#I feel like I hope for something like every series & inevitably get let down but maybe I'll be right this time

[helenofblackthorns]

manifesting the Blackthorns have the nastiest, most nauseatingly angsty epic train wreck of a fight in TWP. perhaps in the second book or whenever they all find out about Livvy. like it's awful and you can't look away as they're all at their worst with the people they love the most, who they would do and have done anything for. it's the bloodiest fight any of them have ever been in and there wasn't even any weapons involved, just words they didn't mean and cannot take back. like they all care so much about one another but things have changed and none of them cope with it at all so instead it all just. blows up. like Ty only ever wanted to keep everyone together and go back to how things were, but instead he's the one who inadvertently fractures them; the unavoidabe fate of Blackthorns siblings.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Casual Sweetness

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x reader

Summary: You seek out your roommate and best friend Bucky for comfort after a girls night out leaves you shaken up.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: slight mentions of handsy strangers at a bar (nothing graphic); so much comfort

Author’s note: I don’t know where this came from. I started writing it, then finished it and now it’s existing and I’m putting it out there.

Masterlist

Never once has a night out with your girls left you this unsatisfied. Or, shaken, really. Every pre-planned rendezvous or spontaneous meet-up at a local bar with Wanda and Nat had always been a reliable escape from the daily grind.

You three like to cozy up at home, preferably at Wanda’s, and binge-watch a worthy series. And while that held its certain appeal, every once in a while you would find yourselves dancing and drinking, surrounded by people who wouldn’t remember enough of you, if the amount of liquor drove you to making decisions that sober you wouldn’t have even thought of. It has always provided an outlet for stress and helped you recharge.

Not tonight though. The strangers in the new bar you girls tried out tonight were far too handsy, your head started pounding uncomfortably even before taking the first sip and thinking about the bartender only makes dread pooling in your gut.

You also weren’t able to distract your mind, or rather your heart.

Usually, you would think about getting an Uber to meet up with your friends but Bucky always insisted on driving you when he wasn’t busy. But really, he never seemed to be, anyway. Not when it meant you would have to leave the apartment on your own. Nothing had his priority other than chauffeuring you around. You never asked him to do that, he just had a habit of insisting and there was nothing you could do. He had told you as much.

And tonight was no exception. He had sprung up from the couch, movie already paused, and keys in hand when you had emerged from the bathroom and practically ushered you into his car to drive you to the bar you girls had agreed on meeting at.

“Just don’t like the idea of you sitting in the backseat of some car, looking all pretty and dressed up with some guy in the front, thinking god knows what. Not taking any chances, doll, let me drive you.”

You always roll your eyes and scoff at his exaggerated concern, reminding him that it was said guy’s job to drive you to your wanted destination. You usually ignore the rest of his words. A simple shirt and jeans would hardly qualify as ‘dressed up’ for you and the idea of you being ‘pretty’ was something you would usually laugh at.

But it was hard to laugh at that when it came out of Bucky’s mouth. Your roommate. Your friend. Maybe even your best friend. But that’s where it stopped because nothing more ever happened. And you doubted it would.

So you let his words slide and let them wash over you because if you would address them, you would start thinking. And think, you do not want to. Because thinking only leads to foolish hope. A hopeless belief, that perhaps Bucky feels what you feel and suppresses it the same way you are. A ridiculous belief that he has the same overwhelming feelings about a friend that goes way beyond what friends normally feel for each other.

So you never let yourself think too hard, shoving those feelings into a box at the very back of your mind and swallowing down the key with the hard liquor when you went out for some drinks. It always burns on its way down. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s that lingering ache. It really is not clear to you, but it does offer you a sense of reprieve, if only temporarily.

With every hungover the next day, follows the inevitable onslaught of that knot inside your chest and that rusty key resurfaces, reopening the box and unleashing a fresh wave of longing.

It only worsens in the way he would take care of you.

Every glass of water, each soft touch, each softly whispered inquiry is a gentle prod to the already gaping wound that was caused by the feelings of unrequited love.

The pancakes he would bring to your bed - because you were too grumpy to leave it - never satisfies the nourishment your soul craves. The pain relievers he would put on your nightstand, already there when you’d get back, would only serve as a cruel reminder that nothing could relieve the ache inside your chest.

With every “You feeling better, doll?” and “There anything else I can do for you, sweetheart?” the ache deepens, spreading like wildfire through your veins, reaching your bones and searing through them like branding irons with the intention to leave marks that you believe to be permanent.

The hangover eventually leaves your body, but your heart festered.

However, the ache is not always the dominant emotion in Bucky’s presence. It isn’t always the first thing you acknowledge. First and foremost, being in Bucky’s proximity elicits a profound sense of comfort and warmth.

It let the butterflies in your stomach flutter uncontrollably with every belly laugh he let out unabashedly, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, crinkles forming at their corners.

Your heart does unwanted flips at every pet name Bucky lets casually slip passed his lips, seeming so nonchalant about calling you ‘doll’ and ‘sweetheart’ but to you it means everything.

Every tender gesture leaves you breathless. You had been living with him for nearly a year now and you had come to acknowledge how sharing a space with him had become a delicate balancing act between euphoria and agony.

Bucky would bring you a hot water bottle at times when your cramps got too bad, or simply when you experienced menstrual discomfort, trying to soothe you with sweets he extra went out for.

He would jokingly chastise you to fold your clothes before storing them in the closet to prevent them from wrinkling and tease you when you didn’t. But it always ended with him taking matters into his own hands and carefully folding your clothes while you watched him from your bed, making fun of him when he turned red attending to your undergarments, despite trying to remain indifferent.

He would cook with and for you, make you coffee in the mornings, distract you with terrible jokes when you had a bad day, and leave you to it when all you needed was some me-time, only checking in when he needed to be sure you were okay.

His casual sweetness was a constant assault on your composure.

But right now, as you klick the door to your shared apartment shut and slip out of your shoes with a heavy sigh, it is all you can think of. His gentle touch, the sparkling blue of his eyes, the cheerfulness of his smile that makes your insides do somersaults.

It is still early. Earlier than you had ever been home after a night out and you’re sure Bucky is still awake. The lights in the living room are out which means he is in his room, perhaps engrossed in his laptop, reading a book, or idly scrolling through his phone.

Yet, you hesitate, staying rooted to the spot in the hallway. It was nothing unusual for you to knock on Bucky’s door, sometimes simply barging in if you felt particularly bold or just wanted to annoy him. But you had never sought him out before simply because you needed him. Needed his comfort, his reassuring whispers, the warmth that radiates off him and seeps into your skin.

So to buy some time, you retreat to the bathroom; emptying the contents of your bladder, splashing water on your face, and brushing your teeth.

There is only so much time you can stall, and soon enough you find yourself standing in front of Bucky’s bedroom door, clothes discarded and changed for more comfortable sleepwear. There is no noise filtering through the wall of his room but the soft glow seeping beneath the door offers a glimmer of hope.

You try to soothe the shakiness of your hands and rub them along the fabric of your shirt before lifting one hand to knock on his door. The sound is softer than intended, but Bucky’s gentle ‘come in’ was immediate.

Opening the door slowly you find him leaning against the headboard of his bed, dark sheets loosely draped around his waist. His grey shirt makes him look cozy and in his lap lay a book. One you had recommended him to read.

Your body reacts in an instant, shoulders dropping ever so slightly and a breath leaves your lips at the comfort he already provides.

“You’re back early,” he starts when you keep standing at the door unmoving, “didn’t expect you home til’ midnight at least.”

The familiar cadence of his tone provides you the sense of stability you had needed to let go of his doorknob, however, the teasing in his voice wasn’t lost on you. He seems to have expected you to tumble through the door at an ungodly hour, dropping in your bed and waking the next morning with a hangover worse than the last time.

You assume the bottle of water and the painkillers already found their place on your nightstand.

A huffed laugh leaves your lips but your expression remains unchanged as you shift awkwardly in his doorway. “Uh, yeah, we decided to leave earlier. Weren’t really feeling it, I guess.” You shrug, attempting to sound nonchalant, but Bucky’s brow begins to furrow softly and he shuts his book, placing it on his nightstand without taking his eyes off you.

“You alright, doll?” His voice was devoid of the teasing tone he had held moments before, “did something happen?” His eyes are intense, scanning your face and you break eye contact, letting your gaze wander across his room as if you see it for the first time.

You take a deep breath, hands twisting nervously and your heart picks up in pace. “I, uhm…It’s-” You stumble over your words, a shaky breath escaping your mouth instead of a coherent answer.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bucky shift on his bed, straightening as if preparing to come closer to you but your next words halt him in his movements.

“Can I maybe stay with you? Tonight?”

It comes out more pleading and quieter than wanted but you don’t care about that right now. Not with the way Bucky looks at you. He is halfway out of the bed already, sheets thrown back onto the mattress but he still doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“Course you can stay, doll! Of course you can.”

Bucky’s voice holds a reassuring firmness, while he still talks softly. Your teeth clamp down on your lower lip, watching him cross the room to you and placing his hands gently on your upper arms to take a better look at you. His eyes move between yours, brows deepening, concern etching itself into every line of his face.

“You wanna tell me what happened? Somebody make you uncomfortable?” There is something in his tone you can’t concentrate on, only shaking your head at his questions.

“I don’t- Can we not-” Your words were cut short by the gentle touch of Bucky’s hand on your face. His thumb begins to steadily swipe over your cheekbones so tenderly, a shiver rushes down your spine. He had never touched you like this before and you are trying your very best not to let your eyes droop and melt into him.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, doll, I just-” So many emotions are swirling in the depth of his blues, his worry still the most outstanding. “Just wanna make sure you’re okay,” he whispers. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?”

His thumb doesn’t ease the motions over your skin and it is that you realize your hands stopped shaking and your heartbeat fell back in place without conscious effort. He has done so much for you already, without knowing it.

A deep, audible sigh escapes your lips and you offer him your first genuine smile of the night. “Just wanna stay here with you,” you whisper, your gaze locked onto his and if the world stopped moving for a second you would be none the wiser.

The comforting circles of his thumb paused and you feel that damned rusty key turning in the deadbolt of the lock to the box of your feelings, opening them with a screech and letting the contents spill out, open for him to see. And there comes the hope again. The belief that the depths of his eyes reflect the very same emotions you have plastered on your face.

But how can you not believe it when his expression holds something that looks to you a lot like love. A love, an affection, that, as you’ve established goes way beyond friendship.

Warm lips brush against your forehead and you let your eyes close for a second, savoring the feel of them. Gentle hands guide you towards his bed and you move like putty, allowing yourself to be enveloped in the soft sheets, full of his scent.

Bucky crawls in beside you, laying his body to face yours and you can’t help but study the way the soft glow of the moon that seeps through the curtains, reflect on the planes of his face, after he shut off the little lamp on his bedside table.

“Thank you, Bucky!” you whisper, the sound almost getting lost in the sheets, but he hears you, a soft smile forming on his lips, the moon allowing you to see it.

“Not for this, sweetheart. Never for this,” he whispers back and you let your eyes fall shut with a content sigh.

Right before sleep can claim you, you feel the comforting weight of his hand, covering your own over the sheets and silently linking with your fingers.

“I’ve found a natural drug for all of my panic, anxiety, and anger. It’s his voice. It’s him.”

- J.R. Rogue

[albertasunrise]

Work Wife - Two

Masterlist

Summary: Working as a Secretary and Miller & Sons Construction, you fall hopelessly in love with the eldest son Joel. What you don’t realise is that Joel’s completely in love with you too. What will it take for the two of you to realise whats’s right in front of you?

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose not to give any so the plot isn’t spoiled. This fic is 18+ (So here’s the first chapter as promised! I hope you all enjoy. Let me know what y’all think ♥️… I wrote half of this on my iPad so sorry for mistakes 😅)

Series Masterlist - One

After two days of you being frosty towards Joel and Joel desperately trying to make up for whatever he had done to upset you, you decided that it was pointless to be upset with him. He hadn't known your reasoning for going to his house so the fact he had a girl there wasn't really a valid reason to be angry at him.

If you were being honest you were more angry at yourself. Your pride had been wounded and that was something that you needed to work through on your own. So by Wednesday, you were somewhat back to being smiley and sweet but there was still a tension there that you knew would take time to dissipate. You just hoped that your date with Simon would take your mind off what had happened.

Your second date with Simon went even better than the first. He was sweet, taking you to a restaurant he remembered you mentioning you loved, and after, he took you for a few drinks at a new gin bar that had opened up. So inevitably, two dates turned into three.

