He smiles a little more when the soft fingers wrap back around his hand and he watches your expression relax even in your sleep. He can’t help it, the soft thumping against his cheek makes his entire body warm.

You’re so alive, and so close- every cell in his body yearns to be beside you. He kisses the area between your thumb and pointer in an attempt to soothe the feeling of biting down entirely. Instead he clasps your hand with two of his before standing up. “You would have loved Rika.” His mouth tingles. “She would’ve hated you- but you would have loved her. I think she would have been a bit jealous though.”

He dips to press a soft kiss onto your lips, humming softly when your warm breath dusts over his cheeks. “You’re so cute.” A few years ago, you would’ve had visitors waiting for you. “I know you were looking forward to graduation, but I’m still here for you.” He places his hands on both sides of your face to hover over you instead of pulling back, can’t keep himself from it.

“You don’t want to leave your niichan, right?” It’s not your fault that everyone else wants you to move on. He’ll take you just as you are. He has to force himself to pull back before he kisses you again, so you don’t wake just yet. You will. And you’ll cry into his chest about missing your precious graduation, and about being stuck here again, just when you were getting better. He never much wanted you in uni anyway.

From his space sat on the edge of your bed, he can easily see how the blanket squirms. How the motion curls and wiggles until he easily pulls the sheet down your chest, then your stomach.

Two beady eyes stare up at him as he brings his face a little closer. The fly head is still clinging to your stomach, hasn’t moved from where he left it. By now it’s become an accessory every few months. It’s not strong enough to kill you— just barely enough to keep you believing you’re still sick, and that’s all he really needs. You need his care, need him. He resists the urge to pick the thing up at least until he can take you back home.

Instead he nudges it up a little higher, so he can place his palm onto your belly to stroke gentle circles in its place, feeling the heat through the gown. He can feel your heart bounce all the way down your body, it’s so cute. When the little fodder curse crawls onto your chest, lids shooting open as you gasp. “Yuuta nii-” Your eyes are lined red, and as soon as they find him you start bawling.

More than happy to let him hike you up from the bed and into his arms, where you bury your face into his neck. Your hiccups are so cute. It’s easy to kiss them quiet when you don’t have enough breath to ask him to stop. He’s sure this time he could slip his tongue into your mouth and you wouldn’t say a thing.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2024. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[subwaysurf45]

The Cafe

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Words: 6k

Warnings: nothing really (except for the fact that I haven't posted in like a year lmao), alcohol, self-doubt, etc...

A/N: don't get used to this...just an idea I managed to finish.

The first few times you were seen in the campus cafe it was when you were by yourself. You must have been completely unaware of the constant nail biting or when your neck would let your head fall forward in discouragement, all the signs that you were stressed flew under your radar. 

As Bucky Barnes stood behind the cash he looked over his customers should to see your head fall forward once again, the third time since his shift started fifteen minutes ago…not that he was counting. He knew it was a problem when the customer he was serving looked over their shoulder, not understanding what Bucky was looking at. 

He’d watch you go from sitting completely still to your finger flying across the keyboard with a new idea, as if you were rushing to write it down before the idea slipped through your fingers. When you’d hit your groove, not looking away to grab your coffee mug provided by the cafe, Bucky took it as a sign to tone down the stairs to see if you were okay. 

With your headphones on and music blasting the hairs on the back of your neck didn’t stand up like they normally do when someone was looking at you, truthfully, you had caught the barista looking a few times but you had no idea that wasn’t even the half of it. 

Bucky was truly hypnotized by you, and he had no reason to be. Maybe it was the insane work ethic that blew him away, always by yourself with headphones on your laptop open. Maybe it was the way in which you talked to service workers, always adding a please and thank you no matter the service you got. It didn’t help that you were beautiful in his eyes, he could stare at you for hours, taking in your attributes as if he was being tested on it. 

His stomach always twisted when he saw you pack up after a few hours. Part of him wanted to go up and talk to you, maybe offer another cup of coffee to keep you there for longer. But he knew that it was selfish, and creepy. He’d always dreamed of following you out of the cafe and asking you out, or even for your name…probably the name would be the first question. He felt like he knew you before ever really conversing with you, but the moment you left and vanished from view out of the windows he was reminded time and time again he did nothing, just staring and holding back. 

********

“Welcome to another lecture everyone,” Dr. Fury spoke from the front of the room, you were already set up with your notes, hands hovering over the keyboard due to the speed at which he talked. He was an amazing professor, you’d tell people, but he couldn't help how fast he talked when he was in the middle of lecturing. 

“I thought you were going to skip,” you whispered to Wanda as she sat down next to you, rushing to pull out her notes. It was only one minute past the class start time and yet Dr. Fury was beginning his lecture, “why can’t he talk about his weekend for like two seconds,” Wanda whispered as she opened up her laptop to a black screen that stayed that way.

All you could do was laugh before taking out your charger, “there you go.” 

Wanda just looked at you with an apologetic smile, “you are a lifesaver, this and the notes you let me borrow,” she thought for a moment, “let's get coffee, let me buy you a coffee as a moment to thank you for our friendship.” 

You giggled quietly to yourself as your fingers began to type, “I’ll never say no to a coffee, but you don’t need to always pay me back, you know I have your back.” 

“I know,” Wanda quickly responded to not annoy the students surrounding you, “but just let me, okay?”

All you could do was nod with a smile on your face, a small warmth bloomed in your chest as you took a moment to reflect. You had a good friend with you, one that you’d want to keep for a while; especially if she likes to buy you coffee. 

When the class finished you stayed back to ask Dr.Fury a question about a topic that didn’t make sense in the lecture, Wanda was going to meet you at the cafe after her meeting with her biology professor. Dr. Cho held weekly tutoring sessions that Wanda found extremely helpful. 

Before you could fully make it out of the lecture hall you felt a tap on your shoulder, when you turned around a semi-familiar face greeted you. Something was off about the individual but you knew you knew them. Even though you didn’t really remember the boy, you smile wide. 

“Hey,” he said quickly, “I love your sweater, did you see them live?” 

Your eyes lit up, “yes I did and thank you,” without thinking you grew coy, “it was like a religious experience, I love live music,” you managed to pull a giggle from him. “I know this sounds so rude but I know you but I don’t at the same time…” you trailed off with a squint. 

“I work at the cafe?” it was a question, “I also have a class in here right now so maybe-”

“James, I didn't even recognize you without the hairnet and apron oh my god how stupid of me!” Your face grows hot, your favourite barista compliments your sweater and you forget who he is. “I am so sorry.” 

“No, don’t be sorry,” he quickly waved his hand, “I know, the uniform becomes a part of you at some point,” his eyes lit up when you giggled. 

“I’m heading there now to get coffee with a friend, when do you work next?” you could see in his face for a moment that he was surprised at the question, as if he didn’t fully believe youd care enough and actually go in to see him. 

“I work tomorrow, I have a lab due tonight so that’s going to take the top spot on the to-do list,” he bashfully smiled. 

“Okay,” you nodded, “then I’ll see you tomorrow, James,” your face grew warm again as you back away, “have a good class.” 

“You too,” James said before biting his lip, you just had your class, idiot.

But you just giggled and left. Didn’t point and laugh that he couldn’t flirt, didn’t care to point out his heavy blush the entire time he spoke to you, didn’t make fun of him when he let his true thoughts show on his face. 

Bucky sat down at a seat, he placed his hands on his face to feel a radioactive heat still burning hot. He knew he’d be completely out of it the entire class, how could he focus on molecular genetics when all he could think of was the girl he was hypnotized by talking to him; nevermind asking about when his next shift was. 

“Why are you sunburnt?” Sam asked the moment he sat down, Steve joining Bucky on the other side. 

“Shut up,” Bucky rolled his eyes. 

Sam whipped his head to look over, “oh that’s not a sunburn, that’s a blush!” Sam poked his shoulder to be a nuisance, “I forget how red you guys get it’s hilarious,” Sam laughed to himself, “who got you that flustered?” 

“Ended up talking to the girl from the cafe,” Bucky muttered, the seats around him were filling up and the last thing he wanted was to have a group therapy session with everyone in his class about the girl who finally talked to him. “She’s as sweet as I thought.” 

“Oh you’re a goner,” Steve shook his head, “invite her to the house party, maybe she has a friend she can bring to make it less obvious, you guys can talk there.” 

“It’s too soon,” Bucky shook his head, “I’m not doing that.”

“I think you should, even if she says no at least she actually knows you want to see her again, maybe get to know her.” Sam dropped the joking tone and got as serious as Steve, the two of them could see how much he liked that girl. “What did she say to you?”

“I just complimented her sweater, I know the band and I know they were just on tour, she-...” his words got caught in his throat when he realized inviting her to the party wasn’t a stretch, “she asked when I was working next…”

Sam facepalm, “because she wants to see you again…” The mocking tone came back, James honestly preferred the devil-angel situation with Steve and Sam instead of them both getting serious on Bucky. “But no of course, it’s too soon.” 

The class started and Bucky barely took any notes, he was thinking of you at the cafe with your friend. His mind wandered to all the terrible outcomes of you going to the party, any outcome other than him getting with you - or even speaking to you. Both Sam and Steve knew Bucky was not looking for another notch in his belt, being raised by a single mom gave him a unique view of women; including the mommy issues. 

********

Bucy Barnes had never made so many coffee’s wrong in one shift. Everytime the bell rang on the door  to signal a new customer, he’d look up to see who it was and somehow mess up a pour or leave the milk to steam a little too long. He’d never admit to anyone how high he got his hopes up, he’d think how pathetic he was and miss his pour, landing hot coffee onto the back of his hand. 

His shifts were long and he felt like you knew that as well, there would be times during midterm season where you’d out-last him at a table while he worked his shift. Part of him always wanted to stay back, not knowing how long you stayed; he wouldn’t be surprised if you had walked yourself home in the dark more than once. 

Bucky was in the middle of an order when the ball rang again, his eyes shifted slightly when asking for the customer's name - his stomach dropped; you actually showed up. Not that he would ever think you wouldn’t show up but the anticipation was over. 

Seeing that he was busy you waved with a big smile, raising both eyebrows as you found a table. Once he finished his order and began working on the coffee he took his time watching you, seeing how you set everything up before getting your coffee. 

“Totally didn’t expect to see you here,” you spoke softly as you walked up to the counter, “how’s the shift been?” 

Bucky smiled, “pretty good,” while he was thinking of every time he messed up thinking of you, “pretty slow as well which is always nice.” 

You giggled, “I’m glad to hear, can I just get my usual, please?” you pulled out your wallet. 

“Of course,” Bucky punched it in, a simple order that was always the same. “Anything else?” 

“No, that’s okay, thank you!” you smiled, ready to pay.

This is your moment, do something. 

“Come on, let me get you something to eat, on the house?” he pointed to the small treats they also sold beside him, definitely not as popular as their drinks but he knew you’d be here for a while, who wouldn’t want a little treat? 

He could see you grow coy again, tucking your chin into your neck like you did yesterday when he complimented your sweater. It was as if you didn’t experience this often, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. It occurred to him at that moment that you might be as nervous as him, maybe guys being interested wasn’t as often as he thought, especially someone as beautiful as you. 

“What have I done to deserve that?” your voice has grown so quiet. 

“For starters, you’ve always been extremely polite whenever you order, you’d be surprised how many people think we’re robots,” hearing the giggle he pulled from you made his heart soar, “and because you deserve it, you’ve been studying here forever and you deserve a little recognition, a little something - I don't know…” Maybe he gave too much away, maybe you were thinking to yourself how he knew how often you studied, maybe you weren’t as interested in him than he thought. 

“Chocolate chip muffin, please,” you beamed and all the worries washed away, “that is so kind, James, you just made my day.” 

Before he could say anything, even correct you to use his nickname, the door blasted open. In that moment all the confidence he accumulated dissolved right between his fingers. All he could think was oh no as he saw Steve and Sam burst through the door. To think he was actually about to ask you to come to the house party, to think he actually made progress with you, all torn up in one moment.

“Bucky!” Sam shouted. 

Bucky stood still as you looked over your shoulder to see the two men attempt to squeeze through the single door at the exact same time. He could see your brows pulled tightly together, the way you were so thrown off by the loud call in a semi-full and semi-silent cafe. 

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered before the two men managed to approach the cash. 

All you did was smile at James, realizing whatever condolence you offered would be heard by the two guys approaching. You quickly paid and stepped to the side, thinking they just wanted to order next. 

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said, “how’s the shift?” 

“So great,” Bucky deadpanned as he made your coffee, looking over to see you trying to cover a smirk. 

When he placed your coffee down you reached out quickly, managing to brush your hand against his. “The muffin?” you whispered, not wanting to further embarrass him in front of what you assumed were his friends. “Thank you again, that was really sweet,” you said as you picked up the plate. 

“She got a free muffin?” Sam whined, “you never let me get anything for free.” 

You stood there giggling, “maybe don’t almost break down the door when you walk in and see people studying,” you shrugged, “just a thought.” 

Not wanting to entertain any longer, you walked away, back to your little spot in the corner. Once your headphones were on you began to work, toggling back between tabs as you worked on your paper. The one thing you learned about James when you worked here was that he was a very focused guy, rarely ever did you see him standing around or slacking off. There was always something going on behind the counter, he was always busy. 

As you worked you could see the two men who barged in slowly shrink into themselves, you could tell James wasn’t very happy, which is a first. Part of you had to agree, it was a very cute moment. Being told you’re a memorable customer that has an impact took you out of your normal routine. Most days were the same, it would have you thinking late at night what was it all for? 

Moments like that, when you’re gifted with a free muffin by someone who makes you smile almost everyday. It was now retrospectively obvious there was something else under this offering, which was why James was so upset. To say that James was harsh on the eyes would be a blatant lie. He was a very handsome guy but to you he was someone working a job that involved a customer service persona. 

After yesterday, seeing him in his element, you realized that persona wasn’t just so he could pay his rent; he actually enjoyed the moments with you as much as you enjoyed them with him. But it was spoiled in a way, a way you thought was left in high school. 

You didn’t even notice when the two boys left, the bell ringing for another customer that rang right when a song faded out brought your attention up, seeing James smile to the customer walking in. You let yourself pause to think for a while, working through what your next paragraph would cover, but an all too familiar habit began to roll out as you watched James work behind the counter. 

Who the hell is Bucky? 

He was James, that’s what his name tag said. In what world did James logically connect to Bucky, it must have been some inside joke or story you obviously didn’t know. It never occurred to you that he was someone else to others, you had realized how repetitive you have been, how robotic. 

“Hey,” James slid into the chair in front of you, scaring you half to death, “sorry.” 

You slowly slid your hand off your chest, reaching over to music at the same time. “Don’t worry,” you smiled. 

“Sorry about my friends earlier,” he couldn’t look more sincere, “they always do this, like, always.” you just laughed, understanding how annoying this was to him. “So I just wanted to say sorry, I don’t know if they made you uncomfortable or anything.” 

“Not really,” you shook your head, “I’d like to remember the moment right before that instead.” 

This seemed to take him by surprise, “me too,” he spit out, making sure to keep you on the same page, as if this would never happen in his wildest dreams. “Also,” he paused for a moment, “those same,” he sighed, “those same guys are having a house party this weekend and before they crashed in I was going to tell you about it, I don't know if parties are your thing but I thought if you were looking for one…we could maybe, y’know,” his eyes got lost, he was losing confidence, “see each other when I’m not working, as actual people, you know?” His voice was pitched up, his eyes squinting. 

You were nowhere close to a party monster in your mind, most weekends you stayed in, sometimes with Wanda, and just chill. The week ate away at you and left you too tired to even think about getting ready, pregaming, going out, so on and so forth. But you were tired of feeling robotic, this was the time to live it up. 

“I’d love to go out this weekend, I can't remember the last time I was at a house party, honestly.” you looked out the window to think but couldn’t remember the date, just drunk memories that didn’t make sense now. “Do you mind if I invite my friend, I promise she won’t keep me to herself but I think she’d love a party.” 

James quickly agrees, “yeah, of course, of course, no worries, Invite whoever because I know for a fact those two-” he couldn’t find another word, “-idiots want some rager, I don't know.” All he could do was laugh, “so bring whoever.” 

“Since I’m going I need to make sure they let me in, will they kick me out if I ask for James? Who’s Bucky?” you laughed and sipped your coffee, slowly pushing your laptop screen down a bit to show your attention. 

In a moment you saw his face grow red, he tried to cover it with his hands but to no avail. “That would be my nickname, so happy you noticed,” he said sarcastically, “my middle name is Buchanan, so of course my childhood best friend- the blonde one -shortened it and somehow it has stuck all these years.” 

“You don't seem to be happy with it?” your hands clasped under your chin to hold your head up, your eyes squinted as you studied him. 

He tilted his head back and forth, “I mean they’re my buddies so I can see why they would call me by my nickname but y’know, I don’t mind James…” his face grew red again, “especially when it comes to you.” 

It was your turn to grow warm, covering your face as well. “You are such a flirt, first the muffin, now this,” you giggled. 

“First the compliment, really, I had never seen you outside of the cafe before, I wanted to make an impression,” he said after a while, “now I feel like I’m spilling all my secrets,” his eyes met yours quickly, “I just-...” he sighed, “I feel like I can just talk to you, I don't know.”

“I’m glad,” you smiled, “because you can, and I’m very excited to see you this weekend.” 

All he could do was smile to himself, “me too,” he drummed on the table a few times before looking at his watch, “sorry, even though I could keep talking I only had a fifteen minute break,” his thumb jerked over his shoulder, “I gotta get back.” 

“That’s all good, I’d never get my work done,” you grabbed your headphones again, “wait, I need to know how to get there, the party,” you clarified. 

“Right, okay,” James looked over his shoulder, the pen he used to write down expiry dates on the dairy products was clipped to his apron that he still had on. With the clean napkin you grabbed for your muffin he quickly scribbled down something, “I’ll see you Saturday night, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nodded, watching with a smile as you see him get right back into working. You slid the napkin towards you and saw his number, followed by the address of the party. Knowing you, you’d lose the napkin before Saturday and would need to text him.

But he didn’t know that, he just gave you his number.

********

YOU: Wanda do I have news for you

WANDA: TELL ME TELL ME

YOU: you know that really cute barista at the cafe I always go to…

WANDA: SHUT UP

YOU: he gave me a free muffin and an invite to his friends house party this weekend

YOU: and of course I asked if you could come, so do you want to party this weekend? 

WANDA: Is that even a question???

WANDA: also I need to lend you clothes for this, you need to end the night with that man oh my lord

YOU: Alright take it easy, we’ll see how it goes!

WANDA: don't be stupid you two would be so cute together!!

********

Throughout the week you and James had been texting all the time, you even waited after Fury’s class to say hi to him again. It ended up that you took the entire ten-minute grace period between classes to catch up since texting last. Conversations both in person and over the phone were easy, it didn’t feel as complicated as your other situationships and relationships. 

There used to be calls with Wanda, freaking out over what was too risky or what was too boring. Forget the spitballing of the same sentences with minor changes, forget the excruciating nerves that came in the window after pressing send and before hearing back. 

He was an interesting person to get to know, but you didn’t regret it. By Saturday you understood how Bucky could be so fitting, under the customer service persona, in his element, he’s a hilarious guy. It wasn’t always flirty, it wasn’t always serious, it was just a well-balanced conversation that seemed to continue for days. 

As you stood in the bathroom, drink in one hand and mascara in the other, you bounced with Wanda as you both got ready. Friday night you and Wanda booked a study room and grinded your to-do’s that had yet to be completed, and a grind it was. Three red bull’s ,each, later you and Wanda were ready to take the entire day to pamper yourselves. 

With no weights on your shoulders you took an everything shower this morning, feeling clean and well moisturized. You ate what you wanted throughout the day, treating yourself to the first thing that popped into mind. Wanda did the same, sleeping in until noon before beginning her wake-and-bake. 

All of that pampering led to now, you and Wanda mouthing to Beyonce as you placed the finishing touches on your makeup. 

“Another shot!” Wanda poured two shots, both of you taking them back like it was nothing. 

“How long until the uber gets here?” you asked between coughs, trying to fight the vodka burn. You downed the vodka cranberry you made before spraying Wanda’s setting spray. 

“Five minutes, we should head down,” Wanda did one final once-over before turning to you and making jazz hands around your face, “super-model is getting some dick tonight!” Wanda shouted before you could cover her mouth. 

“Shut up!” you laughed and pulled Wanda into a hug, “are you sure you’re gonna be good if I go off with James?” you asked as you both grabbed your final things to shove in your small purses. 

“Oh, of course,” Wanda looked over her shoulder, “but I want to meet those idiots and show them how to introduce a friend,” you couldn’t see her face but you knew she rolled her eyes; she found the story more annoying than you. 

“Relax with that, let’s have an open mind,” you said as the elevator began to descend. Your phone in your hands, you were texting James to let him know the two of you were on your way. 

When the two of you arrived the party was in full effect, before fully entering you sent another text to James, he hadn’t responded to the first one. The ride was short, not expecting the house to be this close. 

JAMES: come down the main hall and into the kitchen, you’ll see me

You grabbed Wanda’s hand and began to march through people standing and talking, couples making out against the wall. There was a basement door before the kitchen, you could hear different music coming from the speakers down there. People were cheering and yelling, most likely playing a drinking game. Pushing through the final group of people you were in the kitchen, and there he was. 

Two closed cans extended to you and Wanda, a tipsy smile gracing his face. “I’m so glad you guys could make it!” he spoke loudly to be heard over the dub-step music. “My buddies are there, I wanted to make sure you got in alright,” he confessed, bringing a blush to his cheeks. Three of you walked over to the two men you recognized. “Sam, Steve…” Bucky coughed, “this is y/n and her friend Wanda. Wanda, this is Sam and Steve,” James pointed to them respectively. 

“Hi boys,” Wanda greeted with a half-smile.

Tipsy and slightly nervous you jutted in, “Wanda is a chem major.”

“We’re all in stem,” Steve lit up, “I’m in engineering, Sam’s in Biology with Bucky.” 

Wanda almost spit out her drink, “who the hell is Bucky?” 

Everyone laughed, in that moment you looked to James to see a wide smile, Wanda was in between you two so a look was all that seemed appropriate. The conversation flowed, primarily about stem activities. For a while you stood silently and listened to their similar stories and experiences. James didn’t talk that much, he seemed to be waiting for something. 

The party had only grown but you all stayed in the same spot, you didn’t realize until a small push how crowded the kitchen became. Wanda jolted forward and James stepped in, moving Wanda to where he was standing so he could push back against the large group of guys obnoxiously jumping and screaming to a song. 

Your circle slowly began to shrink, Sam and Steve stayed pressed against the counter, right by the corner. Wanda snuck in beside Steve, you noticed her flirty look at him. Instinctively you moved to stand more in front of James rather than beside, his hand quickly wrapped around you. 

“This is okay, right?” he asked and brushed his thumb a few times on your waist to signal what he was talking about, you looked up quickly and nodded. The moment he saw your face his brows pulled tight, “are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you spoke over it all, he leaned down to listen, his hair almost in your face. As he bent down a gust of his cologne hit you, it had an undertone of beer. “Just kinda crowded.” 

“Tell me if you want to go to the basement- how about that? They're playing beer pong down there, maybe we can watch?” 

You nodded quickly, looking at Wanda who had moved away from Steve and was talking to another guy. “Wanda,” she looked over her shoulder, “I’m going to the basement, okay?” 

Wanda’s eyes grew big as she gave a thumbs up, “I love you, I’m all good, have fun!” 

You giggled and took Jame’s hand, he took the long way around the annoying crowd and to the door you noticed when you walked in. Finally starting to move after a while, you realized how drunk you really were. The stairs were steep, as one hand grabbed the hand rail the other was placed on his shoulder. 

Once you got to the bottom he gently took your arm to get your attention, “still good?” he giggled. 

“I’m very drunk, but good drunk!” your laugh pushed you into his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you. After a quick squeeze he pulled away and brought you away from the stairs, the both of you watched the game as you nodded your head to the beat. 

“Have you been enjoying the party?” After a while James leaned down to your ear from behind you. The smell of beer washed over your face as his lips tickled the side of your ear. Before you could respond, a full-body tingle, accompanied by goosebumps, rippled down your body. James could obviously tell you had a physical reaction to him, “I saw that,” he whispered again, peering over to see your eyes gently close. 

With his arms wrapped around your waist you slowly turned to face him, “that was like ASMR in real life,” you blurted out, your guilty pleasure slipping through your teeth. James laughed and nodded, his reaction calms your nerves because it seemed like he was drunk enough to admit it to. 

“That shit is great!” 

A burst of laughter ripped through you, your hand covering your mouth. “Imagine you recommending a coffee to someone like that,” you tried to imitate but another wheeze of laughter hit you, the alcohol making everything so much funnier. 

“You’re adorable,” he chuckled to himself, a genuine smile gracing his face. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes switching between yours, though his smile faded a small grin stayed implanted on his face. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” you bit your lip and nodded, your eyes flicking down to his lips as he licked them. One hand that sat on your hip moved to cup your jaw, his eyes watching your lips the entire time. As you leaned forward the alcohol pushed you a little too hard, there was no way you were going to ruin this moment by stumbling so you placed your hand on his chest, gently closing your eyes as you felt his lips connect with yours. 

It seemed neither of you wanted it to end, holding onto the moment before slowly pulling away. It must have been the alcohol between the two of you because neither of you were satisfied, instantly you both kissed again, James prodding his tongue against your lips. 

Getting the hint, you slightly opened your mouth and slid your hand up his chest. Grabbing a fistful of hair you kept him right where he wanted. Kissing him was like a drug, every second thought or insecurity slowly faded away as your shoulder rolled back for the first time this evening. Due to the lack of air you  both pulled away at the same time, giggling to yourself as you looked around; realizing how public that make-out session was. 

“Are you okay?”James asked, you quickly nodded and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, making him blush. “You are such a good kisser,” he added. 

“You too,” you tucked your chin into your neck, not knowing what to do with the attention. 

After watching the end of the beer-pong game you both headed back upstairs to find Wanda, James was more than happy to come with you to check on her. She was with the same guy you saw her with when you left, when she saw you her eyes lit up. Before you could say anything she turned back to the guy, speaking quickly with an apologetic face. Quickly, she rounded the counter and grabbed both of your arms, “I see a little lip gloss smudge,” she reached up and wiped your top lip. 

“Stop,” you gasped and quickly wiped around your lips to make sure it was all gone. “Now, who is that guy over there?”

“His name is Vision- he’s European, we’ve been talking so much about Europe it’s so nice to talk to an international student,” she leaned closer, “it also helps that he’s hot.” 

You laughed and looked over Wanda’s shoulder to wave to the guy, looking confused as to why the girl he’d been talking to all night ran off. Before Wanda could leave James came back, empty hands leaving his pockets to wrap an arm around you. 

Wanda took one look at James before a wicked smile grew, “love the lip gloss, what shade is that?” In an instant James covered his mouth, the crinkles around his eyes told you he found it as funny as Wanda did. James didn’t have anything to say back, obviously being caught. Wanda didn’t harp on it though, she just sipped her drink with a chuckle. 

The night flew right past you, you had slowed down on your alcohol consumption but still held a decent buzz. After the moment in the basement it seemed James was stuck to you, and you weren’t complaining. If you were dancing, talking, or even moving from one room to another James was touching you in some way. 

His hand rested on your hip for the majority of the evening. It was grounding to feel his side pressed to your shoulder, you felt protected in ways you never felt before. You hadn’t asked him to gently pull a strand off of your lip gloss and tuck it behind your ear, you didn’t tell him you wanted a hug everytime you came back from the washroom, he did it because he wanted to. 

********

The walk to the cafe had never felt more stressful than it did right now. Flashes of the previous night caused a lull in your stomach, a slowly growing ball of stress. 

Last night was too perfect, this morning you laid in bed and analyzed everything you could remember about the party. You hadn’t realized how long you had been staring at the ceiling, nit-picking every interaction you had with James. Even the thought of the kiss you shared in the basement caused a wave of nausea to hit you. You had sent him a text when you got home, he sent a quick reply. 

This is definitely a fluke, you thought to yourself as the cafe entered your view, he just liked me because we were both drunk. Part of you didn’t know why you were so keen to go the next morning, maybe you should have stretched out the rejection; living in your fantasy for as long as possible. 

With a deep breath you pulled the door open, cringing at the bell ringing; you had hoped for a stealthy entrance, maybe you could both go about pretending not to know each other. 

There he was, barely anyone else was in the cafe at the time, he looked right at you. “Hey,” you said softly, eyes casted low. 

“...hi,” James dipped his head to try to make eye contact, “y/n, what’s wrong?” His eyes widened in a fraction of a second, shooting him forward, “did I make you uncomfortable last night?” he whispered, placing his hand on the counter. 

In shock your lips slightly parted, “I-um, yeah I’m okay-um,” you just shook your head, speechless. “I just thought this was going to be different.”

“How?” 

With your eyes wide, you tried to find the words you wanted to say without sounding like an idiot, you hadn’t even entertained the idea of him genuinely liking you after one night out, especially when there was a steamy make-out session that wasn’t spoken about for the rest of the night. 

“I-I genuinely thought you would regret yesterday, I don’t know why I- I just thought it was because we were drunk,” you fiddled with your hands as you spoke, not wanting to deal with this any longer. 

“I need you to understand,” James spoke as he rounded the corner of the counter, taking your hand and pulling you to the back. “You come here all the time, you are consistent, you are a creature of habit.” James placed a hand on your shoulder, “almost everyday I think about when you’re coming, what you’re doing while you’re here, if your work is going smoothly, and if you get home safe. I always look at the door thinking it’s you walking in, okay?” He chuckled at the confession, “this is not because I was drunk, this was not because you were drunk. It’s simply because I like spending time with you, in fact, I love it now because I can actually get to know you; not just from your window seat.” 

It came as a whisper, “okay,” slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling him instantly pull you close. “I was really preparing for the worst, but I do really like you too, James,” you giggled after feeling him squeeze you tighter at the sentiment. 

“I know your coffee order, my friends came and made fun of me in front of you,” he led you out of the back and began making your order, without you paying. “There are so many reasons this is not a fluke, okay?” 

Taking your coffee into your hand, you quickly nodded. “Thank you, James,” you slightly lifted your cup to him, “maybe I can get you back for the muffin and coffee…” you tucked your chin to your neck, “maybe dinner would be the logical reimbursement…”

James just laughed, “I would love to get dinner with you, but you are sure as hell not paying on the first actual date,” he continued to laugh, “that’s just not happening.” 

“Fine,” you took a seat at the bar, “you can pay for the first and I’ll pay for the second.”

James’ smirk grew, “sure, totally.” 

“I’m serious,” you laughed, “let me pay for at least one!”

All it took was a knock-out smile, “you’ll pay on the one-thousandth date, and I am not keeping track.” 

[talesofesther]

discover the beauty

Sylvie x Reader

Summary: Sylvie doesn't quite understand what you make her feel, or what she should do about it. All she knows is that you've brought a warmth to her life that had been long lost. So when you ask her to spend Christmas with you, how could she ever say no?

A/N: This is, or was supposed to be, a quick and sweet lil story with my favorite lady to give her the Christmas she deserves. Naturally, I got a little (a lot) carried away. I also feel like my writing turned out rather different in this, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. <3

Word count: 6k

Masterlist

You were not something she expected to have. Sylvie may even go as far as saying you were not something she wanted to have. Not in the beginning, at least.

It was a normal day at work the first time she saw you. During a late afternoon, with golden rays of a setting sun seeping through the windows of McDonald's. You walked in with a backpack hanging from one shoulder and the ghost of a smile on your lips. You ordered a burger and fries accompanied by an orange juice, a combination Sylvie didn't serve too often. You thanked her with an even wider smile and sat on one of the tables closest to the window. You finished eating and didn't leave, instead, you pulled a sketchbook from your backpack and started scribbling something down. All the while that you stayed, Sylvie could feel your eyes on her from time to time.

A routine started then. You'd come by almost every day, at the same time, make the same order, sit at the same table, and pull out the same sketchbook. And it went on for weeks.

There was something about you that Sylvie couldn't put her finger on, something that stole her focus and forced her to recount the change at least twice when you were around. Your presence carried an aura of calmness, being around you was easy, and talking to you felt like breathing.

Slowly, order by order, you and Sylvie grew closer. Slowly, Sylvie started to expect your presence at the end of each day.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Today was a Thursday, a day you usually stopped by. When the clock on the wall hit 4 PM, Sylvie found herself stealing glances at the main doors. Sometimes she'd chastise herself for the childish behavior, after all, why should she care if you stop by or not?

A cold breeze came in through the open windows. Sylvie leaned on the counter beside the cash register, looking out onto the parking lot; it was covered in a thin layer of white. The snow had slowly and thinly started falling just a few days ago, announcing the definitive arrival of winter and the ever-approaching festivities of the end of the year—as did the obnoxious Christmas decorations scattered all around the inside of the fast food place.

She had heard her colleagues here talking about it, Christmas, and from what Sylvie gathered it was a time for celebration and gifts, a time to spend with loved ones. When the matter came up in conversation, Sylvie hid in the corners, making herself look busy and distracted with anything she could think of. She didn't want to answer the casual questions of where she'd be spending her Christmas at, who she'd be spending it with. She didn't want to admit she had no one at all and would likely spend the night at a bar, alone.

The sound of the door being pushed open brought Sylvie back to reality, she looked up only to see you walking in, with your backpack on one shoulder and bundled up in a hoodie with a jacket on top to chase away the cold.

It was new to her, the fluttering in her stomach whenever she saw you and the warmth on her cheeks whenever you smiled at her. Everything was new. Sylvie didn't know what to do with the feelings you brought to her. It's not like she had many of those when jumping through apocalypses.

Your eyes met hers and your smile was instant, you adjusted your hold on your backpack as you approached the counter. Your greeting came in the form of a question; "Why is it that good things always have to hurt a little?"