It felt like with each interaction you shared with Simon, the less seeing Joel every day, and knowing that he didn't return your feelings, hurt you. What you didn't realise was that your budding new relationship with Simon was tearing Joel apart. Simon couldn't help but gush to the other contractors about how special you were or how amazingly things were going.

How he was starting to think that you might be the one.

That statement made Joel want to find a remote canyon so that he could lob Simon into it. Yet he knew he had no right to feel jealous. It's not like he'd ever had the guts to go for it. It was his own fault that he was suffering now. Yet that didn't make him hate Simon any less. What he hated more was you talking to him about the dates that his 'so-called' friend was taking you on.

It was killing him.

"Oh Joel, you would have loved the walk Simon and I went on over the weekend." You gushed as you sipped at your coffee "I would show you some pictures but I'm still waiting for them to come back from the developers so…"

"That's fine." Joel replied, trying to keep his tone from sounding as pained as he felt.

"Perhaps you could take Eliza there sometime." You continued, completely oblivious to his torment "It's so romantic and-"

"Eliza and I are just casual." Joel interrupted and you couldn't help but snort.

"Please." You rasped "She's practically living with you now. Fuck buddies don't spend most nights together."

"We're just hanging out."

"And I'm the Queen of England." You rolled your eyes and how oblivious he was to what was going on straight in front of him "If you're just looking for casual then perhaps you need to tell her that."

"I did! I have…" He argued, his hip cocking to one side as he rested his on it.

"Well, perhaps you need to have that conversation with her again because from an outsider's point of view. You and her seem pretty serious."

Joel's stomach twisted at the thought that he was leading Eliza on. She was sweet and he liked her but he wasn't looking to settle down. Not yet.

"Talk to her Joel." you said sweetly as you placed your hand on his "Don't lead her on."

So talk to her he did.

…

Eliza was in the kitchen when he returned that evening. There was already a tense atmosphere hanging over the house as he entered but he didn't have time to ponder why. Not when he needed to get things out in the open.

"Hey." He said gingerly as he stepped into the kitchen and Eliza turned to greet him.

"You're back late." She stated as she placed a plate of food down in front of him before sitting on the chair across from him, her arms crossed.

"Meeting with the wood supplier ran late." He replied and Eliza nodded.

"Eat up." She said, watching him then as he nervously pushed his food around his plate, little appetite when he had an anvil hanging over his head.

"What's the matter with you this evening?"

"I don't think we should do this anymore?" He stated simply, eyes drifting from his plate to Eliza.

"Can I ask why?"

"When we started 'this' up, I told you that I wasn't looking for anything serious and well… it's been brought to my attention that it kinda has and that I need to be honest with you… Make sure I'm not stringing you along."

"And who said that you are?" She demanded and Joel shook his head.

"It doesn't matter… what matters is that I don't want to-"

"Was Pip wasn't it?" Eliza growled "You know she has feelings for you right? Only reason she's seeing shit that's not there."

"Eliza… Pip, doesn't have feelings for me. This is just about us and I-"

"You really are blind aren't you." Eliza cackled and Joel stopped in his tracks.

"Blind to what?"

"Pip is head over heels for you… She told me so herself back when we went for those work drinks and I-"

"She told you that?" Joel interrupted and Eliza huffed before nodding "She told you she was in love with me?"

"Well, her exact words were that she was crazy about you but she knew you didn't feel the same and so she's never told you." Eliza waved off the statement like she wasn't telling Joel everything he'd ever wanted to hear.

Were you crazy about him?

"Look, I told you that I didn't want anything serious either and I still don't." Eliza stated as she shrugged "If this has gotten a little too cosy then we can cool it."

Joel wasn't really sure what to say. The information that you possibly feel the same way for him is running laps around his head.

"Joel?"

"Right… yeah… sorry." He said and he shook his head and returned to reality "Look I still think it's best that we just call it quits." He stated plainly, wincing at the growl it pulled from Eliza.

"Fine." She practically spat at him, getting up abruptly and grabbing her stuff as she went "I'll see myself out."

Joel didn't even get a chance to speak before she was slamming the door behind her. Leaving him to ponder over the events that had just transpired. What should he do?

Should he talk to you about it?

Is that what you had come here to talk to him about all those weeks ago?

It would explain your reaction to Eliza being there.

He knew he couldn't, not, talk to you about this. He needed to know whether or not you still felt something for him, because if you did he wanted to fight for you. For with you, he wanted something real.

…

Months went by before Joel plucked up the courage to talk to you. Each time he decided it was time, he talked himself out of it. Whether it was a story that you or Simon had told him about your latest adventures as the world's most perfect couple or just him watching the two of you together. But, finally, he had decided that enough was enough… He needed to be honest with you and lay his cards out on the table. He had thought long and hard about what it was he wanted to say and so had arranged for the two of you to meet up for a coffee on Saturday. This wasn't a conversation that he wanted to have with you in the office.

He still had to labour through an afternoon of Simon gushing to the guys about how things were going with the two of you and up until now it had been fairly easy to drone it out.

"So you two finally did the deed huh?" Piped up a voice, grabbing Joel's attention.

Joel had known that you and Simon hadn't been intimate yet. You had confided in him about how you had never been with anyone and that you wanted to save yourself for the right guy. Obviously, you had decided that Simon was that guy.

"Fuck did we." Simon practically growled "Was so worth the wait… Girl's so hot… we-"

"Let's not discuss such personal matters at work, hey chaps?" Joel tried to sound calm but his stomach was twisting in knots.

The knowledge that you and Simon had been intimate was tearing him up inside. Had Eliza been wrong about your feelings for him? Had she lied? Either way, he wasn't sure what to do with the knowledge that you and Simon were now sleeping together.

"Come on boss…" Teased Rick, one of Joel's youngest employees "Just 'cus ya jealous."

"What?" Joel growled as he turned to face the younger man.

"Well, the guys all told me how you're sweet on Si's girl. It's not his fault you missed your shot."

Joel felt his anger start to boil over as he said "Keep it professional Rick or you'll be looking for new employment." Walking away then to cool down.

…

You were just clearing the dishes away whilst Simon wiped down the sides, always the gentleman. 8 months had shot by in the blink of an eye and it felt like he'd blended so perfectly into your home life. It was like the two of you had always done this. Things were so seamless.

"So Joel threatened to fire Rick today." He stated as he wiped his hands dry with a dishcloth.

"Really?" You asked and your brows shot up in surprise "Why?"

"We were talking about you and me and Rick kinda ribbed Joel a bit." Simon replied, shrugging.

"Ribbed him how?"

"We were just talking about how you and I had… well you know and Joel got pissed. Rick kinda teased him about how he's sweet on you and how he missed out on his chance with you."

"One, I'd rather you didn't discuss our sex life with my colleagues… Two, Joel's not sweet on me he's with Eliza and three… even if he was, that's a pretty dickish thing to do." You admonished and Simon chuckled as he replied.

"Joel is still very much sweet on you and he and Eliza broke up."

"What?" You were shocked to learn this information and hurt that Joel hadn't told you.

"Yeah, been like 6 or 7 months now… guys probably got blue balls." Simon chuckled as he tossed the dishcloth in his hands onto the counter.

You'd always talked about everything Joel and so to learn that he had broken things off with Eliza and he hadn't talked to you about it stung a little. Had things between you really become that strained? They hadn't been the same since you'd gone to his house to talk to him about how you felt. They certainly hadn't been since you had started dating Simon.

"You're not sweet on him are you?" Asked Simon, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Hmm?" You hummed as you looked at your boyfriend who was watching you closely, analysing every expression that crossed your face.

"Joel, you aren't sweet on him too are you?"

The colour drained from your face as your mouth moved to answer him but no words left your lips. The longer you took to respond, the more frustrated Simon grew.

"You are, aren't you?"

"Simon…"

"No, don't try and spin me any bullshit." He growled out and you flinched at his tone "Are you in love with Joel… Yes or no?"

"Yes… but-"

"I need to leave." Simon choked as he threw his hands up when you tried to reach for him "I can't be around you right now."

"Simon please…" You pleaded but he was having none of it.

He just grabbed his stuff and left.

Leaving you sobbing in his wake. \

…

You sat in the cafe you and Joel had arranged to meet at, your eyes red raw from crying all night and most of this morning. You were sipping on an overly sweet latte. Needing the sugar to try and boost your mood. Joel was already ten minutes late but that wasn't unusual for them man. No doubt he'd be stumbling through the cafe doors in a few moments, huffing and puffing whilst he rambled on about what it was that had delayed him.

Only after half an hour… he still wasn't there.

You were on your second sugary coffee and coming to the painful realisation that Joel had stood you up. Who gets stood up by their best friend? Well, it would seem that you do and you wondered if it was because of what Simon had told you yesterday. How Rick had teased Joel about missing out with you when he'd learned you'd lost your virginity to the man you'd been going steady with for almost 9 months. That thought made you go from sad to plain pissed.

Was he seriously going to stand you up because he was jealous that you had slept with Simon?

Finishing your coffee you stomped out the door and towards your car. You weren't going to let him get away with this. Not after everything you had been through in the last 12 hours.

You don't recall the drive to Joel's house but you feel your anger flare when you see his truck on his drive. You pull up behind him, get out of the car, then make a point of slamming the door in the hope that he'll hear you coming.

You were pounding on the door, not caring if you were attracting attention. You wanted answers and you wanted them now. An exhausted Joel opened the door and you felt anger flare at the thought that he'd stood you up because he'd slept it.

"Pip this isn't-"

"A good time?" You growled, "It never is Joel."

"Please, I'm sorry I stood you up but-"

"No, I'm going to speak." Venom dropped from your words as you poked his chest "Simon told me what happened yesterday and I just can't believe that you would stand me up because I slept with the man I had been dating for over half a year!"

"That's not… I didn't stand you up on purpose I-"

"You what? You overslept? Your latest conquest only just left?" You barged past him with a strength you didn't know you possessed as you started to look around the house.

"Pip-"

"Where is she… where is the reason you decided to stand me up the morning after Simon broke up with me." You choked as your hurt started to slip through the cracks.

"Simon dumped you?" Joel asked and you nodded "Why?"

"Because I'm in love with you Joel… and I-"

"Do you want to scream any louder?" Growled Joel's mother as she walked down the stairs with a bundle in her arms "You're lucky she's so milk drunk. Not even the apocalypse would wake her right now." She said as she handed Joel what you could now see was a newborn with a gorgeous caramel complexion.

"Oh, Pip sweetheart, so lovely to see you." Said Mrs Miller as she pulled your stunned body into an awkward hug "It's been a bit of a mad house for the past 12 hours." She chuckled as she walked over to Joel to give him a kiss on the cheek before pecking the baby's brow. "I'll let Joel catch you up, I need to get diapers and formula. Will be as quick as I can sweetheart."

"Thanks, Mum." He said, smiling at her as she waved at you all and left.

Finally leaving you and Joel alone with this tiny baby you had just learned about.

"You… You have a baby." It wasn't a question.

Joel nodded as he looked down at the tiny person in his arms, a sweet smile gracing his lips as he brought her brow to his lips.

"I have a baby." He confirmed and you let out a shaky breath as you continued to stare at her.

"Is she…?"

"Eliza's?" He finished for you and you nodded "Yeah." He replied as he walked towards his couch and carefully sat himself down, watching as you followed him and sat down beside him "She came by last night. Dumped her in my arms and said she was mine and that she wanted nothing to do with being a mother."

Your eyes snapped to his at this statement and found him looking at you with a tearful expression "Left me enough formula to last me till tonight. No cot, clothes, nothing."

"How could she just leave her?" You sobbed as you looked at the perfect little girl in his arms and Joel just shook his head.

"She said she didn't want to be a mum." He replied "After we broke up she moved back to Austin. Had no idea she was pregnant. Not even Gloria did… then last night she just turned up at my door with her."

"Oh, Joel."

"I'm not ready to be a dad am I?" He asked as he looked at you again, his expression indicating just how scared he was.

"You're going to be the best father to this little girl." You said as you cupped his cheek and moved his face so that he looked you in the eye "You aren't going to be alone in this." You promised him "I will be here whenever you need me to be… day or night I will be here."

Joel nodded. Knocking a few tears loose and you watched as they rolled down his slightly stubbled cheek.

"Thank you, Pip." He breathed, giving you a small smile before he looked down at his little girl again "Her name's Sarah." He said after a short pause and you smiled sweetly at her.

"Hi, Sarah." You said softly as you leaned in to look at her better "Well aren't you just perfect."

"Would you like to hold her?" He asked and you nodded eagerly before carefully taking her off of him and settling into the plush cushions at your back.

You gazed at her sleeping form for what felt like an age. Her perfect little button nose and long black lashes making you swooning.

"I'll let you off." You piped up after a while and Joel hummed he as looked at you in confusion "For standing me up… She's a pretty good excuse."

Joel chuckled as he rested his head on your shoulder, you both continuing to gaze at her.

"We'll get through this…" He said and you nodded.

"Together."

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 9 - ( c.s )

part eight

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- angst, swearing, i think that’s it

a/n: i’m back my little goblins let’s get it!!!! part ten of this series will be the final part, and then i plan on writing an ‘epilogue’ type chapter to wrap it all up. i’m hoping to have them up as quickly as possible, but ive been absolutely slammed so im sorry if it takes me a minute. i love u always and i’ve missed being on here so i hope you enjoy <3

(if you asked to be tagged in the last part and weren’t tagged it’s bcs it wouldn’t let me!! i’m so sorry i tried my hardest)

to be let down, you have to expect something from someone. it’s a mistake you’ve made far too frequently in your years on earth, especially in college, but this time around the grief is debilitating.

you spend the rest of your weekend locked inside your room, attempting to sleep away the heartbreak. somehow dreaming almost makes it worse; for a second you’re able to forget about being completely humiliated, until you wake up in reality once more.

it doesn’t help that chris has been absolutely blowing up your phone since the moment you left. every call and text goes unanswered. it’s impossible to read them, so most of the time you don’t.

hell, you can’t even open your curtains because you’re too scared that he’ll be looking back at you when you do. so you block out the sunlight, ensuring that your room matches your dreary feelings.

you figure he’ll give up on trying to talk to you eventually. you’re not different. he’s not different. and once chris regains that pride of his, he’ll go right back to fucking some other girl he won’t care about half as much.

thoughts like those make you cry even harder, as much as you hate it. but you know the disinterest will wash over him sooner or later, and you resent that inevitable day.

cassidy and ramona check on you pretty much every other hour. it makes you feel even worse that they’re so concerned, but neither of them have ever seen you like this. at least not since freshman year, when you dated an upperclassman for a couple months just for him to dump you over text.

even that heartache was relatively short-lived. but this pain follows you into the week, trailing behind you like a shadow you can’t get rid of. it sits beside you in class, curls up next to you in bed, weighs your shoulders down whenever you walk.

it feels like you’re struggling to stay afloat, to even act like a real human anymore. chris consumes your brain, and so do the ‘what if’s’ of your situation. it makes the week drag on, even though you try to spend most of it asleep.

to make matters worse, his multiple notifications continue with a routine consistency, almost like clockwork. you figured he’d already be over it, but he clearly doesn’t want to make himself easy to forget.

you have to admit that you’re glad his persistence lasted at least this long, even if it’s for selfish reasons. you’re disgusted that the attention satisfies you, but it’s not an unwelcome change considering all you’ve been feeling lately is queasy.

still, you don’t read them, or pick up when he calls. you can’t hear his voice, because you know it’ll absolutely break you.

and then finally, on friday, you see him in the flesh. you’re walking home from your bus stop after the only lecture you managed to get to that day, and there he is, getting out of his car.

your throat seizes up; there’s no way to avoid this. it’s easy to ice someone out over text, but it’s a hell of a lot harder when he’s your neighbor.

before you can snap your head away he’s turning to look in your direction, eyes equally as wide as yours once the recognition washes over him. he looks like shit, and yet he’s still so goddamn beautiful it makes you physically sick.

for a brief moment, everything stops. you just stare at each other.

chris takes in you in, the way you look noticeably drained. he feels that familiar nauseous pang in his stomach flare up, knowing that he stole the spark from your eyes.

the worst part is that you’ll never look at him with that fire again. there’s nothing he can do to bring it back now, no way to reverse the past.

then—before he can decide what to do in the present—you break the spell, cutting through your other neighbor’s lawn to get to your front porch. everything in him wants to run after you, so much so that he has to physically restrain himself.

you hear him calling after you, and something about him shouting your name stirs the tears awake once more. but you make it through the door before they fall, because you can’t show any more vulnerability than you already have.

getting inside doesn’t mean that you make it up the stairs, though. the physical and emotional exhaustion catches up to you, and you collapse around halfway through your blurry climb to your room.

your elbows dig into your kneecaps, hands holding your head while you sob. it seems impossible to catch your breath, or calm down in the slightest, and your cries only grow louder.

normally you’d be careful about the noise, but there’s no one to hide from right now. nobody is home. it’s just you and your thoughts, which, as always, are full of him.

you may be able to push him out of your life, but you have a feeling he’ll be lingering in the corners of your mind forever.

the post-game locker room mood is completely miserable tonight. after that last minute loss and the thirty minute bitch-session they just endured from their coach, it honestly should be.

chris barely even has his skates off before his teammates are all over him, which he expected but still dreaded.

his head’s not in it, and everybody knows.

“what the fuck is wrong with you, man? it’s like you’re not even awake out there.” one of the team’s leading defensemen, luke, yanks him up by his jersey roughly.

for a second he pauses, setting his jaw and puffing his chest out slightly. the accusation, though it’s not completely untrue, pisses him off.

so much so that chris retaliates by shoving him back to his rightful place a foot away. “get the hell off of me, man.”

luke looks like he’s ready to jump into action again, but connor steps in between before anything else can happen. he’s also very visibly angry, a side that doesn’t come out often.

and just because he stopped a physical fight from breaking out doesn’t mean he’s going to stay silent. “he’s right. you’re playing like shit, and we‘re way too far into the season to be blowing it now, especially with selection show right around the corner.”

chris can feel his blood is boiling at this point, knowing that even his roommate is going to support this kind of disrespect towards his own captain. the rest of the team is watching silently, but he can’t find it anywhere in himself to care.

the words have already bubbled up, and he won’t hold them back anymore.

“oh come on, it’s not like anyone else was stepping up! dylan turned the puck over every other play, ben was offside during that odd man rush, and don’t even get me started on you and the high sticking penalty that just lost us that fucking game.” he shoves his pointer finger against connor’s chest for emphasis, trying to make sure his criticism stings as much as possible.

but his friend is quick to swat his hand away, shaking his head once sharply.

“no, you don’t get to turn it on everyone else. you lost it for us during that sorry excuse of a penalty kill. you let that little UMass shit go right by you, which is why he had a wide open shot to score the game winner. you’ve been making dumb mistakes like that for two weeks now, and we all know why.”

that implication is enough to send chris over the edge, because nobody has the right to mention what happened between you and him. knowing about the situation doesn’t mean they should get to speak on it.

he can feel his fingernails digging into his palms, both hands balled into tight fists at his side. the anger coursing through his body makes him shake ever so slightly, almost like he’s humming.

“keep going and i’ll bust your fucking face in.” chris says, voice eerily calm despite the fact that his body is screaming.

but connor doesn’t back down; he stands tall with an unwavering gaze that’s more serious than ever before. “you gotta grow a pair and start being our captain again. you fucked up, and losing someone you’re actually into because of that sucks. most of us have been there. but trying to throw everyone under the bus is bullshit when you’re the one that needs to get it together.”

nothing about his words are intentionally meant to hurt, and chris knows that, but for some reason they do. probably because he doesn’t want to hear the truth, or start coming to terms with the fact that he actually did lose you.

he really doesn’t ever want to accept it.

but his ego won’t let him say that. instead, chris shifts his gaze to observe the rest of the room, at all of his teammates, before focusing on connor once again.

“if you don’t think that i’m your captain anymore then find a new one.” he spits.

the room somehow gets even more quiet; everyone is stunned by the out-of-character reaction. for the most part, chris really is a good leader. they all voted for him to represent the team when it came time, and the group dynamic has been great since then.

but he doesn’t feel like that guy now. he’s not sure who he is anymore. so he throws the rest of his equipment into his bag and yanks it over his shoulder.

“really, chris?” it’s ben this time, who’s clearly dumbfounded by the theatrics.

he doesn’t respond, and he tries not to hesitate too much as he makes his way out of the locker room. everyone lets him pass, which makes it even harder to leave.

it feels so wrong, but his feet keep pushing him forward regardless.

when chris finally makes it home twenty minutes later, the frustration has only festered. he doesn’t like anything he’s doing, and yet it’s spiraling out of his control. by the time he gets to his room, tears of aggravation have made their way down his face.

he wipes them away harshly as he stares out his window at your room, which is still closed off by your curtains. it’s like his heart seizes up just from being this close to you, knowing that you’re in there yet he can’t reach you.

and maybe that’s the problem. chris loves hockey, but at the end of the day he clearly loves you more. and with things the way that they are, his heart is fully wrapped up in you, not the game.

it’s terrifying, and it’s painful. he never thought that there’d be anyone to test his bachelor lifestyle until you came around, and he can’t just go back to normal because he doesn’t know how.

he’s been permanently changed, and it feels like a huge part of his new life is suddenly missing.

you saw the deepest parts of him, parts that he didn’t even know existed, and he saw the same side of you. you challenged him in ways he’d never experienced, and he loved that he always felt like he was evolving when you were together.

now he just feels stagnant, unsure of himself.

the only thing he’s sure of is that he needs you, whether that makes him inconsiderate or not. he can’t keep sleepwalking through life, but he’s not sure what else there is to do.

simply put, he misses you like hell. so he lays back in bed and closes his eyes, trying to remember what it felt like to have you right beside him.

@fawnchives @l9vesick @55sturn @luverboychris @teapartyprincess4two @pinksturniolo @mattinside @stonermattsgf @impureals @chrisactualwife @fikefries @riasturns @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @beijhe @gnxosblog @braindead4l @orangeypepsi @ponyosturniolo @cupidsword @rainydayenthusiast @sturnvvz @wurlibydominicfike @poopydroopt @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner @rubyjanexxx @reallykaz @neatcarrot767 @kirby0strombolli @bunnysturns @junnniiieee07 @hrt-attack @sturnssmuts @stunza @beccaluvschris @asturniolos @slutz4sturniolos @mattslolita @alorsxsturn @sturnrc @chrissystur @kellsbells-18 @realqueenofpepsi @snowysosturn @secretfangirly @scarlettbitches @satvisfavetoodles

[ellabsweet]

[ੈ✩] 𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 • 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐒

synopsis: in which ellie is your voyeour.

pairing: rockstar!ellie x reader x rockstar!abby

warning: obviously modern au, mentions of sex with afab!reader so minors and men do not interact, multiple part series

authors note: this is just filfthy i’m sorry next one has more actual backstory and way more writing i promise you

← previous part | next part →

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇?

Abby dips her fingers between your thighs, separating your folds with ease before delving into you with little preparation, the curse that leaves your mouth alone making her moan out loud.

“Fuck, you’re so wet” She says and it echoes to you like a taunt, cheeks hot with embarassment you hoped she did not see, too enthralled in the feeling of her hand latching on your cunt, with your whimpers and own drunkenness the blonde gets cocky “Is this how Ellie makes you feel too? You get this fucking drenched for her? Or am I special?”

“Abby” You croak out and she looks at you, blue eyes darkened in a way you haven’t seen before and you are suddenly enveloped by her scent, the tangerine of her perfume mixed with dance sweat and expensive alcohol whatever remnants of sense you had being intoxicated out of you before you crashed your lips against hers.

“Tell me I’m your favorite” She whispers into your mouth shoving her fingers deeper, the smirk on her face like an ad for narcissists though it did not fully hide the insecurity of her plead. You nod frantically into her shoulder while she trailed kisses down your neck, the room temperature getting hotter every inch she moved downwards, passerbys pretending not to see.

“You’re my favorite, Abs” You moan tugging the braid from her hair until her cheek is forced to face your thighs, eyes sparkling up at you with insatiable desire, taking in your features under the dim venue lightning as she unzipped your shorts to make way for her face to slip between your legs effortlessly, a slow lick to your still covered pussy like a promise of something more.

Your eyes barely notice Ellie staring from across the backstage, her lips dancing around the rim of a glass beer cup, fixated on every movement your hips did against Abby’s face, her dirty talk drowned out by the intensity of the other’s stare. She was meant to call on Abigal to hurry the fuck up and tune her own damn bass but this was better, a twisted private show happening between you that inevitably had her biting down her lip. You exaggerated your reactions, a proud Abby not quite noticing the difference, but Ellie did, laughing at you, hypnotized.