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at you, an amused smile of her own fighting its way to her lips. Her fingernails tapped the counter softly. There were small flakes of snow hanging onto your hair, your clothes, glittering under the artificial lights; why did they make you look prettier still?

"The snow," You nodded toward the big windows behind you, "So beautiful yet so unforgivingly cold, isn't it?"

A low hum went past Sylvie's lips, she shrugged with a teasing smirk. "I don't know, I don't think it's that cold."

You huffed, already familiar with the statement yet baffled all the same, "That's because you're a special case I'm still trying to figure out."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her voice just a tad lower, "Good luck with that."

You avoided her eyes and nodded softly, smile lingering on your features. You leaned your elbows on the counter then, hands coming to stay just inches away from Sylvie's. She wondered what it would feel like to touch you.

Sylvie cleared her throat, promptly chasing away the thought. She grabbed her notepad and pen, her customer service voice making an appearance; "The usual?"

"Uh yeah," you sounded just a tad disappointed. As Sylvie wrote down your order, you leaned just a bit forward and closer to her, pursing your lips before saying; "So, any plans for Christmas?"

The pen in Sylvie's hand gave a sudden and rather forceful scratch, nearly tearing the paper. She halted, intently glaring at the out-of-place line that was now written on top of the word 'fries'. She held the silence for a moment longer, her jaw set tightly in place. For the first time in a long time, she hesitated. "… No."

A soft frown came to your features. You didn't ask, but the question was there.

"I'll probably just sleep in," Sylvie glanced up at you with her lips pressed together in a smile that looked a little too forced. She didn't give you time to answer. "Your order will be ready in a minute." She informed you, before turning around to fiddle with the ice cream machine she had already organized this morning.

Two minutes later, your order was ready. You mumbled a gentle 'thank you' to Sylvie before making a beeline to your usual table near the windows.

It was a little pathetic, really—you thought to yourself as you munched your burger—how quickly you became infatuated with the pretty attendant from your local McDonald's. Sylvie had captured your attention since the first day you walked in and said your order to her. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. But there was something else there, something about her eyes and the way she carried herself and interacted with others, that gave away the impression that she had lived a thousand lives, seen a thousand worlds, and now carried the weight of it.

Sylvie was, what you liked to call, an artist's utopia. The perfect muse. Everything about her was screaming to be written down in novels and painted to be hung in a museum. Her genuine smiles whenever she delivered a random order as well as the closed-off and tense ones whenever her colleagues crowded her. The prideful way she'd glance at her name plastered on the employee of the month display as well as the melancholic look in her eyes when she climbed in her truck at the end of the day. Each part of her seemed to tell a story bigger than anything you could fathom.

And that, was simply something you couldn't bring yourself to ignore. It started as a mere sketch of her serious expression on the first day you noticed her. And then you came back, once, twice. And it evolved into her being the biggest constant in your sketchbook. There were scribbles of her profile, her back, sometimes just her eyes or hands, smiles and frowns. Each piece of her as seen by your eyes, now eternal, shaped by the grey lines of your pencil.

Whatever could you do, after all? She was enchanting.

In the end, it was expected that she would become quite familiar with you, given how much you stop by. But you were pleasantly surprised to realize that you two clicked rather well. You'd go as far as calling her a friend now.

And today, you noticed the hints of sorrow that always danced in her expressive eyes making a more vivid appearance. Maybe that's the reason why you threw caution to the wind.

When you finished your meal, you picked up your backpack and promptly walked towards the counter Sylvie stood behind. Deciding that if you waited, your courage would most likely vanish.

She perked up when she noticed you coming towards her, a mix of confusion and expectancy painting her features. Her posture straightened as she reached for the notepad, expecting another order.

You cleared your throat, unable to properly meet her gaze and choosing to fiddle with the pen lying around in front of her. "You know, my family lives a few hours from here and I don't plan on driving there this year." Glancing up at Sylvie, you had to hold back a smile at the sight of her adorable frown. "So, I was thinking… Maybe, if- if you want," you held her gaze, words heavy on your tongue, "We could spend Christmas together." It came out more like a question than anything else. You bit the inside of your cheek, and waited.

Sylvie breathed in sharply, her shoulders tensing. Her eyes shifted from one side to the other, as if looking for an answer around the vicinity. For excruciatingly long seconds, she said nothing. And you were already thinking of a half-assed excuse to give her an out when she finally spoke.

"Okay." You'd never heard her voice this small. "I'd like that," she smiled then, it was a sweet, little thing, barely a stretch of lips; but it warmed your heart like nothing else could.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

The day before Christmas arrived both too soon and too late. Sylvie woke up this morning and her first thought of the day, as she still lay in bed, was you. And how she would be meeting you at McDonald's just like every day before, but today there was a break in the pattern; she would be leaving with you. Together.

Sylvie had reluctantly agreed to spend the night at your place when you insisted Christmas morning was the most special and crucial part of the holiday. Yet now, as the day finally was upon her, she began to wonder if she'd dug her own grave. Because her stomach twisted with the mere thought of it, her body felt all warm and fuzzy knowing she'd be spending so much time by your side, and her heartbeat skyrocketed knowing she'd be waking up the next morning only for you to be the first one she sees.

As Sylvie drove to work, she couldn't help but admit that this whole Christmas thing gave the town a rather pleasant look. Several decorations in bright red, golden, and green could be spotted in every corner of the town; string lights were a must in most buildings and houses; and inside each store at least one small Christmas tree was present.

While stopped at a red light, Sylvie's mind wandered to one specific aspect of the tradition. Gift giving.

Should she get you a gift? Did she want to?

She had never given or received any gifts. She wasn't sure if the two of you were close enough for it to be acceptable.

She gulped, grip tightening on the steering wheel. Her gaze roamed around the stores nearby and people walking on the snowy sidewalks. Just in case.

And a little further down the street, in a small corner beside a bakery, Sylvie spotted a retail store.

It wouldn't hurt to take a look, she decided.

The selection of items inside the store was… less than pleasing. They weren't bad in on themselves, but as Sylvie browsed the racks of hoodies and sweatpants and t-shirts, she felt that nothing seemed right. In her eyes, nothing particularly suited you and nothing was good enough.

A sigh went past Sylvie's lips as she ran a hand through her hair, messing it up more than it already was. She felt lost, out of place in her own skin. The few people around her were minding their own business, eyes fixed on the clothes they were after. Yet she couldn't help but think they were watching her.

She didn't know how to do this. Any of it. She didn't know what it was that you made her feel; she didn't know how to act around you without looking like this was her first shot at a normal life; she didn't know how to buy a damn gift for you.

Her mind started spiraling and she second-guessed her decision to ever say yes to all of this.

Sylvie was about to bolt out of the store and come up with some excuse about not being able to join you, when her eyes caught sight of a green and golden scarf. It was hung by itself and looked rather out of place amidst the t-shirts beside it.

Sylvie made a beeline for it, instantly reaching out to run her fingers through the soft fabric. It was comfortable to the touch, dark green wool woven with specks of details in gold; carefully made, not a string in the wrong place.

Carefully, Sylvie took it fully in her hands. This is it, she decided with a faint smile. This is perfect. You were always complaining about being cold, after all.

She walked up to the cashier with a newfound confidence, holding tight onto the precious scarf. "It's a gift," she stated rather proudly, "How do I do this?"

The woman behind the counter looked less than pleased to be working on Christmas Eve, she raised an unamused eyebrow at Sylvie; "You want it wrapped?"

Sylvie hesitated for a beat, and then recalled the many customers she had served who held bags themed with reindeer, Santas, and the like, all carrying wrapped gifts inside. It seemed to be the appropriate decision. "Yes."

After her detour for gift shopping, the day went about as normal as it could. Sylvie got to work barely on time, parked her truck in her usual spot, served a few customers, and watched as thin snowflakes fell from the sky. It wasn't a busy day, only a few and far in between walked in to grab a lunch, and most of them took it in a to-go bag.

When the clock hit 4 PM, however, Sylvie grew restless. She would be leaving earlier today, and you would be stopping by any minute now.

"Ah, almost time to leave," Carla, one of Sylvie's colleagues and one of the few who'd also agreed to work at this time of year, sighed from her place on the other side of the counter.

"Yep," Sylvie mumbled, her eyes fixed on the parking lot outside.

"Can't wait to not come to work tomorrow," Carla chuckled, "Gonna be spending the day with my kids." She smiled to herself and turned to look at Sylvie properly; "You got any plans, Sylvie?"

The enchantress' instinct was to deflect the question with something else, but her lips hovered and she found herself being engulfed in a foreign emotion. "Yes," she breathed, "I do." The soft smile on her lips held more sentiment than she cared to admit.

A gush of wind washed over her then, making her hair flow. She looked towards the entrance and saw you standing between the open doors. A familiar smile crinkled the sides of your eyes and you raised a gloved hand in a timid wave.

"And she just arrived," Sylvie spoke, more to herself than to her colleague, words dripping with something akin to adoration. She took off her hat, picked up her checkered trenchcoat from the back, and bid Clara goodbye before walking up to you.

"Hey," you greeted her, burying your hands in the pockets of your jacket. Voice sweet as honey and cheeks pink from the cold. "You ready to go?"

It scared her, that you could so easily strip her of her defenses. Her muscle memory sometimes urged Sylvie to hold onto the handle of a sword that wasn't there. If only to feel some sense of security.

She gulped, wriggling the ends of her sleeves between her fingers. This warmth, these colors you'd unintentionally brought to her life—she never realized how much she craved it until you came along.

Maybe she doesn't need her defenses anymore.

"Yeah."

With that, Sylvie climbed into her truck and you followed, giving her the instructions that led to your house. The drive was comfortable, the weight of your presence beside her, surprisingly, didn't throw her off; on the contrary, it felt like you belonged there—talking about the upcoming snowstorm of tonight and pointing out the blinking lights you passed by.

Your home turned out to be exactly as Sylvie expected it to be. Two trees stood tall in front of the small house made of dark wood, several string lights were hung all over the porch, and there was a Santa plushie peering through the window. The inside was all warm and homey, each nook and cranny of your house exuded comfort and peace.

You took off your jacket, haphazardly throwing it over the couch, and kicked off your shoes. "Please, make yourself at home," you gestured around with a wide smile. "I'm gonna make some hot chocolate to warm up, would you like one?"

With her heart in her mouth, after a lifetime of living in cold, apocalyptic worlds, Sylvie allowed herself to be enveloped by the warmth. The blinking lights of the Christmas tree in your living room danced over her skin; in her wildest dreams, she'd dreamt of this. Tears prickled her eyes.

A gentle touch brushed her fingers, and Sylvie held her breath. She glanced down to see your fingers hesitantly hooking around hers. You'd noticed the crumbling walls around her—Sylvie didn't mind. Your touch raised goosebumps on her skin. She held you tighter, "I'd love one."

You led her to the kitchen, talking about the bathroom at the end of the hall and the guest bedroom she'd be staying at, only letting go of her hand when you had to start preparing the two mugs of hot chocolate. "I'm glad you agreed to come here," you spoke casually, keeping your back to Sylvie as you skimmed around the kitchen. "I was- I was afraid you'd think I was weird for asking."

Sylvie chuckled, bashful eyes looking down at her hands. Her heart wanted to jump from her chest. She bit her lip, wondering if it would be too foolish to admit what it meant. "I was glad you did," she confessed quietly, both to you and herself. "I'd be alone otherwise."

Your movements halted, and after a beat of silence, you glanced at her over your shoulder. "I would too."

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Hours went by like minutes. Chocolate wraps and a half-empty bottle of wine were now discarded on your coffee table. Somewhere along the late hours of the night, you and Sylvie ended up bundled together on your couch under a blanket, sharing stories and laughing to your heart's content as if you'd known each other for years.

You'd lost count of how many embarrassing childhood memories you'd already spilled for her, all so you could hear that laugh of hers again and again. She was beautiful like that. With the warm glow of your fireplace highlighting her features, the shape of her smile, and the strands of her hair. You did your best to capture this exact image of her in your mind, so you could put it on paper later.

Sylvie lay on one side of the couch while you occupied the other, her legs were tangled with yours under the blanket. Maybe this wasn't just a mere infatuation, you mused to yourself, drinking in the spark of her eyes and the weight of her body on yours.

She leaned her head on the back of the couch, looking at you as her smile faded from a wide grin to a soft tilt of lips. She had the look of someone who just discovered something magical. You couldn't help but think you weren't too different.

Her very presence was like a warm blanket on a cold winter night. Her melodic voice was the last thing you heard before drifting off to a light slumber, dreaming of warm colors and bright eyes.

It was a ten, maybe fifteen-minute thing. One of those naps that catch you by surprise when you're engulfed in comfort.

You woke with the feeling of the couch moving beside you and then heard the sound of pages being carefully turned. The blanket still rested comfortably over your body and the fireplace still cracked with a low flame. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you came to only to be greeted with the sight of Sylvie sitting by your side, with your sketchbook in her hands.

You inhaled sharply and held the air in your lungs, bunching up the edges of your blanket in your hands. Suddenly wide awake. You could vaguely recall forgetting the book on top of the kitchen table this morning.

Her hands held the book almost reverently, delicate fingertips tracing the lines that shaped sketches of her. They were fairly endless and now that you watched as she turned the pages, you realized there were more than what you accounted for. The dark graphite on paper outlined her hair, her eyes, her lips; and Sylvie herself gazed down at the drawings with her lips parted and eyes glazed over.

You gulped, with any possible words stuck in your throat. Would she be mad? creeped out? Maybe never want to speak with you again?

You knew that she knew you were awake already, yet for long moments, Sylvie held the silence. Her lower lip twitched at each new image of her that she discovered in your book. It almost looked like she was holding her breath too.

Gripping tightly onto your book, Sylvie finally looked up at you again; "Did you… make these?" It was nothing but a breath, almost as if she was afraid of the answer.

You merely nodded, avoiding her eyes.

Sylvie breathed in, it sounded a lot like a sniffle. She pursed her lips, looking down at the book and then back at you. "Why?"

You cocked your head to the side, focusing past your thundering heart and on the soft curve of her eyebrows and the way her bright eyes reflected the orange flames of the fireplace—they glimmered, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say it was because there were tears there.

"I uh-" Your voice stumbled, and you cleared your throat to compose yourself. "You were… captivating ever since the first time I saw you. I thought that- that there was a lot of beauty and…" You bit your lip, hesitating. "And a lot of sadness, in you. And I just… wanted to capture it. I couldn't help it, I'm sorry."

A gentle smile came to Sylvie's lips, there were too many emotions swimming behind her eyes for you to put your finger on any of them. "You think I'm…" her words were quiet, private. Her fingers fiddled with one of the pages. "I'm beautiful?"

You opened your mouth to answer just as your gaze caught sight of the window that led to your porch. Outside, you could see the heavy snow falling from the sky. A soft gasp went past your lips, "The snowstorm is starting." You threw the blanket off your lap and ran to your door, haphazardly putting on your boots before yanking the door open and rushing outside.

The snowflakes clouded the dark horizon of the night, falling rapidly like summer rain and collecting on the streets in a white blanket. The lone lamposts cast a golden light on the increasing snowfall, if you pretended enough, it almost looked like specks of magic. The snow had always fascinated you. Despite the chilling cold it brought, you always waited eagerly for the first real snowfall of the year.

You stood in the open space of your yard, looking up at the sky and watching as cold stars fell upon your skin and clung to your clothes.

Slow footsteps that crunched the snow captured your attention. You turned around and saw Sylvie joining you, her eyes were wide in amazement as she watched the white flakes cascading down from the sky. She raised a hand to try and catch the snow, carefully so, as if the natural phenomenon could scare easily.

The snow kissed her pink cheeks and landed on her gently outstretched hand, it surrounded her as if it chose to fall tonight only so her eyes could witness, touching her with delicacy, all intimate and tender as some of the flakes melted on her. You were envious of their privilege. A breathless chuckle escaped Sylvie, and her gaze turned to you. There was a near child-like excitement glinting in her pupils and it was enchanting.

You watched as the faded light of the street lamps outlined her body, as the snowflakes clung to her eyelashes and brought a smile to her lips. The world around you blurred at the edges; there was only her and the snow. "Beautiful," you simply breathed, not an ounce of doubt in your words.

Sylvie blinked multiple times, her smile fading yet the shine in her eyes increasing tenfold. The air was suddenly charged with electricity, warm under the cold weather. Sylvie's lips parted, and you thought you saw her glancing down at your lips.

You chanced a step closer, and then another, running your tongue over your bottom lip. One of your hands brushed hers, while the other came up to tuck strands of blonde hair behind her ear.

Sylvie gripped your hand as soon as she felt your touch, as if you could disappear with the snow at any second.

"More than beautiful." The increasing wind nearly carried your voice away. You traced the outline of Sylvie's jaw with your thumb, the same one you'd traced with your pencil countless times before. "I don't think I could ever tire of drawing you."

There was no time for you to react before Sylvie took hold of your cheeks with both hands and pulled you in. Her lips crashed with yours with an unexpected delicacy. She came closer until her bare feet stood between your boots and her chest was flush with yours, as if no amount of closeness was close enough.

Her kiss was tentative and almost shy in a way, the softest lips moving in tandem with yours like they belonged together. You gripped her waist, onto the fabric of her plaid pajama shirt that you thought looked oh so adorable on her as soon as you saw her change into it.

With your eyes closed, all you could feel were Sylvie's warm touch and gasps that you kissed away, a striking contrast to the cold snowflakes falling onto your skin and melting between each stolen kiss. You wouldn't have it any other way.

Sylvie's fingers buried in the hair at the nape of your neck, she pulled away only a fraction of a second, bumping her nose with yours to fill her lungs with only the amount of air enough to get her lips back on yours. Surrendering herself to the moment, to you.

Your fingertips sneaked beneath her shirt, gingerly brushing against the skin of her hip. Sylvie shivered under your touch. Her lips tasted like chocolate and wine, all sweet and addictive.

When she pulled away, Sylvie refused to go far. Her doe eyes were swimming in a sea of adoration, almost pleadingly so. You tugged her closer still, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead. It felt like a promise, the world frozen in place to hold the moment.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

When Sylvie woke up the very next morning, she wasn't sure if it had been a dream or not. Golden rays of sunlight seeped through the window and made the snow outside shine like glitter. Sylvie touched her lips with the tip of her fingers, the memory felt almost too perfect to be real. But then again, she doubted her subconscious would ever gift her with such a blessing over the night.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sylvie glanced at the package resting on top of the bedside table. She had been extra careful for it to not be crumpled or torn, it still looked perfect.

She ran a hand through her hair and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before getting up and walking to the window. The streets, sidewalks, and yards all around were covered in a thick layer of white snow, glistening under the sun. It was Christmas morning, and Sylvie was stalling.

Apprehension and nervousness twirled in her stomach wildly, she wasn't used to this. What if you regretted it? What if she had crossed a line?

The clattering of plates coming from the kitchen pulled Sylvie out of her mind. You were already awake.

Taking in a deep breath to steady herself, Sylvie forced her feet to move. She picked up her wrapped gift, and turned the door handle.

Immediately, Sylvie was engulfed by the smell of cinnamon and chocolate, it weaved through the air like a warm hug, making her close her eyes and inhale deeply. The enchantress couldn't help but allow her nose to guide her towards the kitchen, wood boards creaking under her bare feet and stripes of sunlight coming through the windows and shining against her pajamas as she walked.

The radio was on and you were humming along with the song playing, with your back turned to her as you worked on something on top of the counter, your hips swaying softly and hair pulled up in a haphazardly done bun. The window beside you was open, allowing for the cold breeze to come in, along with the morning sun rays, bathing your kitchen in an array of warm colors.

Sylvie's heart was in her throat, she bit her lip until she nearly tasted blood. There was a sting in her eyes as she looked at you as if she'd just realized what love felt like, what life was all about.

As you turned around, with your lower lip between your teeth and focused solely on the two mugs of hot chocolate in your hands so you wouldn't spill anything, Sylvie decided that she could get used to this. Actually, she would have a very hard time ever waking up without it. Without you.

When you noticed her standing before you, holding the wrapped gift between her hands as if her life depended on it, a huge smile broke into your lips and you lit up like the Christmas tree in your living room.

"Sylvie!" You exclaimed her name as if you'd been waiting the whole morning to say it. You left both mugs on the table and didn't waste a second before rushing to her. Sylvie barely had time to move your gift away before your body collided with hers. You hugged her tightly, bunching the fabric of her shirt between your fingers. "Merry Christmas," you whispered against her skin.

A breath Sylvie didn't realize she'd been holding went past her lips as she enveloped her arms around you, burying her nose in your hair and savoring the feeling of you. "Merry Christmas."

When you pulled away, Sylvie's cheeks were dusted pink and it had nothing to do with the cold. She avoided your gaze, looking down at the package in her hands instead. Tracing the wrapping with her thumbs, she said; "Um- I bought you this…" It almost sounded like a question, as if she wasn't sure this was the right way to go about it.

"You got me a gift?"

There was a waver in your voice that made Sylvie look up at you, only to be greeted with the sight of your eyes shining with… could it be love?

Sylvie tried to mimic your smile, as much as her nerves would allow. She nodded, pushing the gift into your hands.

You took it as if it was made of gold, hugging it to your chest. "Thank you," you breathed, before leaning in to land a peck to the corner of Sylvie's lips.

The gesture brought goosebumps up and down Sylvie's spine, and she watched with bated breath as you carefully tore open the wrapping at last. Your mouth hung open as you pulled out the scarf, tones of green and golden molding between your fingertips. You felt over the fabric, with your eyes drinking in every detail of it, until you promptly hooked the scarf around your neck and nuzzled in it; "I absolutely love it!" Your eyes crinkled on the sides because of your smile.

Sylvie's heartbeat stumbled, she reached up to trace the green fabric until her fingertips found the skin of your jaw. "It suits you."

"Oh, I just remembered," you told her suddenly and took hold of her hand so you could pull her to the living room. You dragged Sylvie to stand before your Christmas tree, and under it, rested a single box wrapped in green and red paper decorated with little Santas. "It's for you," your voice was as timid as Sylvie's had been as you pointed to the lone box.

Sylvie blinked and turned to you, squeezing your hand to make sure you were real. "You got me a gift?" She couldn't remember the last time someone had gotten her anything.

You pursed your lips and nodded, almost bouncing on your stance from excitement. "Of course. Come on, open it."

A breathless chuckle went past Sylvie's lips, and she knew right then and there, on this peaceful Christmas morning beside you, that she was a goner. She crouched down and unwrapped the box, prying it open with utmost care. From inside it, she pulled a crumple of white, green, and golden fabric. Much like the scarf she had given you, it was meticulously sewn together with a soft and comfortable wool.

Her chest felt all tight and warm with an emotion she could barely contain within herself. Standing up and stretching the fabric, Sylvie realized that it was a sweater, decorated with reindeer and Christmas trees. Peering around it and to you, she could clearly see you were holding back a grin.

"We'll be matching!" You exclaimed, clasping both your hands together.

Without a second thought, Sylvie pulled the sweater over her pajama shirt, closing her arms around herself and raising her shoulder as the soft fabric enveloped her. "It's perfect." She decided.

A soft laugh went past your lips and you raised a hand to Sylvie's hair, straightening the strands she had messed up. Your fingers brushed over the soft, blonde strands, until they fell to her shoulder and then found her hand, intertwining your fingers together.

Sylvie basked in the silence of the moment, in the feeling of your skin touching hers, of the comforting weight of your presence. She closed her eyes and gripped your hand tighter, gulping back a sudden wave of tears. From a lifetime of living in worlds on the edge of destruction, she'd found her little piece of paradise, all on her own. And she'd keep it close to heart until the end of her days.

The thumb of your free hand brushed her cheek, drying a drop of wetness there. The single tear that had fallen past her defenses. Sylvie looked at you and expected to see confusion or even judgment, but she only found care and adoration.

You brought your intertwined hands to your lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles; "I made us hot chocolate, what do you say?"

Sylvie's answer came in the form of a kiss of her own, to your lips instead.

Perfect.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Sylvie’s taglist:@milkiane @v1ci0us

[absurdthirst]

His {Dark!Dave York x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 24. 6k

Warnings: NON-CON/Dub-Con, attempted suicide, murder for hire, hits, drugging, kidnapping, bondage, imprisonment, oral sex (male receiving), collaring, pet play, sex toys, punishment, overstimulation, aftercare, panic attacks, gun play, anal play, analingus, unprotected sex, mentions of breeding/forced pregnancy, 'daddy', mentions of past abuse, domestic violence, attempted sexual assault

Comments: When you cannot do what you desperately want to, you hire Dave York to do it for you. Contracted to kill you, Dave decides that you have something to live for. Him.

🚨🚨DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT - This story contains dark themes of attempted suicide, murder for hire, kidnapping, imprisonment, non-con themes 🚨🚨

Co-written with @pedropascalsx

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dave York MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You had promised yourself that this was it. No more. No more living in constant pain, the weight of your loneliness crushing every aspect of your life. Your fingertips brushed across the cold metal of the revolver sitting in front of you. You’d never wanted the gun in the first place, your boss had insisted you go through the training and you didn’t want to argue with him or admit that carrying a gun made you feel uncomfortable. 

And a few hours and a gallon of vodka later, you were ready. A heartfelt note that was written and you’d tied up as many loose ends as you possibly could.

Silent acid rain fell harshly down your cheeks as you attempted to steady your breathing, lifting the unbelievably heavy gun and  attempting to bring it up and towards your temple. 

You couldn’t. No matter how hard you try. ‘Another thing I’ve failed at,’ you think to yourself as you push the gun away from you. Before reaching out and grabbing at the vodka bottle next to you and taking a large gulp of the burning liquid. 

Dave grunts as he shuffles through his emails, all of them boring him. The same bureaucratic bullshit and red tape. All of it is meaningless. Give him a target and an objective, problem solved. He’s good at what he does, though not everyone would brag about wet work. So his day job at the DIA keeps him covered. Looking up at the slight rap on his office door, he sees the assistant from three floors down standing there nervously, a file in her hand although her name escapes him. “Yes?”

You sheepishly make your way into his office, avoiding eye contact as you outstretch your hand with the file in and wait for him to take it from you. You knew exactly what kind of work Dave York did and figured that as long as he got the cash he would happily provide his services for you.

“Thanks.” Dave takes the file and nods, setting it down on his desk to look at in just a few minutes. Wanting to finish up the email he was writing before he got distracted with something else.

“You’re welcome,” you murmur before immediately turning on your heel and rushing out of his office. Slinging your bag over your shoulder and making your way out of the building and towards your car. It was done. All you needed to do was wait for the email that would instruct you on how to pay and then he would either get one of his guys to carry out the job or do it himself.

A phone call distracts him, making it nearly an hour before he finally picks up the file and flips open the unassuming manila front. Frowning when he reads the very official looking report, but there is the glaring lack of signature from Phil Hopkins or the fact that this kind of request is not in a folder marked classified. Growling, Dave lurches to his feet, pissed off at the fucking game that is apparently being played and quickly locks his office to march down to the third floor to ask you what the fuck this is.

**

The unexpected banging on your front door makes you jump. You slowly rise onto your feet and tiptoe across to the door and peer out through the peephole. Dave York. Furiously clutching onto what you assume is your file and mouthing what you also assume is expletives as he waits for you to open the door. You take a large inhale before reaching across to the chain and unlocking the door. “Mr York,” you say quietly as he glares at you.

“What the fuck is this?” Dave demands, using his shoulder to shove his way inside your small apartment. This conversation doesn’t need to happen in the open. He whirls around and glares at you. “What the fuck are you doing? Playing some kind of prank?”

You take a few steps back and try to ignore that shiver that rips it way through your body. “No,” you say, attempting to keep your voice as steady as possible, “You provide a service and I would like to pay for that service.”

  “This is an order for an execution.” He snarls, ripping open the file and shoving the paper in your face. “With your name on it!”

“Yes, I am fully aware of what it is,” you say with a shrug, “I filed the paperwork. I am the one requesting your services.“ You walk over to the kitchen counter and take out two glasses, pouring a small amount of amber liquid in both. “I can’t do it myself, so I need someone to do it for me.” 

“This isn’t a sanctioned hit.” He points out, pointing to where your boss’s signature is missing. His tone eases slightly, hearing what you just said about not being able to do it yourself. 

 “I mean it’s technically not a hit either, right?” You swallow the whiskey in one large gulp before sliding his glass across to him. “I’ll pay whatever. I just need your help.”

 “Why?” Dave drops his hand and eyes you suspiciously. “Why do you want me to kill you?”

“I told you. Because I can’t do it myself.”

“Why do you want to die?” Dave presses, stepping closer to you, his gaze boring into yours.

You swallow hard. Hating how much his mere presence alone is affecting you, “Does the reason why really matter?”

His jaw tightens and he doesn’t answer you, just waiting for you to tell him. You will. Or he won’t move.

You stare back at his face, watching as his jaw rolls and his brows furrow. “I’m depressed,” you admit quietly, “Nothing works for me and I’m sick of surviving because I don’t have the energy to try and live anymore.”

Seconds tick by and Dave watches your face. Watching for any sign of second thoughts or hesitation. You had said you couldn’t do it, which means you’ve tried. “What did you try?”

Turning away from him you walk across to your small sofa and take a seat, “My gun. I just couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger. It just felt too heavy in my hands every time I tried to lift it towards my head.” The gun is on the coffee table, seemingly mocking you.

Dave picks the gun up, examining it and weighing it in his hand before he flips it in his grip and points it at you. Watching you for any indication that you are going to flinch.

An odd feeling floods your tummy as he points your gun at you, not quite fear but not quite relief either. Maybe anticipation? You can’t work it out, but you stay still, your eyes focused on his as he keeps the gun pointed at you.

You don’t move. Your eyes don’t flicker, you don’t even blink. Dave recognizes the darkness that seems to swirl in the depths of your orbs. He’s been in that void before. Lowering the gun, he nods. “Fine.” He agrees. “You will go about your life. Take care of what you need to. I won’t tell you when, but it will be within the next two weeks.” He tells you.

“Thank you, would you like me to pay you now?” You ask as he takes a few steps towards the door. “I’m grateful that you’ll take this job, Mr. York. I know it’s not what you’re used to dealing with.”

“I’ll get my payment from you later.” Dave assures you, turning back towards you with a small smirk. “Don’t you worry.”

You lock the door behind him, and make your way back to the sofa. Sitting quietly and trying to gauge your feelings, instead that numbness you’ve grown accustomed to rears its ugly head and you decide to make your way to bed. “I can handle a few more days of this,” you murmur to yourself as you succumb to your slumber.

Dave studies you. He studies everything about you. Where you go, what you do. Checking your spending and your internet browsing habits. The foods you like and of course, the medicines you take. Learning more about you than he ever knew about his ex-wife. Maybe that was why she divorced him, but still, he studies you like he would any target. Thoroughly. Then he starts to plan.

A week passes by and nothing happens, no email for payment and you only catch one glimpse of Dave at the office. Surrounded by a bunch of his team, so you don’t act on the urge to approach him. He said within two weeks. ‘Any day now,’ you promise yourself in the mirror, as you get ready to brush your teeth.

Dave kept himself out of sight on purpose but he’s kept watch over you. Wanting to see if you would indulge in any vices. Intriguing him beyond his belief. Most people begged to live, crying and pissing themselves as they begged him for mercy. You begged to die. It fascinated him, you fascinated him. 

It was only as you pulled into a space at work that you realized that may have been the last time you ever drove to work. The same unknown feeling from the other day began to spread throughout your tummy as you stepped out of your car, walking rapidly towards the building and eventually sliding into the elevator. It wasn’t until the doors had closed and the elevator started rising that you realized who you were standing next to. He was listening to one of his co-workers ramble on about the car they had just purchased. His face was as emotionless as always, a blank expression hiding all of his thoughts as he mindlessly nodded every now and then to indicate he was still listening. It is only as you start to look away that you notice his eyes flash over towards your direction.

Dave barely listens to Steve brag about his car, obviously going through some sort of midlife crisis. Aware of you and wondering if you are nervous since there is only one day left before his two week deadline. “Ready for the weekend?” Dave asks you once Steve shuts up for half a second.

“Yes,” you say without skipping a beat, “Are you, Mr York?”

“I am.” He nods, smirking slightly. “Big plans this weekend.” He pauses. “What do you plan on doing?”

“I think it’ll be a quiet one,” you reply with a shrug, eyes flickering around the elevator to see if anyone else is paying attention, “Either way, I'm ready for it. What about you?” 

“Everything’s ready.” He nods. “Just gotta get the work week done. Am I right?” He chuckles quietly, aware that your body just tensed slightly. It’s like a game of cat and mouse where he’s assured of catching the mouse at the end.

“You’re right,” you reply with a weak smile. He still hasn’t requested payment or let you know where to wire transfer the fee to and it makes you feel uneasy, “Oh before you rush off, I need to discuss an invoice with you before the end of the day… is that ok?”

Dave shakes his wrist, pushing the sleeve of his suit and shirt back to look at his watch. “Can’t right now, I’m busy.” He murmurs. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“Of course. Just let me know when we can discuss it.” You slide out of the elevator on your floor and don’t look back, almost certain you can feel his eyes on you up until the doors close again.

Work drags on, the only thing keeping Dave occupied is making sure the final pieces are in place. To make sure that no one questions your absence. No one goes looking for you. When he’s satisfied that nothing will be traced back to him, he leaves his office like it is any other day and sets on the elevator to leave.

You sigh as you look at the time, Dave hadn’t contacted you in regards to payment like he had said he would and you start to wonder if he was just playing with you, and had no intentions to carry out the job as he said he would.

After clicking the elevator button a few times and growing impatient you decide to take the stairs, wanting to get up to his office before he leaves and finalise the payment. The entire floor is in darkness and it becomes obvious that he has already left for the day. You slowly make your way back downstairs and collect your belongings from your office, you’re not sure whether you want to scream or cry or both. But instead you pull on your coat and start to make your way home, stopping off at a drive thru to grab some dinner on your way.

The phone that Dave had put in your car when he left shows him your location. Making him smirk as he sees the dot stopped at a local fast food place you seem to like. His own burner programmed with the phone’s number, he hits talk and waits for you to discover the phone when it starts to ring. 

An unknown ringtone starts to play out from the passenger side door, you raise your eyebrow as you glance over to work out what it’s coming from. Your phone is in your bag, so you know it’s not coming from that. You reach over to the car door pocket and pull out a phone you don’t recognise. “Hello,” you whisper quietly into the device after accepting the call.

“Go to your bank and withdraw all of your money.” Dave orders you, grinning at your hushed tone. “Ask for large bills. Make sure you mention that you want to try your luck in Atlantic City.”

“Yes, Sir,” you reply, unsure why you felt as though you needed to address him as such. “Then what?”

“Go home.” He instructs you. “Write a note saying that you are sorry, but you had to. Just that you had to. Nothing else. Okay?”

“Yes, Mr. York.”

He hangs up the phone and you make your way to your bank. Rolling your eyes at the amount of people ahead of you in the line, you gently tap your foot and wait to be called forward. 

“How can I help you today?” The woman from behind the desk asks without looking up at you. 

“I’d like to make a withdrawal,” you say with a polite smile, “I’d actually like to withdraw everything from my checking account.”

She asks for your bank card and your ID which you hand over immediately, and confirm the details she requires to pull up your account. 

“Are you sure you’d like to withdraw everything?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes, I-uh-I have a trip to Atlantic City booked and figured that I’d try my luck.” 

“You have over $60,000 in here… that’s a lot to risk?” She says and you confirm once again that you’d like to withdraw it all. She whittles off some stuff about needing her manager to come over and go down into the vault to retrieve this much money and you sign the paperwork handed your way.

Dave lets himself into your apartment walking around the space and getting a sense of who you are before he steps into your bedroom, opening your closet door. He has about forty minutes before you come home and he needs to get some things. 

You carry the bag of money to your car as quickly as you can, glad to finally be out of there and start your engine the second your self belt is fastened. The drive to your apartment takes longer than usual as the downtown traffic begins to build up, you pick at the cold fries in the bottom of the bag as you pull up into your apartment complex's parking lot. Deciding to sit for a few minutes and contemplate what is going to happen next, eventually you reach over, pick up your bag, the bag of money and the cellphone that Dave had left in your car before going into your apartment.

Inside the apartment, there is a small bag packed. Things that will make it look like you had taken yourself on one last hooray before ending it all. Or disappearing. The point was so that no one would look for you, since Dave didn’t plan on having a body discovered.

You enter your apartment and place the bag of cash on your counter. You’re unsure whether you’re supposed to inform Dave of when you’re back to your apartment or just wait for him to call the phone again, so you just make yourself a drink. You pour yourself a large glass of juice and take a generous sip and sit yourself down at the kitchen table.

Dave is in your bedroom. Sensing your impatience, your unease with no direction. Smirking as he hears you move around. Pulling out the burner phone, he punches in a text. ‘Write the note and then go lay down on your bed.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Getting up and walking over to the drawer that your stationary sits in, you reach in and get a notepad and pen and write the note the exact way he instructed. 

Finishing off the juice, you place the glass under running water and then onto the draining board and then walk down the hall to your bedroom. Comfortably climbing under the covers and waiting for your next instructions.

Dave can move quietly when he needs to. Plenty of time spent slinking through places where if he made a sound, he died. And he was still here, so apparently he was pretty good at what he did. Stepping out of the bathroom, Dave has the hypodermic needle already filled and in his hand. Creeping towards the bed and when he is close enough, his hand covers your mouth as you gasp and your eyes shoot open. “Goodbye, sweetheart.” Dave growls, sticking the needle into your neck and injecting you with the clear liquid in the syringe.

You awaken abruptly to the feeling of his hand pressing down on your mouth, and his eyes boring down into yours. You have no time to speak or react before the sharp stinging of a syringe penetrates your skin. ‘Goodbye, sweetheart’ is all he says as the medicine immediately takes effect.

**

The first thing you notice when you slowly awaken from your haze is your head. A painful banging in the back of it, from what you assume is because of whatever he gave you. 

The second thing you realize is that you’re still alive, still here, the drug didn’t work? Or did it? Did he plan on drawing this out? Having some fun with how he was planning on ending your life.

You attempt to move but your arms are restrained in soft cuffs, tied to the metal frame of the bed you’re currently laying in. 

“Where am I?” you softly mumble before falling back into unconsciousness.

Dave hears the slight clink of the cuffs as you stir, checking on you to find that you've already drifted back off into unconsciousness again. Letting him smirk down at you, admiring your body as you are secured to the bed. Watching your chest move as you breathe for another moment before turning back around and leaving the room that he had prepared for you. Knowing you need more time to let the drugs wear off before he explains what will happen now.

The banging in your head seems to have intensified when you come to again. The dryness of your mouth makes you groan as you attempt to move your arms again, temporarily forgetting you’d been restrained. ‘Mr. York,’ you croak out barely above a whisper as you take in your surroundings. The room is nice, furnished and has a large flat screen tv nailed to the wall. You don’t think it’s a lived-in bedroom due to the lack of personal touches.

"You're awake." Dave appears in the doorway, a cup with a straw in his hand as he watches you look around. Confusion paints your face and he would chuckle as you struggle to put the pieces together. Striding over to the bed, he sits down on the edge and holds up the straw to your lips. "Drink. It'll help the cotton mouth and the headache."

You take the straw between your lips and begin to suck, staring at him the entire time, trying to gauge his next steps. “I’m alive.” You say after a few moments. “Mr. York… Why am I still alive?”

He smirks, pulling the cup away and setting it down on the nightstand next to the bed. “It would be a waste to let you die.” He coos, hand caressing your face and he shamelessly slides it down your chest to squeeze your bare tit. You haven’t quite discovered that you are tied to the bed completely bare, stripped down while you were unconscious and on display for him. “At least right now.” His thumb rolls your nipple between his fingers and he tugs on it.

“What are—-?” You breathe out as he palms your tit. “I don’t understand.” He continues to drag his hand around your bare body as you attempt to get a grip on what’s happening.

“You’re mine.” Dave does chuckle at the way your frown creases your brow and you tug on the padded cuffs he had wrapped around your wrists. He doesn’t want you to hurt yourself on the start metal ones or cut your skin on the zip ties he could use. “I’ve decided to keep you as my personal pet.” He slides his hand down to dip a finger into your folds. “Give you a reason to live.”

“Why would you do that? Why me?” You ask, confusion rising steadily in your veins. “I don’t understand, Mr. York.”

“Sir.” Dave corrects you, having enjoyed the way you demure to him when you would bring him files or when you had seen him around the office. “You don’t really want to die.” He tells you, pushing a finger inside your cunt and watching your hips jerk up in shock. “You just need to be given a purpose, a focus.” He hums when he feels your walls clench around his finger. “Satisfying me will become your purpose. You’ll live for my pleasure.”

The moan that leaves your mouth as a thick finger penetrates you is dripping with sin. How long had it been since you had been touched like this? You don’t even know, but you have to silently chide yourself for the way your hips silently start begging him for more.

“That’s it.” Dave hums, smirking in triumph at the way you respond to his touch. “You just need to let me control you. You’ll find out that you want to live.” His finger curls up inside you, pressing against a spongy portion of your walls.

“Oh, Dave,” you moan as he rubs that spot inside of you. Your head is still banging, and you have absolutely no idea how to react to what he’s saying but the way he’s pulling pleasure from you is like nothing you’ve ever known. “Please don’t stop.”

Dave chuckles, pumping his fingers into your now dripping cunt until he feels your thighs start to shake. Then he pulls them free, watching your eyes open in confusion and frustration.

You whimper are the loss of his fingers, so close yet so far from reaching that high he had you teetering over the edge from. “Please.” You beg a few times as his eyes bore into yours.

Reaching up, Dave smacks your cheek with his wet fingers. “Hush.” He chides, shaking his head. “Right now, you don’t deserve to cum. You were going to let me kill you, remember?”

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir,” you murmur as he gently rubs your jaw.

“Now, angel-“ Dave shifts, standing up and reaching for the buckle of his belt. “You’re going to be a good girl and let me fuck your throat.” He’s been thinking about your might ever since that night in your apartment. Jerking off as he thinks about your lips wrapped around him.

You nod to let him know that you’re listening as you watch him undress himself, slowly pushing his pants and boxers down in one go. The gasp that leaves your mouth as his cock bounces free makes him chuckle as you take in the heft of him.

He smirks as he wraps his hand around his cock, squeezing it and slowly stroking himself as he climbs on the bed and shuffles up to straddle your chest. “You’re going to gag, but do not bite me.” He growls in warning.

‘How on earth am I going to fit ALL of that in my mouth?’ You think to yourself as he taps his cock against your cheek. He drags the head of his cock across your cheeks before thrusting inside with little to no care about your comfort. 

The first sense of wet heat has Dave groaning, pushing his hips forward until you’re sputtering. Pulling back for a moment so he can let you take a breath before his cock pushes deep again. Eager to train you for what he likes, a spurt of precum hits your tongue and he twitches when you swallow around him.

You wish your hands were free so you could hold on to him as he fucked into your mouth. Every thrust pushing past your tonsils and making you gag around the thick length of him. He spat out some praise? Degradation? You’re not sure. You couldn’t make it out over the sounds slipping through your mouth.

“Fuck.” Dave groans, tilting his hips down and reaches down to hold your head. “You wanted me to get rid of this mouth. Deprive me of this?” He shakes his head. “Such a good cocksucker. My little slut.”

His pace gets a little faster as he chases his high, his fingertips grip on each side of your jaw. The sounds of your gagging and spluttering around him spurring him on before he slightly slaps at one of your cheeks and instructs you to keep your eyes on his.

He can see the way your eyes glaze over through the tears. Your mouth gets greedier, throat opening to take more of his cock as he ruthlessly fucks your face. Enjoying the fat tears as they roll down your cheeks to the pillow below you.

You’re not unsure if you should be enjoying this as much as you are, but the way he’s using you for his own pleasure makes your pussy clench hard around nothing. You’re soaking the sheets beneath you. His thrusts grow sloppier as his dick starts to throb on your tongue.

Looking down into your eyes, Dave grunts. “Swallow every drop.” He orders harshly, starting to spill down your throat with a groan.

You do as instructed, keeping your eyes focused on him the entire time. Swallowing hard around him, feeling yourself getting wetter as you do so.

Your mouth gulps around him, adding to his pleasure as he releases wave after wave of his cum into you mouth. Riding a satisfying high until the last spurt hits your tongue and he rolls his hips back until just the tip of his cock is on your tongue. “Good girl, angel.” He groans, reaching down and wiping your tears away. “I knew you could do it. Now I’m going to let you cum.”

“Thank you, sir,” you whisper as he pulls the rest of him from your mouth. Your tongue dips out to lick your lips so as not to waste a single drop from him.

Dave grins, moving off of you and his hand slides between your thighs. “Look at how wet you are.” He growls, making it sound like it’s a filthy thing, because it is. “You like being my little slut, don’t you?” He pushes two fingers into you and curls them up. “Admit it, this is better than what you wanted to do.” He chides as he fingers you roughly, “you wouldn’t know what my cum tastes like. What it feels like to be used.”

“Yes,” you admit as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your heat. “I fucking love being your slut.” You try to ignore the feeling bubbling up in your stomach, this is wrong, this isn’t what you planned. But being here and being completely in his control is oddly liberating.

Dace chuckles, making the sound seem degrading as the squelch of his fingers  is obscenely slick. Almost too wet from how aroused you got being used like a cum doll. “I’m going to like using you.” He predicts, watching as your arms tense, body starting to writhe under his touch. “Cum for me.”

“Yes, Sir,” you moan as you clench down around his fingers. You cum hard with a loud whimper of his name. The sound of metal clanging against the bed frame fills the room as your hands try desperately to grab at him as you cum. “That was… that was incredible.”

Dave pulls his fingers out of your dripping cunt and examines the thick coat of slick covering them. “Open.” He orders, pushing his fingers into your mouth for you to suck them clean. Watching as you open eagerly. “Now, do you need to use the bathroom?”

You obey his order, opening your mouth and wrapping your lips around his digits. Moaning lightly at the taste of you on his fingers. Slowly he pulls them out and you nod yes to his question.

“You will not try to run.” Dave tells you sternly, walking over to his trousers to pick the keys out of the pocket. “You won’t like the way I punish you.” He doesn’t bother getting redressed, knowing you need to get used to him being naked in this room with you.

“I won’t run,” you confirm as he undoes the cuffs. You go into the room he points to and you relieve yourself. Spending a few moments after staring at your reflection in the mirror. You look oddly relaxed for the first time in months. He’s sitting on the end of the bed waiting for you as you emerge from the bathroom. You stand there for a few seconds lightly rubbing the sore patches around your wrist as he stares you down, your cheeks flush with warmth as you realize just how vulnerable you are right now. 

“Come here and kneel down in front of me.” He tells you, reaching behind him to grab the collar he had pulled out of the nightstand while you were in the bathroom. “I’m going to put this on you, angel.”

You take the few small steps towards him and kneel down as he instructed, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his the entire time, after picking up that he likes that.

The collar that he got you is padded. Thick leather covered by a bejeweled pattern of metal rings. Allowing him to use it to tie you up if you need to. The fact that it will be locked also keeps it secure. “Let me know if it’s too tight.”

“It feels good,” you say as your fingertips trail the material. “What do you want me to do now?”

“You need to eat. More than just my cum.” Dave smirks and reaches out to grab your chin and stretches your neck out so he can admire your collar. Branding you as his. “After that, you are going to be punished for wanting me to kill you.” He warns you. “It will be a lot. You’re going to beg me to stop, but I won’t until I feel like you’ve learned your lesson.”

“You’re going to punish me?” You ask quietly, unsure what that will entail, not entirely sure if this isn’t just part of a game he’s playing. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“Some.” Dave won’t lie to you. There will be parts of it that will be very painful for you. His fingers tighten around your jaw. “How are you feeling right now? Knowing that you aren’t in control?”

“Good,” you admit softly, “It’s… nice.” Your stomach clenches at his admission, you wonder what he’s got in store for you. “I like the idea of being at your mercy.”

“Good.” Dave allows himself to caress your jaw before he lets go and stands. “Stay here. You may look around but do not try to get out of this room.” He tells you as he picks up his clothes and walks to the door. “I’ll bring you back some food.”

“Should I get dressed?” You ask as he starts walking out the door.

“No. I will just have to strip you down again. You stay naked.” He opens the door and swiftly closes it behind him, giving you no view outside of this little space.

“Oh,” you mouth as you sit down on the edge of the bed. You sit there for a few minutes attempting to take in the events of the day, you’re still not sure how you’ve supposed to feel. You stand up and look around the room, opening one of the drawers and running your fingers across the expensive lingerie he had filled it with. You consider switching on the TV but decide to take a little nap, your headache still evident and exhaustion getting the better of you. It doesn’t take long for you to fall into a comfortable sleep, snuggled up on the comfortable mattress. 

It takes Dave about ten minutes to put together a meal for you. Scrambled eggs, toast and some cheese slices for you to nibble on. He had poked through your online shopping for groceries to see what you liked before he had brought you here. Huffing slightly when he sees you asleep, exhausted by your anticipation of being put out of your misery, the drugs and the orgasm. Leaving the tray of food, along with some orange juice and some Motrin on the table, he leaves the room again to get what he needs to set up your punishment.

The sound of a chair dragging across the hardwood floor wakes you, you slowly push yourself up and match him setting something up. He flashes a smug smile in your direction as he does so. You figure that it’s best to wait for his permission to speak so you watch in silence as he continues to set something up against the chair.

“There’s something for the headache with your food.” Dave nods towards the tray. “Eat, you’re going to need your strength.” He walks over to the other nightstand and starts to pull out the original pair of handcuffs and two other ones to link to the chair.

“Yes sir,” you say with a gulp as you reach over to grab the tray. You take the pills and eat a few mouthfuls of eggs before watching him again. “Mr. York… Do I get a safe-word?” 

“No.” Dave shakes his head. “You haven’t earned the right to have a safe word.” He justifies. “You’re mine to do with what I want. My pet.” He almost reminds you that you were going to let him take your life, but he doesn’t. 

“Oh.” You eat the rest of the eggs and sip the juice in silence, anxiety coursing through your veins as you wonder what being his will entail. “I’m not on birth control,” you admit, wondering if he’ll want to go bare.

“Why?” Dave cocks his head as he looks over at you curiously. “You are beautiful. You weren’t taking men home?”

“It’s been a while.” He reaches over and takes the tray off your lap as you sit a little more upright. “Confidence isn’t really a strength I have and the only guys interested in fucking me were losers from work, who seemed hellbent on making their way through every woman on the staff.”

“You will be the only woman I touch.” Dave declares. “I won’t need anyone else to satisfy me. My little pet will take my cock any time I want, right angel?” He poses it as a question, but it isn’t one. You had forfeited your life to him when you contracted him to kill you. You don’t exist anymore. Not the way you used to. He reaches for your chin to draw you up off the bed, fingers brushing your collar. “Never giving me any reason to look at another woman. Not when I have everything I need right here.”

“Yes, sir.” Every single part of you reacts to his words, excitement and anticipation stirring in your tummy. The idea of all that was weighing you down left outside this house, and the only thing that you need to focus on is his pleasure giving you some weird sense of excitement. “I only exist to please you.”

Pleased with your answer, Dave guides you over to the seat. There is a hole in the middle of it with a wand positioned through it and held there with arms. “Sit down. I am going to secure you to the chair.”

You sit down on the chair, your hands still holding onto his arms. “Thank you,” you whisper as he looks into your eyes.

“Why are you thanking me?” Dave asks, brow raised in surprise. He had anticipated you pushing back some, but you have been incredibly docile.

“I don’t know… I guess for making that decision for me. I’m not really sure how this will play out, but I haven’t had any purpose in a long time, and now I have some.” You admit as you sit back up against the chair.

It’s a surprisingly emotional answer and Dave absorbs it, nodding once before he kneels down and starts to cuff your feet to the chair. He had changed into a pair of boxers to cook, but as soon as you are secure, he strips them off again. Baring himself just as much as you are exposed. Once he has you settled, he raises the arms holding the wand and presses the head of the toy firmly against the lips of your cunt and your clit. “Now, I want to see how many times you can cum.” He tells you before turning on the wand to the lowest setting.

“Yes sir.” It doesn’t take long before soft moans start to fall from your lips and your thighs start to shake. “Dave,” you whimper over and over as your high starts to build.

He watches, studying the way your breathing changes. The way your hips try to press closer and move away from the toy all at the same time. So much of you is conflicted and he knows that as soon as you cum, you will be clear. Free of thought except the pleasure coursing through you. “Don’t fight it.”

Doing as he commands, you let the toy press up against your clit. You watch as he slightly increases the vibrations and before you know it fireworks are bursting behind your eyes, pleasure rips through your entire body and you’re convulsing in pleasure with a whimper of his name.

You are fucking spectacular when you cum. Watching as your head tilts back and you let go has Dave’s cock hardening again. Jutting up from his lap as he watches you grind down on the wand. “That’s it, there’s one.” He coos, ramping up the intensity of the wand another level.

You hiss from the overstimulation, your clit pulsating from the orgasm you’ve barely come down from. “D-Dave,” you whine repeatedly as another orgasm builds up in little to no time. Your hips start to rock up against the head on the wand. Your eyes focus on Dave’s cock, rock hard and slightly weeping at the tip, you’re desperate to feel it inside of you. You wonder how he’s going to fuck you the first time, will he be gentle or rough? Will he take you from behind or will he want to watch your face as you come on his cock? Your orgasm washes over you as you think about his cock thrusting in and out of you as he wraps his hands around your throat. Ordering you to keep your eyes on him as he fucks you into the mattress.

He sees you eyeing his cock, smirking as another orgasm rips through you. “There’s two.” He leans back, wrapping his hand around his cock to relieve the pressure slightly before he increases the intensity again. “Now work on three, angel.”

The sight of his hand languidly stroking his cock makes you moan, you want nothing more than to wrap your own fingers around it and take him apart in your hands. Your arousal floods your thighs as the intensity against your bundle of nerves makes you wince. “I want to touch it,” the words fall from your mouth as you watch him give his cock another swift stroke, “Please, Sir.”

“Earn it.” Dave tells you simply. Wanting you to reach your limit and push past it with your punishment. “Earn it and you will be touching it all the time. Sitting in it. Sleeping with it inside you.”

“Yes, sir.” You hiss again and you press yourself up closer to the toy, you want to please him, you want him to see how willing you are to please him. “I like watch-ooh-watching you play with your cock,” you tell him as he swipes his thumb across the tip and spreads the pre-cum down his shaft. “Wanna feel you split my little pussy open.” 

It amuses him how quickly the idea of wanting to end it all has been abandoned in favor of this. Being controlled. Having your fate removed from your hands has made you more confident in an odd way. He couldn’t imagine you saying this to him two weeks ago. “You’re dripping onto the chair.” He grunts, watching the wet pool under your cunt start to grow, leaking out of you.

You moan in response, eyes still glued to his cock. “It’s so thick,” you whisper as a third orgasm begins to sweep through you. Not as intensely as the previous two but enough to render you speechless as you grind against the wand. “Oh fuck, feels so so good, sir.”

He doesn’t answer you, just continuing to watch as he slowly strokes his cock. Languid sweeps up and down the shaft and smearing the beads of cum over the head. He knows you want him to fuck you. But you are going to cum until you are too sore to be touched.

Your hips start to pull back, the overstimulation becoming too much after a fourth orgasm is ripped from you. Your clit now puffy and swollen, “I can’t,” you murmur as he raises his eyebrow at you, clearly displeased as you move back from the toy.

“Yes, you can.” Dave growls, letting go of his cock and leaning forward. “You can cum again. Move back against the wand right now.”

You groan in response, but immediately shift your hips forward. The head presses against your clit again and you whimper at the way your bundle of nerves feels sore from your previous orgasms. “Please,” you beg as he ramps up the intensity. “It’s so much.”

“Punishment, remember?” Dave asks, sending you a mocking grin.

“Yes, sir,” you grit out, as your next orgasm powers through you. You dig your fingernails into the arms of the chairs as you try to regain a little composure, your hips do the most to seek more pleasure as you ride out your high. It hurts, but it feels good, and you know that he has no intentions of letting this be over until you’ve given him another orgasm.

Dave reaches for the remote, flipping off the wand and stands. His cock bounces as he walks over to the chair where you are slumped down. Kneeling down and lowering the arms so he can inspect your clit. It’s swollen, puffy and slick with your cum. Making you whimper when he slides a finger along the seam. Dave chuckles and leans in, spitting on your cunt and leaning back, watching it drip through your fold as you stare at him in shock.

“Did I do good?” You breathe out as he watches his spit drip down through your folds, thinking your punishment is over.

Dave hums and slides the arms back up, pushing the wand against your clit to turn it back on.

Words fail you as the vibrations commence again. Fat tears start to roll down your cheeks as the stimulation against your clit makes you tremble. You’re not sure how much you can take, but despite how sore you’re starting to feel another orgasm starts to build. You look over at him and he’s staring intensely, a smug look splashed across his face as you start to fall apart again.

You’ve reached your limit. The whimpered moans are nearly pained and this time when he shuts off the wand, he’s kneeling down to unlock the cuffs around your ankles. “You did good.” He promises, rubbing your ankles gently before standing to unlock your wrists. “So good.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, the praise making you keen. You hold onto his shoulders as he gently helps you up and leads you towards the bathroom.

“I’m going to run you a bath so you can soak.” Dave tells you softly. “It’ll feel good on your swollen little clit.” He settles you on the toilet seat and sets about drawing you a bath, adding epsom salts and one of the bath bombs he had stolen from your apartment. He will order you more, but thought you might like a scent that is familiar.

“Thank you,” you say as you watch him draw the bath. Your eyes flicker down to his cock again, still rock hard and dripping pre-cum. “You didn’t cum?”

“No.” It’s obvious that he didn’t, but he’s not going to lie to you. “Only you are going to make me cum.” He tells you with a smirk. “Every load will be saved for you.”

Your cheeks feel flush with heat and a loud moan slips through your lips at his words. “I want to make you cum… want you to cover my face with it,” you admit barely above a whisper. You’re exhausted, your pussy is throbbing but if he told you to drop to your knees and bend over for him you know you wouldn’t hesitate for a single second.

Dave groans in approval, very pleased with how you are accepting your role in life now. He helps you into the tub and lowers you carefully into the water, feeling you tense up, hissing when the warm water touches your abused cunt. Once you are leaning back, Dave caresses your face. “Not tonight.” Dave murmurs softly. “You’ve been good for me, angel.” He promises, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

The water is welcoming, you groan in pleasure as the warm water helps you loosen up and your muscles relax a little. “Can I ask you something?” You ask as he gently rubs his thumb across your cheekbone.

“What do you want to know?” Dave asks, watching you relax into the fragrant water and spread your legs slightly to let your pussy soak.

“This isn’t part of a game is it?” You worry a little that your question will make him angry, “I’m only asking because I hope it’s not.”

“This isn’t a game.” Dave assures you. “Now answer my question.” He cups the back of your head and his fingers massage the base of your skull gently. He knows there is probably still a slight headache you are battling and this will help. “Why are you so accepting of this? I expected you to fight, or at least try to escape.”

It’s indescribable how good his fingers feel on you, and you breathe out an approving moan at how good his little massage feels. “Promise you won’t laugh,” you say and he hums back in agreement. “I was overwhelmed everyday. Unhappy. Lonely. Unable to deal with the constant decisions I was forced to make… and having someone take all of that away from me just felt… freeing. I mean… the fact it’s you as well? I didn’t even realize you knew I existed. Even after I handed you that file… I’ve seen the way the women in that office fall to their knees over you and I couldn’t ever imagine you wanting me like this.”

Dave smirks, happy that you had been secretly pining for him before now. “You intrigued me.” He murmurs quietly, continuing to massage your skull and neck. Aware that if he wanted to, he could snap your spinal cord right now and kill you, but he doesn’t. “Those women don’t intrigue me. And I have you.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“You do,” you say quietly, “You do have me.” The tips of your fingers gently run across his jaw, “Tell me what you want to do to me, sir.”

“Everything.” Dave grunts, hard cock twitching as he thinks about it. “You are going to get on your knees for me, hold my cock in your mouth while I pet your hair and look down at my little pet. Let me fuck every hole and have you drip my cum. Be rough when I need to. I won’t ever abuse you.” He vows. “But I will hurt you. And after, you will be taken care of. Like now.”

“Every hole,” you repeat gently, “You mean.. back there?”

“Every hole.” Dave reiterates. “I want to see my cock stuffing your ass full.”

“No one has ever touched me there.” You swallow hard, unsure how he’ll take your admission, but it was clear that it makes you nervous. You’re worried it’ll hurt or he’ll get upset if you need him to stop.

Dave raises a brow and his smile is one of anticipation. “Then I will get you a plug. Make sure you are ready when it comes time.” His hand stops for a moment and he stares at you seriously. “If you don’t like it, it will be something that is crossed off the list and not revisited.”

It’s only when your cheeks start to ache a little that you realize you’ve been smiling at him this entire time, even when you felt a little worried you must have been smiling. You feel it dip a little when you try to remember the last time you felt relaxed enough to genuinely smile and can’t pinpoint a time. “Thank you, Mr York.”

“Don’t.” Dave shakes his head. “It’s sir, or Dave.” He murmurs quietly. “Not Mr. York. That’s too formal.” His fingers start to press and knead again, watching your smile perk up again. “Do you need something else? More water? Juice?” He asks softly. “After this, we are going to sleep.”

“Okay, Dave,” you say before shaking your head, “No, I think I’d just like to finish in here and get some sleep. Will you be sleeping with me?”

Dave had considered letting you have some space tonight, but he finds himself nodding. “Yes.” He tells you, letting go of your head so he can hand you the small sponge and the soap that he had stocked in the bathroom for you. “I am going to sleep with you.”

He helps you out of the bath and watches as you dry yourself, his eyes flickering up and down the length of your body with every swift move you make. He gives his cock a few languid strokes before standing up and pulling the towel from your hand and gesturing towards the bed. 

And now you’re snuggled up next to him, unsure whether you’re allowed to reach out and hold onto him. Whether he wants you to touch him in ways that aren’t sexual, so you lay there, waiting for him to give you any indication.

“Relax.” Dave can feel how stiff you are, how unsure that you are now that you are not being overwhelmed. He turns you over in his arms so that you face him, grabbing your arm to throw over his waist and his leg pushes between yours gently. Not enough that he is pressing up against your sore cunt but so that you can lounge on him. “In bed, you are allowed to touch me however you like.” He murmurs softly. “You earned it.”

Your face immediately nuzzles comfortably into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent and breathing him in. You’re not entirely sure how you got here, you’re not entirely sure why you’re so comfortable but in this moment with his arms enveloping you and his breathing in perfect symphony with your own you decide it’s best not to question it. “Goodnight, Dave.” You whisper into his skin before briefly pressing your lips against him. “Sweet dreams.”

“Good night, angel.” He keeps his arms tight around you as you almost immediately relax and fall asleep in his hold. “You aren’t going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

**

He’s not here. Is the very first thought you had after you woke up, after outstretching your hand to reach for him. The side of the bed he had slept in was empty. His clothes he had littered across the floor were gone and the room was almost in total darkness.

Slowly you start to move up and out of the bed, walking over to the bathroom and peering in, a twang of sadness pinging in your chest as you notice it empty. You walk over to the bedroom door, your fingers teeter over the doorknob, ready to wrap around it and swing it open but his words you will not try to leave boom through your mind and you take a few hasty steps backwards. 

‘Why didn’t he wake me?’ you mouth as you look around the room, the chill in the air makes you wrap your arms around your completely bare body and you hurry back towards the bed. Slipping under the covers and letting the lingering warmth from both of your bodies cling to the goose pimpled skin. 

Laying back and staring up at the ceiling, that ugly feeling begins to spread throughout your body. What are you doing? Why are you so comfortable with this? How does this man have such power over you already? You feel a little nauseous. The eggs from last night threaten to make a reappearance as the room starts to close in on you, your breathing becomes more ragged and every breath seems harder and harder to catch.

The door swings open and Dave maneuvers the ladened down tray into the room. He had dressed again, this time lounge clothes for cooking. Bringing enough this time to share with you since he wasn’t letting you leave this room. “You’re awake.” He’s surprised. You had still been completely dead to the world when he had slipped begrudgingly from the warmth of your body to leave the room. Hating that he needed to leave at all but he was hungry and he knew that you would be when you woke up.

You hear him enter the room, and say something to you. But you’re frozen. The anxiety attack you’re currently having, full blown and crippling. Staring up at the ceiling you attempt to fight through it, to catch your breath and shake it off… but you can’t.

“Hey, hey.” Dave freezes for a split second when you don’t look over at him, your chest heaving and he realizes you are in crisis. The tray is shoved on the dresser and he’s on the bed in a second, gripping your shoulder and pressing his fingers to your pulse. “I’m here,” he growls, “breathe, just breathe.” Your eyes are wide, wild with panic and he cups your face in both hands. “Breathe, in-“ he inhales slowly and holds it for three seconds. “And out.” Exhaling slowly in a loud whoosh of used oxygen. Dave has had plenty of panic attacks himself, not quite as hard as he portrays himself to be, and he’s struggled with dealing with the guilt and weight of his deeds sometimes.

“Dave,” you gasp out as you feel his hands on you. Anchoring you and bringing you back down from wherever your mind had cruelly ripped you to. “I thought you… I’m sorry.” It takes a few moments for you to regain your composure, your hands still shaky and your breaths still ragged as you sit yourself upright to face him. “I don’t know why that happened.”

“Shhhhh.” Dave pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back. “Don’t apologize.” He orders you. “You were asleep, I thought you wouldn’t wake up.” He knows that the situation you have been thrown into is scary, he is your anchor point and you had thought he had left you.

Nuzzling your face into his neck, you push away that feeling in your tummy and let him hold you tight against him. “This is new,” you whisper against his skin, “I was so convinced I wanted to die, but now I'm not so sure I ever did.”

“You don’t want to die.” Dave growls, as if he can order you to feel that way. “You aren’t alone. You have me. I will make sure you know you have a purpose.”

“Can you do that right now?” You murmur into his skin, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

He knows you are still tender from the wand most likely and he doesn’t want your first time taking his cock to be a response to a panic attack. Pushing you off his lap gently, Dave stands and starts to undress. “Get on your knees and jerk me off.” He orders. “Want to cum all over that pretty face.”

Silently you drop to your knees, shivering with anticipation and excitement at finally getting to wrap your fingers around his cock. He’s half hard in front of you, you keep your eyes fixed on his as you dip your fingers into your slit and gather up some of the arousal that had pooled there. You smear your wetness over his cock and give him a few pumps before slightly rising up and surprising him with a fleeting kiss on his lips. “Fast or slow, sir?”

“Show me how eager you are for it.” He commands, giving you the freedom to decide. He is controlling the situation but he wants to see how much you want this. 

You start off with a few slower strokes, before building up a rhythm. With every sharp flick of your wrist he rewards you with a grunt, baring his teeth as he grits out a few short praises at how well you're stroking his cock. Maintaining the eye contact that he silently demands, you move your face closer to his cock, before letting your tongue dip out from between your lips… You circle the tip of him with your tongue, whilst continuing to pump his shaft as you do so. “We taste so good mixed together,” you mewl before lapping up the spurt of pre-cum spilling from his tip.

Dave groans, reaching down and cupping the back of your head. “Wait until you are wearing me.” He grunts, rocking his hips forward into your grip. He had been truthful when he told you that only you would make him cum. He hadn’t jerked off when you went to sleep, or when he woke up this morning, waiting until you are the one that brings him pleasure.

You hum in excitement, “I want to make this big, hard cock cum,” you mumble. The pace of your wrist quickens as you tighten your grip, feeling the slight stuttering of his hips. “Are you going to cum for me, sir?”