“You like this, bunny?” Abby coaxed you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, fuck, Abs, I’m gonna-“

“You done fucking the groupie, Abby? We have a damn show to start” Ellie finally spoke up,so many steps closer than she was before to the point you could smell the booze oozing off of her and lightly dripping down her chin. Abby let go of your grasp ever so slowly, settling you with kisses as she pushed further away, an apology at the tip of her tongue about the life of a rockstar. Ellie punches her in the shoulder for that.

Once she’s out of sight, you grab onto Ellie’s arm, who stares at you quizzically as you lean forward on her touch, and lower your hand to her ass, grabbing hold of a pen in her back jean pocket, a tease.

“Give me an autograph?”

She signs your exposed thigh.

taglist: @abbysvictim @lottiematthewsceo @sadeyedsugar @digit4lslut @r0ckgoblin @machetegirl109 @scatapple @elliesgirlll @madelynie @emothurman comment to be added!

[juletheghoul]

Request for another hurt/comfort the General bit (I'm counting the period chapter in that category). 'Greedy' made me think of other potential lovers that the Reader had in the past, maybe another master who had her before Marcus. Except not so much a lover but a slave owner using his property. And maybe this guy has some fancy job and gets invited to an event at the General's estate. And maybe he sees her and makes comments or approaches her in private. I'd love to see Marcus's reaction to something like that!

okay nonny, I see youuuu! Okay so I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but my mind raced and it is what it is - hope you enjoy! 🩷🩷

(thanks @absurdthirst for talking this one out with me!)

Lets get into it:

smut under the cut - 18+ and don't read more if you aren't into exhibitionism (not beta'ed and probably full of errors)

word count; 1.6k (series masterlist)

---

He yawned, despite all of the flesh on display. You, were much more affected.

It had started out like every other gathering, food and soft music, raucous laughter and all manner of delights to draw the eye. Slaves adorned in intricate masks posed on pedestals, their bodies covered in white paint to make them look like living statues. Prominent Gladiators stood sentinel, stock still and oiled to showcase their bodies, breathing weapons, standing at the ready for the pleasure of the distinguished guests filling the halls.

Inevitably, the flesh on display had worked it's magic on the guests, and the lively conversation, had descended into cries of pleasure. The soft music changed from lutes and harps, to the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh. The liquid squelch of arousal ringing out around you.

It was hard not to think on what it sounded like when your Dominus took you, his lovely sounds in your ear, his cock coated in your desire for him, and it was in you to mount him then and there, but he had not given any indication that he desired this, and so you stood beside him, shifting your weight from foot to foot, ignoring the ache of emptiness between your legs.

Despite his hunger for your body, a thing he indulged in almost daily to your great delight, he was an intensely private person. Anything he did in public, was to send a message, to secure his peace and to remind anyone who showed him disrespect, that he was not someone to be trifled with. For you, there was no difference. Whether he took you here, in front of everyone, or at the villa where you were alone, it made you drip all the same. There was no shame left, only lust.

He was speaking to another, a friendly conversation while your hands fidgeted with your tunic, when you saw a ghost from your past. A former owner, recognition and delight on his face. That Dominus had given you pleasure as well, not nearly as much as your General, and never privately, he liked to be in the middle of it, to be spoiled and shared. He enjoyed the spectacle of excess.

He smiled wide, making his way over to you with one of his girls, and one of his boys in tow, both of them roughly your age.

Marcus saw him approach, and you felt him tense.

"I see you have been blessed by Fortuna, found yourself in the house of General Marcus," He smiled at you, benevolent. "and he has brought you here, much to my delight-" He ran his finger down your arm softly, you felt nothing. "Come, let us move to a private room and indulge as we did-" His words were cut short, when Marcus' hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you away and onto his lap.

"I think you have forgotten who she belongs to, I have not given you leave to touch." His hand lands on your thigh, heavy and so welcome where you were draped across his lap. Your hands instantly wrapping themselves around his neck.

"Oh come now Marcus, what is it to share amongst friends-"

"We are not friends." He places a kiss at your throat, his voice like ice despite the petal soft feel of his lips on your skin, "and I do not share."

Your heart raced, and you couldn't help but giggle softly, this was what you wanted, for him to claim you in front of all.

The other man let out a huff, half laughing, half disbelieving.

"They are but slaves, why bring one as lovely as her if not to tempt, I offer mine to you freely, in the spirit of good will." He thrusts his girl forward, the boy too, both of them staring at the way Marcus pulls your tunic to the side to kiss your shoulders, their gaze devouring the path of his big hand sliding under your tunic to caress the wet slit between your legs. His mouth pulls away, but his fingers glide between the lips of your sex slowly, slipping over your clit in soft, wet strokes.

"What I do with what's mine, concerns me, and me alone." He turns to watch your face, how your mouth hangs open, how your breath catches with every delicious swirl, "What say you, girl, should I share you?" He punctuates his words by sliding two thick fingers inside you as deep as they can go and you moan, wantonly.

"No Dominus, please no, just you." You press forward, pressing your lips to his despite not being given leave to have his mouth and he laughs into the kiss, pulling away after a moment and you whimper when he takes his fingers out. He rubs them against your lips like a rich Roman woman would with the juice of a pomegranate, before sliding them into your mouth.

"You may leave us." He speaks to the man, keeping his lust blown eyes on the way you hollow your cheeks around his fingers.

Once the man walks away, tail tucked between his legs, you shift, feeling him hard and heavy underneath you.

"Shall we return to the Villa? Or would you like me to take you here and now?" His lips bite at your ear and your heart races to have him offer this to you, control, choice, luxuries that you have not been afforded in this life. It is such a vast difference from the life you led up until you came to be in his service. Servitude is servitude, that will never change, but you've never wanted anyone as much as you want him, you sometimes think that what you feel for him, might be more akin to obsession, something dark and all encompassing.

You bite your lip, smiling conspiratorially in the strong cage of his arms.

"I would have you take me here and now Dominus, I would have you show them who I belong to." You speak into his ear, sucking a mark into his neck, he rewards you with a deep groan and a heavy palm on your ass.

"Stand." His voice is commanding, and makes your nipples hard as pebbles. "I will take you from behind, so everyone can see how well you take my cock." He whispers it in your ear, turning you so you lean against the lectus, he hands another blow, a loud crack on your backside that makes you jump.

Gooseflesh spreads across your skin as you feel him lift your tunic, rolling it in on itself at your waist so it doesn't fall, and within a heartbeat you feel the blunt tip of him prodding at your seam. His hand slides around, and he puts it to your mouth, palm up.

"Spit." He commands, and you obey. It's filthy, and your heart beats like a hummingbird in your cunt at his tone. Eyes find you, of slaves and owners alike and they smile, enjoying the show and you smile back, the arousal like the teeth of some great wolf around your neck.

His first thrust was like a punch, and your body bent forward, your face pressing to the silky fabric of the lectus both in relief, and on fire.

"No, no girl, you will stay up, and see how they watch you take my cock." He lifted you up, pressing his hand to your throat to keep you upright.

"Yes Dominus." You replied, eyes half lidded in pleasure as he pulled himself out and thrust back in. He was harder than you'd ever felt him, hot and heavy inside and you couldn't do anything but stand there, on the tips of your toes and take what he gave. His breath came out in pants in your ear, his thrusts hard enough to make your breasts bounce, the hardened tips of them tickled by the fabric of your tunic.

Eyes of other slaves watched, and a wave of slick seeped out to find them almost covetous of the pleasure your Dominus so freely gave you, of the way his hand slipped around once more to find your neglected little clit, to pinch it between wet, spit-soaked fingers and pull your world apart. The sharp, starburst of pleasure spreading like a tidal wave throughout the network of your veins and he laughed in your ear.

"Already? just a little pinch and you gush all over me, girl?" He sped up, drawing out the pleasure until you all but wept, his cock kissing something divine inside you. "You like them watching you take it, you like it when I claim you for all to see, you like being mine don't you, girl?" His pace stuttered, affected by his own words and you turned your face to meet him in a misaligned kiss, whispering into his mouth that yes, yes you did, holding one hand on his at your throat, while bringing the other to hold the weight of your breast.

"I want your gift Dominus, please, may I have it? Please?" You begged him, relishing the way he couldn't contain himself, pushing himself deep enough to hit your womb, pleasure and pain mingling together as he ground himself almost too deep and painting your insides with his spend.

"It's yours-" His whisper was gravel in your ear, softer words following and for a moment you can almost convince yourself you’d heard him say I'm yours but you ignore it, your imagination and your arousal running rampant. Instead you wait until he pulls himself out, and turn in his arms ignoring the eyes that follow you and wrap your arms around his neck. You claim a kiss, licking into his mouth with an authority unavailable to you in any other aspect of your life. His seed leaks out of you, dripping onto your inner thighs as he pulls you close, letting you take your fill.

"Can you take me home Dominus?" You press kisses to his throat, running your tongue across where you feel his heart beating there, "I desire for you to take me again." He shudders softly and never in your life, have you ever felt more powerful.

He nods and you smile.

-

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[ruskaroma]

ordinary, corrupt human love. | chapter 1: written in blood.

Warnings: this series will include highly disturbing/dark topics such as stalking, unhealthy obsession, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, manipulation, gaslighting, large age gap, emotional/psychological abuse, dom/sub undertones, bad BDSM etiquette, etc.

this is a dark fic, written in john's pov and a glimpse of how his mind works. if you still continue to read and get triggered, that is not my responsibility.

Summary: John finds himself a new obsession.

Author's note: this is my first ever fanfic for this fandom and i am beyond excited to share this with you guys! though i must say before you begin, english is not my first language and there might be a few errors in my writing here and there, so i apologize in advance.

but either way, i still hope you enjoy this piece, and i can assure you that once i finish writing this series there will be more to come! i really enjoy writing john wick be a merciless bastard who kills everything that breathes, and i hope you enjoy it too as much as i did.

please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think in the comment and reblogs and likes would be so appreciated. it motivates me to write even more :)

(also this is not edited so all mistakes are on me and i apologize)

Word count: 8.1k

also read on ao3.

It’s one of those days again.

The sound of his watch ticking is the only thing keeping his car from being too quiet. His eyes watch every single movement of his target, never leaving his sight. It won’t be too long for John to finally strike, he just doesn’t want too many civilians seeing the horror that’s about to happen right before their very eyes.

His mind is thinking of many things he could do with this target in particular. A lowlife thug that got himself involved with a very dangerous Italian mob, but then again that’s not the reason why John’s murderous intent is at its peak at the moment.

He’s angry at something, he just doesn’t know what. And this target of his isn’t helping his situation at all. Reading his criminal record made John think this could be a chance to cure his boredom. This man is not only a sex trafficker, but also a pedophile who has a history of targeting teenagers to rape and sell to the black market that’s as fucked up as him.

He doesn’t normally take his time thinking of ways to kill his targets. He points, shoots, leaves. This one in particular though, got him facing a side of him that John himself doesn’t want to face.

He would start by breaking every single one of the man’s fingers. And if that doesn’t do any justice, he’ll cut them off.

One by one, let the man savor the feeling, let John relish the nightmare.

He could slit the man’s throat, watch as life drains away from his body, watch as the man clings to his legs for mercy. John could even pull out the man’s dick, step on it, fucking cut it off and shove it so far down his own throat that he couldn’t scream for help if he tried.

It’s John’s version of Colombian Necktie. A classic, only ever tried it out four times, hopefully this would be the fifth.

John is never the one to take pleasure in killing people, but these past few months have proved him otherwise.

Maybe it’s because of Helen’s death, and the way he was basically forced to sculpt the demons he buried back into himself. His only remaining bit of humanity was taken from him, and he’s coping in the most unhealthy way possible. Perhaps Winston was right about dipping his pinky a little too much into the pond, but it was inevitable.

John has gone back to his old ways. Taking contracts here and there to distract himself from the void in his heart. He remembers how burying a knife into someone’s throat for the first time in many years has ignited something in him he didn’t even know he had.

That’s why he’s here, exiting his car in a swift move, following his target as quietly as possible into a narrow alleyway that stinks of garbage in piss. This would be a nice place to kill a guy like him – right where he belongs.