“Yes.” Dave hisses between his teeth. The anxiety has faded from your eyes and there is only arousal, need. It’s what he wants to see. “Might have to make you suck me off every morning.” He groans, knowing he will wake up before you. “Wake up to your mouth on my cock.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “I’d like that.” You pump him a few more times and he garbles that he’s about to cum. You close your eyes and continue stroking him, loving the way that he lets more and more moans spill out of his mouth the closer he gets. You moan in delight as the first spurts of his cum splashes out across your face.

Dave watches as his sticky seed spills over your cheeks. Hot ropes painting your skin as he twitches in your hand. You lean into it, moaning quietly and he knows that you are perfect. “Open.” He orders, wanting to see at least one spurt hit your tongue.

You open your mouth and resume your pumping, moaning as his cum hits your tongue. The salty and tangy taste of him makes your pussy clench with need. You continue to pump him until he pushes your hand away. “Do you want me to keep it on my face like this, sir?” You ask as innocently as possible. 

Dave pants and shakes his head, admiring his work. “No.” He reaches out and scoops some of his cum off your cheek and pushes it into your mouth. “Clean up so you can eat breakfast with me, angel.” 

Humming around his finger, you lightly nod before gathering up the rest on your fingers and eating it. “Yes, sir.” You stand up and walk into the bathroom and quickly wash your face  before joining him on the bed. Sitting cross legged in front of him.

Spreading out the food, Dave makes sure you have coffee and juice in front of you, along with the fresh fruit and cooled down breakfast sandwiches. “Eat.” He urges.

“What are we doing today?” You ask before taking a bite of your sandwich. You reach over and grab the throw from the end of the bed and wrap it around your shoulders, feeling super conscious about how undressed you are right now.

“Another half dozen orgasms in the chair.” Dave delivers the decision with a deadpan expression, giving you no hint of what he is thinking.

You giggle thinking he’s joking, before realizing he’s deadly serious. “Oh. Am I still being punished?” 

“Do you deserve to be punished?” Dave asks you, taking a bite of his sandwich and lifting a brow at you.

“I think that I deserve whatever you think I deserve.” You answer with a small shrug.

You have admitted that you don’t think that you wanted to die. Which is a great leap forward in his mind. He hums and then a smirk crosses his face. “You’re going to get off on my gun.” He decides. “Slide the silencer into your cunt and fuck it.”

Your face burns at his words, so casual despite what he’s saying. “You want me to put that inside of myself? What if it goes off?”

“Does that matter?” He asks, cocking his head curiously as he stares at you. “Just yesterday you wanted the gun to go off.”

Words fail you as you stare at his face, unable to answer his question because he was right. 24 hours ago you were ready for him to end your life. Instead of speaking, you place your hands out in front of him ready for him to pass you his gun.

“Finish eating.” Dave murmurs, shaking his head. “You don’t ignore your body’s needs.” He knows that you hadn’t been taking care of yourself like you should have, depression holding you tight in its grip. But you will take care of yourself now, he will make sure of it.

“Yes sir,” you say, before picking up the other half of your sandwich and taking a few bites. You pick at the fruit he laid out in front of you and take a few sips of the juice.

Pleased that you are listening to him, he watches as you eat with the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “What kind of thing would you like to wear when you are feeling vulnerable?” Dave asks you.

“Your clothes. Your shirts. I’d like to be wrapped in you.” You admit in between bites of pineapple.

His spent cock twitches and he chuckles. “I can bring you some.” He reaches out and hooks your collar to drag you closer for a quick kiss. “How does it feel today, angel?”

“It feels good,” you say with a smile, loving the soft way he kissed you. “I’d like that. Would you like to fuck me whilst I’m in your clothes?”

“I’m going to fuck you in my clothes, out of my clothes.” Dave chuckles. “Don’t worry, you’ll be getting fucked everyday.”

You hate the way you react so audibly to his words, a soft moan filling the room as you start to imagine how good he’d feel inside of you. “I’d like that.”

He frowns after a moment and decides that he needs to talk to you about some things that he couldn’t have learned through your social media. “Do you like sex when you are on your period? Have you ever done it?”

“No.” You run your hands through your hair before shaking your head. “I’ve tried it once and the pain was excruciating, so I asked him to stop.”

Nodding seriously, Dave decides that he won’t try to push you with sex when you are on your period. “Okay.” He picks up his coffee to swallow the last sip. “No sex during that time.”

“I can make you cum in other ways,” you reply quietly.

“No.” Dave shakes his head, knowing that some women don’t enjoy any type of intimacy during their cycle. “Not unless you wanted to.”

“I do.”

Dave finishes breakfast and it’s obvious you are done as well so he gathers up the tray and sets it aside to take away later. “Lay back and spread your legs.”

Laying back against the pillow, you spread your legs as he ordered. Nervous but excited about what he’s about to breach your pussy with.

He steps out of the room, not keeping the weapon in your room - just in case. Holding it firmly in his grip as he comes back on, finger off the trigger, Dave’s face is a hard mask.

Thankful for how obscenely wet you got whilst jerking him off, you wait for him to coat the weapon in your juices.

“I was angry.” Dave growls, holding up the weapons for you to see. The four inch silencer screwed into the barrel smooth and sleek, blued to match the darkness of his work. “When you approached me about taking your contract.”

“I know.” Your breath hitches as he moves closer to you. “But, why?”

“Because you don’t deserve to die.” Dave insists, kneeling on the bed between your thighs. “I look in people’s eyes everyday before they die. I see them.” He slides the gun along your thigh. “You would deprive me of your presence?”

The feeling of the freezing cold metal on your skin makes you gasp out loud, “You never noticed me before.”

“Bullshit.” He hadn’t thought you desperate to die, but he had noticed you. He’d have to be blind not to notice you. “So I kept you. If you didn’t want to live, no one would care if I took you, kept you for my needs.”

“You barely glanced up at me every time I went into your office,” you say, fully aware that the time to piss him off isn’t when he has a loaded weapon in his hands. “I noticed you. Never once did you look at me.”

Dave snorts. “Do you think I would be a good spy or assassin if people knew I was looking at them?” He asks, well aware of his skills. He had noticed that you prefer to wear a specific outfit on Thursday’s and you tended to wear sweaters in the office year round when you were on your period. The edge of the silencer grazes your clit and you jump slightly.

“You never said anyth—,” your cut off by your own moan. His eyes are always black boring down into yours, his jaw rolls as he drags the weapon through your folds.

“You were shy.” Dave reminds you. “I thought you were scared of me.” Half the women in that office had no clue what he did. You knew everything.

“I wasn’t scared of you, I mean I was terrified of pissing you off… but I was never scared of you.” He growls as your hips chase some friction, the teasing making you want more.

His dark eyes center on you, the silencer pressing against your clit before sliding down to your entrance. “You think I would hurt you, angel?”

“I think you could, but I don’t think you would.” You wait for him to push it in, but he doesn’t, he keeps his eyes focused on yours. Clearly enjoying watching you writhe around and squirm in anticipation.

“Good.” It’s good that you know that. He knows what the rumors about him are like. He’s hotheaded and dangerous. He can be, but he wouldn’t hurt you. His enjoyment of being in control doesn’t come from a sadistic side. “Beg me for it.” He coos.

“Please,” you say as softly as you can, bringing one of your hands up to gently grip on his jaw, “Please, fuck me with your gun, sir.” 

Dave smirks and slides the barrel of the deadly weapon, the one that he would have used last night, into your cunt.

Your pussy immediately clamps down around the cold metal, Dave notching it against that sweet spot inside of you. Eyes rolling back into your head, you squeeze tighter on his jaw as he starts to thrust it in and out of you.

“That’s it.” Dave growls. “Such a dirty little slut, fucking the gun that would have killed you.” He chuckles darkly, twisting his wrist expertly.

You know he must have felt the way you reacted to that. Your pussy clenching down hard around what could have been the thing that ended your life. Your eyes flicker away from his and you squeeze them shut in an attempt to hide your embarrassment.

Dave chuckles again, flicking the safety off as he presses it deeper inside you. “I could pull the trigger right now.” He threatens. His finger isn’t near the trigger and he knows exactly how many pounds of pressure is needed, but you react to that threat. 

He chuckles at the way your breath hitched, the gasp that fell from you and the way your eyes flew wide open in shock. “Dave,” you whimper, unsure what else to say.

“Dave.” He mocks you quietly. “Tell me to do it.” He challenges you. “Tell me to pull the trigger. You can cum right before you die.”

Panic rises in your chest as he mocks you. Is this just a game to him? You find yourself questioning yet again. No. He wouldn’t have held you the way he did if it was. “No.” You say back as confidently as you can. “You can make me cum, but you can’t pull the trigger.”

“Good girl.” Dave coos, pumping the pistol into you faster, hearing what he wanted to have fall from your lips. “That’s my good girl. My angel.”

“Your angel,” you say back to him as he drives the gun deeper and deeper into your cunt. Making sure it thrusts up into that spot inside of you every time. You can feel yourself soaking the pistol, your arousal dripping all over the bedsheets as he brings you closer to orgasm.

“Mine.” Dave growls. “You didn’t want yourself, so I took you.”

“Yours. All yours.” You say as you’re thrown over the edge, clamping down hard around the gun and cumming with a gasp of his name. 

“Yours.”

Dave relaxes the intensity of the thrusts as you ride out your orgasm on the gun, pulling it out of you when you whimper and relax onto the bed. Holding it up to show you how you have covered it in your pleasure.

He holds the pistol a few inches from your face and tuts a few times. It’s coated in your creamy arousal, glistening with your cum. You wait for him to say something but instead he gathers a little bit of your arousal from the silencer and dips the tip of his finger into his mouth.

“Sweet.” He hums, smirking down at your wrecked face. “When you earn my tongue, I’m going to enjoy feasting on you.”

“Have I not earned it already?” You ask, desperate to feel his mouth on you. “I fucked your gun really good.”

“Someone is eager.” Dave smirks and he can’t deny that you have been good for him. “Turn over and lift your hips.”

You immediately flip over, and lift your hips. Ready to feel his mouth sucking on your bundle of nerves.

Dave chuckles, setting aside the gun and grabbing your hips to lift them up more. Groaning as he descends on your cunt like it is a treat.

“Oh, Dave,” you moan as his hot breath coats your core. “Please,” you start to beg.

Dave doesn’t tease you anymore. Flattening his tongue, he ducks his head and starts at the hood of your clit and drags it through your folds, over your soaked and fluttering entrance to your puckered hole.

Your hips jerk forward as his tongue pushes into your ass, but he’s too fast, his arms are wrapping around you and pulling you back. You squirm beneath him, embarrassment flooding you as he eats your ass with rigor. It feels good, but you’ve never been touched back there.

“Relax.” Dave orders you, pulling away briefly before he sinks two fingers into your cunt before his tongue breeches your ass again.

“Dave, I- oh fuck, it feels so good,” you groan as he teases your puckered hole. The urge to grind up against his face grows stronger but you fight it, not wanting to seem too eager as he plays with your ass.

His fingers curl, his tongue circling and dipping into your spasming channel as your entire body short circuits. Unable to decide if you should move away or push back. He hums and groans. Not minding the musky taste and enjoying the pitiful whines it draws out of you. He can imagine you are mortified that you are enjoying it so much but he will make you crave it, eventually wanting to see you bounce your ass on his cock as you ride him.

“I’m gonna cum,” you garble as his mouth continues its assault on your hole. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you chant his name over and over. “Need to feel you inside me,” you mumble into the sheets as you fall forward, legs shaking with pleasure.

Pulling his fingers out of you, Dave flips you over and pulls your legs up into his hip. Unable to deny himself any longer, he grips his cock to push into you. Watching your face as he sinks into your cunt to the hilt.

The stretch of him is indescribable. It pinches a little as he pushes into you, splitting your tight little pussy open. You appreciate the way he waits for a few moments, studying your face as you adjust to the heft of him. 

“You feel so good, angel.” He groans, stroking your sides gently, “so tight around my cock.”

“You’re so thick, Dave. Fuck. Can’t believe I could be missing this. Please move.”

His hand comes down on your thigh, slapping the side of it before he draws his hips back. “Fuck.”

“Kiss me,” you beg him, desperately wanting to feel his mouth against yours. “Please kiss me, Dave.”

Dropping down to his elbows, Dave lunges forward and presses his lips to yours as his hips slap against your pelvis. Burying himself into your cunt at an unrelenting pace. 

“More,” you plead as his lips brush against your neck, before he starts sucking marks into your collarbone as he fucks into you. “Fuck me like the little toy I am.”

Dave growls, his teeth sinking into your skin when he hears what you say. Instead of the steady pace, Dave decides he’s going to wreck you. Painting his knees had snapping his hips forward.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp out as he grips onto your hips, pulling you down to meet the snap of his hips as he fucks hard into you. “Make me cum. Make me cum on your big cock.”

Hissing, he snaps his teeth together, the rumble somewhere deep in his chest is feral, animalistic as he continues to give you his cock exactly how you are begging him for it.

“Fuck,” you scream as he drags his cock against that spot inside of you. “Oh, I’m gonna c—.” Everything goes black, your body starts to convulse as pleasure rips through you. It’s consuming, every drag of his cock in and out of your heat makes you tremble and knocks the air from your chest. Yet, he doesn’t slow his relentless pace, he just continues to fuck you as hard and fast as he can throughout your high, repeating over and over that you belong to him.

Your body is limp underneath him but he doesn’t care. Continuing to pound into you; marking you as his in the most basic way. He had no intention of pulling out of you. Wanting to fill you up with his seed.

He continues to use you for his own pleasure, chasing his own high as you lay blissed out on the mattress below him. You feel his hips start to stutter, his groans get more ragged as your pussy grips onto his cock. Sucking it back in as he starts to throb inside of you. 

Dave groans. “Shit, angel.” His cock throbbing as he starts to spill. Painting your walls with hot ropes of his sticks seed as he rocks his hips, eyes closed in bliss.

“That was incredible,” you say with a giggle. His softening cock still buried deep inside of you as you wrap your arms around him.

Grunting, he collapses on top of you to catch his breath. “Glad you enjoyed it.” He pants, turning and kissing the skin he had irritated with his teeth.

“No one has ever made me cum like that before. No one has ever made me cum from sex actually.” You say as you run your fingers through his hair, gently rubbing circles into his scalp.

“Dumb fucks.” Dave snorts, burrowing just a bit deeper into your warm, plaint body. “Their loss.”

“His loss. Just one before you. I’ve been lonely for a long time.”

Dave frowns against your neck, his arms around you tightening slightly. “You won’t be lonely anymore.” He growls. He had been lonely too, since Carol had left, but he doesn’t like the idea of you being lonely. “You have me.”

“When did you decide you weren’t going to kill me?” You ask, curious as to how he made this decision.

“The first day.” Dave admits, smirking slightly. “Had to get this place ready for you. That’s why it took two weeks.”

“The first day?” You repeat, “At my apartment?”

Dave pulls his head back so he can look into your eyes. “At your apartment.” He confirms. His soft cock twitches inside you. “I decided I would bring you here. Make you my pet.”

“Oh.” You mouth silently. “What happens next? Will people at work know that something is happening between us? Is it a secret? Am I still going to be working there?”

Dave frowns at you slightly, wondering what you would want to happen. He had expected you to need to be locked up. Contained. But you have been docile and agreeable to him. “Do you want to continue to work?” He asks. “I had thought to keep you here. Making you disappear like you had wanted.”

“I want to do what you want me to do.” You reply simply. “Whatever you tell me to do.” 

“You will write an email resigning immediately.” He decides. “Give up your apartment. Instead of ‘dying’, you are just moving onto other opportunities.”

“Yes, sir.” You agree. “Whatever you want from me, I’ll do it.”

“I want you to be happy.” Dave murmurs, reaching up and caressing your cheek. “If that is having me control you, then that is what it will be.”

“I want to serve you. To obey you, always.” 

Dave chuckles and shakes his head. “I cannot believe how perfect you are.” He huffs. “This is what you needed, hm?”

“I am hardly perfect,” you say with a giggle, “This is what I needed. I think that you are what I needed.”

“Then this will work out very well for us.” He hums, his fingers sliding down to caress the collar. “Now we need to clean up.”

“Are you suggesting we take a shower together?”

“No.” Dave chuckles. “You are going to soak in a bath and I’m going to clean up from breakfast.”

“That’s a real shame,” you say as you snuggle into him. “Would have loved to see you all lathered up.”

“You can see that soon enough.” He smirks at how greedy you are. “If you lather me up, I’m going to want to fuck you in the shower. And you’ll be sore again.”

“You can make me sore. Or… that bath is big enough for two.”

“Greedy.” Dave chuckles and pulls out of your cunt with a soft groan. “You want me to knock you up today, hmm?” He asks proudly. “Since you’re ovulating?”

“How would you know that?” You say with an uncomfortable laugh. “I don’t even know that.”

“You were on your period when I came to your apartment.” Dave reminds you, “most women ovulate 14 days after the end of their cycle.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, “You have a good memory.”

“I’m going to breed you.” He promises, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to say. “I might just keep you here, filled with my babies.”

You’re not quite sure what to reply and you’re not wanting to upset him, so you press a kiss to his lips and run your hands through his hair again, “I think I’m ready for that bath now.”

He’s surprised that you don’t have any questions, but he lets you get up. Watching as you walk into the bathroom and he hears the water turn on after a moment. He considers joining you, but ultimately decides to go take the tray out of the room to keep things tidy in your space.

Sinking into the hot fragrant water you think about how casually he spoke about breeding you, and you wonder if he really meant it. ‘Should I really be going along with this?’ You question as you slip under the water, the hot water washing over your face as you rest your head on the bottom of the bath for a few moments. 

You let your mind go empty, just relishing in the feeling of the slightly too hot water cleansing your body before you sit re-emerge. 

‘Yes.’ You decide. For over a year you’ve lived in misery, fighting demons in your head and convincing yourself you’ll never stop feeling overwhelmed and yet the moment he has you in his arms and he’s telling you exactly what to do… you feel free.

If he wants to fuck you until you can’t think about anything other than the way his cock feels when it’s shredding up inside of you and filling you full of his cum… you’ll take it all.

Dave returns without the tray, but he does bring in two bottles of water. Deciding he’s going to put a refrigerator in here for you to keep drinks in, he sets the large t-shirt on the bed. You had said you wanted to wear his clothes when you were feeling vulnerable so he had brought you one.

After an extra long soak in the bath and washing your hair, you spend a few minutes in front of the mirror. Using the few skincare products he had picked up for you before returning to your room. A smile spreads across your face as you notice the light gray t-shirt he left out for you on your bed, and you waste no time pulling it over your head. It smells like him. You think it’s clean but maybe something he put on for a short while before taking it off again because you can so clearly smell him on it, it’s oddly comforting. Just 48 hours ago he was the man you stole glances at in your office, the man you knew killed in exchange for money and the man you thought would ultimately end your life, and now you wrap yourself up in his clothes.

You notice a note left on your pillow which tells you he’ll be back in a few hours and to stay in your room, so you sink under the covers and decide to make use of the massive television nailed to the wall.

**

It’s been four hours when Dave finally opens the door again. Smirking when he finds you curled up under the covers and the tv is quietly playing on the wall. He notices the t-shirt is gone, presumably on your body. His own shower taken care of, he’s dressed in shorts and another t-shirt; another tray of food in his hands.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper as he strides into the room, before pausing the TV show you’re watching. “Where did you go?”

“I had to take care of some things.” With you not wanting to completely disappear from the world, he had to go back to your apartment and collect the evidence he had planted that you had disappeared. “Did you nap?”

“No, nap… I did watch half a season of Yellowjackets though.” He hands you the tray of food and you immediately start to dig in.

Dave hums, not sure what you are talking about, but you seem to not mind it. “I am going to bring you your laptop so you can write your resignation letter and email your apartment complex.”

“Okay,” you say between bites of your grilled cheese. “I’ll need to pay off the rest of my lease I think.”

“What do you want or need for when I am at work?” Dave asks, knowing that you can’t just sleep and watch tv all day during the week. “What would you do if you could do anything?”

“I like to cook and bake,” you say with a shrug, “Never had any reason to bake when it was just me.” You rest your head gently on his shoulder, “Is there anything you want me to do?”

Dave chuckles and smirks at you. “Besides sit with my cock in your mouth all day?” He jokes.

“Oh, I think I can do that,” you giggle back, “Yes. I don’t mind cooking and taking care of the housework when you’re at work.”

“You want to be a housewife?” He’s pleasantly pleased by that answer. Not that he ever expected Carol to stay home, but if you wanted to, that was a different story. “Or my little house pet?”

“Both,” you say with a smirk, and before finishing up your sandwich. “Whatever Daddy wants from me.”

“You like ‘Daddy’?” Dave grunts, considering the nickname as he stares at you.

“Do you? I thought you would. Seeing as you wanna keep me here and fuck me full of your cum, right?”

“Never thought about it.” He hadn’t really. Not with the way Carol was firmly in the ‘no daddy’ corner. “If you want to call me that, I don’t mind.”

“What do you want to do this afternoon?” You ask. Noticing he seems a little distracted, you move your head from his shoulder and sit upright. “Do you need me to do anything for you?”

“Yeah.” Dave nods, rubbing his jaw. “I want you to cook dinner for me.”

“What do you want me to cook?” You can’t help the smile that starts to spread across your face. You can’t help but be excited to do something for him.

“Your best dish.” Dave decides. “The one you are most proud of. I want to see what you would feed me if you invited me over to your apartment to try to get me to fuck you.”

“Is it ok to keep it a surprise? I can instacart what I need and I can guarantee that you will be fucking me real good after you taste it.” You press a lingering kiss to his lips and sit back.

Dave nods, “order whatever you need. Or what you want.” He tells you, opening the laptop and pulling up Instacart so he can log in. There is no use in keeping where you are hidden from you. Not since you’ve decided you want this. 

“Thank you,” you say excitedly, pulling the laptop on your lap and angling it away from him. “Dinner and dessert are going to be a secret.” You start searching for the items needed to make your best dish and a devil's food cake for afterwards. “Any allergies?”

“None but penicillin.” Dave hums, watching your eyes sparkle with excitement. “But when you cook, I want you in nothing but an apron.”

“I think I can handle that,” you say before pressing another kiss against his lips, “I can’t wait to feed you, baby.”

He chuckles and leans back against the headboard and watches you bite your lip in concentration. Finding it sexy that you want to do this. The leather collar around your neck stands out, but you don’t seem to mind it. Instead, you’ve acclimated to your new situation very well.

“We have 45 minutes until instacart is going to be here.” You squeeze his cock through his pants and lick your lips slowly, “Any ideas on how to pass the time?”

“I could finger your ass.” Dave smirks, watching your eyes widen. “Put in the plug I got for you.”

“Will it hurt?”

“It might be uncomfortable.” Dave admits. “Feel a little strange. But it will also feel good.”

“O-okay. Let’s do that.”

He watches you for a moment before he nods. “Do you want to suck my cock while I play with your ass? Or do you want to pinch your nipples?”

“I want to suck your cock… please.”

Rolling over, Dave gets off the bed and strips his shorts and shirt. “Take the shirt off.” He orders as he strides over to the dresser to open the drawer that contains all the toys and lube that he had stocked in there for use with you. Pulling out a plug, a bottle of lube and a pair of nipple clamps.

You pull his shirt off and place it on the bedside table, “Come here,” you mumble after a few moments, feeling impatient and needing to touch him as soon as possible.

“Bossy.” Dave huffs, amused at how eager you are for him to stuff his cock in your mouth. “I’m not cumming right now.” He warns you, “I want to be able to have you sit on my cock while you feed me.”

You hum in disappointment but nod your head in agreement. You want to taste him again, have him flood your mouth with his salty cum but you know that he’s in charge here.

He smirks at the way your face falls in disappointment and he lays down on the bed. “Come straddle me.” He offers, patting his chest.

“Yes, sir,” you say before immediately climbing on top of him. “Can I kiss you before we start?”

  It’s telling that you would ask. Dave hooks a finger into one of the links of your collar and drags you towards his face. “Kiss me, angel.” He orders roughly.

The second your lips press against yours he takes control, licking his way into your mouth and kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before. It’s intoxicating, he’s intoxicating, it’s like no matter how much he’s giving you, you still can’t get enough.

The kiss is rough, messy. Just like his life and work seems to be. Softened by the sweetness of your mouth and the way you melt against him. Tempering the rough edges and making it seem erotic.

Your moans fill his mouth as his tongue dances against yours in a battle for dominance, which he unsurprisingly wins. You could stay like this forever, wrapped up in his arms and kissing his mouth with all of your strength. You grind down on him and he responds by capturing your bottle lip between his teeth and biting down just hard enough to make you shiver.

Huffing, his hands slide down and squeeze your ass. Enjoying the way that you shamelessly press closer. Dave pulls back for a moment and stares at you. “Why?”

“Why what?” You ask back, confused and concerned you’ve done something wrong.

“Why me?” He asks, clarifying slightly. “You should be screaming and trying to escape. Not begging for more.”

“You make me feel safe,” the words fall from your mouth before you have time to stop yourself. “I haven’t felt like I'm not good enough once since you brought me here. Do you want me to try to escape? Do you want me to leave?”

“I would track you down.” Dave growls, his hands gripping you possessively. “There’s nowhere you could go, I wouldn’t find you.”

“Is that right?” You say before kissing the tip of his nose, “You’d care enough to track me down?”

“You’re mine.” He hisses, fingers curling into your flesh as if to keep you from escaping.

“Yours,” you confirm as you nuzzle your nose against his. “You can be super soft when you want to be.”

“This is being soft?” He scoffs, looking at you as if you have lost your mind. Almost offended by the idea.

“The grumpy face can only hide so much, especially when you’re telling me that I'm yours and holding me like this, York.”

“So possessive is soft in your mind…” Dave is almost amused at that way of thinking.

“Don’t fight it, York, I think there’s a sweetheart behind those grumpy expressions.”

“Do you want me to spank you?” He’s not denying it, but he’s also not confirming it. He’s not as big of an asshole as most would think, but he’s definitely not some limp dicked twat.

“Maybe,” you giggle. Getting the sense that maybe you’ve pushed him a little too far, you grind down across his cock and make a comment about how much time you have left. Not telling him how badly you want him to pull you close and lazily fuck up into you as you nuzzle your face comfortably into the crook of his neck, and relish in the safety of his arms. 

“We could always save the plug for later.” Dave hums, immediately entranced by the way your slick lips slide along his shaft. “You could ride my cock until you cum.” He senses your reluctance to move and wants you to feel like you can tell him what you want. His pleasure is your priority but yours is his. 

“Yeah? I’d like that. You wanna see these titties bounce, baby?” You tease before grinding down on him again.

Dave chuckles and reaches down between you to push his cock farther down, letting it catch on your entrance. “No bouncing.” He grunts. “Slowly ride me while I rub your clit.”

“Yes, sir.” Lifting your hips up, you start to slowly sink down on his length. Still sore from the before, you wince at the way his cock pinches as he splits you open, “Fuck. You feel even bigger from this angle, Dave.”

“Stop.” Dave grabs your hips and makes you hold still. “Don’t do this if it hurts.” He rasps out, enjoying the tight heat of your cunt, but not at the expense of your comfort. “Pull off.”

“No,” you say sternly. “It feels good. I like that it hurts, I like that I can still feel you when you’re not here.”

His brow quirks up, but he lets go of your hips and slides his arms around your back, letting you have your way. Interesting.

“I haven’t felt alive in such a long time,” you admit before slowly starting to rock your hips,  “But that ache you left me with reminded me that I’m very much alive and i’m still capable of feeling other than the numbness that i’d started to believe was all i’d ever feel again.”

“Good.” His hands are soft as he strokes your back gently. Wanting you to set your own pace. He had meant it when he said he didn’t want to cum right now. This is for you. He can’t go but so many times a day and edging himself is its own kind of painful beauty.

“I really like being here with you, and maybe I should be a little more cautious. But you’ve already —oooh— given me so much to look forward to. And for however long you’ll keep me around, I’m going to take such good care of my man.”

You rock your hips a little faster, loving how he feels inside of you. You can feel your ways fluttering around his length as he notches against paradise inside of you.

He doesn’t tell you that he has no intentions of letting you go. That part is non-negotiable. You are his from now on. He saved you. Kept you from ending it all. You’re his.

“When you fuck me later, I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel you dripping out of me as I make your dessert.”

He grunts, his cock flexing inside you, liking that image. Watching you bend over and see his cum on your lips, sliding down the inside of your thighs.

“Always wanted someone to cum inside my pussy and then eat it out of me,” you admit as you grind down a little harder on him, loving how his cock throbs inside your tight little cunt. “Fuck, you feel so good. I fucking love this cock.”

“Can do that.” Dave hisses, twitching again. He enjoys praise just as much as you do. “Maybe I’ll just have you for dessert.”

“Yeah, you want me to lay down on the table in front of you? Legs wide open? Ready for you to dive your perfect face between my legs? Fuck.” You moan and move your hips a little bit faster, picking up the pace as you imagine him feasting on your cunt.

He groans, fingers flexing over your back in reflex to the filthiness of your words. “Yes.”

“Thought about you so many times,” you admit as you move closer and closer to your high, “Imagined you bending me over your desk at work and fucking me however you needed. Yelling at me to be louder so everyone could hear that you were making me your little whore. Fucked my own fingers thinking about it. You’re so fucking gorgeous, Dave, never thought you’d look twice at me.”

Dave groans, thinking about hauling you into work just so he can do that. “Fuck.” He loves how you enjoy the slight degradation he prefers. “You are my little whore. Cock hungry for me. You’ve got me now.”

You know you’re not going to last much longer, you can feel your pussy clamping down around him and your thighs beginning to shake, “I’m yours. Tell me your mine too.”

“I’m yours.” He promises. “Forever.”

You cum hard and you feel him everywhere. Soaking his cock with your cum as he tightens his grip around you. “Forever.”

**

Dave has shown you around the house, watching your surprise when you aren’t in some dank, abandoned safe house. The two story family home can fit on any street in suburbia, and does. Sitting at the kitchen table, he watches you putter around the kitchen, putting up the extras you had bought and acquainting yourself with how the kitchen is set up. “Change whatever you want.”

“It’s perfect. I’ve always wanted a big kitchen. The one in my old apartment was barely big enough to move in, let alone prepare a decent meal. I hope you’re hungry, York.”

You prepare the dessert first. The steaks will be cooked shortly before serving and are already marinating in the refrigerator. “I miss my stand mixer,” you say with a giggle as you start to whisk the ingredients together, knowing that he’s going to enjoy watching your titties bounce as you do so. “I hope you like chocolate.”

“Love it.” Dave has a secret sweet tooth that he indulges. He makes a note to get your mixer from your apartment. “I’ll get whatever you want from your place on Monday.” He tells you. “After work.”

“Thank you, Dave.” You finish mixing the batter and evenly distribute it to the cake pans. You hope he’ll like the dessert, you always add a dash of coconut oil and it always comes out perfectly moist. “Can I ask you something?”

“What’s that?” He asks, aware that there are probably a lot of questions that you have for him.

“Do you have any… fantasies?” Embarrassment burns in your cheeks as you ask, unable to fully look him in the face but wondering if there’s anything you could do for him, that no one else has ever done before.

“This.” Dave answers simply. This had been the culmination of his fantasies.

“Oh.” Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised at his answer, but you are, and maybe a secret part of you was hoping for something dark. Something that would make the hairs at the back of your neck stand up and your pussy weep as he revealed it to you. “Am I living up to expectations? You ask as you set the timer for the cakes to bake.

“You could have fought it a little more.” Dave chuckles, leaning back on his chair. “Let me chain you back up to the bed.”

“Right now?” You ask, sounding much too enthusiastic and instantly forgetting that you’re baking a cake.

Grinning at you, Dave hums. “Ohh, did we just hit on one of your fantasies?”

“Maybe.” Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you look over at him, “Maybe, it’s all just you.”

“Your fantasies for me?” He asks, eyes darkening drastically. “Tell me.”

“I’d like you to use me,” you whisper, “Hold me down and take what you want from me, not worry about my pleasure and get your own. Maybe a bit of role play… breath play. And I’d spend forever letting you dominate me in every aspect of my life.”

“Jesus Christ.” He whistles low and reaches down and adjusts his cock. “I can do that, angel.”

“Yeah?” You ask looking over at him, “I don’t think I could ever say no to a single thing you ask of me.”

“You say that now, but I don’t think you’ve learned your limits.” He says seriously. “While I want to control you, I will never betray your trust in me.”

“I don’t think you’d ever step too far over that line,” you say as you take a few slow steps towards him, “You could have taken me anywhere. Chained me up in some disgusting room with no care for my comfort, hid your face from me and just left me confused and scared. But you didn’t. You brought me here, you made me a comfortable room and you’ve looked after me. You’ve been completely honest with all your intentions.”

You take his face in your hands and pull him in for a kiss. Honestly, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve kissed him, in the past 24 hours but you can’t help yourself and he hasn’t seemed to have minded at all.

Humming, Dave lets you lead the kiss, although he does open up for you to slide your tongue into his mouth so you can kiss him deeper if you want.

You slide your tongue into his mouth, kissing him deeper and harder than before. You could kiss him forever, the taste of his mouth and the way he moves his lips is captivating. “You’re distracting, did you know?” You ask after eventually breaking the kiss. “How am I supposed to prepare dinner when you look this good?”

“Cook.” He chuckles at the compliment and slaps your ass as he turns you back towards the stove.

“Fine,” you grumble, before turning around giving him a sad pout. You prepare the potatoes and season the vegetables. “How do you like your steak?”

“Medium rare.” He tells you, keeping his eyes on your ass. “How do you eat your steak?”

“Medium,” you say with a smile. “I can’t remember the last time I had it though. Is a mushroom sauce ok?”

“Mushroom is fine.” He nods. “If it’s your favorite meal, why haven’t you had it in so long?”

“I didn’t want to cook it for just one.” You quickly throw together the sauce before cooking off the steaks. It’s almost finished cooking; perfectly mashed potatoes, steak with garlic veggies. Simple but bursting with flavor. “What would you like to drink with it?”

“Do you drink?” Dave asks. He hadn’t seen much of anything in your apartment, but he doesn’t know if you just abstain.

“Not often, but I enjoy the odd glass of wine.”

Grunting, he stands up and he walks over to a small cabinet on the side of the coffee maker. “I have a red wine and some bourbon.” He offers. “Which one would you like?”

“Red wine, please.” You say as you begin to plate out the food. You take your time dishing it out and making sure it looks perfect for him. “Hungry?”

“I am.” He didn’t eat earlier so he actually is hungry. Pulling out two wine glasses as if this is a normal romantic dinner at home and finding a wine opener to crack into the bottle.

You wait until he’s sat down at the table to bring over the plates, unsure if he was serious about you sitting on his cock whilst feeding him his dinner.

Once you have sat the plates down, Dave looks at the meal. “This looks delicious.” He murmurs, smiling over at you. “How do you want to eat it, angel? Do you want to do what I said? Do you want to sit on my cock? Or do you want to sit across from me and talk while we eat?”

“I want to sit on your cock. I’d like to feed it to you like you said. If that’s okay?”

“It is.” Dave captures your wrist and drags you closer. “Take off the apron, put my shirt back on.” He orders you. “Want to see you sitting on my cock wearing my shirt.” 

“Yes, sir,” you say as you strip off the apron, “I’ll go get the shirt now. One minute.” You make your way back to the bedroom and quickly slip it on, eager to get back to Dave and take a seat on his cock. He hasn’t cum yet and you’re determined to make it good for him. 

He moves your plate over in front of his chair and starts cutting up both steaks. That way you can feed him and yourself while you are on his cock.

“Hi,” you say shyly, as you walk back into the kitchen and see him cutting up the food. “Can I take a seat?” 

After the last of the meat is cut up, he pushes back from the table and wraps his hand around his cock. Quickly stroking himself while you watch with eager, hungry eyes so he fully erect for you to sit down on. "Come here," He reaches out with his other hand and beckons you closer.

“You look so good doing that,” you murmur as you watch every flick of his wrist. Placing one hand on his shoulder and lifting up your leg to straddle him, watching as he lines himself up ready for you to sink down on.

He chuckles as he holds himself in position. “When was the last time you had this much sex?” He asks, reaching up and squeezing one tit.

“Never,” you admit softly, before sinking down on him slowly. 

“Your little pussy’s going to be stuffed every day.” He groans, leaning in to bite your shoulder sharply. “Fingers, tongue, cock. Maybe a toy. Something will be inside you for you to cum on it.”

You lean over and place some steak and potato on the fork before bringing it to his mouth, “Open up, baby.”

Obeying, Dave lets you feed him the bite of steak and potatoes, groaning happily at the taste of the meal. “Delicious.”

His praise makes you keen and you bounce a little with excitement, the groans he gives you as you bob up and down on his cock with glee are delicious, you immediately load the fork with another helping of food and bring it up to his lips.

“You need to eat too.” Dave huffs, even as he accepts another forkful of the food. He is not going to have you not eat while you feed him. 

“I will,” you say with a smile and before grinding down a little faster on his cock, “I’m taking care of you right now.

He frowns at you as he chews the bite. “Take a bite for yourself.” He insists, taking the fork and reaching around you to scoop up a bite of food to hold up to your lips.

“Yes, sir,” you obey and wrap your lips around the fork. Moaning in delight and how well it came out. “Do you think I can make you cum before it’s all finished?”

“I know you can.” He grunts. “You have cum today. I haven’t.”

“Let’s change that then.” You place the hand that isn’t feeding him back on his shoulder and start to increase your speed, bouncing up and down on his cock with a little more rigor. You clamp down around him as you feed him another forkful. It’s not the most elegant way to feed a person, but you don’t care. You just wanna feel him come undone inside of you.

Groaning, he feels his body already starting to get close. Your walls are tight around him, squeezing him when you take him deep. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Another forkful is gentle pushed into his mouth and you decide to increase your pace, fucking down on him a little harder and watching him stare at the way your titties bounce. “Wanna feel you dripping out of me as you eat your dessert,” you mewl as his cock spurs up against that spot inside of you.

Dave growls as he twitches inside you. “Gonna plug you up.” He huffs. “Keep it inside you.”

“Yeah? -ooohhhhh- You want it to take?” A few thrusts later and you can’t hold off anymore, your pussy starts to spasm around him, your walls grip on to his throbbing cock and you cum hard. Everything goes black, and you feel his arms wrap around you, and he starts to fuck up into you. Your orgasm triggering something primal in him.

The forks clatter to  the floor, his arms wrapping around you and his feet plant onto the floor to fuck up into you. Lifting you both out of the chair and he pins you to the table as he works himself deep, growling as he pushes close to the edge.

“Fuck, Dave,” you splutter as he pounds into you, every punch of his cock knocks the breath from your lungs as he chases his high.

Snarling out your name since the first time you’ve woken up in his house, Dave starts to cum. Filling you with a rush of heat that pours into you with every sharp roll of his hips as he tries to push it into your womb, the head of his cock hitting your cervix with every thrusts, as of he could fuck it deep enough into you to take.

You feel sated. You can feel his cock still twitching inside of you long after he finishes cumming. The table isn’t the most comfortable surface but you could happily lay here for the rest of the night, just relishing in the afterglow and replaying the way he fucked into you, like he needed it to survive.

“Jesus.” He huffs, laying his forehead between your breasts and tries to catch his breath. “I’ve fucked you more this weekend than I’ve fucked in a long time.”

“And the weekend isn’t over yet,” you say with a giggle. Running your hands in his hair, you massage circles into his scalp as he wraps his arms around you.

“Wait until I chain you to the bed.” He growls. “I might keep you there if I like it.”

“Lead the way.”

**

Dave looks over your shoulder, cock buried inside your cunt as you scroll through your emails on your laptop. He had found working at night with you on his cock very soothing and had decided to show you how comforting it is. “Anything good?” He asks, kissing along your shoulder and rocking his hips slightly.

“Nope, but Sharon has said the last few boxes need to be picked up and out of my apartment ASAP and she’s found someone else to rent to already.” You turn your face to face his, “It’s been over a month since I left there already.”

One month. One month since he had bought you here and told you that you were his. He had kept his word, filling you and bringing you pleasure every night. You haven’t left the house since he had brought you here and he wonders if you want to get out. “Do you want to go with me to pick them up? Or do you want me to get them after work?”

“You can swing by if you don’t mind and that way I can make sure dinner is ready for when you’re home.” Feeling safer in this bubble than you have for a long time, you don’t feel ready to burst it yet. You close the laptop down and snuggle back into him.

Humming his approval, he knows that eventually you will want to go out, but for now you enjoy staying where he keeps you. You hadn't even realized he had never locked the door of your room when you arrived, never even trying the handle. He takes your hands and brings them up to the headboard to wrap around one of the posts where he routinely chains you up. "Hold on." He growls, twitching inside you. "Want you to scream for me, angel." When your fingers wrap around the slats, he lets go and moves his hand to your throat.

“I want you to wreck me,” you say, the sweetest look etched across your delicate face as he lightly presses down around your throat. “Please, sir.”

Your collar is off right now, knowing he was going to restrict your breathing had made him take it off. Making sure that you weren't in any real danger because his primary responsibility is your safety and pleasure. Your walls clench down around him and he smirks. "My little whore. So eager for everything I give you."

“I’m all yours.” He draws his hips back and slams that back into you with such force that you whimper, the room flooded with the sounds he pulls from you. He knows how much you like to touch him when he’s railing you, and you see the smirk on his face when you immediately fight against the urge to unwrap your fingers from the slats. 

"I know you are." He grunts, loving how eagerly you give yourself over to him. "Fuck, you're going to take it, aren't you? Take my cock, I could cut off your air and you'll cum, thanking me for it. Dirty slut."

“Yes, Dave,” you whine as his pace becomes relentless, fucking into you as hard as he can, all whilst aiming for the spongey spot inside of you. You want to scream his name, you want to beg him for more and more but with every jerk off his hips he renders you more and more speechless, and only able to spill filthy moans from your lips. 

“Fuck.” He hisses, flexing his hand around your throat. The bed shakes from the force of his thrusts, fucking you into the bed like a rag doll.

“Please,” you chant over and over, not knowing what you’re begging for but preparing yourself for the mocking coming your way. You snake your finger down to rub your clit without his permission or his instruction to do so but you can’t help yourself, you start to rub little circles into your bundle of nerves as he fucks you into the mattress.

The slap to your cheek is light but the sound cracks between you. “Hands back where I put them!” He barks out, furious that you would touch yourself when he told you to give yourself to him.

“Sorry,” you squeak, groaning as you pull your hand from your neglected clit. You wrap your fingers around the slats. His eyes are almost black as he stares down at you, chest heaving up and down as he lightly rocks his hips. The urge to beg him to kiss you lingers on the tip of your tongue, but you know he’ll say no. That you don’t deserve it after touching your clit.

“Fuck, angel.” He hisses, reaching down and rubbing your clit himself. “You tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you.”

“I only want you.”

“You’ve got me.” He promises again, ramping up his pace again until the slick sounds of his cock drilling into you is all he can hear.

It’s only been a month and you hate yourself for letting it get to the tip of your tongue already, but it's there again. Those three words that you swallow down harshly, leaving a painful sensation at the back of your throat. “Fill me up, baby,” you scream as your orgasm is ripping throughout you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck.” The vice grip of your cunt always gets to him. Rocking his hips a few more times before he’s burying himself deep with a guttural groan and filling you up just like you asked.

“Don’t pull out,” you murmur into his skin, wanting to feel him as close to you as possible. You nuzzle your face into his neck and silently will him to hold you tighter.

“It’s okay, angel.” You seem especially needy tonight, a desperation to have him close, eating on his lap tonight when he got home, although he hadn’t fucked you during dinner this time. “Go to sleep.” He urges you softly, wondering if you have been tired since he’s noticed your sleep had been disturbed lately if you roll away from him. He had to keep himself wrapped around you or you were crying out in your sleep.

“Promise you won’t go anywhere.” He never does but you need to hear it.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dave whispers, turning his head and pressing his lips to yours gently. “I’m right here.”

**

You check the chicken and potatoes. Cooking him a simple dinner for tonight, you know he’s swinging by your apartment to pick up your last few boxes. You woke up on top of him this morning, his arm wrapped around you super tight. It physically pained you to watch him leave for work this morning and you can’t wait to see him again.

Dave lets himself into your nearly vacant apartment. Most everything had already been taken over to his house or sold, but apparently these boxes had been in the storage room and overlooked. There’s also a stack of mail on top, one marked in red ink and it makes him pick it up to read it.

We are disheartened to inform you that the appeal to stop Rex Thomas’ from being granted early release has been denied.

Judge Rainer had agreed that he should be granted early release on grounds of ‘model behavior.’ He will be released on March 28th 2023. 

Please take your time to go through the pamphlets provided and reach out for any of the support available to you at any time.

Frowning, Dave rereads the page again, growing angry at the idea of someone hurting you. He knows what this is. It’s a victim’s advocacy alert. Shuffling through to the next page, he growls, reading your report of abuse and assault at this bastard’s hands.

Aggravated assault, mental abuse, attempted sexual assault… The list goes on and on. He reads through the injuries from the assault that took place that finally got him placed in prison. And it suddenly made sense why you wanted to disappear.

“Motherfucker.” Dave hisses, guilt swamping him because of how he has treated you, although you have begged him to tie you up, to use you. Enjoying everything he has done to you over the past month. If he had known this….he might not have done those things. “Fucker.” He makes a mental note to look this asshole up as soon as he gets to work tomorrow as he shoves the papers in the boxes and hauls them out of your apartment.

Stirring the sauce that you’ll serve with dinner you glance over at the clock, you had expected Dave back by now and you were getting antsy. You decide against phoning him and try to occupy yourself by making dessert afterwards.

Dave loads up the box and it’s only because he’s a man who is completely aware of his surroundings does he notice him. A man, too far away to see his face, sitting on a beat up coupe and staring at him as he sits in the back corner of the parking lot. That has to be Rex. Dave knows it like he knows you are cooking dinner right now.

You hate yourself for allowing yourself to be so weak, but you’re worried. He’s still not home and rather than let your anxiety send you into a full blown panic attack you decide to phone him. Feeling some of the anxiety immediately evaporate after he picks up after just a few rings, “Hey, where are you?” You ask down the phone, hoping he can’t hear the panic in your voice.

“Angel.” Dave keeps his voice low, watching as the blue coupe pulls out of the parking lot behind him. Following him. “I just left your old apartment. I’ll be late.” He decides. “Go to your room. Curl up in your bed. Don’t worry about dinner right now.” He orders.

“Are you ok? When will you be back?”

“I will be back when I’m back.” Dave growls, pissed off that this fucker thinks he will follow him to you. He knows that Dave had come out of your apartment. “A few hours maybe. I’m okay, angel. Don’t worry about me. Be my good girl, okay? Stay in your room.” 

“Have I done something wrong?” You know he’s trying to get off the call, but you can’t help but ask. Anxiety sweeping throughout you. “I’ll go to my room now.”

“You have done nothing wrong.” Dave stresses. “I just want you to feel safe. You told me your room feels safe.”

“I feel safest when you’re here. What’s going on, Dave?”

“I’ll explain it when I’m home, angel.” He promises. Pausing for a moment before he decides to make you happy. “Angel….” He sighs softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” It should make you feel better, but it makes you feel worse. You want to see his face, you want to hold him, you want him to hold you. Crawling into bed you reach over and open the drawers to your bedside table, pulling out one of his shirts and draping yourself in it. 

You figure that it’s something in regards to his job, but that just makes your panic more, knowing exactly what he does. 

He keeps you safe. He literally kept you alive and the idea of anything happening to him makes you feel nauseous. You’ve spent so much of your life simply surviving and he made the decision to keep you alive and for the past month you’ve actually been living. 

An ugly thought flashes up in your head, but you bat it away. It couldn’t be… Rex was still in prison. And the victims advocacy group had promised that your case was strong enough that he wouldn’t be walking free anytime soon. But still… it lingered. You pull out your phone and reluctantly type his name in the search bar and your heart immediately sinks.

**

Dave called Kovac, telling him to have the team meet him at the abandoned warehouse down on the waterfront. The one that was currently being turned into a swanky set of lofts through gentrification of the downtown area. Smirking in the mirror as the coupe stays about a car length behind him. “Come on, fucker. Let’s go have a chat.”

**

After tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, you let your legs lead you to his room. You know he told you to stay in yours but you’d been spending most nights in his bed, snuggled up on his chest and you needed to be surrounded by him. You climb into his bed and snuggle up to pillow, letting your arms wrap around it and nuzzling your face into the material; inhaling his scent and imagining his arms wrapped around you.

Dave pulls into the garage three hours after the phone call with you had ended. Closing the door before he steps out of the car, he needs to shower before he goes to your room. To explain why he is late.

His footsteps slow down in front of your door, firmly closed. If he didn’t have blood on him, he would immediately go in. Instead, he walks by and opens the door to the master bedroom, surprised when he sees you asleep in his bed. Not expecting to see you curled around his pillow like you are holding onto him, he watches you for a moment, a soft smile on his face and he knows what he did was the right thing. No question. He will sleep like a baby tonight knowing you will never have to worry about that bastard finding you again.

After a minute, he creeps into the bathroom and strips off his clothes, knowing they will need to be burned as he shoves them into a large, industrial sized bag before he turns on the shower and steps inside to wait for the water to warm up.

The sound of running water makes you stir, you’re not sure how long you’d been asleep for but you almost bolt upright when you hear someone moving around in the bathroom. You know it’s Dave, this house is the most secure house you’ve ever been in, he made sure of that. 

You tiptoe over to the bathroom, gently pushing open the door and letting his shirt fall off your shoulders. You need to touch him, you need to wrap your arms around him and pull him tight. 

He’s too busy washing the shampoo out of his hair to notice you stepping in behind you, and it’s only when you notice the water turning red and you gasp that he spins around and sees you. 

“Dave, is that bl—? Oh god, are you hurt?”

Shit. He had hoped to get clean. Your face one of panic and he quickly shakes his head. “It’s not my blood.” He explains, shoving his head under the water quickly to finish cleaning up.

“Are you hurt?” You repeat, upset that he didn’t answer your question. “Dave.”

“I’m not hurt, Angel.” You move to step into the shower and he holds up a hand. Wanting to make sure all of the blood is off of him. “Give me one minute. Then you can join me.”

“Hurry,” you say, not caring how petulant you sound. “Please.”

Methodically, he scrubs his body clean and the second that he is rinsed off, you are leaping into the shower and he pulls you close. “It’s okay, Angel. It’s okay.” He murmurs quietly.

“Where were you?” Immediately pressing your lips to his neck, after asking.

“I went to your apartment.” Dave murmurs truthfully. “You got a letter. Rex Thomas is out of prison.”

“I know,” you admit, “I had a horrible feeling when you wouldn’t tell me anything on the phone and I googled his name. He promised me that he’d make me pay for sending him to prison.” You unwrap your arms for him and take a step back, “And I know you’re capable, but I won’t risk you getting hurt because of me. Clearly, he’s going to keep to his word.”

“He won’t ever hurt you again.” Dave promises you, reaching out and cupping your cheek. “He was at your apartment. Wanting to follow me, so I made sure that he won’t ever touch you again. He’s gone, Angel.”

“He’s the reason I wanted to kill myself,” you blurt out, “I didn’t think I’d ever feel safe again… I didn’t think I’d ever feel anything again. Until you.”

“I wish you had told me.” Dave pulls you against his wet chest. You have your collar on, which means you will have to take it off because it’s getting wet, but he doesn’t care. “I would have had him killed in prison.”

“I’d like to tell you everything that happened, if you want to know, that is?”

Dave nods, tightening his grip on you. Even if he didn't want to hear it, you seem like you need to tell it. “Tell me, Angel.” He starts to rub your back soothingly. The hot water will last and the steam makes the bathroom cozy.

**

He held you for a little while in the shower in comfortable silence until you were ready to get out. Now you sit opposite him, dressed in one of his oversized t-shirts and your hair still dripping a little from the shower.

“I tried to leave him many times, but I was more determined than ever that night. He reluctantly took me to the hospital a few days before after he burned me with boiling water and it had gotten infected. The nurse had realized it wasn’t an accident and managed to get me alone, offering me support and saying she could get me into a shelter. I said ‘no’ but she gave me her number and I phoned her a few days later. He came home early from work after suspecting something was up and caught me shoving a bunch of clothes in an old gym bag. I thought he was going to kill me. He beat me for hours, he told me exactly what my life was worth and made me repeat it over and over again, until I believed it myself. Which I already did. Worthless. No good to anyone. Eventually one of the neighbors called the cops after getting tired of hearing my sobs. They broke the door down and caught him pouring hot water over my already infected burn, he wanted to teach me a lesson and ‘really hit me where it hurts.’ He got four years. After a year they said he was reformed and starting working on early release. I hadn’t even started to process what he had done to me, and they were processing the paperwork to get him released.” 

The emotion that was lacking in the report is in your voice. Making him wish he had taken more time with that bastard. The only man besides him that you had been with, abusing you. Ironic considering Dave had all but kidnapped you, but he knows he would never touch you in anger. He would never hurt you. “What about the attempted sexual assault?” Dave asks quietly.

A loud sob escapes your mouth as you wipe away the tears streaming down your face, “He decided that I would want to stay if he showed me what I’d be missing. Held me down and attempted to… yeah. I kneed him as hard as I could and he just started to hit me. I passed out after a while and then he started to fuck with my burn again.”

“Fucker.” Dave moves, slowly. Edging closer to you and he reaches out to pull you against him. “I’m sorry Angel, if I had known….” He closes his eyes. “I would have never made you my pet.”

Shaking your head, “No. You saved me. You let me make that decision, I needed someone to take control on my terms and that’s what you did for me. I needed purpose. I needed reason and I needed someone to let me love them and you did all those things for me.” Touching his face gently, you let out an exhale, “I never let him kiss me. And now I spend all day fighting the urge to stop myself from kissing you, because I'm terrified that I’ll annoy you. But I never want to stop kissing you.”

“You won’t ever annoy me.” Dave assures you. “Do you want to know what I did to him?” He asks quietly, not sure that you want the mental image in your head.

You shake your head no, “He’s gone and that’s all that matters.”

“Gone.” He nods, knowing that his body will be found so you can have closure. “Forever. He will never hurt you again. I won’t allow anyone to hurt you.”

“Dave,” you murmur, unsure how he’s going to react to your request… “Make me forget it all…”

Pulling away from you, he searches your eyes. Wanting to make sure that this isn’t some knee jerk reaction. “The chair or my cock?” He asks you quietly.

“Your mouth,” you tell him, letting him know exactly what you want “And then your cock.”

“Lay back on the bed, Angel.” Dave orders. “Leave your shirt on.”

“Yes, sir,” you giggle, before kissing him quickly. Laying back down on the bed, you let your legs fall open and you wait quietly and patiently.

Dave dispels the images that the report had put in his mind. Leaning down and kissing your knee. “I want you to be loud, Angel.” He murmurs, kissing down your thigh and pressing his tongue to your clit.

“Make me scream your name, Dave,” you beg as he starts to roll your clit between his teeth. He loves to tease you over how often you ask for his mouth. Waking up in the middle of the neck and innocently telling him that you were dreaming of him eating your pussy. 

Dave chuckles and sets about to do just that. He throws his arm over your stomach and pulls you closer to his mouth, keeping his eyes on you. Sliding his tongue though your folds and flicking it over your clit expertly. He knows exactly how you like to be eaten, spending as much time with his tongue buried in your cunt as you spend with your mouth around his cock.

With every flick of his tongue, he knows he’s got you. An outpouring of sweet little moans and a chant of his name is plucked from you so easily. He eats your tight little pussy so enthusiastically that you could cum for just listening to the sounds he makes alone. You start to rock your hips against his face, it’s messy but you don’t care. All that matters is the way his tongue feels against your pretty little clit, and you don’t care how desperate you seem as you chase more and more of it.

He knows you aren’t thinking about anything but the pleasure building in your core. Every flick of his tongue tightens the knot and you start to shamelessly chase his tongue as he pulls back. Despite what some might think, he’s not a selfish lover, taking extreme pleasure in the way that your body burns for him and you’ve never turned him away.

“Please don’t stop,” you almost sob as he starts to pull back, moving away and almost stopping the delicious assault on your clit. “Baby.”

“Put your legs up on my shoulders.” Dave orders before he dives back into your cunt.

“Yes, sir.” You place your legs on his shoulders and gesture for him to hold one of your hands. An act he rolled his eyes at the first time, but now does without hesitation. “Make me scream, daddy.”

Threading his fingers with yours, Dave smirks. Sending you a small wink before he starts to work his jaw. Doubling down on his efforts to make you cum. Groaning into your cunt with eager abandon. 

“Fuck,” you whine loudly, “I fucking love this mouth.” Your free hand tangles in his hair, pushing his face closer to your soaking wet cunt. Your hips move faster, rutting against his gorgeous face and his tongue furiously laps at your clit,  “I fucking love you.”

He tells you he loves you too, the words muffled and vibrating against your folds. Sucking your clit back into his mouth to push you over the edge.

He says something that you can’t quite make out, but you don’t have time to dwell on it, because you’re falling off that delicious cliff. Obeying his command that you ‘be loud’, his name bounces off the walls as you scream it in the sweetest way, thighs squeezing around his head as he keeps licking at your clit whilst you come apart. “I love you so much. I love you so so so much. You scared the crap out of me today,” you start to garble, “Fuck, I am so scared that I’m going to lose you.”

He works you through it slowly, making the slow sweeps of his tongue increasingly light until he’s pulling away. Kissing your clit one last time before he hums and pulls away. “You aren’t going to lose me, angel. Remember what I do.”

You hum contented. “I do, I’m sorry.” You say before stroking his face gently, “So, how do you want me, baby?”

“I want you just like this.” Dave lifts up and starts to move up your body, shuffling to settle in the cradle of your thighs and he presses his wet lips to yours. “Tonight is going to be a little different.”

“How so?” You take his face in your hands and pull him in for another kiss. 

“Slow.” Dave says simply, pressing his lips to yours and slides his arms underneath you. “I’m not going to make you scream. I’m going to make you moan.”

“Are you going to make love to me?” The words slip right out of your mouth, and you hope he doesn’t laugh at how silly it sounds.

“I am.” He kisses along your jaw and bites down on your earlobe. “I’m going to make love to you, angel.”

“Yes, please,” you whisper, ready to let yourself fully lose yourself in this man. “Make love to me, Dave York.”

He takes his time. Slotting himself at your entrance and pushing inside slowly. Kissing your lips and murmuring ‘I love yous’ as he buries himself.

You love the way that he’s still a stretch, no matter how many times he’s taken you the past month, you still need to adjust to the heft of him. As he fills you to the hilt, you relish in how full he makes you feel. How every single one of your senses is heightened when he’s around because he does something to you that no one else has or will ever be able to do. 

The kiss he gives you as you adjust to him is slow, languid and filled with unspoken promise. His tongue doesn’t battle against yours in its usual dance for dominance, instead you just explore each other's mouths. Moans spilling into his mouth from yours as he starts to move slowly.

There is a sedate tempo to this that is no less devastating than the harshest pace. Still overwhelming you by the slow drag of his cock while you feel every ridge and vein as he breaks you open over and over again.

The kiss doesn’t break. It expands and softens even more. Breathing into each other as if you are giving each other life with the caress of a tongue or a gentle sigh. 

He’s sure you’ve got nothing else but him in your mind. The way your bodies are fitted together, moving at a pace that makes your breath hitch and your fingers drag down his back, scraping skin and giving him the response that he wants from you.

You can feel it building in your tummy already, that coil starting to tighten and threatening to snap at any moment. Your fingertips coast around his body, touching him wherever they can reach as he keeps that perfect rhythm going. 

He gently nibbles on your bottom lip and you keen beneath him, he’s gotten to know your body so well and he withdraws your pleasure like it's the simplest thing in the world.

Your groan is soft, pleading but he doesn’t speed up. The lethargic pace could last for hours and he would be okay with that. Far different from the sweaty, exhaustive sessions, your skin is still dewy as the heat builds up between you. Your lips brush against his as you moan his name. You feel him everywhere. 

Gently pushing his hair away off his face, you take a few moments to study him. His eyes are blackened with lust, his brow furrowed in a line as he concentrates on pulling more moans from you. He’s just… gorgeous. 

Once again your mouth finds his mouth and you let him take the lead, sliding his tongue back into your mouth and kissing you like it’s the only thing in the world that matters.

You know he’s killed for you. You know what he’s capable of and yet you don’t shy away from him. You don’t flinch or get nervous anymore. You push, you demand. You have started coming out of the little shell that your bastard of an ex carved around you. He moans into your mouth and has to brace himself. To keep the pace slow. Wanting to draw a long cry from you when you finally reach your peak.

“Dave,” you whimper softly against his lips, you can feel your walls start to flutter around him and you know you can’t fight it for much longer. “I’m going to cum,” you rasp out as you lightly drag your fingernails down his back.

“Good.” Dave murmurs, kissing you again. “Cum, angel.” He orders softly, grinding his hips into yours slowly. “Cum for me.”

His name falls off your lips so effortlessly as you reach your high, clamping down around him and soaking him with your arousal as your body starts to writhe with pleasure beneath him. You hold on to him with all the strength you can muster as he continues his gentle thrusts throughout. Showering you with sweet little praises and promising he’ll never let you go.

When he cums, it almost surprises him. Slowly rocking into you until he’s gasping out your name and pushing deep. Flooding your pussy with a wave of cum as he closes his eyes and holds you tight.

He tucks his face in the crook of your neck as you both try to catch your breath. “Thank you,” you sat quietly, “For breathing life back into me, when I was convinced I’d never live again.”

“I wasn’t going to let you die, angel.” Dave promises you. “You aren’t one of the unfortunates and I won’t let you become one.”

You hum happily in response, “I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.” Dave promises, pressing his lips to your neck and humming softly. You had come to him with the intent of ending your life, but he had given you a purpose and reason to live. He was your purpose and you are his Angel. You don’t know it, but you’ve saved him too.

“I think I started to fall for you that very first night,” you admit as he lifts his head up to look at you, “For years those words didn’t mean a thing to me. Something he forced me to say… but with you they have meaning. I know it’s only been a month and the circumstances aren’t what people would call normal. But I wouldn’t change a thing, because they brought me to you.”

“And you never have to leave.” He promises softly.

**

[ONE YEAR LATER]

**

With a smile on your face and a small package in your hand, you bounce into Dave’s office filled with glee. 

“Hi baby,” you say as he looks up at you with a grin, “I’ve ordered lunch to be brought up to us.”

Leaning back on his chair, Dave smirks at you. You had decided to come back to work almost a year later. Your collar being exchanged for a discreet necklace that only holds significance to you and him. Although your relationship is very well known around the office. “You are looking excited. Did you order from that Indian place you keep moaning over?”

“No, I ordered from the burger joint that you love.” You say before sliding the box over to him with a large smile on this face. “Open it, baby.”

“What is this?” He asks, holding up the package.

“Open. It.” You repeat again with a little wink, standing up and rounding the desk to take a seat on his lap.

“I’m supposed to be doing things for you.” He grumbles, his lips quirked in amusement and he opens the package with his arms around you. “Angel.” His voice drops to a whisper as he stares at the contents of the box.

“I couldn’t wait,” you say, nuzzling your nose against his, “I was going to wait. I took the test last night and picked up the onesie on my coffee break this morning… We are going to have a baby, baby!”

“A baby.” He sets the box down on the desk and his hand slides to your stomach. He knows you have worried. You hadn’t gotten pregnant before now, regardless of how many times he had filled you up. “Do you want to go out tonight?” He asks softly. “Celebrate?”

“I’d rather just go home,” you say, pressing your lips to his, “And then we can order from that Indian.”

He can chuckles against your lips. “No wonder you’ve been craving different things.” He keeps his hand on your stomach and smirks. “You’re mine.” He reminds you quietly.

“Yours.” You confirm, “And you’re all mine.”

“Always yours.” He promises with a kiss. It’s a promise he won’t ever break. You’re his. But he’s also yours.

[docholligay]

What would be your dream race? Real or made up.

Hm, I mean, I would love to run a LOT of the world ones: London I put in for the ballot every year, I would really really love to run the London Monuments half, but I haven't put in for the ballot for it--my grandmother has said she'll help me pay to run London if I get in, but a half marathon is not impressive to her ahaha, and London is the only marathon she gives a shit about that's not Boston (I cannot qualify for Boston)--but someday if I have the free cash I'll probably put in for the monuments half.

Someday, SOMEday, I'll run the Marathon du Medoc, which has oysters and wine and steak and shit along the way, and has people throw up all the time, because it also has a rule I VERY much support: you have to be able to run the marathon in 6:30. That's not crazsy at all, that's only a 14:50 pace, BUT, if you're stopping at everything, as a practical matter you have to have a fair amount of cushion time.

So as a practical matter I'd want to make sure I could run a marathon in a 10 minute mile. That DOES NOT sound impressive. Until it's like, mile 20. (Seriously, if I drew London tomorrow my strategy would be 'survive'. Until beeb is in klindergarten, i don't have the time to train for a marathon. Cutoff for london is a 15 minute mile, I would come up with a run/walk strategy to survive the thing so I didn't DNF)

There are plenty I WOULD run: Paris, Tokyo, I do put in for Chicago, NYC, but those 3 above are probably my "If you said I could run whatever" choices. On the ground right now, whole trip being paid for it would be the Monuments half, because I know I can run a half without trouble. And I LOVE running through cities, especially major cities.

Now, if I had a shit ton of money and I could put on my own race, so looking forward to making everyone SO mad at me:

The Kawaii Ass Bitch Magical Girl Women's Run!

There would be the 5k, 10k, and Half.

There would be a drawing to win a Tokyo Marathon Package with guaranteed entry for the racers. This is, last I looked, worth about 6k.

If you run the 5k, you get one entry, if you run the 10k, you get two entries, if you run the half, you get three.

Anyway, also along the course I would have some cool stuff! At the start of the 10k/Mile 6ish, I would have a bunch of kids in the local band playing some magical girl themes and the like (I would pay them) and at the 5k start/the last 3ish miles for everyone else, I would have a big arch that would be all decorated and everything, and as you run through, there are speakers playing different attacks and power ups and the like from different magical girl properties. There's a spot on the course I'm thiniking of where you would have to go through a tunnel, I light it all up with those LED rolls so it's like a transformation for you.

Maybe before every start the countdown to the start gun would be Zettai Unmei, that sounds fun to me.

Anyway, the last stretch before the finish line would be playing the outers (read: harumichi) transformation music, and I would SOMEHOW figure out how to have fans blowing either fake or real rose petals, depending on the permits I could get ahaha.

Because it would be putting you up to run a marathon, it would presume you are of the athletic quality to run a marathon, at least potentially. So the cutoff times would be as follows. THEY ARE AGGRESSIVE FOR MOST PEOPLE'S TASTES.

5k: 30 minutes

10k: 1 hour 3 minutes

Half: two hours fifteen minutes

If you don't cross the finish line in that time, your name isn't in the randomizer.

Why? I get fucked every time I run the run to the pub by a bunch of 10k slow walkers in the last goddamn mile or so, walking four abreast for funsies. By the time I hit these people, the 10k has been started for AN HOUR AND A HALF. The draw prize is a place in the Dublin marathon, pretty much like what I'm suggesting above. I am bitter about this. I am bitter about fucking slamming into a bunch of people who could not fucking finish the Dublin and killing me when I am at the toughest point of the race, for me. I would hope this would encourage people who want to walk, to walk somewhere else. You can all think I am a villain, and that is fucking fine. There are some years the people who won did not even RUN the race. This INFURIATES me. Hate me! It's cool!