John’s movements are so discreet the man couldn’t even sense him until John wrapped his right arm around his neck and his other hand went to cover the man’s mouth. He walks them both to the back of a building as the man struggles, where John’s sure no more people are present, and he kicks him on the jaw to stop the man from making any more noises.

John can make this quick. Pull out his gun and blow his brains out. But there’s that sinister glint in his mind that’s telling him to do something unimaginable – grotesque even – a death a man like him deserves.

The man tries to swing his arm at John but misses pathetically. The poor guy’s already shaking and John hasn’t even begun.

John doesn’t respond to the pitiful attempts of questioning who he is and who sent him here, he simply pulls his knife from his pocket and wastes no time slashing it against the man’s throat, the blood spraying all over his face. The man tries to stop it by shakily covering the deep cut with his hand, but it’s useless.

He’s gargling, choking on his own blood, and John’s watching it all unravel with a familiar glint in his eyes.

John is contemplating if he should follow the plan he made in his head or just leave it like this. Somehow, the sight looks rather incomplete to him. He knows what he’s done is not enough, but that could be just the rage talking. The man’s already dead, and surely cutting off his dick and shoving it so far down his throat it comes out of the wound would leave an ugly reputation on his name. 

Would that be a good thing? John is already feared enough, would it be a good thing to make people fear him even more? But then again, this won’t be the first time he’s done it. Doing it again one more time wouldn’t make any difference.

He glances down at the dead body on his feet before he kneels down to do the unforgivable.

Slicing off a man’s cock is easy. Too easy. John’s knife is perfectly sharpened and stoned, he merely uses any strength to cut it off. The sight is so fucking ugly, too much blood, but nothing he can’t handle.

Once that’s done, John uses his other hand to force the dead man’s jaw open, immediately greeted by the foul stench of blood as he shoves the unpleasant dick into the man’s open mouth. The genitalia is definitely not long enough to reach the throat, but that won’t be any problem for John.

He grits his teeth as he forces his hand in there, not bothering to care even if the jaw breaks and the hole becomes even wider, his goal is the only thing in his mind.

The blood continues to drip and he has never been so grateful for wearing an all black uniform for this occasion. Soon enough, after a few minutes of such a brutal wrongdoing, John sees the tip of the cock reaching the deep wound on the man’s throat as it continues to peak its way out.

A sick, small smile spreads across John’s face. The smile is barely there, but he’s fucking enjoying this more than he’d like to admit. He can only imagine how the news would spread across the assassin underworld like a wildfire.

The Boogeyman’s back in business and he’s scarier than ever.

Perhaps this might be the way to lay his point across. This is a way to show them that it was not a good idea pissing him off, killing what’s his, and bringing him back in business. They’d regret it, but it would be already too late for that.

John uses his other hand to pull the cock right out of the man’s throat but not completely. Half of it is hanging out and John thinks he could even consider this as a masterpiece. There’d be flies and maggots that would make the scenery better, but the cleaning service is there for a reason. He can’t just not use it.

John stands up from his position, pocketing his knife back into his pocket before retrieving his phone with the other. He dials a number, waits for them to pick up, all while admiring his work on the ground.

His previous contracts these past few months all ended in such an unimaginable, ugly way. He figured that by showing them that he’s capable of such brutality, it would increase the numbers of people calling him in for more jobs, because this is exactly what they wanted. They wanted Baba Yaga, the ruthless killer of the underworld who stops at nothing to finish his job, and he’s simply giving it to them.

Someone picks up the call and he straightens his posture, checking the time on his watch before speaking.

“This is Wick. John Wick, yes. I would like to make a dinner reservation for one.”

The news spread faster than anticipated.

The notorious man John Wick, the hot topic of the criminal underworld at the moment, even gained the attention of The High Table, and it all happened in the span of one day. That’s how quick the news spread amongst his fellow assassins, though that’s exactly what he was going for.

John expected it so he isn’t surprised when he receives a call from Charon saying Winston wants to meet him.

He inserts a coin in the door and the small window opened briefly. The guy on the other side immediately recognized him, not wasting a single moment to open the door and let the man of the hour in. All eyes are on him the moment he steps into the club, but no one dared to murmur anything to anybody – not when the man himself is here.

They know better.

John spots Winston at his usual spot drinking his usual order, signaling John to sit beside him where a glass of bourbon is already present. 

“Jonathan,” Winston greets, raising his glass. “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I figured,” John replies, though not interested. He slides himself to the booth and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t understand why though.”

“Are we really playing this game, Jonathan?” The manager raises a brow. 

“I was just doing my job.”

“In a way you don’t normally do,” Winston then adds. “Or should I say, in a way you don’t even do.”

John gives him a look, but he could tell Winston doesn’t know how to interpret it. His face remains emotionless, not letting the mask slip and grant Winston the privilege to take a peak. John will continue to play this game until he’s satisfied, until he feels something again. Surely he’ll find what he’s looking for while doing the only thing he’s ever good at – slaughtering.

“Let’s just say I was trying out a new technique,” John says, voice deep and almost sinister. Winston’s scared, though he doesn’t show it, John knows. 

“I have known you ever since you started, Jonathan. Not once did it cross my mind you would do something so.. horrifying as this. You discarded the body like he was some sort of pig, so believe me when I say I couldn’t believe it at first.”

John has no idea why Winston’s whining about him being horrifying, when that’s all they’ve been saying about him ever since he joined. He didn’t gain this reputation for no reason, now he’s just simply showing them what more he’s capable of.

“You should’ve seen his record.” His tone is menacing, swirling the drink in his hand as he stares deeply at Winston’s eyes. “He’s worse than a pig.”

The drop of the curse word takes Winston by surprise. “So is that what it is, then? You killed him that way because you think he deserved it?”

“Not really,” John simply sighs, leaning back on the leather seat as he takes another sip of his bourbon. He really isn’t planning on staying longer, but Winston seems to be taking his sweet time asking him a bunch of stupid questions. “I couldn’t care less of what he’s done. I was simply… bored. Saying that I did that because I think he deserved it gives people a reason to think that what I did was justifiable.”

The look on Winston’s face says enough. He’s afraid of John, afraid of what he has become. Hearing John say he did such an unforgiving thing just because he was bored is beyond frightening. No man has ever inflicted so much fear on him before – at least not until John.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” Winston finally says, not wanting to hear any more disturbing thoughts of John, but he remains polite and calm for the sake of their friendship. “You have a good night, Jonathan.”

John gives him a nod, standing up from his seat and downing his drink in one go. “Goodnight, Winston.”

He exits the club with an eerie aura following behind him, not caring about the way people are looking at him like he’s got Death himself walking beside him.

It makes him wonder that maybe death doesn’t follow him after all.

Maybe it is him.

Someone offered him five million to fuck up a man who allegedly stole a fuck ton of kilograms of cocaine from their warehouse, and really, who is John to decline the offer?

Hunting the man is easy. It didn’t even take a day to locate where the man lives, and John’s already breaking into his apartment to shoot the guy and leave. There’s no point in rummaging the place for the cocaine, all of it is already up the man’s system by the looks of it, and killing him is John’s job.

John wants to finish this one fast, he’s got other business to attend to. As he backs up the frightened, pathetic excuse for a man against the wall, he takes his gun out of his holster and aims directly at the head, right between the eyes, and he watches in great pleasure as the residue of his brains splatter against the walls and the floor.

This man didn’t even put up a fight. John thinks this is a waste of time.

He exits the apartment with disappointment heavy on his shoulders, slamming the door shut. Although the gun he used has a silencer, the rooms are too close to each other. He’s sure there might be other people who heard the shot of his firearm.

The apartment building is located at the filthy side of New York, where most known drug dealers and junkies do their nasty deals. It’s no surprise that as soon as John steps a foot out of the worn out building, all eyes are on him, but mainly on the clothes he’s wearing. They’re planning on mugging him out, and John would like to see them try.

Just as he’s about to walk to his car, his phone rings abruptly in his chest pocket. He retrieves it in one swift motion, not noticing that a gold coin fell out as he does so, and he continues walking to not waste any more time.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir, you dropped something!” John hears from behind. He doesn’t bother looking.

The call isn’t nearly as important as the business he needs to attend to, so he hangs up the call and pushes his phone back into his pocket. As soon as he does that, he feels a small hand touching his shoulder.

John’s hand immediately flies to wrap his large hand around the person’s wrist, turning around to see a young woman with a bewildered expression on her pretty face, little fingers holding his golden coin that looks far too big on her hand.

She looks scared, terrified, and oh how fucking awful that makes John feel. Like he’s been punched right in the fucking gut. He’s enthralled.

“I wasn’t–you dropped it and I’m just giving it to you, I promise!”

She’s looking at John with big, doe eyes. She also looks freshly showered, wrapped in a black puffy jacket that makes her even smaller than she already is. John lets his eyes linger on her lips, so plump and glossy. Her voice sounds sweet, soft, something John isn’t used to hearing.

John can’t help but to stare.

“Are you–are you gonna let me go, mister?”

The way she stutters triggers a hot feeling in John’s guts, and can’t help but to rub his thumb on the girl’s dainty wrist before slowly letting her go.

So delicate, he could snap them in half.

“Sorry,” John apologizes, taking the coin from her hold, and his fingers itch at the way her skin feels so soft against his rough hands. “Force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles a little, and there goes that hot curl in John’s stomach once again. “That thing looks expensive so be careful next time.”

Just like that, John doesn’t get the chance to reply back. She makes her leave and patters away from him, and he watches. He watches until she’s out of the view, taking a turn to a corner, leaving John with something he can’t quite figure out yet, but he soon will be.

For the first time in a while, he feels something new.

Suddenly, everything is too good to be true.

John will find himself staring at his hands for too long, still feeling the ghost of her soft skin on his fingers, fantasizing about her pretty face and soft, plump lips.

It’s scary for him to feel something again because that only means destruction. John likes to believe he has a gift of ruining everything he touches, especially the pure ones – like her. It’s a proven statement. Just look at Helen and Daisy.

This little one won’t be any different, he’s sure of it. John’s whole body is heating up everytime he thinks about her. The look on her face when she saw John’s chilling expression, her wide eyes, so glossy and innocent.

John wants to see her again.

His fingers itch, yearning to touch her again. 

Why he’s suddenly interested in a young woman he just met a few days ago, he has no idea. John’s a bit confusing – fucked up, even. He long accepted the fact that his mind is nowhere near healthy years ago. He tried to push those thoughts away when he met Helen, but now he’s out of his shell and back in business, there’s no need to.

He’s always been one of the wolves, and now that he’s laid his eyes on his next meal, he will make sure there’s not a single thing that will get in his way to hunt her down.

He had a crisis for two days before doing the unexpected. It didn’t take long for John to find her. 

Now, John has been following her around for a week, and he noticed a certain pattern his little one likes to follow as she goes on her day.

The very place where they met is where she lives, surrounded by a bunch of goons who have no idea what to do with their lives. John begins to wonder why she’s living in a place like that. He could take her, put her somewhere safe, under his care and protection. Make sure no one will dare to lay a finger on her.

John knows where she works. At a veterinary clinic not too far from her apartment, which is why she walks to work every three in the afternoon, but not without stopping by in her favorite deli and getting a large order of her favorite sandwich. She’s a part-timer. She’d be at school from seven to twelve, and at work from three to eight.

John finds the little things she does amusing. He’d be seated in a cafe right across from her work, watching how she moves around her office through a big window, petting and cooing at the animals who come and go.

She’s so perfect, so pure, so naive. She has no idea that a monster is lurking ten feet away from her, watching her every move like a hawk, thinking about the ways he could destroy her, make her his.

John is not delusional. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing and he’s aware of what people might call him. 

Stalker.

Creep.

They don’t know him though. They don’t know why he acts this way. They’d do the same if they were him, that’s for sure. He’s not the bad guy here, he’s simply just protecting her little one, even from afar. John went as far as destroying a whole Russian Bratva for a mere puppy and a car, he’d do even worse if she’s somehow taken away from him.

John sees her exiting the building and his first thought is to follow her. He stands up from his seat, the cup of coffee long forgotten as he makes his way out of the café and keeps a safe distance between the two of them. It’s risky, especially in the broad daylight, but John knows she’s too oblivious to notice.

She’s with her friends this time, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by John how she clings at the shirt of her co-worker as they cross the street, small hands fisting at the fabric. He thinks about how he won’t ever let go of her hand once she’s his. He’s not big on physical affection, having to grow up with no parents and a rather strict orphanage, but maybe he could be gentle. Engulf her hand in his, stroke it with his thumb, tuck her hair behind her ears, show everyone that she’s already owned.