Also there's beer at the end I hate a fucking race without beer at the end.

[spnregular]

pls do a commentary on the altar

the altar is the first destiel fic i wrote for the spn fandom!! i had a vague idea of wanting to do prayer kink and it sort of spiraled out into exploring what a lack of faith could do to a couple of severely lonely guys. i still like this fic a lot but it doesnt reflect my current spn writing priorities. i AM tickled pink that you asked for this anon because it holds a special place in my heart.

for those of you who havent read it, this one is my longest spn fic (over 6k words) so this commentary will be a little long. i havent ported the whole fic in (same as the other commentaries) just the sections i wanted to say something :)

This church must have been something to see back in the day. Paper archives said it burned over a decade ago but no one wanted to fork up the cash for demolition. Dean leaned back against the crumbling, raised altar and let filtered sunlight warm his face. 

The eaves had fallen in on all sides and a cross breeze flew through, carrying the heady smell of a midwest summer. It did little to mask the burning carnage before him. Dean’s eyes lingered on a plaster bust of the Virgin Mary, painted tears still visible on her crumbling face, and tried to remember if he ever attended a full mass. 

So there’s that post about how kripke not being christian is part of what makes spn hit. The winchesters are outsiders when they're in religious settings. Churches and family homes are analogous to haunted houses, alienating and rotting. Dean’s never been part of a traditional family and he’s never attended mass. I also think a lot about how Dean and John basically canonized Mary all the time too.

Dean sighed, deep and heavy, wincing from the pain. Sam was away on another hunt, meaning Dean would have to patch himself up tonight. He palmed his side to assess the damage, fingers moving slowly and carefully. The amount of blood didn’t surprise him, nor did the evidence of broken ribs and a sprained wrist. It was the sort of regular shit that happened to guys named Dean Winchester. 

Dean is a glutton for punishment and he legitimately cannot see a life for himself outside of it. He tried! He tried his picket fence lavender marriage and like he was of course mourning sam, but also he didn’t like it. And because he didn’t like living in a nuclear family, obviously that means he should always suffer right?

“Hey, Cas,”  Dean said, continuing to limp forward, not noticing the rotten wood of the steps to the dais or even how his boot crashed right through them. 

Cas’s arms were around him before he could even register falling. Dean sharply inhaled through his nose, his own bloody hand gripping Cas’s coat as he struggled to regain his balance. He hissed through his teeth before he felt the cool touch of Cas’s fingers on his face, followed by a wave of grace.

So Dean sort of ignores many problems in his life even if theyre glaring. He ignores his controlling behavior over Sam, he ignores his glaring homosexuality, he ignores the ways in which he really hurt lisa and ben. Guy who cant face his feelings or else he’ll kill himself you know? But this leads to ruin every single time! (steps falling apart under his boot) Thankfully Dean does have an angel looking out for him.

Cas narrowed his eyes even further and gestured to the hall around them, “There are three dead demons here, Dean. This was foolish behavior.”

“It was a job,” Dean said, his voice louder than needed, “And it’s done. ‘Sides, don’t you have bigger fish to fry upstairs?” He could feel a headache coming on, the perfect cherry to this shit sundae. He needed a drink, a cigarette, both, and some fucking quiet.

“I do,” Cas snapped, “Which is why I need you to exercise basic caution and self-preservation.” With a flick of his hand, the bodies and smoke were gone leaving the church ruins hollow and bare.

Dean atp does not care lmao. This has been a horrible year. Im envisioning this scene is slightly before sam gets his soul back so dean feels like he has no one and nothing. And dean so crucially does not exist unless he has someone to attach his entire essence to. Sam is not sam, lisa doesn’t want him around, his effin grandad is the worst, everyone’s been lying to him. He’s more isolated than he’s been since the stanford era.

“Have you ever confessed, Dean?” Cas asked, turning back to Dean. Dean lost his breath as those blue, blue eyes were turned back on him, searching thoroughly. 

“‘Course not,” Dean scoffed and brushed past Cas to walk down the aisle, “Ain’t nothing I need to tell some guy in an ugly dress.” 

You know Dean, he keeps his marbles in a lead box eye roll emoji. But Cas, Cas wants to confess so so bad lmao. Angels arent supposed to lie, Angels are supposed to follow orders.

“But you do pray,” Cas pointed out.

Dean’s steps faltered and the back of his neck felt hot, “Yeah, but that… that’s just to you. You— you’re real.” He turned back to look at Cas, struck by how the light through the stained glass curved around the proud line of his jaw.

Dean really doesn’t like having faith in cas but he kinda does in his weird way. And it’s a weakness. autisticandroids has great meta on why Dean doesn’t like his special feelings for cas and yeah there’s the gay thing which is so hard for him to swallow but also having real feelings is like terrible. As much as dean craves being seen and heard and loved, that shit is frightening. 

“I suppose I was never taught to pray, to confess,” Cas said, “Angels aren’t meant to do anything that requires confession. All acts are pre-ordained and sanctioned.”

“‘Course. Father knew best,” Dean said, clenching his jaw and stuffing his hands in his back pockets. He pulled out a mostly empty pack of cigarettes. 

Dean and Cas’s shared daddy issues of course!!! And I had dean smoking in this fic because i was in the midst of quitting smoking for like the fifth time lmao. It makes me feel better lol.

“For most of my life I would have prayed directly to God,” Cas continued, “Then I think I would have prayed to my brothers and sisters.”

“Huh,” Dean said, taking the first drag of the cigarette, “Don’t think I’d be prayin’ to Sam.” Dean picked at the frayed edge of his flannel. 

Cas looked down at the dirty floor, “I would not fault you, considering recent circumstances.”

Dean hasn’t had faith in Sam since like they were kids and even then it was shaky. Sort of breaks my heart but it’s the truth. And Cas, at this point, doesn’t care for Sam that much. He may have pulled Sam out of hell but I dont think that was borne of any true affection for sam, it’s more of a “doing the right thing” sort of deal that he would have picked up from dean.

“No,” Cas said, “No, I still have faith.” His lips curled in a small smile. 

“Oh?” Dean responded, “Must be nice.”

“It is,” Cas said, “And I have faith that it isn’t misplaced.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Dean asked, a smile splayed across his face, eyebrows waggling. He ignored the way his gut clenched.

Cas turned fully to look down at him, the sun casting long shadows across his face. His eyes narrowed and head tilted, “You.”

Me when i lie…… so the summary of this is that Cas has faith in dean, but lol he really doesn’t. If Cas had faith in Dean he would have been honest, he wouldn’t be lying. This is straight up manipulation. :) cas doesnt have faith in ANYTHING atp

“That’s a lot to say to a guy,” Dean said, taking his feet down from the pew. His leg bobbed fast, “And I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life, but maybe– Maybe you should pick somebody else.”

“I don’t think I will need to ‘pick somebody else’,” Cas said, finger quotes and all, “I have faith in you, in your ideals and teachings. I have no reason to falter.”

The thing is that cas does believe that Dean is a role model (crazy) and he also believes he’s learned a lot from Dean. He admires Dean and, well, craves Dean, but he doesn’t actually think Dean would believe in him atp.

“Christ,” Dean said. 

“I’ve never felt the need to pray to him,” Cas said. 

Dean snorted, though it didn’t clear the tension coiling in his gut. “Of course you didn’t,” Dean said, still laughing. The sounds echoed through the church and dust fell from the rafters. It really was a beautiful place underneath the wreckage; carved, tall, burnt buttresses and tarnished brass finishings. Dean tried to focus again on the plaster Virgin, sitting so far away from them now. Her broken hands were clasped around some kind of flower that Dean couldn’t make out. 

Dean feels so far from someone you could have faith in. He thinks he’s the worst. Kinda like the church, there used to be something in him, something around him that one could believe in and it looked really good, like it looked strong and beautiful. But now? It’s over, it’s donezo.

Dean kept his focus on the back of the church, his face breaking out into a nervous smile “Dude, you’re kneeling in front of me in a church telling me you like, I dunno, believe in me?” Dean chuckled and shook his head, gaze flicking down to his boots. They were covered in blood and ash. 

Like a wedding….

“I suppose, I already pray to you,” Cas continued before Dean’s mind could catch up with his heart, “As it is your name I invoke when a battle seems too long or when I think I may fail. I think of you, your ingenuity, your cleverness, when I’m trying to bolster my ranks. I tell my soldiers stories of your valor and courage. Of your conviction.”

Cas has yet to try real prayer but he sure does think about dean a whole lot. That’s sort of like prayer right?

“Cas– that’s, that’s enough I get it.” Dean tried to find somewhere in the church to rest his gaze, but somehow, every cracked saint, every burnt effigy, stared back. 

“Do you?” Cas asked.

Dean nodded, keeping his gaze pinned to the floor, “Yeah, I uh. I’ve been there. Like you said, I pray to, uh, you.” His jaw clicked from pressure. 

Getting a lil gay here….

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, eyes finally snapping up to look at Castiel. He flicked his finished cigarette away, his hands and lips already missing the feeling of it. He knew what to do with a cigarette, where to focus his physical attention; who knew what to do with an angel professing their unwavering faith. 

I love when dean fidgets btw, such a physical guy having a cigarette is the perfect way to look cool and calm without trying to hard.

“When you pray,” Cas said, “It is one of the only times I can feel you being honest with yourself. It wasn’t always the case. At first, you were mocking, insincere. But, over time, you’ve let yourself bleed into them. You pour yourself, your desires, your needs– all into your prayers. It is… admirable.”

“I’m honest with myself!” His voice was louder than intended. 

“Not the way you are when you pray,” Cas said, eyes unwavering in their attention to Dean, “Your prayers are beautiful, Dean.”

Getting too gay!!! But yeah often Dean prays to castiel as this like last resort and he’s desperate and he totally lets his guard down. Cas may have seen his soul but it’s incredible for him to feel dean actually baring himself to cas. It’s willing (in the way that angels perceive willingness).

“I wonder what you’d think if you could hear my prayers,” Cas said, “I doubt you’d find them as pleasing as I do yours.”

Heat pooled in Dean’s groin. He licked his lips and made himself keep eye contact with Cas. If he wasn’t standing in a church, he would say he was drowning. 

Gay thought have caught him… rip

Dean clenched his jaw. His mind was full of every thought and secret he wanted to keep tucked away. His fists clenched at his sides. It would be easy to reach a hand out and run it through Cas’s black hair. It was mussed enough already that no one would ever know. Maybe it was soft.

Cas’s eyes fluttered shut and a deep breath came through his nose, “Even when you try to keep them from me, they’re beautiful. Can I show you how it feels, Dean?”

So i spent a lot of time in the mxtx fandom and i LOVE tgcf and prayer kink. I’ve sort of self-plagiarized the idea of receiving prayers as an erotic experience from my fic you, my antagonist. I think angels get so overwhelmed by prayer and for Cas to receive prayers from Dean, the bug he doesn’t even realize he’s in love with? It’s orgasmic.

Dean could say no. Dean could walk away knowing that an angel believed in him, wanted him to know what that belief could feel like. He could live the rest of his life pretending not to know what Cas meant. He could pretend like he hadn’t tried to hold this one prayer back. 

“Sure, buddy,” Dean croaked.

So like i said before, this is a wildly lonely and low point in dean’s life. Right now, Cas is the only thing that kinda seems real. And well, he can pretend he didn’t know what was going to happen. Sort of. 

Cas nosed along the length of Dean’s still clothed, and rapidly hardening, length and said, “I would pray that you’d understand the choices I make, have made, are for you. For everyone.”

Dean licked his lips and let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling when he felt Cas fumble with his zipper. It looked like it was painted once, with angels and clouds. Classic stuff. A sigh escaped his lips as Cas’s fingers brushed through the coarse hair above his waistband. 

So im big on atmosphere in writing, i like settling into how a character perceives the space around them and how they see themselves reflected in it. Once it was probably really nice…. Now…. well…..

“I would pray for your understanding and forgiveness,” Cas said, pulling Dean’s in the waistband down to expose Dean’s dick. He ran a hand down the shaft and Dean shivered, stifling a small noise.

“Forgiv–?” Dean was cut off when Cas took Dean’s dick into his mouth without preamble. Dean groaned and braced himself with one hand on a pew, his eyes rolling back into his head. 

Cas could have confessed right there! And again, he wants to so so bad.

Didn’t seem like Cas had a gag reflex to worry about, his stubble rubbing hard into the crook of Dean’s hips as he bobbed his head back and forth. For all that Cas’s hands cooled Dean’s body, the heat of his mouth felt like a world of its own. 

How long had it been since someone looked at Dean softly like this? Since someone touched him without fear or apprehension? When was the last time someone who knew him, down to his core, down to his darkest fears, breathed into his skin? Below him, Castiel’s touch expressed no inhibitions or caveats. Cas’s touch was absolute. 

In the original draft, i had name dropped lisa because she and ben are Dean’s biggest failures in this season. My beta at the time convinced me the detail sort of killed the mood but i feel like i should have kept it in. also im big on lisa being scared of dean. I think everyone should be scared of dean tbh. She says that being with him was the best year of her life, but i bet the wild ups and downs were INSANE. Stream my girl’s in the next room for more of that.

He let himself grab at Castiel’s jacket, the stupid fucking coat he never took off. Would his shoulders look just as wide if he did? It was dirty now, from Dean’s blood, the soot of the Church. Dean twisted his hand in it hard, shuddering as he felt the musculature of Cas’s shoulders, his back. He was solid under this fucking thing, but would Dean ever see any of him?

Dean wants to know everything about the people he loves and he knows he doesn’t know everything about cas but how can he? Cas is always in heaven doing other shit when he should be with dean!! Duh!!!!

As though Cas knew what he needed, Cas shoved his hand up Dean’s shirt to grab at Dean’s waist. Dean shuddered a sigh. It shouldn’t feel like relief to have Cas’s hands hold him tight, to have his tongue run along the underside of his dick. It shouldn’t feel like he was being pulled apart and reassembled when Cas’s eyes open to look up at him through his eyelashes. Those tired eyes that have seen more than Dean will ever know, those eyes that saw him in Hell.

Atp cas has not yet learned to fear dean’s capricious and mercurial nature. He still has so much spunk and agency but he CHOOSES to come back to dean. That’s crazy for dean.

Dean’s eyes darted around, looking from his boots, to the door, to Cas’s face. He tucked himself back into his jeans and asked, “You… uh, what about you?”

Cas tilted his head, “Me?”

“You good?” Dean asked, “You want me to…?” Dean gestured with his chin towards Cas’s crotch. Cas’s slacks were obviously tented. The sight of it made Dean’s mouth water. 

Cas looked down and shook his head, “That isn’t necessary. You give me enough with your prayers.”

“Oh, okay, cool,” Dean mumbled and looked towards the open door. He shoved his hands in his pockets and balled them into fists. His blunt nails dug into the rough skin of his palms, enough to maybe bleed. “Then I guess I’ll, uh, see you around?”

“Of course, Dean. Please keep risking your life unnecessarily to a minimum,” Cas said. The telltale flutter of wings followed. 

“No promises,” Dean said to the empty church. The crumbling saints around him said nothing back.

So this is a miserable moment for dean bc he was vulnerable w cas and it just made him feel more alone than ever. Cas doesn’t get that. He barely gets how important that was for dean. He knows that sex can be used to engender camaraderie with someone but he has no concept of afterglow. He barely even understands that this was something he wanted, that closeness with dean. I also just love the image of Cas walking around with such an obvious erection and he sees no issue with that.

There are no other sounds within the universe to compare to the sound of Dean Winchester’s prayers. Once, an eon ago, on a planet made entirely of dry loam and ancient bones, Castiel was privileged enough to hear the sound of its first rain. He was there to watch the first clouds form, and to watch the first pressure system crackle with thunder and pink lightning. The sound of water hitting the parched, desperate ground could have come close. 

Perhaps it was his vessel that reacted so strongly to these prayers. Perhaps it was the bond they shared, forged with hellfire and love. All Castiel can be sure of is that Dean’s prayers cut through the carnage and wreckage of war unlike any others. 

Cas does not know that he has been in love with dean for a hot minute. He’s not even picking up on his own metaphor here.

“Do you fear me, Dean?” Cas asked.

Dean’s eyebrows raised, and he cleared his throat. Cas watched his Adam’s Apple bob before flicking his eyes back to Dean’s. “‘Course not,” Dean said and smiled, turning his head to look at Castiel. It was the same smile he used on female bartenders in low cut shirts, the ones who knew how to smile back. He managed to pull a box of cigarettes out of his jacket and shook one out. He took it in his mouth and said, “I know you’re one of the good guys.”

Dean doesn’t actually know this but he wants it to be true so so bad bc even tho atp sam has his soul back, dean is still alone. He cant really relate to sam and now sam is teamed up w bobby against his friggin special little angel guy! What the hell! AND to make things worse lmfao dean had cas wipe lisa and ben’s memories. No one knows dean and only cas didn’t judge him for making that decision. (a terrible decision dean is insane for this)

Dean leaned over to elbow Castiel’s arm. When their arms touched, like a tectonic plate, the tone shifted.

Dean’s smile faded and he turned his face back to the road. His eyes flickered back to Castiel, lingering in Castiel’s lap, maybe on his hands, before snapping back to the dimly lit road. They hadn’t spoken about the church, but Castiel felt its memory well up between them. Dean caught Castiel’s eyes again, so briefly, and he licked his bottom lip. Even in the dark of the car, the wetness of it shined and another aching note of longing wound its way into Castiel’s heart.

Two guys with crippling loneliness…. What could possibly happen…..

It was so dark, the only source of light being the waning moon overhead. Behind them, the lights of the closest city twinkled, well over 20 miles away. Castiel could still make out every inch of Dean’s face. He knew Dean couldn’t do the same. 

More of me playing with the idea that dean is in the dark about cas hehe im so artsy hehe. I do want to emphasize that this makes cas feel bad tho.

“You know, you can tell me… stuff,” Dean said, “We’d work it out. Been through enough together that we’d find a way.”

“Stuff?” How long would Dean keep believing him? How far could Castiel take this?

Guy who doesnt believe in dean…. Guilt really setting in

“Things that maybe, I dunno,” Dean shrugged, “That Sam wouldn’t understand, or maybe that you feel like you gotta keep locked up.”

Castiel said nothing.

“I could help you,” Dean continued, “I could make good on all that, uh, stuff you said a while ago.”

“A while ago?”

“The church.”

So dean does NOT know how to say what he really wants. He’s been sitting on this one moment of intimacy that was also not quite satisfactory but wondering if there could be more.

‘Castiel, please tell me. Talk to me.’

Dean like horny  praying during sex. So just like his prayers, i think dean can be honest with himself (to a certain degree) when sex is involved. He’s not totally uninhibited but he gets loose. The combo is like crazy for cas.

“Yours too,” Dean let go of Castiel’s coat to undo his trousers, pulling out Castiel’s swollen cock, “Together.”

Castiel nodded before wrapping his fingers around them both.This wasn’t something he thought to experience, not even in his wildest dreams. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Cas wanted this to just be about reassuring dean that he’s ultimately on his side. If cas derives any real pleasure from this, then he’s really a villain, because here dean is being so sweet, so open. He wants to touch castiel and be touched and cas is fucking lying to him. 

The way Dean’s long eyelashes fanned out across the freckled apples of his cheeks made Castiel forget himself. He leaned in to brush his lips against the highest point of Dean’s cheekbone, quick and soft. A condemning touch. Dean let out the most beautiful sound when it happened, scrabbling higher to grab more of Castiel’s trenchcoat, fingers tangled in the collar, grazing against the nape of Castiel’s neck. Dean knocked their heads together and rocked hard into Castiel’s hand, hooking a leg around Castiel’s backside. 

I kinda wanted to play around with the line from s7 “the very touch of you corrupts” because well, cas is seeking that corruption. He’s not thinking of it as such, the condemnation here isn’t necessarily damning. It’s more of a “shit, im kinda boned” moment for cas because he cant lie to himself, he cant lie that hurting dean like this doesnt cut him to his fucking grace.

“But you, Dean, you, ah, ah–” Heat pooled in Castiel’s belly and his testicles tightened. He bit his own lip to keep himself in check, mouthing at the unkempt stubble along Dean’s jaw. “You pray for everyone other than yourself Dean. Even now, your prayers for me to speak… You believe it will relieve my burden.”

Dean moaned his name. Exquisite.

Cas is like overwhelmed lol. What he’s saying is true there is no one like dean to him, no comparison. And he’s losing himself in it which he cant afford.

 He sucked and bit hard, feeling Dean’s moan under his lips, and fucking against Dean hard as he rode out his orgasm. The kiss would leave a mark.

Cas loves to do this, he’s a FREAK.

He tried to lean back, up and out of Dean’s space, but was jerked back down when Dean’s hand grabbed the lapel of his jacket one last time. Dean pulled himself up into Castiel’s space and crashed their lips together, teeth clacking uncomfortably and noses bumping. Castiel grunted into the kiss, softening as Dean persisted. Dean worked Castiel’s mouth open and pushed his tongue inside, sweet and slow. They groaned into each other, tasting each other finally, for the first time. They stayed affixed to one another until Dean pulled back, chest heaving.

“Sorry, man,” Dean said through heavy breaths, “I know you didn’t want– But, you’re gonna leave, again, and I–”

Castiel’s hand cupped Dean’s jaw as he pressed another kiss to Dean’s mouth. Castiel kept his eyes open to watch Dean’s eyes flutter shut and his brow furrow.

So cas avoided a kiss because he didn’t see the need for it, it seemed so personal. In his experience a kiss was what the truly intimate did. He knew about couples and he had seen Anna and Dean kiss and well, that wasn’t something he was meant to have. (Remember Anna and Dean kissing in front of Cas………. Dreamy sigh) but Dean CRAVES intimacy more than he wants sex. He wants to feel close and he is an honest to god romantic. And a kiss would make this real and Dean wants it to be real because if it’s real then cas isnt a liar right? A guy who love him like that would lie right????

[arenabreadandbiscuits]

Hello fellow internetians,

So to start this off, I write and draw but I'm working may way up to accepting art requests so I'm starting with writing first since I've done so before.

The names I go by are Ash/Arena so please address me by either of you need to. About a year ago now, give or take a couple of months, I got sick and ever since I've been having to rely on my mother's income. I want to help her out and so I'm taking commissions in any of the fandoms I list on the first page. Rules will be included below and I have a goal in mind that I wish to reach.

Currently said goal is 500 a month but I want to keep a hold on this goal for periods of time so every time it hits I'll reset.

I'm still getting accounts to other platforms set up so if needed I can be reached across various different platforms so I can keep up with everyone and so you all can keep up with me.

-

Hello Everyone,

As I listed in the description this book is for commissions and for the most part I'll be collecting requests from this book while also posting the requests in this book so you all don't have to search far to find your story after I'm done writing them.

My name is Arena, though Ash and Ashes are other names that I don't mind you all calling me by either. I am 20 years old and so most of my work will be for adults considering I am one. If you aren't an adult though you can still request but you'll have to go to the 'Underage Requests' Page and do it there which I'll be making before Post an 'Adult Requests' Page. Please do not lie to me about your ages because if you do I'll be upset.

Now for my story:

About a year ago, give or take some months, I got sick with Guillain-Barre and so I haven't been able to work thanks to being currently disabled. I have written commissions before on here and ao3 (archiveofourown) on different accounts so I'm doing that again. When I have all my accounts fully set up I'll mention them on this account by name under my account so you all can branch out and find me if needed. As stated I haven't been able to work or attend college like I was before so this is my way of making some much needed cash for myself and my family.

If you don't have the money that's fine, I'm not talking to you, but I do appreciate you reading my book and sharing it to bring more people to it in the future.

From this point on I expect to have people contacting me so I'll go ahead and list my fandoms and prices.

I do write for OCS as well though so if you are looking for that just go ahead and skip to the next chapter which will be talking about my few rules for OCS. I also roleplay so I'm happy to accept and adopt other roleplayers that are literate like I am. If you are not looking for a partner but instead want to commission me to write out a certain scene from your own roleplays that's of course welcomed and accepted.

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Considering situations, sometimes stories will be longer than what was paid and it's okay, I won't go over to the point where the story leads into a different price range but a few extra words will go over the limit sometimes. If that happens, don't worry about it. It's free of charge after that so you don't have to pay extra.

I also want to mention that I also write for 'Monster Fuccers' so if you have a thing for DnD or some monster OC you want to hunch on I accept requests for those as well so don't by shy.

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- A

EDIT: 07/02/2024

Here's my MASTERLIST for anyone who wants direct links to fics, art, headcanons and everything else I'm posted on this account so far. I tried putting in my bio but I literally don't know how to do it ^^'

[sassyfrassboss]

If the prenup says Meghan gets $15m in the event of a divorce but Harry is broke and can’t pay her $15m. How does that work? Does he have to pay in installments? Or is the debt cancelled out?

If court is satisfied with proof that Harold doesn't have $15M nor can he pay it, then yes, debt cancelled. 

It's been proven in court repeatedly that family wealth is external and protected in a divorcing. Eg Tessa of Luxemborg tried to argue in court that the Luxemborg royal family is super wealthy and therefore she and the kids should be paid serious money ( $200M) based on ex-husband Prince's Louis's royal family wealth.

The court threw out her case and made clear that his family wealth had nought to do with the Prince even though his married life had been funded and lavishly gilded by that same family wealth.

The Luxemborg royals had the same deal as BRF where members have all the perks and money as long as they remained part of the family. A divorce meant cutting off Tessa. 

In the end she got between £3K - £6K per child per month + education trusts, no house or alimony. 

Similar deal with Fergie and Diana where divorce settlement was predicated on personal wealth of their husbands and not the royal family wealth or trusts.

Fergie got penuts compared to Diana because Andrew's personal wealth was nought. The Queen adored Fergie and Andrew being favourite son meant that exception was made for Bea and E as far as the trusts created for them due to the divorce plus education and day to day living costs ( all this was made public knowledge at the time). I'll also add that Fergie and Andrew didn't want to divorce, but her series of public embarrassments culminating in the public revelation of her 2 affairs ( Steve Wyatt - horse riding photos with Bea therein AND Financial advisor - toe sucking with Bea and E in the pictures) was a red line for the family and their divorce was ordered. No mediation or couples therapy. Andrew begged The Queen to rescind the order, but this is one of the few times she stood her ground and insisted upon the divorce. BUT the way it was handled was very amicable. Fergie kept *her HRH, she briefly moved out, but then moved back in, she continued to attend private royal family affairs including Sandrigham  christmas, but kept out of sight etc. 

*Fergie's HRH was not part of the divorce agreement and for afew months afterwards she was HRH Sarah, duchess of York, BUT Diana voluntarily gave up her own HRH as part of her divorce negotiations because she wanted to cut ALL ties with the royal family. Afew weeks later she was hit with the reality of the lost status of not being HRH and ran to the media to ran a campaign about those mean royals taking her HRH title away and even invoked William in her media games. She hoped the media would bully The Queen into giving it back. Instead, The Queen amended the LP to add that anyone divorcing an HRH automatically lost their own which unfortunately took Fergie's post-divorce HRH too. 

Diana got a better divorce settlement because Charles was personally wealthy unlike his siblings. While he couldn't touch the duchy of Cornwall assets to fund the divorce, he'd built up personal wealth separate from the duchy and that is what he gave Diana in the divorce. He had to borrow cash from The Queen to do it, but he didn't touch duchy assets.

Haya of Dubai was divorcing a man so extremely wealthy that he makes the royals look like paupers in comparison. And the Judge didn't allow her serious money in consideration of his wealth. Frankly, i thought she got very little. 9/10th of her settlement was restricted to security matters as the judge recognised that her Ex is a clear and present danger and she'll need that level of security for rest of her life. Take that sum out of the equation and she barely cleared £50M for herself. 

All this to say that Meghan hoping for royal family settlement on her should she divorce Harry is delusional. 

She'll get a settlement based upon his private wealth and not a penny more. And if it turns out that she has more than him, she'll end up paying him - happens all the time in California divorces eg Halle Berry.

Meghan also has several negatives that mean family won't play gall eg her direct attacks on them, her personality, the bullying report etc 

—-

Thank you so much for this!

I wi say the Tessy thing never really set well with me. I mean I dislike her immensely but she was trying to get some money and I think her ex was like “yeah but I’m worth less than poverty wages…” which you know damn well he just didn’t want to pay out…

I am super curious why his engagement with the lawyer didn’t work out?

Oh and Halle’s divorce!? Man her true colors have come out over the years huh?

[jessaerys]

the funniest thing is the landlord in my first apartment/cute aforementioned room was SO unbelievably shady (made me pay in cash, walked in whenever, lease was "month to month") that when covid hit i just hid from him behind the rent moratorium and didn't pay rent for like 6 months and then moved out and bailed on $6k+ of rent. what was he going to do about it. prove that i lived there ???????

[caxycreations]

Oh this one's easy for me.

Systematically hit every Gamestop in town, stealing every single console and game that they have, cause nobody that works at a Gamestop is going to care enough to stop me, yeah?

Then I do the same to every Walmart, except I'm not just stealing consoles. Computers, laptops, smartphones, all of it.

I'm getting every single bit of high-dollar tech I can get my hands on. Then I'm listing all of it on Ebay for the market price. It's brand-new and never-opened, so I'll have people BEGGING for it. What cost me $0 could net me tens of thousands.

Why not go bigger, you may ask? Why not rob an entire bank, or something like that?

Because if I rob a bank, I'm causing trouble for other people too. I'm stealing money from people who might need it, or who might be worse off than I am now by the time I'm done.

But this way, I'm not hurting anyone except the megacorps and game studios, which 100% deserve it, and none of the money goes to the shitty execs or CEOs.

Best of all, I'd be set for life with this, know how?

TL;DR at the bottom for those who don't care about the math. Putting it all under the cut though.

Say I get 10 PS5s, 10 2TB Xbox One Ss, 10 $500 desktops, 10 $800 Tvs, and 10 iPhone 15 Plus, and that's all, right? Which is pretty low considering average shop inventory.

10 x 500 = 5,000 (x2 cause the desktops give the same = 10,000) 10 x 600 = 6,000 10 x 800 = 8,000 10 x 900 = 9,000 10k + 6k = 16k 16k + 8k = 24k 24k + 9k = 31k

$31,000 just from that. Not even considering the other tech I could get like drones, other cell phones, Nintendo Switches, controllers, cables, HDDs, SSDs, etc

With 31k I could set aside 20k in a high-yield savings account and live off the other 11k for 8 months easy. I'd still be working during that time, and you might ask "but that means you're not really set for life!"

Excuse you, do you have any idea how much you can make in profit in 8 months if your expenses are fully paid off for that entire time?

I make $13.50 an hour when I work, sometimes more. If I work 8 hours a week, that's $104 a week, $416 a month, $3,328 before I run out of cash. That's another 2 and a half months.

But the cherry on top is this: I have 2 roommates who also contribute to expenses. I would only have to pay 1/3 of the total of $1300 monthly expenses.

Know what that means? I could live comfortably here with them for 2 years and a month.

And if I make the ~$13.50/hr that whole time, that's $10,784 I've earned from work, minimum. Meanwhile, my savings went from 20k up to $22,176. On $10,784, I could live comfortably for another 2 years.

During that time, I'd make another $10,368 and my savings would go up to $24,588.

On $10,368 I could live for 23 months. Meaning I'd have earned $9,568 and my savings have gone up to $27,030.

$9,568 is another 22 months. That nets me $9,152 from work and my Savings have gone up to $28,462. My work earnings give me another 21 months.

At this rate, losing one month per year, I could live comfortably for 24 years (if my math is right) before my work profits no longer cover the cost of a single month. In that time, my Savings should build up to $98,298 (according to a savings calculator)

So if I take $30k out of my savings at that point, it leaves me with 68k, and now I can live off that 30k for 5 years, easy, during which time I'll have earned $24,960 from work.

Point being...If I had just $31,000...I'd be legitimately set for life, working 8 hours a week and spending the rest of my time on my hobbies and passions.

TL;DR: if I could steal, and sell, $31,000 worth of tech, which would be nice and easy when high-dollar stuff like game consoles, computers, iphones, and TVs are involved, I could live comfortably for the rest of my life working only 8 hours a week and dedicating the rest of my time to the things I actually WANT to do.

Is it a lot of effort? Sure. But one day of hard effort in exchange for being set for life is 100% worth it if it means I can take care of myself and everyone I love by the end of it.

My beef with the premise behind "The Purge" is that it's not laws stopping people from killing each other in the streets - it's kinda just the default human experience to not want to hurt anyone. We succeeded as a species because we're generally decent at getting along with each other. The average, well-adjusted human has no desire to inflict undeserved harm.

We do, however, hate rules, so we'd probably still get a little wild in less harmful ways.

No "none," you're a hardened criminal now. Please feel free to share more details of your heinous (victimless) acts in comments or tags 😎

[obriengf]

Suds & Sponges || Stiles Stilinski x femReader

 Summary: Stiles does everything he can to see the cute girl at the car wash. Words: 6k Warnings: cute af stiles, he’s obsessed let’s be real, and reaallly awkward  Notes: this is a weird writing approach that i took.. it’s about Stiles’ perspective? idk?? dont hate it pls, also i started this off good and then i fkucked it up toward the end so.. sorry about that

Eyes squinted as you peered up to the sky; the blinding heat of the sun only partially blocked by your hand as it acted as a makeshift visor, your skin licked with Californian summer warmth on the parts of your body that weren’t shielded by your denim shorts or tied-front tank. The weather was utterly idyllic and served as the quintessential backdrop of your Saturday activities. Your focus was drawn toward your strawberry-blonde friend next, her hands gripping at her hips as she stood with poise, leadership strewn within her words and body language. Lydia was making sure that her senior prom fundraiser was getting underway, and as Student Body President, the girl wouldn’t accept any standard less than perfect. This explained the near army line-up of students who would be joining you in making some quick cash - some happily volunteering, others practically forced against their will by Lydia’s strength when it comes to persuasion. You, however, just couldn’t say no to some fun in the sun, or the way your friend’s doe green eyes bored into yours with the utmost pleading expression you’d ever come across.

You were all separated into small teams, and within a few minutes, were surrounded by fresh sponges and an array of water buckets. A couple of Sophomores were coaxed into standing outside of Beacon Hills High with glittery signs describing a car wash; their excitement oddly infectious as it began to draw in customers from the passersby. Several vehicles had already started a queue, and the addition of the summer hits playlist that Mason had put together had begun to sing loudly through the speakers scattered across the parking lot. 

You felt pumped as the atmosphere began to grow; the cooling temperature of the water acting as a stimulating contrast to the harshness of the sun, alongside the small chatter and laughs you shared between your teammates, Sydney and Malia. Lydia grinned wholefully and knowing that she was happy made you happy - except for the anticipated searching glances you would throw around every now and then, looking for the solid blue structure of a familiar jeep that had yet to make an appearance.

Stiles’ foot tapped anxiously against the pavement of the McCall driveway, his arms crossed tightly over his chest to prevent any further fidgeting or impatient flailing of his arms. When Scott told him that he wanted to swing by the car wash to surprise Kira, Stiles had instantly jumped into the jeep with exceptional speed after your name was thrown so casually into the conversation. He was now waiting for his friend to appear after being chastised for restlessness, Scott barely out of the shower before Stiles was rapidly beeping his horn and yelling for the boy to ‘get his ass in the car’ otherwise he was leaving without him. Ten minutes had passed, and his hand was hovering over the car horn once more before Scott skipped down his porch, an annoyed yet amused smirk pulling at his lips.

“Someone’s a little desperate.” He said, brows quirking at the gaping and inarticulate sounds Stiles was producing after being caught off-guard.

“I-I just need my car washed, dude.” The boy settled on, pulling his whisky hues away before clearing his throat. Stiles tried to ignore the snicker erupting from Scott as he rolled his eyes, body slipping hastily into the driver's seat. He just really needed his car washed, afterall.  Stiles remained silent as he peered over the console, his body twisting so that he could concentrate on reversing back onto the street. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip and Scott couldn’t hold back another laugh at the urgency written all over his best friend’s face.

“No need to rush, Kira said this thing goes all day. Unless there’s another reason why you’re so eager- ” Scott quipped, eyes focusing on the slight clench that tugged along Stiles’ jawline and how his eyes grew two sizes bigger. 

“What? I just need my car-”

“- washed, I know.” The amused tone of Scott’s voice broke through the other boy’s attempt to avert the conversation, a slight rosy blush playing upon Stiles’ cheeks as he refused to now take his eyes off the road ahead. Scott clicked his tongue, “So... this super obvious impatience has nothing to do with that fact that a particular someone is going to be helping out today?” 

The Stilinski boy’s entire face was suddenly flushed, the pink shade tickling at his neck as he fell into embarrassment. He knew that he was easy to read at times, but not this easy. Just the mere thought of you had his heart galloping, a slight sheen of anxious sweat beginning to clam up his hands, his fingers tapping an unreadable beat against the steering wheel to absentmindedly distract his zealousness. He wanted to blink and have you appear in front of him; to feel the velvet softness of your touch, hear the melodic song of your laugh, and see the bright rays of sunshine that epitomised your smile. Stiles didn’t just want you, he wanted to experience you.

Scott was watching him with fondness - he recognised that look of butterflies, how emotions played into the giddiness that would build Stiles’ whole persona when he was around you. He enjoyed seeing his friend happy, and found the utmost humour in how distracted Stiles would become just having you in the vicinity. Scott had hope for his friend, a was a firm supporter in keeping that innocent teenage love alive.

Scott watched as the town sped past the passenger side window, houses and trees blurring into one strip of ongoing colour. He couldn’t help the quirk of his lopsided grin, eyes focusing outside, although he didn’t need to look at Stiles to picture the flabbergasted expression he was about to uphold, “You should just ask her out, man. Bite the bullet. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“Ugh, I dunno, Scotty...” Sarcasm was heavily present now, accompanied by a breathless scoff and very evident roll of whisky eyes. Stiles allowed his words to trail as he quickly glanced to his amused friend and back to the road, “She could hear me? Laugh in my face? Say no?”

The Jeep began to slow as it reared behind a line of cars filtering into the school parking lot, the ears of the two boys perking at the faraway summer tunes in the distance. Scott sounded a small chuckle at Stiles’ atypical catastrophizing, “Riiight... and what’s the best thing?”

“We get married, have three kids, two dogs, and live in a big house with a white picket fence. I’m Sheriff and she is an Elementary school teacher and we are really fucking in love.” He hardly skipped in a beat in his reply, the words falling so effortlessly from his lips in a pragmatic tone. And if prompted, he could immediately list the names of your children and breed of dogs as if he’s lived it for the past ten years. 

“Have you thought about this already?” Scott interrupted the beginning stages of daydreaming, the other boy blinking rapidly as if he were knocked from a trance. 

Whisky hues bulged as realisation hit about what was asked, and Stiles shook his head roughly, lips pursed, “Uh, no, nope, not at all.” But the raise of Scott’s questioning brow indicated that he saw right through him, and Stiles couldn’t help but manage a large groan, hands gripping the steering wheel until knuckles were near white, “Okay, yes. Can we change the subject now?”

Silence engulfed the boys - the only sounds now falling through the open windows, loud chatter and growing tunes creating atmosphere as the Jeep rolled slowly through the queue. Stiles didn’t need Scott nudging at his side and pointing in the direction of where you were situated, as he had already clocked you from the moment he passed the threshold, the sun raining down on you as he saw an ethereal glow around your form. You had him like putty in the palm if your hand, and was completely clueless about it.

They were now next in line and Stiles’ leg wouldn’t stop shaking from the growing anticipation, Scott needing to reach out and hold it firmly down to cease the nervous habit. His little crush has easily flourished into infatuation and just knowing that you were so close was enough to brighten his day completely, but patience was not a virtue in the Stilinski boy’s book. 

The moment Stiles rolled the Jeep forward and put it in park, Scott was already slipping from the vehicle, causing Stiles to growl down to his friend, “Dude, where are you going?”

“I saw Kira when we drove in, gonna go say hi. Don’t fuck this up.” 

Stiles made a noise of complaint, nostrils slightly flaring, hands lifting into the air with an iconic flail, “Don’t fuck what up?”

With a salute and a cheeky wink in Stiles’ direction, Scott dropped his body to the tarmac below, his tone quiet enough for only the other boy to hear “Asking Y/N out, dumbass. I’ll see you later.” 

The sound of a car door slamming caught your attention as you rinsed out your allocated sponges, the chilled temperature of the water becoming a saving grace as your balmy hands were submerged within the bucket of soapy residue. You looked over your shoulder as you saw Malia welcome Scott, a smile quick to grow between your cheeks before you wiped your hands on the thighs of your shorts, skin sure to dry quickly within this weather. 

“Hey.” You called, the boy glad to reciprocate your greeting as you both neared closer. He was wearing a smirk and you couldn’t think of why, only that behind him sat Stiles in the safety of the Jeep’s cabin. Your head tilted as arms crossed over your chest, “What’s got you all smug?”

“Nothin’. Just got a feeling today’s gonna be a good day.” Scott replied, his hands slipping nonchalantly into the pockets of his cargo shorts, lopsided lips continuing to pull up into an expression of utter cheekiness. He knew something you didn’t, you thought, but chose to not play into it for now. Instead, a nod of acknowledgement was offered before you pointed in the direction of Kira. Scott sighed gently, “Thanks... hey, maybe you should go see Stiles? I think he wanted to ask you something.” 

He sounded so sure of himself as he headed away in the opposite direction, leaving you with furrowed brows of confusion and a sense of intrigue that instantly pulled your gaze to the vehicle standing before you. It took Stiles by surprise as you pulled open his passenger door, hands settling on your hips as you grinned up at him - your cheeks was mildly flushed from the heat, and your clothes clung more to your frame in the few places that had gotten wet. The look on your face screamed liveliness, along with the slight disheveledness of your hair. Caramel swirls swam as his eyes grew wider, words lost on the tip of his tongue as he drew you in; even with things slightly out of place, Stiles thought you were absolutely beautiful.

“You look hot...” Stiles trailed, eyebrows jolting up as he realised what he had said. He swallowed hard and inattentively gripped at his steering wheel, frozen as you breathed out a bashful giggle toward the tarmac below your feet. “Y-you know, b-because of the sun. Summer... summer, and, and all...” 

Your bottom lip was captured between your teeth, the flesh tugged gently as you tried to hide the way your friend’s comment seemed to resonate with you. It was no revelation that Stiles was hardly a smooth-talker, but even you couldn’t help the fact that his cumbersome way of words was so inevitably endearing. 

Your body gently lent against the frame of the open door, head tilted to the side before you offered a tender smile, “Scott said you wanted to ask me something?”

“Well, I-I...” The stuttering returned in the form of surprise, your comment throwing him off guard, in left field, under the bus. He was unsure how to reply regardless of the fact that he knew damn well what he wanted to say. Words collected on his tongue and they refused to leap, leaving Stiles in a predicament. You didn’t try to push him, instead raising a brow in softened confusion, an indicator for him to continue. All that the boy could do was gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing before he released a nervous chuckle, “I was wondering if, if you’d... you know.. if you’d like to, if you’d wanna... give Roscoe a good ol clean...” 

Stiles internally cringed - he was sure that he might have possibly externally cringed, as well. He watched through a slightly squinted view as now both of your brows rose, bafflement so evidently present in your eyes. It was unexpected, yet not entirely abnormal for the Stilinski boy. 

“I mean, yeah, that’s why I’m here.” You answered, trying to pull away from the questioning tone that was desperate to nip at your response. You shone another grin before closing the car door, your lips falling the moment he was out of view. You hated the feeling of hopefulness; the exhilaration and anticipation was nothing compared to the deflated aftermath that would often follow. You couldn’t even tell if he was happy to see you and it was starting to put a damper on your mood.

The sound of your name broke you from your bubble of thought, Sydney and Malia standing in front of you with cleaning supplies ready and questioning gazes of their own. It was a brisk decision to brush off your strange encounter with Stiles, instead focusing your energy on fulfilling your duties for the day and experiencing a little fun alongside your friends. Maybe he just didn’t feel the same butterflies you so often homed in your stomach.

Stiles sunk deep into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping at his face as they muffled the long and pained groan that he released the moment you disappeared from his sight. He had one job, and it was to ask you out. A handful of words, a quick sentiment. It would have been over and done by now but he lost whatever ‘cool’ he had left, and now he was paying the consequences by chastising himself in the seclusion of the Jeep.

Stiles’ head bounced back gently against the worn plush of the seat before pushing out a mellowing sigh between his teeth. He couldn’t help the anxiesties that began to flutter in his mind - worried if he blew it, scared that he turned you off for good. He hastily pulled out his phone, fingers hovering over an open message conversation with Scott as he tried to think what to say. He mumbled a quiet ‘fuck it’ under his breath before allowing his thumbs to spill word vomit into a text; hashing out his insecurities as he explained how the impromptu plan failed miserably. All that he got in reply from his large paragraph block of text was a simple ‘you’re an idiot’ from Scott’s end. For once, Stiles Stilinski agreed.

Ten minutes or so passed before Stiles could finally hear some sort of clarity from the ceased rinse cycle of the hose, his eyes opening to be met with a spotless windscreen. He slowly pushed himself into an upright position in time to see you talking to Malia, a smile finally returning between your cheeks, and Stiles could’ve sworn that if he stared for much longer than he’d be sinking back down into that seat in the form of a loved-up puddle. And he almost did, if it wasn’t for his passenger door opening and Scott making his way back beside his friend. 

The boy laughed, “Dude, pick up your jaw.” He said to Stiles, observing just how intense the infatuation was really becoming. Stiles fumbled as he broke from his entrancement, his throat coughing as he cleared it to cover up his brief moment of rapt focus. He could feel Scott’s glare burn into the side of his skull - an odd concoction of amused disappointment at how he so easily messed up such a simple task.

“Don’t.” Stiles said, simply, his teeth gritted and tone offering a soft warning. 

“ I didn’t say anything - ” 

“Okay! I know I fucked it up, I know!” He continued, groaning again, his head falling back to the headrest as large hands covered his face once more. His voice was obstructed, yet Scott could make out the tiniest of details - something along the lines of how Stiles was planning on running away to another country and changing his name.

A small knock against the driver’s side door caused the nervous boy to suddenly jump, even more so when he saw you glancing up at him from the other side. The window was quickly wound down before he smiled - a grin that was very highly-strung, yet he couldn’t help but show happiness as you looked toward him with those bright eyes. 

“I can promise you that Roscoe’s looking like a brand new car.” Your voice was airy, trying to feign a tone that didn’t express the mild discontent that you were still feeling. You heard as Scott chuckled in the background, a comment made about how you have yet to see the five rolls of duct tape holding the engine together, before Stiles reached behind him with a soft blow to his friend’s bicep.

Lanky fingers were quick to fumble around in his pocket before pulling out a folded bill of cash, a much appreciated contribution toward Lydia’s fundraising goal. You accepted it was another smile, pink shades poking the tip of your nose as you said a quiet thanks in return.

An awkward silence began to set in as you suddenly found your entangled fingers an interesting distraction, Stiles stealing glances toward you as he picked at loose threads on the hem of his tee. It was driving Scott crazy. “Thanks again for the wash, Y/N. We’ll see you around.” He called out over Stiles’ shoulder, hand raised in a wave as he tried to push some life back into the gawky tension. You immediately reciprocated his sentiment, showcasing the splendour that always managed to draw Stiles to your eyes, and the benevolence that built up the smiling curl of your lips.

Stiles had never wanted to stay at and leave a place so bad in his life.

“I should’ve just said it, right? When we were leaving... I should’ve just asked her... right?” This was the third time that Stiles had brought up this topic since he and Scott left the parking lot of the School. Indecision was clawing at him and fuelling anxieties that will surely play on his mind for at least another twelve months. Minimum. 

Scott sighed for the third time, too, his head lolling to the side to look at the straightened figure beside him, “There’s always next time, man. You’ll find another reason to talk to her.” 

Stiles’ lips curled in as he pondered numerous scenarios; scenes flashing through his mind like a video on fast forward, considering when would be the perfect time to just ask you out. But Stiles Stilinski wasn’t much for predetermined plans when in this headspace, choosing to impulsively turn the jeep around on the empty road and head for the Preserve, not much more than a five minute drive away. 

Scott’s eyebrow quirked, his tone questioning, “What’re you up to?” 

“Just doing what you said. Finding another reason to talk to her.”  

Scott never anticipated that he’d find himself some time after staring at his friend as they stood in front of the Jeep, a look of incredulity forming the purse of his lips and furrowing of his brows. They were alone and luckily shrouded by a canopy of trees, blocking out the heat from the sun. Scott opened his mouth before closing it, the action continual as he tried to come to terms with what Stiles just asked. “Can you repeat that? Not sure I heard you right.”

“I said...” Stiles announciated, reaching down to grasp a handful of the earth's soil, “Throw dirt on my car.” 

So, Scott did hear him right, the gentle chocolate hues of his eyes widening significantly as Stiles hurled his handful of dirt across the hood of the Jeep. The iconic sky blue shade quickly turned to a murky grey as more dirt was piled on, but Scott remained standing back in confusion. It wasn’t until Stiles ushered him again, that he eventually lent down to grasp at his own handful.

 The intentions were well, but the moment Stiles heard loud clinking sounds, his head immediately spun to face his friend and you’d think from afar that the world was ending there and then.

“Scott, dude... the rocks!” Stiles yelped, a whine slipping next from his lips as he leapt to his hood, checking for damage. Fingers carefully treading over any possible dints, his voice now hoarse as whispered words were spoken under bated breath, the softened force blowing dust specks into the air, “Not the paintwork, don’t scratch the paintwork...” 

Eyes could not have been rolled back further before hands were held high in defence, Scott taking gentle footsteps backwards in time with his chuckles of disbelief, “You’re completely insufferable.” 

And the Stilinski boy was. His mind was running a million miles per second, hyperactivity busying his thoughts and playing upon all emotions. Stiles felt like a ticking time bomb, yet held so much placidness at the same time - a conflict that he was yet to decipher. He so easily scolded himself for his indecisiveness, but just seeing your face as he briefly closed his eyes reminded him that there was a suchness in being contented. There was a reason, a way, and he desperately needed that light that you shone so benevolently to finally ground him.

With a huff and shake of his head, Stiles stood back to his full height, lips managing to pull into a smirk toward the other boy, “Just a bit more dirt, Scotty, and we’ll try a take two. I’ll get it right this time.” 

You didn’t expect to turn around and be faced with a familiar front bumper, leading up into a dusty grey-toned vehicle that looks as if it’d been driven full throttle through a sandstorm. Your brows rose as you treaded a few steps over the heated tarmac, the back of your band absentmindedly lifting to wipe at the sweat gathering on your forehead from the midday sun. You couldn’t help the breathless laugh that fell from you when you saw that the window to the driver’s seat had already been wound down, as if the driver himself was expecting you to pay visitation to his side again.

You lent up as far as you could until your arms were just able to sit within the space of the missing window, your chin leaning on top of them as they crossed. Your throat hummed, “What’d you guys do to all our hard work?” 

Stiles snickered sheepishly as his own arm was thrown behind his head, pink shades playing upon his cheeks, “I don’t know, we just, ya know... found it like this...” 

Scott nearly choked on air at the poor excuse.

“You found Roscoe like this?” You spoke with yet another question, somewhat intrigued with where this story could take you, and how Stiles’ typical knack of overdramatizing would feed the recount, “And what do you think may have happened for the Jeep to look like it took a nap in a garden bed?” 

“Dirt... storm?” He mentally slapped himself as the words left the tip of his tongue. Not only could he feel Scott sliding with immense embarrassment down the passenger-side seat, but he could also see the way the cogs tried to turn in your head with no avail to comprehend what he was saying. He cleared his throat before attempting to reiterate his reasoning, “Like a gust of wind, big gust, full of... dirt, super windy. S-super... super dirt-y...” 

You tried to ignore the loud snort of amusement stemming from an eavesdropping Malia, her gaze focused on rinsing out rags and sponges only a few feet away from you. She had nearly finished the preparation for round two of cleaning Stiles’ car and it prompted you to push out your lips as you slowly nodded along to his story, “Right, sure. Well... if you need me - us “ You were quick to correct yourself, coughing to cover the slip up, “Us... we’ll just be out here, washing the Jeep, again.” 

The second you stepped back, the window went up, and Scott practically numbed his friend’s arm from the bellowing punch he threw his way. He groaned as fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, muttering a frustrated ‘unbelievable’ to his lap. All that Stiles had to do was keep his cool - but he was acting just as thickly as the summer air outside.

Scott eventually peered to the side, capturing Stiles’ stiff posture and widened appalled eyes. Stiles spoke with a raspy throat, “Don’t you even think about commenting on what the fuck just happened.” 

But Scott couldn’t help it; gentle laughter pushing first through his nose before it was tangled among his amused words, “Dirt storm? Really?” 

You finally felt relief as the harshness of the sun settled behind the body of the school; a saving grace that was much needed after the balmy exposure you found yourself within all day. The changing position of the sun meant that the afternoon was nearing dusk, and that meant that your day of work was nearly over. Yours was among a handful of other bodies that had gathered for a brief chat in-between customers, an array of stories and gossip shared until you were eventually broken away by the sound of your name.

Looking back over to where your team was stationed, your eyes grew to the size of saucers. Malia was in astonishment, gesturing toward that too-familiar Jeep as it rolled up to the spot that was practically theirs by now. You’d never have thought that you would be seeing these boys so many times in one day; yet here you were, wandering back up to the same window to be met by that same stupidly cute boy, with the hopes that he’d entertain you with yet another fashioned explanation.

You didn’t even have to a speak a word before Stiles was pouring out an excuse, his hands adding expression as they flailed helplessly around him within the small space of the cabin, “You should’ve seen it, Y/N, Scott’s drink just... it flew right outta his hands, right, and all over the bonnet. It was wild. Just totally... totally out of nowhere... you know... so... so crazy...” 

Your voice was filled with mirth as you mimicked him, head nodding in acknowledgement, “So crazy.” 

The faint scent of strawberry milkshake filled the air as you peeked over the the car’s front, a large splatter now meeting your gaze and it made you sigh in hilarity. You were confused, but still found your meet-ups mildly endearing. 

What Stiles refrained to tell you was that he offered to by Scott lunch as compensation for his erratic behaviour, only to grow impulsive when he discovered another reason to find himself back at the car wash. He had plucked the drink and lent out of the car window, the beverage raining down onto the hood as Scott’s expression dropped into the utmost despair. He was getting more desperate, yet it only enraged the anxiety knotting his stomach.

You showed cheekiness as you held your hand out, awaiting another ten dollar bill before the cleaning commenced. The corners of your eyes wrinkled as you smiled widely, head only slightly tipped to the side, “Pay up, Stilinski. I’m not doing shit until you place a pretty Hamilton on my palm. I’m also accepting tips.” You winked his way, proud as you watched his head shake as a small laugh left his lip, and two bills were handed to you with no hesitation. 

You bit your lip, head shaking as you gave one back to the boy, “I was joking.” You explained. More like, you were flirting, but even then Stiles huffed that he wanted you to keep it. For the fundraiser. 

Stiles looked at you with all the adoration in the world - caramel eyes gleaming in the afternoon light as they softened over your face, able to easily fall into a daze as he smiled drunkingly at you. The butterflies quickly returned as they fluttered in your stomach, and it made your heart race and chest fill with warmth. You were chuffed. He made you chuffed. You own cheeks were flushing with a pink hue before you took a chance, hope-filled that he was feeling the same as you, “Is there anything else you need me for before I go?”

You were giving him the opportunity. You were throwing him a life-line and he knew it. It was right in front of him and he could grasp it and hold it close to his thumping heart if he really wanted to - but the boy was frozen. Words refused to push past his lips. His body stopped working. His palms were clamming up and Scott swore that Stiles had stopped breathing for a short moment. 

His voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he was losing his courage, eventually finishing on another half-assed response, “Just... you’re doing a great job. Five stars.” 

You patted at the sill of the car window, mouth curling in as you looked away. Disappointment flooded you once again, and you had to remind yourself why you shouldn’t grow hopeful. 

It also reminded Stiles that he didn’t like to see you as anything but your usual epitome of sunshine. 

“No. No way.” Hands were situated firmly on her hips as Lydia stood in the entryway to the Beacon Hills High parking lot. Stiles had rubbed god-only-knows what on his car and was back to see you again, but she wasn’t having any of it. 

“Oh, come on, Lydia. Do you know how much I’ve contributed to this stupid Prom thing today? Just let me in.” He whined, earning himself an exhausted chuckle from Scott beside him. 

She didn’t budge, and she wouldn’t. Lydia remained standing her ground with a neutral expression, her eyes only heeding a warning as her perfectly sculpted brow rose to challenge him. “I know exactly how much you’ve contributed. You’ve been here like, once an hour.” 

“He’s trying to ask Y/N out.” Scott added as he ducked his head out of his window, voice laced with tiredness from his fractured day. 

Green eyes rolled at the admission, fingers tensing as they wiggled over her shirt. She looked bored, and it made it easier for the smallest tone of judgement to wrap within her words, “I don’t think getting the girl you’re crushing on to wash your car all day is a good way to ask her out.” 

Another strong punch to Stiles’ arm made him yip loudly as Scott stared at him, his eyes deep screaming out that he was unimpressed. His voice was low and scolding, “I fucking told you so, you idiot.” 

Brown locks fell as Stiles’ head dropped to the rim of his steering wheel, a guttural groan echoing loudly around him. He wasn’t happy with himself, and if you weren’t so damn captivating, then he might have given up quicker. But he won’t, because he’s Stiles, and giving up isn’t a thing that he’s ever known to do. He was overly hyperactive, spontaneous, and strong-headed but he never was one to quit. Especially when it came to the cute girl at the car wash.

“Are you gonna let me in, Lyds?” He begged, tone defeated as he stared at the strawberry-blonde with wide pleading eyes. She clicked her tongue as she considered thought, her facade still not showing even the tiniest crack. Eventually, she stepped aside with a knowing look - another warning, a promise that if this didn’t end well then she’d show off what her anger truly entails. It was seen within her piercing eyes and protective scowl, truly terrifying when you’re found to be on the receiving end.

Stiles didn’t bother driving all the way up, opting to walk over instead with hands buried into the depths of his denim pockets to hide the nervous fiddling of his lanky fingers. He felt the dissipation of pressure when he noticed that you were alone, and the setting sun emitting a halo of light that framed you perfectly. If this wasn’t a sign, then he didn’t know what was.

He swallowed quickly, mouth suddenly dry as he lapped at his lips. This felt too surreal, like he was floating through a dream and that his body was filled with instant warmth as you looked over your shoulder and smiled at him. 

“Hey, you. No car?” You asked, showing off a full toothy grin as your hands clasped behind your back. Little did Stiles know that you too were nervously playing with your fingers.

He smiled back, speaking honestly for the first time today as he stopped only a feet or two away from you, “Didn’t really wanna hide behind it anymore.”

 It was easier to see him now that he was close enough to touch; soft brown freckles much more evident across his skin as they glowed in the afternoon light, a beautiful contrast to the dark moles that splayed constellations beside his cheeks. His eyes grew golden and you could practically taste the caramel shade that radiated so mesmerizingly from them. He was much more vulnerable as he stood with buried hands and a bashful boyish smile that made you feel weak.  

He was so gentle and you couldn’t hold back.

“Did you wanna go out sometime? I mean - “ You laughed nervously, and Stiles couldn’t have found it any more adorable if he tried, “I like you. I know it sounds so totally middle school to say that, but I do. You make my knees weak, and my heart race, and i get these... these butterflies - “

“In your stomach? And it makes you feel weird, kinda sick but in a good way? The butterflies feel good?” He interjected, unable to hold back now that he had seen your feelings laying on the line. 

Yout bit your lip, nodding in agreement, “Exactly. It’s like... a good nervous. A perfect kind of nervous. You make me smile and I swear I can feel my chest swell with so much happiness, it’s crazy.” 

Stiles raised an eyebrow, “So crazy?” 

“Yeah, so crazy.” You wanted to reach over and slap his arm from repeating your earlier words, his tone just as mocking, but it only showed you that everything you did meant just as much to him, as he did to you.

“I wanted to tell you all day... fuck, I like you too. Probably a little too much. That probably is probably a definitely... definitely a definitely - “ He hummed as he stopped to think to himself, getting lost for a short moment before the gentle touch of your hand was felt against his cheek, and Stiles could have melted to the ground right there and then.

You had to gulp down as you locked eyes with the boy, their doe-like appearance prompting your bottom lip to catch between your teeth again, “I definitely like you a little too much, too, Stiles.” 

With careful movements, his hand raised to sit tenderly over your hold, and he was hoping that you weren't able to hear the hammering of his loving heart against the caging of his chest. 

Stiles eventually released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the sigh sounding content and pleased, “Burgers?” 

You nodded in reply before your tone was laced in amusement, “Only if you promise not to throw my shake at your car.” 

“I don’t know, if it means I get to see the cute car wash girl again, then maybe that’s a promise I’ve gotta break.” 

[copperbadge]

It’s Actually Ok To Round Up At Checkout

I keep seeing posts about how you shouldn’t round up your payment at checkout “for charity” because the company takes the money, gives in their own name, and then receives a tax break for the donation.

This is incorrect. It’s just plain wrong information. 

Because it’s illegal for a company to claim collected donations on their taxes, since they give you a receipt that proves you can claim it on yours. They are considered a collection agent -- the corporate equivalent of a firefighter with a boot soliciting on the sidewalk.

And the sentiment is potentially fucking nonprofits out of serious change.

So here’s how it works. When you make a purchase you’re asked if you’d like to round up your price, say $22.70, to $23 and give that extra 30 cents to charity. When you choose yes, the company adds that as a special charge, and transfers the amount to a processing company. The processing company disburses many small gifts in one big chunk to the nonprofit, so that the nonprofit doesn’t get ten thousand transactions of thirty cents. Over the course of a couple of years, campaigns like this can raise millions for the nonprofit. 

So where’s the catch? you’re thinking. Capitalism doesn’t allow kindness like this to rampage unchecked!

Well, you’re kinda right. For one thing, there’s something called the Halo Effect, where companies get a huge PR boost from this giving. People feel better about themselves and the place they give, when they give this way. That’s why companies do it, pure and simple. It’s cheap, built-in positive messaging. 

The companies aren’t deducting it (it’d be chump change to them anyway tbh) but you can. You can literally deduct the thirty cents you gave at Jersey Mike’s off your very own taxes, if you keep the receipt. But unless you’re giving more than $6K to charity each year ($12K if you’re filing jointly!) then there’s no point keeping that receipt, because before that threshold you won’t get a tax break for charitable giving anyway. 

UPDATE TO ABOVE, thanks @evvrythingisawesome, you do get a credit on your tax return for up to $300 in giving, which I even DID LAST YEAR and forgot about because that’s not my area of specialty. Sorry about that! 

One significant benefit of giving at checkout is that the nonprofit doesn’t get your name or address, so you never go on a mailing list. If you give an average of 30 cents twice a week when you buy a soda at the gas station, over the course of a year you’ll have given over $30 commitment-free. Sweet deal. 

Here’s what most people think is the catch: between three and seven percent of the money given goes to that processing company I mentioned. Because they have to, you know, process that money, which comes with expenses like software, customer support, servers, bank fees, etc. 

However. Three to seven percent? That’s nothing. A good fundraiser working for a nonprofit costs, in salary, roughly 20% of what they raise. For every dollar they earn, they bring in about $5 from donors. Round-up campaigns raise $5 and charge you 25 cents for it and require almost no work from the charity -- that money just shows up. And even if you didn’t give at the checkout, if you give online we pay a processing fee to the place processing THAT payment. If you give by check or cash, we still have to pay people to count, record, and deposit those payments. Giving money costs money. That’s just the way it is.  

2. Unless you actually are giving elsewhere, if you choose not to round-up, then you’re just...chest pounding. You’re pretending to stick it to the man when really you’re just not making a charitable gift at all. If you do give elsewhere that’s great, keep up the good work, I’m not talking to you. And if you can’t afford to give, I’m really sorry, I want you to keep your money and I’m also not talking to you. As we know, thirty cents adds up. I couldn’t give for several years, and it’s a point of pride now to always be able to hit the round-up button without doing any math. 

But if you could give and aren’t giving somewhere...then no offense but you have no skin in this game and you need to sit down and let people who give a shit get on with their work. 

Because an additional truth is that some people only remember to give when they’re asked but they HATE TO BE ASKED, except at checkout. And some people only give if they feel like they’re giving insignificantly relative to their income -- like thirty cents at checkout. These campaigns are nearly-free, super-easy money for us from people who probably wouldn’t otherwise give. They raise our profile, too, so that people who have given at checkout think of us when they DO remember to give (like oh, around the holidays, which are fast impending). 

In the end, I suppose I’m really just begging people, as a whole, for about the seventh or eighth year running, to stop coming to charitable giving from the standpoint of “Well whaddaya give me for it? Where’s the catch? How do I know you’ll do the best with my money? Can you prove you aren’t a scam?”

I know that most of you, most of the time, come to any relationship with an inherent assumption of good faith -- from tv shows to friendships to Etsy purchases to pet ownership. You’re not deeply suspicious by nature! But this lingering hostility towards charitable giving, where the immediate assumption is one of bad faith, is really harmful to people who are attempting to do good work. An extremely small fraction of the nonprofits that want your funding are scams, religiously sketchy, or deeply negligent when it comes to how your money is eventually spent. Most are doing their best and many are putting up with a lot of unnecessary fucking side-eye while they do it.

So try to downshift from “Who will scam me the least” to “Who would I like to help the most?” and give accordingly. Whether that’s a local pet shelter, a toy or blanket drive, a national cancer organization, your friend’s top surgery gofundme, or the woman standing in traffic with the cardboard sign. Your blood pressure (and mine too, for that matter) will go way down.

[sovtwords]

the cannibal - miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x reader

warnings: 18+, slight DC, implied pseudo-cannibalism, oral sex, cunnilingus, marking, food kink, food play, oral fixation, spitting, spit kink, table sex, light choking, light degradation, implied/referenced character death, porn making/videos

w/c: 6K

a/n: welcome to chapter 2 of thirteen nights of whorror! please read the tags before proceeding - if you think i am missing anything let me know and i'll fix it. this chapter is inspired by the character hannibal lector. enjoy!

- ao3 link -

Thirteen Nights of Whorror MASTERLIST

The moan you make is obscene, long and drawn out as your eyes close in bliss, but you can’t help it.

Sure, it may not be proper dinnertime etiquette to sound like a wanton whore, but Osamu doesn’t seem to mind as he grins widely across the table at you, drink in hand and eagerly awaiting your opinion on his supposedly famous filet mignon. As soon as the steak hits your tongue it bursts with flavour, a dance of delightful herbs and spices on your tongue and all washed down with the perfect glass of red wine. So classy.

If Osamu had told you much earlier how good of a chef he really was, you would have skipped all those cautious first dates and ran straight to his house. How you even lasted these past few weeks with this meal of a man without getting up to anything more than heavy petting and drunken kisses is beyond you. In fact, that sort of patience should be rewarded because you’ve been wanting to jump his bones since that night he chatted you up at the bar.

Yet your gut told you to wait it out, take your time getting to know him and form a relationship that wasn’t just a single night of meaningless sex, and you’d give your past self a high five if you could because you were absolutely right for doing so – Miya Osamu is endlessly charming, sharp as a tack and oozing with the sex appeal of a successful entrepreneur who has more than earned his cash, and you’re more than ready to eat your dessert and let him have you any way he likes.