They wouldn’t dare to lay their hands on her again.

John walks in the middle of the sidewalk, not bothering to move away despite seeing people approaching. He doesn’t need to, the look in his face is enough for people to give him the way. It’s interrupted however, when someone does try to get in his way, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back a little.

John clenches his jaw, pissed. He takes his eyes from his little one and on the person who so rudely interrupted what he’s doing – it’s Marcus.

“John? I was just looking for you at the Continental.” Marcus has a small smile on his face, clearly not aware of John’s expression.

His eyes dart behind Marcus, where his little one is supposed to be, but she’s gone. John feels something curl in his stomach, his fingers itching again, eyes rapidly searching for her in the sea of people.

He looks at Marcus again, deciding he’ll just find her later, but he worries that something might happen to her now that John’s attention isn’t on her.

“Why?” he almost snaps, voice deep and laced with no emotion.

“Why? Because it’s been quite some time, John. I haven’t heard from you since the Iosef situation, but I did hear you’re back in business,” Marcus replies, but when he sees how distracted John looks, his voice falters. “You working?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes off smoothly. “I’ll see you around.”

John taps Marcus’ shoulder, trying to sound as polite as possible even though he badly wants to break a couple of his teeth for taking his attention away from her. He knows Marcus is probably noticing something, but John’s never the one to care.

Marcus drops the subject. “Alright, John. I’ll see you around.”

With that, John disappears in the crowd with no looking back.

It’s been awhile since John last took a job.

He can’t seem to take his eyes away from his little one. He can’t stop fucking stalking her from morning to night time.

John’s afraid that once he takes his attention from her even for a second, something bad might happen to her. It’s engraved in his mind that she can’t protect herself and he’s solely there to be the protector.

No one would understand. He’s doing this for her own good.

John’s absence at the Continental doesn’t go unnoticed by Winston and Charon. They’re his favorite, after all. Watch his every move carefully ever since that ugly murder John did. Perhaps he could make his next kill even uglier. To them, it’s vile and grotesque. For John, it’s special and unique.

This time, it took a good self-beating before John decided to take a contract. Three million to hunt down a rival crime lord, nothing he can’t handle, but somehow it brings an unusual feeling on his shoulder he isn’t fond of. Perhaps because John’s leaving his little one for a while and he isn’t quite sure what to feel. Worried and pissed – but mostly worried.

That is why he hired someone to trail his little one on his behalf. Everyone in business would do anything for a coin despite how fucked up disturbing it is. John offered a generous amount of coins to keep the assassin’s mouth shut, but he also held him at gunpoint and gave him a good talk before he sent the dog out in the field.

His only job is to keep an eye on her, report everything he’ll see to John, and maybe even take pictures for safety purposes.

John has been overseas in the last three days, and everything that’s been sent to him has been his only form of entertainment. There’s videos of her giggling with her friends, videos and photos of her in the library, outside her school, her work, and even in her apartment. There’s also information sent to him about the background of her friends – every single one of them, because John didn’t pay so much for nothing.

There’s one particular friend that ticks off John in all the worst way possible. He’s young, around her age, and the way he hugs and touches her just fucking sets him off. John wants to break his fingers in half. He reminds himself that once he’s home, he’ll make sure to take care of that boy himself.

“What else have you got?” John questions through the phone, and it doesn’t take long for his precious dog to respond.

“Oh, he is one creepy motherfucker. I’m starting to understand why you’re so riled up with this guy, boss. The urge to strangle him every time he gets in the picture gets stronger and stronger everyday.” He hears a laugh at the other end. The guy that’s working for him – Alex, if he remembers correctly – is young, new in business, knows not to fuck with John so he keeps his job adequate. If Alex ever notice how fucked up John is for making him follow a young woman to keep his life in order, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just tell me when I can shoot this guy and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Leave him. Keep an eye on him, but don’t kill him,” John advises, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I’ll handle him myself when I get back. For the meantime, focus on Y/N and keep any troubles out of her way. Fail that task and I’d serve your head hot on a platter.”

“You got it, boss.”

John is playing nicely.

He’s not going to force his way into her life. He’s gonna be welcomed, with open arms, desired.

There are times he’d thought about giving in to his desperation and act with his dick instead of his head. There are times he’d thought about following her to a dark street, where no one’s around, he’s on the prowl and ready to pounce. He’d put a fabric against her mouth and nose, laced with enough chemicals to make her pass out and for him to carry her in his car with no problems whatsoever. John thinks about how he’d make it look like he’s just picking up his very drunk and passed out girlfriend and no one would know a goddamn thing.

John would keep her in his house where she won’t need anything but him. 

But of course, he’s not that cruel.

They’re only thoughts. Thoughts that he tries hard to keep away, but at the end of the day he reminds himself that he’s better than that.

John is not going to force his way into her life.

He’ll make sure to get her addicted enough to come crawling at his feet herself. She’ll be dependent on him, won’t be able to live without him. John will make sure his plan will go out smoothly or otherwise he’ll be the one bringing Hell with him on this land and seek as much havoc as he possibly can.

The death emissary himself will strike tonight.

A Friday night out with her friends has John on high alert. That’ll only mean she’s constantly surrounded with people, god knows what could happen if John even takes his eyes off her for a second. He lurks on the side, blending himself with the crowd as much as he can all while keeping his gaze on her. 

He doesn’t need any drugs to keep his mind insane, because the sight of a specific man getting very close to what’s his is enough to make him visualize all the ugly and twisted ways to kill a man.

She’s wearing a thin silky dress that’s low on her cleavage and shows her perky breasts. She’s currently the flame in a room full of moths, John included. Everyone’s eyes are on her, observing the way she sways her hips and sings along to the loud music – John’s fingers itch.

The itch to kill is back again, driving into his veins, his hands twitch on the table. John wants to pull out his gun and shoot everyone in this fucking room. He wants to stab them in the eyes one by one and make them feed it to themselves. He wants to grab this guy on the neck and slam his head against the wall repeatedly until his brain scatter all over the fucking place and there’s nothing left for him to ruin.

This guy is getting on his fucking nerves.

John watches as the man smoothly brings his arm on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear that doesn’t make her look so impressed. In fact, she looks disturbed, uncomfortable, tense. Despite the guy being her friend, John could tell she doesn’t feel comfortable with the way he’s showing her affection.

It’s hard to see her like this, but he knows he can’t just jump in between the two of them and beat the shit out of the guy until he chokes on his own blood. He’ll have to wait, maybe after this party, he’ll strike and discard the body in a way that’ll make even Winston spook in his sleep. It’s not a major offense to kill a man that’s not in the game anyway – or at least that’s what John tells himself.

This guy wouldn’t be able to be three feet near his little one once John’s done with him. He’ll be six feet under.

John sees her swiftly moving away from his touch, trying to make her rejection look as polite as possible, which receives a not-so-amused reaction from her little friend.

This guy doesn’t deserve her at all. No one does. Except maybe John, but that’s because he knows he’s capable of actually taking care of her and keeping her safe. Nobody would understand what he feels, what he yearns, what he wants.

Good girl, John thinks. Walk away.

His gaze follow her as she makes her way to the backdoor and out to the cold air of the city. John follows in a hurry, keeping a safe distance between the two of them, then opens the door as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t let his presence known.

There are a few people on the street, either having a smoke break or making out against the piss stained wall, but she stays just beside the busy road as she wraps her arms around herself.

His gaze burn daggers on her exposed back, the urge to cover her up with his jacket and take her home. A drunk man comes stumbling out of the club, accidentally tripping over his steps and he pushes her hard enough to make her yelp as her heels lose balance and almost making herself get run over by a passing truck.

Almost.

Everything happens so fast. One moment John is standing five feet from her, the next is he’s grasping her wrists in his hand and pulling her back to her feet and dragging her back to the curb. He was already on the act once he saw the man exiting the club, he knew exactly this would happen.

The scene looks strangely familiar, one John could never forget. The same position, same hand placement, same rough fingers around her wrist and dark eyes boring into hers – their very first meeting.

“You!” she gasps, not caring about the fact that she almost just got hit by a fucking truck. “I know you! You’re the guy outside my apartment that day! What are you doing here?”

John stares. Predictable. Of course she’s talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. She’s too friendly.

“Hello to you too,” John replies, though his tone is blank as well as his face. “You remember me.”

“‘Course I do,” she giggles, a little tipsy, pupils dilated and licking her lips nervously. “You’re pretty hard to forget. I remember asking my neighbors around the area if you’re new there, turns out you were just visiting.”

John furrows his brows, hand still not letting go of her wrist. What does she mean by she’s asked around the area about him?

His face must’ve looked confused, he sees her grinning childishly. “It’s a coincidence that I see you again!”

Not a coincidence, but fate.

John doesn’t believe in a lot of things, but he believes in fate. Fate brought him Helen, and now fate is bringing him another angel. If she really went as far as asking the neighborhood about his existence, then it must be fate.

“I’m Y/N. I figured if we keep bumping into each other then you should at least know my name,” she says, completely oblivious that John already knows everything that has to be known about her. From her little mannerisms to the last name of her fucking grandmother. “May I know yours or are you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“It’s John,” he gulps, not wanting to look like a loser in front of her, not after everything he went through for her. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

He sucks at this. He fucking sucks at this.

“You haven’t answered my question, by the way. What brings you here?”

It hangs in the air, John lets go of her wrist. Luckily, he thinks fast enough and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Work.”

“Ah, work,” she nods. “You work here? In the club? What are you, a bouncer or something?”

“I don’t. Someone I work with is in the club.” A lie, but it’s not like she would know. “We had a talk.”

“Not really a man of words, eh?” she raises an eyebrow teasingly. 

“This is the most words I’ve said in the past few days,” John says. “I’d say you’re special.”

The look on her face is enough to make his entire night even better. Blushing, lips opening and closing, not knowing what to say. John wants to graze his thumb on her lips, thinking about how good it would feel stretching over his cock.

He blinks. Where did that come from?

“For someone who doesn’t talk much, you sure make it sound smooth when you do. Are you always this slick, John?” she giggles again, music to his ear. “That’s actually better than what I heard from my friend earlier, so thank you.”

“That’s good to know.”

Before she could say anything back, the door of the club opens once again and her friends appear, waving a hand at her and beckoning her to get inside. She looks at John, gives him a sympathetic look, as if apologizing that their talk gets cut off too soon.

“I’m really sorry but my friends want me back in there. Hopefully we can continue this again, yeah?” she smiles cheekily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If you want, you could give me your number so we can talk someplace else? You know… with no one bothering us and all that.”

There it is. John didn’t think it would be this easy to sink the hook in. All he needs to do is pull and take what’s meant to be his.

“Sure.” He enters his number swiftly, feeling that familiar burn in his guts once again when he sees the wallpaper being her pretty face. “Feel free to message me whenever you want. I’ll make time for you.”

She looks at her phone and smiles before starting to walk away from him, waving a hand goodbye, but it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. John knows it isn’t. She’s already his the moment she started talking to him again.

“Of course! Get home safe, John! I’ll see you soon!” 

“You too.”

She doesn’t know John won’t be heading home any time soon until he knows she’s safe and sound in her apartment.

Jay Lopez.

The name burns on his tongue. Bitter and resentful. He stares at the photos his precious dog sent to him and he has to stop the impulse to burn every single one of them.

Jay Lopez is the guy that’s been leeching on his girl since the dawn of time, and thankfully John is here to put an end to it. 

He’s hideous. It’s interesting how John stooped this low that he’d be willing to kill a college student for being too near his little bambi, but alas, he’s never the one to care for such things. Morals and righteousness have never been in his book, not now, nor ever.

It’s only a matter of time until he gets rid of this pest. He’s fucking creepy, follows around not only Y/N but a bunch of other women. 

John doesn’t want his death to be quick and simple. He wants to do it in an ugly way, make sure his body will never be found, make sure he’ll never get to lay his hands and eyes on what’s his. The way Jay stares at her in these pictures ignites something evil within John’s veins. It’s been awhile since he felt something like this.

“Alex.” he looks at his pet standing by the door, waiting for the next command. “Bring him to me alive.”

“Can I at least rough him up a bit?”

John doesn’t answer at first, looks back at the photos on his table. “Do what you want, just make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him here.”

“On it, boss.”

Truth be told, John doesn’t need a pet to order around for this job. He has himself – a labeled attack dog of the Tarasovs for years, their hellhound, chained and muzzled unless they need him to kill. He’s a one man army as some would say, he doesn’t need Alex running around doing tasks for him, but it sure does make the job a lot faster.

It’s not a way to downgrade his reputation nor skills to hunt, he really just needs this Jay guy gone as fast as possible.

On the same day, Alex manages to haul a very brutally violated Jay to the floor of his basement. He stinks, pants wet from piss and a face John is having a hard time recognizing.

“You said rough him up a bit, not make him look unrecognizable.”

“Same thing.”

Jay is sobbing his eyes out, his cries of pleas falls to deaf ears and John just wants to fucking bash his skull with his own foot. “W-who are you guys?! What the f-fuck did I do?! Get me out of here or I’ll tell the fucking police–”

John kicks him on the chin hard to stop the goon from rambling. “You’re not telling anybody any shit, tough guy.”

“So, what are you planning to do to him? Can I watch?”

“Can you handle it?”

Alex shrugs. He’s in the presence of the most dangerous assassin in the underworld, wouldn’t hurt to learn anything from his skills and techniques, doesn’t matter how fucked up it is.

John nods towards the chainsaw sitting at the corner of the room, and Alex turns to face him with wide eyes. “Jesus Christ, man. You serious? Last time I heard you’re a hitman, not a serial killer.”

“Same qualifications. Same thing.” John grabs the man by the arm then drags him to a chair. He takes a rope from the table and swiftly ties him up securely. “We start with the head, then arms and legs. It would be hard to put his entire body in a drum full of acid, so we need to cut him off one by one.”

Alex looks like he’s about to run off somewhere safe from what he’s witnessing. “You’re talking like you’ve done this before, holy fuck.”

John gives him a look, and Alex immediately shuts his mouth. Right. He’d done this before. This is completely normal.

“I’ve been following you for a while, Jay. You’re a creep who befriends pretty girls, then you’ll drug them and make them have sex with you,” John taunts, the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor is enough to send shivers down his spine. “Is that what you’re also planning to do with Y/N? Be her friend and fuck her once she’s drugged up and vulnerable?”

It’s a bold statement coming from John himself since he’s no better man than Jay, but at least his intentions come from a different place.

“You-you’re fucking sick!” Jay spits.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one going around making girls uncomfortable now, am I?” he picks up the chainsaw, then watches in enjoyment as Jay widens his eyes in fear. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Jay. You won’t be able to use your pathetic little dick of yours to any woman ever again, and most importantly –”

John fires up the chainsaw, adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the horrified look in the man’s face as he tries to get up and scream for help.

“I can finally sleep well at night knowing you’re not in Y/N’s life anymore.”

As John steps into the light, a roaring chainsaw in his hands, Alex could only watch in horror as the basement gets painted with blood in mere seconds.

There’s a vacant apartment just across her room, giving John the perfect view of what she’s doing while she’s alone.

Most of the time, John will pull up a seat beside the window and take pictures. The other half of the time is just him staring, observing. It seems that she’s too comfortable knowing there’s no one across the building so she doesn’t close the curtains, leaving John no choice but to keep his eyes on her.

He found this place just three days after following her. He couldn’t help it. Following her to school and work suddenly wasn’t enough for John that he had to find a way to somehow watch her even in her sleep. 

He should be ashamed of himself. He should feel guilty for what he’s doing – he should stop, but he just can’t. John’s already done too much. This is like being pulled back into the underworld all over again but this time, there’s something good that’s waiting for him on the other side.

Maybe it’s the delusion that comes with it that’s not stopping John from whatever he’s doing. Lately, he’s been thinking about how life would turn out to be if his plan goes out smoothly. They’d live happily ever after, she would end up loving him just the way he planned it out to be, and John will make sure no one will ever dare to take those peace away from him again.

He’d make sure no one will ever come close to her again once she’s his. She’d be isolated but protected. Just how John likes it.

It’s been two days since John gave his number, but he knows she’s just giddy and nervous to text him. He’d seen her staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip anxiously, thinking if it would be a good idea or not. He knows she’ll give in one way or another because he sees it in her face. She’s too easy, too gullible, too naive.

She’s lonely, just like him.

John could tell she’s waiting for someone – she’s desperate, no wonder she asked for his number the second time they met. She wants someone to take care of her, to hold her, tell her that she deserves the world. That someone is John whether she likes it or not.

This isn’t just any unhealthy obsession. John finds himself too deep to get out. He knows her little mannerisms, studied her every action, has a red room full of her pictures and no one can’t say he’s not ready to give up anything for her. John has already given up his sanity ever since he mutilated a man for being too close to her.

She’s his life now, his everything.

John watches intensely as she shreds her clothes in her room, baring him the full view of herself naked, and John grips the side of his chair too hard his knuckles turn white. This is the first time he’d seen her naked, it’s so sudden and so… perfect.

His cock fattens in his pants as he observes every curve of her body. Her waist is fucking perfect and her body is thick yet delicate. John thinks about bruising her sensitive skin, leaving a mark that will show everyone that she’s owned. He would love to see her in a collar, hear it jingle when she crawls. 

She’s completely fucking naked that John wonder just how naive she is to think there would be no one seeing her like this. What if John isn’t the only one watching her? What if somebody else sees her like this? His fingers itch, jaw clenching.

He’d kill them. He’d kill them in front of her, and the thought somehow made his cock hard even more. He grimaces, disturbed at the reaction of his body.

John doesn’t really understand the sexual aspects of killing, but now he’s thinking about how she would react if she sees him working. He’d kill someone in front of her and he’d see the look of disgust and betrayal in her face. He can already imagine how her eyes would well up with tears and fuck, his dick shouldn’t be this hard.

She’d fear him, and John would be turned on. How fucked up would that be? Just how fucked up can his mind get?

He resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock because fuck no. He would not stoop this low, he is not a teenage boy. No matter how strong the thoughts get, the thoughts of wrapping his own hand around her neck, squeezing it hard and cutting off her airflow as John forces his cock in her cunt, hearing her mewl and scream and beg to just –

John sucks in air, eyes back on her in her room, wrapping a robe around herself and heading to the bathroom. This is fucked up. His cock is incredibly hard and leaking, and his mind won’t stop thinking about how good her pussy would feel around him.

He’d talk her through it. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear as she releases around her cock, praising her for being such a good girl. Then he’d fuck her again, in a different position, debauching her in different ways not even the devil himself could think of.

John would ruin her, and she will have no choice but to accept it.

He brings his hand to his face as he sighs deeply. He wonders what Helen would feel of what he’s doing. Disgusted, no doubt. This is not the same man she fell in love with years ago. He would never do something like this, but fate has its plans, and John believes everything happens for a reason.

She was brought into his life for a reason and it’s up to him whether he takes.

John doesn’t realize that he’s been staring at nothing for too long until she comes back in his view once again. Her hair is still wet, still wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe, and John’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, possess.

He sees her picking up her phone, staring for a moment before her fingers start typing. John has been anticipating this moment for so long, the time has finally come.

In his chest pocket, his phone buzz silently, the vibration sending excitement in his whole body.

There it is.

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : hello! this is Y/N from the club the other night

13.06.15 11:46 PM UNKNOWN NUMBER : also that Y/N who returned your super expensive looking coin hehe ;) i hope you didn’t forget about me!

There it fucking is.

John’s lips curl into a small smile. His efforts are finally paying off. 

All he needs to do is to get what’s his.

[qveerthe0ry]

Misfire

Summary: Dieter gets waxed for a role and gets a little too excited. Word Count: 966 Pairing: Dieter Bravo x GN! Reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, dubious consent, body hair waxing, pain kink, humiliation kink (kinda), subby!Dieter, ruined orgasm, coming untouched, hands-free orgasm, reader does not engage in sex acts, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drug use, accidental exhibitionism, accidental voyeurism Note: I'm hoping this will be part of a long series of one-shots where I write Dieter as a pathetic little subby, desperate, whimpering mess. As of right now I don't have any big plans for what to write next, but I'm always down for suggestions ;) - Also, I had a hard time with the warnings on this one, don't hesitate to let me know if I missed something that needs tagged.

Dieter Bravo does not feel shame.

His entire schtick is doing whatever the fuck he wants, unapologetically. He hasn’t batted an eye at a tabloid headline in decades. 

But now… Now he feels like a fool. He’s gone and landed himself a really stupid part in a low-budget film about a bunch of old guys on an Olympic diving team. 

Which, first of all, ouch. He knows he has some years under his belt, but he wasn’t ready to be typecast into old guy roles this early on. 

But second of all, ouch again, because he’s gotta get a full body wax for this dud of a movie that’s inevitably going to sink anyway. 

And not ouch in a bad way, per se. But ouch as in he’s kind of really into the sting, and he’s ass naked on this cold table covered in paper, hard as a rock. 

Which was fine when he was turned onto his stomach. He was able to squish his cock in a not-so-pleasant way to stave off the desperation. 

But now you’re telling him to flip over, and he doesn’t want to move. Any other time he’d be dying to get his cock out and swing it around. But you’re just trying to do your job, and here he is, leaking onto your poor little waxing table, soiling it.

With a heaved sigh, he rolls onto his back, clambering all awkward on the small space. You’re turned away from him, preparing the next glob of hot wax, and his cock throbs. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, quiet and shameful, and you barely hear him.

“What’s that?”

Dieter can’t say it again. He just grumbles and covers his eyes with his arm as you fiddle with your waxing supplies and glance at him.

“Oh. It’s fine, happens all the time. I’ve seen worse.” 

That at least gets him to huff out a laugh. You sound unbothered, and it eases him a bit. 

“I’d hate to see worse,” he tries to joke.

You just hum in response. 

You start on his chest, though there’s not much to wax there. His armpits are ticklish, which makes him even harder. His cock bobs in the air, angry and red and neglected. He’s afraid to move, he’s afraid to breathe, he’s such a hair trigger. 

He starts thinking about all the directors he hates. He goes down the line, from his earliest project he can remember, and he’s about halfway through when you finally finish his shins and knees but it doesn’t help.

Your hand taps the inside of his thigh, prompting him to spread and bend, and the movement sends his cock lolling onto his stomach. It makes him jolt and suck in a deep breath. He can tell you’re trying to ignore it. He wishes he could. 

And fuck, he hasn’t gotten off in like, a week and a half, caught up between traveling and getting whiskey dick at that party and leaving his Cialis at his friends with benefits’ apartment. 

He jolts every time you wax the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs. And every time he jolts, his cockhead rubs against his now smooth stomach. His dick is drooling. 

When you get to the well groomed, thank you very much hair at the base of his dick, you have to wipe away the obscene amount of pre-cum that’s pooled there. 

“Sorry,” he breathes again. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, swiping the taut skin. 

It tugs on his dick. He whimpers. 

His knuckles are white now, gripping the edge of the table so hard he’s sure there will be permanent nail marks on the pleather. He’s biting his bottom lip, a metallic taste blooms inside his mouth. 

He’s lightheaded, between holding his breath and the fact that all his blood is in his dick, and his vision starts to tunnel a bit. Those tell-tale, fuzzy stars begin dancing around in the edges of his vision but promptly disappear when you grab his dick. 

The sound he makes is pitiful, a pathetic plea to his own body to stop betraying him. 

He chances a look down to see what you’re doing. One of your gloved hands holds his dick with just your thumb and forefinger, as professional as can be, while you spread wax across the wiry hairs just above it. 

He’s on the edge, his cock is jerking and pulsing between your two fingers, and if he can just make it past these next few minutes he can spill into his own hand as soon as you leave the room to let him dress. 

If only. 

You rip the wax from his skin, and it tugs on his cock and it hurts and it feels so fucking good. The pleasure shoots down his spine and he cries out a pathetic little whine. He’s barely able to push your hand away in time, breathing out an apology just as his prick jumps and releases a long, thick rope of cum. 

“I’m so sorry, fuck, s-sorry,” he pants. 

Tears prickle behind his eyeballs as he just keeps coming. There’s so much it’s almost comical, spraying the tender, reddened skin of his chest and belly.  You’re just staring too, completely emotionless, waiting for it to end so you can complete your job. 

Dieter whimpers again, biting his fist as he watches the last of his release dribble down his traitorous cock, then squeezes his eyes shut. A tear slips free, and he lets out a shuddering breath. This is the worst orgasm of his entire life, and that includes all the times he couldn’t help but rub one out with a UTI. 

You clear your throat, and you’re handing him a box of tissues. 