“Oh…my… gosh,” you speak rather embarrassingly with a mouthful of food, but Osamu only laughs. “This is… bloody fantastic! This is the best steak I think I’ve ever had in my life! The flavours, the texture- it’s incredible!”

The chef lets out a bashful laugh, hiding his gorgeous smile behind his glass of wine. He is the very image of modest – small but breath-taking smile, cheeks dusted pink because of your praise, shrugging off your words like he doesn’t deserve them.

“Thanks,” he responds, and his low voice is the cherry on top of all of this. “Glad ya like it.”

“’Like it?’ I love it! I can understand why you’ve been dying to cook a meal for me instead of going to a restaurant! I would have come a lot sooner if I knew you could cook like this.”

At that, he snorts good naturedly, and takes a gulp of wine before speaking.

“Well, I tried askin’ but you wanted to take yer time with the whole datin’ thing. Which is fine,” he adds quickly when he spies your shoulders drooping at what you thought was a snide remark. “I was jus’ impatient. I really like ya, and I…I wanted to cook ya a meal from home.”

That’s just about strong enough to melt you right on the spot. Your heart beats erratically inside your rib cage, threatening to break free from your skin and land in Osamu’s lap when he smiles at you so sweetly – hooded, but bright eyes, a gentle curl to his lips. If you had went to school with him, you have no doubt he would’ve been your school crush.

You shove another forkful of delicious food into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully as an excuse to buy you some time and rein in your wild emotions because you are seconds away from jumping into his lap.

And judging by the dark and inviting look he’s had plastered on his face for the entire evening he wouldn’t stop you if you tried. It sends sparks straight to your groin, and your thighs rub together subconsciously at the thought.

“I would have thought with your busy schedule as a psychiatrist you’d have loved the opportunity to go out,” is what you settle on saying after swallowing another mouthful. Osamu shrugs and pops some food into his mouth.

“I don’t mind either way. But I think cookin’ for someone is a good way to impress somebody ya like, y’know?”

Your cheeks flare with heat at his words. Dark eyes stare at you as he chews methodically.

“Well – consider me impressed, Miya. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“I loved watchin’ my mother work in the kitchen when I was younger. I used to help her cook the dinners and make lunches for my brother and I. Guess I picked it up from her. Her food was always the best,” he cuts another chunk of his steak. You spot rivulets of bloody juices streaking on the white ceramic of his plate, and watch as he coats his pink piece of steak with a generous dollop. He smiles when he notices you staring.

“I like my meat rare.”

“To each their own. I prefer mine a little more cooked,” you laugh. Osamu holds his smile in response, and you can’t discern the meaning of it. It seems as though Miya Osamu has a million different smiles, and you’re determined to know each one.

“That’s fair. I jus’ think there’s some sorta beauty in raw, bloody steak. Tastes nice ‘n pure,” he pauses as a sinfully perfect demure sort of look crosses his face, and it hooks you in. “Forgive me if this is too early to say but…I often wondered how you’d taste.”

You nearly choke on your wine as your body flushes with heat and your core begins to pulse in excitement. You can’t make sense of this man – he’s both a calming ocean and the unknown storm laying just beyond it. He keeps you on your toes, leaves you wanting more.

And the bulge you spotted in his slacks tonight definitely has you craving more of Miya Osamu.

“P-Play your cards right and maybe you will,” you stutter out in a faux show of confidence, and secretly hope Osamu will just finish eating and whisk you away to bed. Your legs are already spread for him as it is.

To distract yourself from his less than subtle comments, you gaze about the collection of artefacts in his dining room. Pictures of his family - a blonde version of him that must be his twin - some artsy statues. Normal things, for a wonderfully normal guy. Not like the asshole that was your ex. You get the feeling that Osamu wouldn’t take your money and run out on you like he did.

One thing in particular, poised haphazardly on a shelf, takes your interest.

“What kind of mask is that?”

A strange shape and colour, seemingly crafted to only fit the lower half of a person's face with a small opening for the mouth, grated lines just about able to let a person breathe.

Osamu pauses before taking a sip of his wine and follows your line of sight. He snorts. “’S a muzzle.”

You blink. “A muzzle?”

“Yeah. It…it wasn’t meant to be down here. A friend took it outta my bedroom closet as a joke the other night ‘n I forgot to put it back.”

He almost looks bashful as he says it. Almost. But the way his hooded eyes keep flickering in your direction means he’s looking for some sort of reaction. Once a psychiatrist, always a psychiatrist you suppose.

“Why would you keep a muzzle in your closet?”

“Well, why would anyone keep a muzzle in their closet?”

“You mean to tell me you actually wear it?”

“Only if asked,” he answers slyly. “But usually, I prefer to put it on someone else.”

You’re about to ask what the hell he means when his small smirk causes realisation to hit in. Oh, he uses it during sex you think rather stupidly to yourself as your mouth falls open in surprise.

And for as odd as it seems, for as out of your comfort zone it is, the thoughts of Osamu putting this on you as he has his wicked way with you, or even wearing it himself as he opens himself up to be at your complete mercy has your underwear soaking wet as if Niagara Falls just appeared between your legs.

You’re antsy, you’re blushing, and Osamu won’t stop fucking smirking at you, enjoying your reaction a little too much.

“We don’t have to go there tonight,” he says eventually after watching you squirm and rub your thighs together while downing the last of your wine. God, this man is too much. He’s going to be the death of you.

You pop open a button on your blouse to cool yourself down. The grey-haired man in front of you licks his lips at the sight of your exposed flesh.

“Implying you want something to happen tonight?” you murmur shyly.

At that, Osamu chuckles; a deep, rumbling sound emitting from his chest and making you shiver with delight.

“I’ve been tryin’ to let ya know for weeks now how much I wanna fuck ya. I guess bein’ direct is the only option left.”

The room is silent as you process his words while he simply smiles at you, as though he hadn’t said anything incriminating at all.

“Uhm...ok,” you say lamely and mentally curse yourself for not saying something sexier. He raises a brow.

“Ok?”

“Yeah. I… I w-want you to fuck me.”

It’s about as eloquent a verbal affirmation that you can muster in your shocked and flustered state, but Osamu doesn’t mind. Instead, his smile grew even wider, and his eyes darkened with lust. His index and middle finger swipe up the remainder of his steak's red juices, and those thick fingers are held out in front of your face.

“One last taste, then?”

You hesitate for only a moment before wrapping your lips around his fingers and sucking in a way you hope is turning him on. His white teeth bite down on plush pink lips, and you stop yourself from moaning around the digits that poke and prod your tongue and spread the delicious flavour of his bloodied steak around your mouth.

His fingers leave your mouth with a ‘pop!’ sound, and with quick and precise movements the plates, glasses and cutlery are shoved down to the other side of the long dining table. You barely have time to register the space cleared on the table before he comes around to where you sit and lifts you onto the dark mahogany table with ease to stand between your open legs.

Your skirt strains from where your legs are trying to spread wider, and Osamu addresses the problem by rolling the fabric up your thighs, bunching it just below your ass and exposing your panties a little bit.

He stares at the lacy red fabric of your underwear with a quiet smirk for a moment before those dark eyes meet yours again. His fingers tickle the skin of your bare thighs, making your eyelids flutter.

“Can I kiss ya?” he whispers, and it almost seems like a stupid question to ask because you’re already nodding frantically before he can even finish, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

He breathes in your sigh as your lips make contact, kissing you in a carnal mess of teeth and tongue as the fingers on your thighs grip your flesh tightly. You whimper into his mouth as he sucks on your tongue, massaging the muscle with his own sensuously as he angles his head and presses you further onto the table with his body.

When your fingers thread through his ashy locks and tug, his teeth bite down lightly on your tongue with a groan, the sound vibrating through your body from where his chest presses to yours. As he pulls back with a chest heaving for air he wastes no time in diving into the crook of your neck, licking a path up and down your skin to taste the saltiness of your flesh.

Your moan of pleasure is cut off with a gasp of pain when he bites down hard.

Pulling back with wide eyes you crane your neck to see droplets of blood spilling from a bite mark on your shoulder. “O-Osamu!”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he coos in apology, but the ravenous smile on his face says he isn’t sorry in the least. He leans down again and runs his tongue over your wound, lapping up the blood like a hound and humming in pleasure. It stings a bit, especially with the way the tip of his tongue tries to worm its way into the little incisions made, but the fingers that creep inwards and start to play with your drenched underwear are enough of a distraction from the oddity of his actions.

Hips grind upwards in search of more friction, and he rewards you with fingers pulling your ruined panties to the side to run thick, calloused fingers over your sopping wet folds while he continues to nip, suck and lick little marks and bruises into your skin, albeit a lot lighter this time and more careful with his teeth.

“Mmm, such a needy bitch, aren’t ya,” he hums in approval when he feels how wet you are, hears your broken mewls and pleas for more. His fingers graze your clit, and the keening moan you let out is equally as loud as the one you gave earlier. It throbs and begs to be touched, but Osamu seems to enjoy your desperate cries. “You want t’fuck me as bad as I wanted ya?”

“Fuck yes, Osamu,” you whimper when he delivers a bite to your collarbone, soothing it with his tongue just like all the others. “I want you so fucking bad, please!”

He pulls back and looks down at you with a feral grin that contradicts his lidded and sleepy looking eyes. It sends waves of heat through your veins, and tingles deep in your gut. His fingers leave your folds, and you bite your lip to stop from crying out in disappointment.

“Ya want my cock? Want me to fuck ya hard, make ya scream my name?”

“Y-Yes!”

Hands rip open your blouse abruptly, and buttons go flying everywhere like droplets of rain from the sky. You give a surprised shriek, mourning the loss of the shirt you just bought for your date tonight, but your bra is quick to join the discarded material of your top sadly on the floor. You elect to keep quiet about Osamu ruining your clothes when broad hands cup your tits to tweak and toy at your puckered nipples.

He tugs, rubs, and squeezes your buds, and licks a stripe up between the valley of your breasts, kissing his way up your chest to reach your mouth again and invade your senses with that skilful tongue of his once more.

Your hands move from his hair to his own dress shirt, but you don’t quite have the strength or patience to rip it open like he did with yours. Instead, he gives you space as he steps back to pull it over his head and throw it somewhere behind him.

He’s big, a broad chest and thick muscles cruelly hidden behind designer shirts and suit jackets. Quite frankly, you think his dress code should involve a lot less shirts and pants, but the greedy side of you is screaming in delight that only you might get to see his naked form from now on.

Your hands feel small as they explore the expanse of his torso, as they squeeze his pecs and nails scrape over his nipples. He gives a slight shudder when you do it, so you do it again and drink up every groan he’s gifting you. You move to kiss and bite at his own skin, to return in kind what he’s done to you and paint his skin in beautiful shades of purple, but he pushes you back as soon as he feels the graze of your teeth on his body.

“No, baby. I’m the one that wants to mark ya up - so you can show everyone what kinda slut ya are. I’m the only one that gets to taste ya.”

Osamu’s words make you shiver in pleasure, and your mouth pulls into a grin to match his own. Your skirt is the next item of clothing to join the pile of fabrics on the floor, quickly followed by your red laced panties that he takes a second to admire before pocketing them in his pants, much to your humiliation.

“Oh!” you squeal in surprise when he pulls you closer to the edge of the table, your legs hanging precariously off the edge and struggling to find purchase.

Osamu bends down and oh so generously offers your legs a place to rest on his shoulders as he lines his face up directly in front of your sex. You’re close to covering your face in embarrassment when he leans in with eyes closed and inhales deeply, smelling the musk of your juices and giving an animalistic groan of satisfaction, of pure pleasure, of hunger.

It’s hard to think when his grey eyes peek up at you from between your legs, when his nose brushes against your mound, when the heat of his breath touches your soaked pussy with each exhale, when his entire aura just vibrates with the feeling that he just wants to devour you, and it makes you even wetter and clench pathetically around nothing.

“I could just eat ya up,” Osamu grins, before the flat of his tongue licks from bottom all the way to the top of your folds to touch your clit.

You wail out in pleasure as he repeats the motion with his eyes rolling into the back of his skull at the taste, eager to lap up your juices and not waste a single drop. His movements are fast and animalistic, and you can’t stop the twitching of your hips as you buck into his awaiting mouth in search of the feeling of his tongue flicking against your bud.

“Fuck Osamu! Oh god, oh fuck that feels so fucking good-“

He’s like a hungry bloodhound the way he licks away at your pussy, slobbering into your folds and grunting and making one big wet mess down below. His tongue teases your entrance, and you whine his name, moving your hands to weave fingers into his hair and grip on.

“Yer cunt is so yummy, baby - I jus’ wanna ruin ya,” his voice sounds muffled and you almost miss it with all the moaning you’re doing. His words are so different from the collected and reserved Osamu you were just talking to earlier – like he’s lost control, like the beast that he keeps hidden inside is edging his way out. “Mmm this pretty lil hole is all mine.”

Your scream is loud and lewd when he finally pushes in, and his wet muscle thrusts carefully in and out of your fleshy walls and wiggles its way around like it is trying to reach the deepest parts of you. It feels fucking unbelievable and makes your back arch so you can shove your pussy even further into his face, thighs clenching around his head and holding him in place.

A pair of hands grab onto your hips to keep your wild movements to a minimum, but it’s difficult to keep still when that damned tongue of his is alternating between thrusting into your hole and moving upwards to flick over your sensitive bud. A light sheen of sweat starts to coat your body as you feel a heat begin to build in your gut - the tell-tale sign of your orgasm rising with each stroke of this tongue on your folds.

Osamu burrows deeper into the heat of your sex, and when he shakes his face side to side with his tongue moving wildly around your pussy you scream to the ceiling in ecstasy, nearly blinded by the bright, expensive light hanging above the both of you.

Moans and yelps are unstoppable as you approach your peak, feeling the heat in your gut bubbling and building, higher and higher and higher with each brush to your clit, until-

“Fuckin’ cum for me, slut. Scream my name.”

And so you do.

His name is broken as it spills from your lips in babbles as you fall over the edge and cum, gushing all over his face while he continues to drink your essence, slurping and humming appreciatively as you grind on his face. Every brush of his nose to your clit makes you twitch with the beginnings of overstimulation, and it isn’t until you continuously push at his face does he finally let up.

When he moves to sit back you gasp as a rush of cold air hits your soaking pussy, a mixture of your slick and his spit covering the entirety of your privates. That was one thing you noticed about his house – it’s cold. Colder than a house as expensive as this should be. But you think nothing of it right now, instead sighing as the cool air starts to bring you back down to reality from your high.

Osamu leans over your quivering form and it’s only then do you realise how messy he looks – cheeks flushed, hair tousled and out of place, and the lower half of his face shining bright with a lewd mixture of your cum and his saliva.

But you accept the rough kiss he plants on your lips, tasting your essence on his lips and tongue as he makes your savour the taste.

“You taste amazin’, darlin’,” he rasps, licking off what he can from his face and gathering up what he can’t with his fingers, moving to hold open your mouth with his free hand. You’re unprepared for the harsh and quick way he spits into your awaiting mouth, still dazed from your earth-shattering orgasm only minutes ago, and the glob of spit sits on your tongue, threatening to trickle backwards and down your throat. His slick coated fingers come next, placing themselves in your mouth, directly on your tongue, and it’s only then does he close your mouth. “Suck. You deserve a taste too.”

You try your best to swirl your tongue around his digits, to bob your head and suck his fingers off as pornographically as possible, even better than earlier. But his fingers shift, moving from holding down your tongue to rubbing the pads over your gums, your teeth, the inside of your cheeks. It feels strange, invasive almost, but it seems to turn him on, given that he’s starting to rut against the table for friction.

His bulge feels fucking huge when you grasp it to help him, and it makes your cunt feel achingly empty, begging to be stretched open by what feels like probably the biggest dick you’ll have in your life. Osamu sighs in pleasure and bucks into your hand before removing his fingers.

“Shit that feels good,” he sighs.

“Fucking me will feel even better,” is your bold response. He smirks, and the hand that wraps itself lightly around your throat makes your breath hitch in your chest.

“Once you get a taste of my dick, there’s no goin’ back. This’ll be the end for ya,” he says cryptically, but it only sends tremors of excitement through you.

“I just want your cock so bad, daddy.”

He raises his brow at the usage of the word ‘daddy’, no doubt analysing the potential causes for this kink, but you tug his face towards your neck to avoid whatever comment he’ll make. Teeth once again mark up your neck, nibble on your earlobes, while you give a sigh of contentment and rub his dick through his pants. The quiet groans floating in the air is like music to your ears.

Osamu allows you to unbutton his slacks, helps you shimmy them down his thighs and free him from the confines of his boxers - and you were right. His cock is huge, and thick, and veiny, and enough to put your biggest dildo to shame. Warm to touch, both of your hands wrap around it and start to pump him, using the precum spilling from the tip as lube.

It’s quite a sight to see Osamu’s shoulder slump as he lifts his head to the heavens, as his hips softly grind into your hands, to hear the muted sigh through his nose as you play with his balls.

But before you can even think about leaning down to close your mouth around him he’s pushing you back to lie down on the table, taking his cock in his fist and lining it up with your entrance.

“W-Wait,” you stutter when you feel the fat head of his member pressing against your hole. “What about protection-“

“’S fine,” he says rather impatiently, and you suppose it is. You’re too far drowning in lust to argue with him as you spread your legs wider for him, as he uses his hands to pin your thighs to the hard table underneath you.

And in one smooth and wet thrust he enters your cunt, with your whimper falling in time with his sigh. He’s big, and you feel like maybe he should have prepared you a little bit and used his fingers first, but Osamu has already started pumping in and out of you regardless of whether you feel discomfort. Any bit of pain you had soon turns to pleasure, however, as he fills you up so fucking perfectly.

“I knew you were a whore,” he grits his teeth. “Knew ya wanted my cock since day one. Did you touch yerself thinkin’ about me?”

“Yes, fuck. Every night-“

“Mmm, stuff yerself with those pretty fingers? Naughty girl.”

His hips snap into yours as he tries to get deeper, and you’re almost certain he’s going to hit your cervix if he continues hammering into you like this. You cry out in ecstasy when Osamu’s abdomen rubs against your already sensitive nub when he leans down, nails raking down his back uncontrollably while he hisses in pleasure in your ear.

“S-Shit, that feels good. Yer cunt feels nice and tight, jus’ for me- you didn’t let any other man touch you, did ya?”

You shake your head frantically, unable to say anything as his thrusts pick up speed. The hands on your thighs grow tighter.

“Good, can’t have yer body ruined. I need it perfect, need… the meat…”

You don’t bother asking what he means as you feel a second orgasm creeping up on you, his fat balls slapping against your ass so loudly over the random music playlist playing faintly in the dining room, lost to the moaning and sounds of crude sex.

Osamu eyes the other half of the table, and lets go of a thigh to reach above your head, where the sound of a plate dragging against the table catches your attention.

“Ya still hungry, baby?”

“W-Wha-“

Osame grabs a piece of leftover meat off the plate, and holds it right in front of your lips with a smile. The juices drip down onto your lips, and without much thought you open up to accept the food, finding this weird food kink of his to be arousing in this moment. Maybe next time he’ll pour chocolate sauce on you and lick it up.

You do your best to chew and swallow the meat that he presses on your tongue with his thumb, but with his cock plunging into your tight hole makes it hard to do so, half afraid you’ll start choking to death. All you know is the heated look he gives you, the excitement in his eyes that has you clenching hard around him as your orgasm takes both of you by surprise.

“Fuck, yer so tight- I’m-“

His thrusts are erratic as he rails you. The table is shaking, your body feels like it’s on fire as your orgasm washes through you, and you close your eyes to the feeling of Osamu’s lips on yours, his tongue finding half chewed meat and finishing it off in his own mouth. With his body pressed to yours you can feel it when he swallows, can feel how his whole body tremors with delight.

In your dazed state, he roughly manoeuvres your legs as if you weighed no more than a doll, pinning your legs by your chest and seeking out his own release. You just about muster up enough energy to babble mindlessly in his ear like a siren, fingers threading through his hair and holding him close.

“Cum, want your cum so bad, please please please fill me up, I want it, cum in me-“

Osamu groans out your name loudly as he meets his own peak. Your cunt squeezes his shaft like a vice as he shoots his load into your walls, warm and filling you up with his seed as you milk him through it. He ruts limply into you as he comes down from his high, both of your chests heaving for much needed oxygen, rubbing his hair and back subconsciously.

You lay there for a few minutes gathering your thoughts after one of the best fucks of your life, feeling the blissful come down of your orgasm like a warm blanket during a winter storm, the wonderful weighted heat of his body on yours, the drip of his seed where it spills past his shaft and onto the table.

“That was…” you can’t even finish, breaking out into happy laughter and holding Osamu close. You feel tired in the best way, but you know you’ll need to wash the sweat and cum off of your body before leaving this house.

And almost like he read your thoughts, Osamu raises his head to flash you a lazy smile, and a peck to your lips.

“Want me to carry ya to the shower?”

“Please,” you giggle.

You giggle some more when he lifts you off the table and up the stairs to his ensuite, peppering kisses all over his face and neck in beautiful post-coitus bliss, but Osamu is too focused on bringing you upstairs, it seems, to reciprocate them. That’s fine, there’ll be plenty more kisses later, you think, as the warm spray of water hits you and Osamu leaves the bathroom for a minute with a barely there smile.

The water feels perfect on your skin, soothes the bruises painted on your body like art. The click of the door alerts you to Osamu’s presence again, and you’re about to ask if he wants to go for round two when you stop short to take him in.

Your smile drops in confusion as you stare at Osamu. He’s wearing a strange pair of clinical looking overalls like some sort of worker in a powerplant, and he’s holding a giant tub that he places on the ground carefully.

“Osamu…what are you doing? What is that?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts something tied to a belt around his waist. It takes you only a second to realise what it is.

A hatchet.

Your blood runs cold despite the warm stream of water falling over you.

“O-Osamu, please- tell me what’s going on. Why do you have a h-hatchet?”

You attempt to leave the shower, but Osamu stands in your way, and you jerk backwards until your back hits the white tiled wall of the shower.

“This isn’t funny! I’m…I’m scared, Osamu. Please- tell me what’s going on!” Your voice is shaking, your eyes begin to burn with an onset of tears, and the confusion and fear you feel is so overwhelming it threatens to put you in a chokehold, especially since Osamu’s face has lost all traces of warmth and is replaced by a cold, calculating look.

You wonder if this is how he looks to his patients.

He sighs sympathetically, but it sounds fake,

“I hate to do this. I really do. You were such a good girl for me, one of the best. But you jus’ tasted too good. It’d be a sin to waste such good meat.”

“M-Meat? What the fuck? I want to get out of here- let me through-“

This time, Osamu backs you into the corner, and looms over your shaking body with the hatchet gripped tightly in his hand. Your heart plummets to your feet, and the frightened tears fall freely now.

“I wanna taste ya again. There’s a new curry I’ve been meaning to make. I think you’d be perfect for it.”

You’re going to be sick. Your legs are too weak to lift your body and run when he lifts his weapon. You mentally scream and beg for them to move, to do anything, but you fall back to the shower floor like Bambi on his newborn legs.

You’re just the deer caught in the hunters’ trap now.

“Now just stay still. This’ll be all over in a second.”

Miya Osamu smiles, but the shadows reveal it for the wicked nature it truly holds.

“And then I can have ya to myself all over again.”

.

.

.

“Osamu! Stop eating all the fucking food!”

“But ’s in the script!”

You bury your face in your hands and let out a long weary groan.

It’s only the fourth take and his plate is already nearly cleared of food. Again. That’s twice you’ve had to refill it! But he can’t seem to hold his hand away from his fork as he toys with another loose vegetable sitting on his plate and avoids making eye contact with you. He falters from lifting that piece of carrot to his mouth when you send him the coldest look you can muster.

“I know, but you’re only supposed to take small bites – or even fake ones! I’m gonna run out of food to put on the plates and the continuity in my shots will be messed up.”

“…that sounds like a problem for you, the director, ‘n not me, the actor .”

“I’m going to kill you. You’re unbelievable”

He sets his fork down with an exaggerated sigh and reaches out to hold your hand. Despite your ire with him, you allow him to link fingers anyway. Osamu rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, and the motion is enough to soothe you momentarily.

“Look,” he starts, and stares directly into your eyes with sincerity. “I’ll buy more food to use for yer film if I end up eatin’ it all. I promise. Hell, I’ll even make some burgers or somethin’ for you and the crew after we’re done today to say sorry. You jus’ did a great job with cookin’ it – I can’t stop myself. It’s amazin’.”

You level him with a dull stare. Osamu bites the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

“I’ll throw in dessert too.”

You sigh through your nose. You want to be annoyed, and you are, but you know it’s mainly just stress and deadlines getting the better of your nerves. Osamu can sense that.

So you just grumble out a small “ok, thanks” in response, yet it’s enough to have him grinning again.

Osamu presses a kiss to the back of your hand and your face burns, grows hotter still with the smirk he sends you after seeing your reaction.

“Ok, I’m ready for another take,” you breathe. “ Don’t eat all the food this time. Please.”

“I promised, didn’t I? But ya need to make it for me some other time. Like… like on a date.”

What is this? Miya Osamu being bashful? Miya Osamu is asking you out on a date?

“U-Uhm…I mean…I guess I could make it for you next weekend when I’m free. If- If you want-”

Your heart gives a leap at the fond smile Osamu wears just as the lights turn on again and the clapper board is positioned. Time to get back in character.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll bring that dessert. Somethin’ nice for you to suck on.”

“Wow, flirting on a porn set, who would have- put down that fork!”

“I need it for the scene that you wrote!”

[keilemlucent]

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

------

here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want? 

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic. 

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days. 

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours. 

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much. 

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment. 

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk. 

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog. 

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

 Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them. 

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway. 

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine. 

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care. 

You were comfortable and content. 

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes 

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious 

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird 

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

 You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered. 

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too. 

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes. 

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion. 

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by. 

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse. 

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance. 

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows. 

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures. 

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly. 

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger. 

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished. 

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego. 

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office. 

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood. 

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk. 

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods. 

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up. 

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way. 

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control. 

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath. 

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks. 

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on. 

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.” 

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen. 

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants. 

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you. 

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you. 

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you. 

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming. 

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state. 

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold. 

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe. 

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body. 

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?” 

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment. 

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you. 

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you. 

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut. 

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically. 

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back. 

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed. 

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him. 

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides. 

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty. 

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?” 

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock. 

 “Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.” 

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best. 

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him. 

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded. 

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way. 

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

 Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily. 

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit. 

“You’re my good girl.” 

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his. 

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably. 

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god. 

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.” 

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw. 

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been. 

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness. 

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips. 

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted. 

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings. 

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech. 

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue. 

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right. 

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back. 

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet. 

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them. 

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained. 

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat. 

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full. 

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in. 

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer. 

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest. 

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it. 

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

[thedamageofherdays]

This week's reading log is here and there is a lot. Stucky Week provided me with lots of incredible fics to read and it was honestly a delight! There are a couple of things I didn't get around to reading just yet but I'm hoping I can get to them very soon <3 Make sure to check out the @stucky-week tumblr to see some incredible non-fic creations too.

Favourites are marked with a 🌻

🌻 Move Before We Lose It by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 59k words, Mature]

“The two of you are ridiculous.” Okoye grabs a bag of M&Ms and starts picking out all the greens. “If I knew that hiring you would turn Steve into an unbearable goof, I would’ve voted for the guy who claimed he came up with Got Milk?”

“I thought that asshole hit on Wanda as soon as he came out of his interview.” Bucky makes an unpleasant face.

Okoye raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, so imagine how obnoxious the Steve and Bucky show’s been for the last five years.”

With the help of his brother T’Challa, Bucky Barnes lands a job at Danvers Advertising right out of college. He never would have seen the family and life he’d build with his team coming, or the lifelong friendship with one Steve Rogers.

Couch is Synonymous with Matchmaker by oh_i_swear @oh-i-swear-writes [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

Steve Rogers a.k.a. Captain American is living a good, if lonely, life.

However, a new tenant with an awful couch moves into the Brooklyn Brownstone that houses Steve's apartment and kind of turns everything upside down - but in the best possible way.

A shrunkyclunks meet-ugly-turned-meet-cute in which the awful couch accidentally becomes a matchmaker (of sorts, anyway).

How to Make a Million Dollars by Getting Fired by isolatedwriter [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Bucky never liked SHIELD, but he didn't think he'd ever been on the run from them. However, clearly his past self didn't account for finding Steve Rogers being strapped to a bed against his will. Something like that seems to turn your whole life around.

-

In which Bucky frees Steve from SHIELD and they end up on the run together.

The Importance of Being Stevie by alexcat @alexcat45 [Stucky, 711 words, Teen]

Steve heads to Wakanda and meets Bucky's other sweetheart - his goat.

The Artbook by luna_rainbow @luna-rainbow [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Steve notices Bucky doesn't like using the new arm, so he brings something with him on his next visit to Wakanda to explain why it was okay.

🌻 Running Out Of Time by The_Glacian @steve-x-bucky [Stucky, 1k words, General]

When Bucky returned home from work, they popped open a bottle of cheap red wine that burned all the way down when Steve took a cautious sip.

to hoping by christywantspizza @christywantspizza [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

"If I can still be useful here, maybe I can find a purpose."

"More than a purpose, Steve. You can find a life."

If I could tell you I was yours by christywantspizza [Stucky, 2k words, General]

Steve meets a scared Bucky in the streets of Brooklyn one day and helps him find his way home.

🌻 The Weight of Gold by dreamsinthewitchouse @dreamsinthewitchouse [Stucky, 860 words, General]

”Your arm,” Steve says, his voice still weak from the cold. ”What happened to it?”

OR:

Steve is trapped under ice in the Arctic Ocean. Merman!Bucky finds and saves him.

The Sweet Escape by The_Glacian [Stucky, 823 words, General]

In a few strides, Steve covered the distance between them and wrapped him in his arms.

I Can See That This Love Was Meant For Me by HNJ [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

“What’s this?” Nat says. She hands him a page and Steve touches it with careful hands. The paper is faded and brittle, but the drawing it carries is still the same.

As he stares at the image, lost years curl around his heart. They tangle around him like vines until they’re all he can feel. He puts the paper down.

“Just a portrait.” He says.

It's A Beautiful Arm by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 100 words, General]

Steve reunites with Bucky in Wakanda.

Cradled in Love by The_Glacian [Stucky, 879 words, General]

It was no secret that Steve was a delicate creature.

Wrap Your Hands Around Me (Show Me I Belong) by whenwordsmakesense @whenwordsmakesense [Stucky, 963 words, Teen]

Post Mission, Bucky can't sleep, and Steve's super-hearing picks up on it. Cue late-night cuddles and some of Steve's inner-thoughts.

🌻 En Pointe by Oh_i_swear [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Bucky Barnes is an ex-professional ballet dancer now running his own dance school. He's kind, compassionate and clearly cares about the kids in his class and their dreams and goals - most of which involve getting to the stage where they can dance en pointe.

Steve Rogers is a perfectionist and owns En Pointe, the dance wear store nearest to Bucky's dance studio. It's almost light a right of passage when the kids in Bucky's class get to visit the store, not only because they finally get their pointe shoes, but because they get to see the infamous squabbling between Mr Barnes and Mr Rogers who clearly rub each other up the wrong way.... but is everything as it seems?

Listen Close by fandomfluffandfuck @fandomfluffandfuck [Stucky, 9k words, Explicit]

The Barnes And Noble podcast is run by two best friends - life long friends - Steve and Bucky. They talk about a multitude of topics but when the topic at hand turns to the quite often laughable quality, or lack thereof, of the pornography industry and things like fake moans come up... with examples (at least, examples on Bucky's part) it's pretty damn hard (pun not intended) for Steve not take, uh, interest with that sound. Or with other sounds Bucky may or may not make.

...and, well, that conversation isn't one they're ever going to publish as it turns out.

The Office Romance by isolatedwriter [Stucky, 4k words, Teen]

It had become a joke around the office, the fact that Barnes and Rogers acted like an old married couple.

-

In which Steve and Bucky are already dating, but their co-workers haven't exactly caught on yet.

🌻 Pyxis by The_Glacian [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Pyxis, ‘the compass’ – a constellation in the southern hemisphere.

(Being single didn’t directly translate to having a prime deficiency. Yet a break-in was what Bucky needed to realise that his life could use a little variety.)

Moonlight Kissed by The_Glacian [Stucky, 782 words, General]

The problem was, Steve had very little experience in the physical aspects of dating.

A Wish Upon the Fireworks by jesm @jesmme [Stucky, 676 words, Teen]

Steve & Bucky watch the 4th of July fireworks and Steve gets a birthday wish

🌻 Lips That Touch Liquor by millesable @marvelousescapism [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

“I can’t lose you, Buck… you’re the only… you’re all I got in this whole world, Buck, I can’t…”

“Lose me? Where you think I’m goin’, huh, pal? I’m right here.”

“You’re gonna leave me. When you find out.”

“Find out what, Stevie?”

🌻 A Good Cause by apkidd @deletexforever [Stucky, 8k words, General]

When Steve reluctantly covers the charity kissing booth, he catches the eye of a handsome stranger with a wallet full of cash.

Dreaming Wide Awake by The_Glacian [Stucky, 928 words, General]

It was a fine summer evening that found him at the kitchen counter, experimenting with rye bread, when Bucky let himself in through the front door.

A couple of kids from Brooklyn by unremarkable @otp-holic [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Bucky comes back home after a few days out on a mission and finds Steve in the middle of a research of its own.

🌻 evening glow by PurpleStarship @inthelapofthewhiteqwen [Stucky, 1k words, General]

They're watching the cars pass by down on the street, the children playing ball in a dead-end, the way they used to all these decades ago. Bucky wonders if some eighty-odd years down the line two of those kids will be sitting by the window in their own little place and say: "We used to play ball in that alley. Look how far we made it, sweetheart."

***

Bucky and Steve spend a quiet evening at home:3