“I’ll let you clean yourself, then I’ll finish up.” 

He hears your impatient sigh as you leave the room.  Apparently Dieter Bravo can feel shame.

[writingwithciara]

Pair ~Chris Sturniolo~

summary: did the casual hookups change everything between chris and y/n?

word count: 1.4k

pairing: chris sturniolo x reader

notes: just like the rest of the series, this part is based off of THIS song by ian mcconnell. [angst with a few swears, implied sexual content]

previous part

masterlist

chris was dead set on bringing up the newfound issue in their relationship. but when he saw the look on y/n's face, he knew he couldn't go through with it.

she collapsed in his arms that night. tears pouring down her face as she stumbled over her sentences, trying to explain what was happening.

"hey, it's going to be alright. i'm here. it's okay." he rubbed her back soothingly and helped her into his bed.

"if it's alright, can we just not have sex tonight?"

"yeah that's fine with me. as long as you're comfortable, i don't care what we do." chris joined her under the covers and pulled her into his chest.

it was beginning to feel like an actual relationship and chris knew that it wasn't one, inevitably breaking his own heart.

he finally decided that he needed some distance from y/n to figure out his feelings. and he didn't see much of anyone else over the next few days.

nick was always out and matt was never around when chris wanted to hang out. obviously y/n was not an option for him. so he was alone.

the times that nick was actually at home, he would question where y/n was.

nick and y/n had only met each other briefly but he knew how much she meant to chris so to him, it was odd to not see her around or even hear her.

on y/n's side of things, she was confused as to why chris was suddenly ghosting her. none of her friends could tell her what was going on and the situation became frustrating.

they just weren't the pair they used to be.

-----

it was nearly 2 weeks later when y/n and chris finally crossed paths again.

of course it just had to be at a party. the same friend was throwing the party that also threw the one they met at so they both obviously had to go.

y/n caught chris staring at her and she smiled at him, even though every fiber of her being was telling her not to.

he grabbed another drink and made his way over to her. y/n prepared herself to be angry when he approached but dropped the act when he handed her a cup full of her favorite drink.

the drink she had the night they met.

"thanks." she sipped it while maintaining eye contact with him. can i ask you something?"

"yeah, i guess."

"why have you been ignoring me?"

"i haven't."

"yes you have. ever since that night like 2 weeks ago where we didn't have sex, you've ghosted me."

"it wasn't my intention. i've just been really busy as of late. i'm sorry. i should've let you know."

"it's okay, chris." y/n sighed. "so what have you been bust with?"

"stuff for my brand. it's awesome." he giggled excitedly and started going into detail.

it was like their relationship was fixed in 5 minutes.

but it wasn't.

despite fighting against himself and his better judgement, chris found himself back in bed with y/n. unlike the first time, they were drunk beyond comprehension and were both hoping they wouldn't remember it in the morning.

chris did. y/n did not. and lucky for chris, she was a heavy sleeper. he was able to get her dressed and made it look like nothing had happened last night.

so when she woke up, y/n was completely oblivious to the fact she and chris slept together.

"good morning, y/n. i brought you some painkillers and some water. hope it helps."

"thanks, chris." y/n accepted the glass and quickly swallowed the painkillers. "nothing happened last night, did it?"

"no. thank god."

"what do you mean?"

"like, not in a bad way. but i like to be coherent enough to remember it happen when we actually do have sex."

"yeah, good point." y/n swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. chris followed her to the door.

"things between us...they're good, right?"

"of course, chris. why wouldn't they be?"

"i wanted to make sure you weren't mad at me."

"you were busy, chris. i'll admit i was a little pissed when you ghosted me but i get it. your job comes before anything." y/n smiled. "it's good to have priorities."

"you should know that i'm making you a priority too."

"as long as your family and job comes first."

"you're family so you're a top priority."

"family members don't do the things we do, christopher."

"touché." chris chuckled and walked her out to her car. "see you later?"

"of course." y/n drove away and suddenly, their relationship was back to the way it was before the party.

it felt like they were strangers again.

but this time, it was y/n who ghosted him, leading to chris' confusion.

he wasn't the same as he used to be. not as happy or goofy.

fans started to notice and luckily, they weren't aware of y/n at all so they all assumed it was something he would get over eventually.

y/n always kept up to date on the triplets and seeing the effect she was having on chris made her feel terrible.

she got in her car and drove to their house, hoping she cold clear the air with chris.

when she knocked on the door, she was not expecting nick to answer it.

"hey. i missed you."

"you barely know me but i missed you too." y/n smiled and walked in. she headed to the kitchen and leaned against the counter. "is chris home?"

"yeah he's in his room. knock before you enter though. who knows what he's been doing in there." nick smirked and headed back up to his own bedroom.

y/n walked down the stairs and stopped outside of chris' room. she raised her hand to knock but the room was quiet on the other side so she just pushed the door open lightly.

the room was almost completely dark and if it hadn't been for the light peaking in from behind the curtains, y/n wouldn't have been able to find her way over to his bed. she sat on the edge slowly and gazed over at chris. his eyes were closed but he wasn't snoring so she knew he wasn't asleep.

"chris, can we talk?"

"um, yeah of course." he sat up and turned on the lamp. "what's up?"

"i'm really sorry i ghosted you. it wasn't right of me. i was jsut afraid."

"what were you afraid of?"

"we hooked up that night, chris. i know we did."

"yeah. we hook up a lot."

"but why did you try to hide it from me? did you not want to remember it? was it bad because we were drunk?"

"no. of course it wasn't bad. it's never bad. holy shit. it's incredible each time. i only tried to hide it because i didn't want to face reality."

"what are you talking about?"

"it happens a lot with the hookups. someone always catches feelings eventually & it doesn't last."

"are you saying you have feelings for me?"

"what? no. i'm saying you have the feelings and i was just trying to protect you from getting hurt."

"i don not have feelings for you, chris."

"then why do you always find these shitty men to go out with ? it's literally like you're purposely searching for the worst guys just so you can come over and fuck me."

"screw you chris."

"yeah that too."

"no. i mean it." y/n stood up and looked at him. "i don't purposely find the worst men. it just ends up that way. and the fact that you would even insinuate that is just low. if i wanted to just come over and fuck you, i would, okay? i wouldn't need to waste my time with a shitty guy."

"then why didn't you?!"

"i got worried you would think i had feelings for you if i was over here every night. i wanted to avoid this situation. but look what happened there." y/n sighed and sat back down. "i think we should take a break from our casual relationship."

"yeah that might be a good idea. but please just hang out with me as a friend. we don't need to have sex or anything. because i genuinely enjoy your presence."

chris gave her the look he knew she couldn't resist and was giggling like a school girl when she agreed to stay and watch a movie with him.

he was not prepared for what came next.

taglist: @worldlxvlys @carolinalikesthings @fearfam69691

[prettygirl-gabi]

All that mattered

---

---

Rating:General Audiences

Warning: Fluff, slight (very light) angst, happy ending

Category:F/M¹³

Fandom:Seventeen (SVT) (boyband)

Relationships: !idol S.coups x f reader, !idol Jeonghan x f reader, !idol Joshua x f reader, !idol Jun x f reader,!idol Hoshi x f reader, !idol wonwoo x f reader, !idol woozi x f reader, !idol dk x f reader, !idol The8 x f reader, !idol Mingyu x f reader, !idol Seungkwan x f reader, !idol Vernon x f reader, !idol Dino x f reader.

Summary: What did you expect when you're dating all 13 members of Seventeen

---

Hiiiii everyone who is reading! Welcome to the bouns installment of my new mini series called "Oi! Not this again!" They do not have to be read together or in order! I hope you all enjoy!

I'm thinking about making a version where Jeonghan goes of for military, let me know if you all would like it...

It all started as a dream I didn’t dare to believe could come true. Being with one member of Seventeen seemed unimaginable, but somehow, I had all thirteen of them. It was chaotic, beautiful, terrifying, and the most loving experience of my life.

I never meant for things to get so complicated. I hadn’t planned on falling in love with all of them. But how could I not? Each member held a special place in my heart, different and unique in their own ways. S.Coups’ protective nature, Jeonghan’s mischief, Joshua’s soft-spoken wisdom, Jun’s gentle warmth, Hoshi’s endless energy, Wonwoo’s quiet intensity, Woozi’s artistic soul, DK’s contagious laughter, Mingyu’s clumsy affection, The8’s calm confidence, Seungkwan’s fiery heart, Vernon’s understated coolness, and Dino’s earnestness. I loved them all, and, miraculously, they loved me too.

But love like this is not simple. We were walking a tightrope every day, trying to balance our love with the expectations of the world, with the fear of losing each other, and with the constant worry that this wasn’t sustainable. Polygamous relationships aren’t exactly accepted or understood, and this one—being in love with a whole group of idols—was something entirely different.

I often found myself suffocated by doubt. Was I giving enough to each of them? Was this fair to them, to me? Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, when we weren’t together, the anxiety would grip me, leaving me breathless and terrified that this would all come crashing down.

And then there were the fights. When you have fourteen people in a relationship, conflict is inevitable. It wasn’t always big—sometimes it was about time management or someone feeling left out. Other times, the fights cut deeper, about fears we didn’t voice, insecurities we tried to bury. And at the heart of it all was the constant question we never dared to fully ask: *Could this last?*

One night, it all came to a head. I had spent the day with Mingyu, and as usual, he had showered me with affection, his clumsy hands always trying to be gentle. We had laughed together, cooked together, and by the end of the day, I was exhausted in the best way. But when I returned to the shared apartment, the tension in the air was thick.

I barely stepped through the door before Jeonghan’s voice cut through the silence.

“Must be nice,” he said, his tone laced with bitterness. “Spending the whole day with just one of us.”

My heart dropped. “Jeonghan—”

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupted, standing up from the couch. “We all agreed to this, didn’t we? So it’s fine if some of us feel left behind.”

“Hyung, don’t do this,” Hoshi said, trying to defuse the situation. But the hurt in Jeonghan’s eyes was clear.

“I’m just tired,” Jeonghan muttered, running a hand through his hair. “We’re all giving so much, and sometimes it feels like it’s never enough.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to find the words. “I’m sorry. I’m trying—I’m really trying.”

“You shouldn’t have to try so hard,” Woozi said softly from his spot on the floor, strumming a guitar absently. “None of us should feel like this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The guilt gnawed at me, twisting in my stomach like a knot I couldn’t untangle. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Suddenly, S.Coups stood up, his voice calm but commanding. “Enough. This isn’t helping.” He turned to me, his eyes softening. “No one is blaming you. We knew this would be hard.”

“I can’t help but feel like I’m failing all of you,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I love you all so much, but I don’t know how to make this work.”

Mingyu, who had been quiet since we arrived, reached for my hand. “You’re not failing, jagiya. We’re all learning.”

“But what if—” I couldn’t even finish the thought. What if I wasn’t enough for them? What if this wasn’t enough?

DK, always the one to break the tension, stood up with a shaky smile. “Let’s not do this tonight. We all love each other, right? That’s why we’re here. So let’s talk about this when we’re not all feeling so raw.”

Joshua nodded, his calm voice soothing. “He’s right. We’re all a little tired. Let’s take a step back and talk tomorrow.”

But the fear lingered, heavy in the room like an unwelcome guest.

---

The next day, we sat down together. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t quick, but we talked. Really talked. About the things we were scared to say before, the jealousy, the insecurity, the worry that someone was giving more or less. It hurt—God, it hurt—but it was necessary.

Jeonghan apologized for lashing out. “It’s not just you. I’ve been feeling… scared, I guess. That this won’t last.”

“I’ve felt the same,” The8 admitted quietly. “I think we all have.”

S.Coups squeezed my hand. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t want to keep trying.”

In that moment, something shifted. The love was still there, strong and unwavering, but so was the understanding that this wasn’t going to be easy. It never had been. But love is messy. It’s imperfect, and that’s what makes it real.

“I don’t know how to promise forever,” I said, my voice small. “But I can promise that I’ll try. Every day.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Vernon said, his eyes locking with mine. “We’re in this together.”

One by one, they all agreed. It wasn’t a solution, not exactly, but it was a step forward.

---

Over the following months, we found a new rhythm. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours. We learned to communicate better, to listen when someone was feeling left out or overwhelmed. We learned to share our love, not just with each other, but with ourselves.

There were still moments of doubt, of course. That never fully went away. But now, we faced those moments together.

One night, after a long day, I found myself in the middle of the bed, surrounded by all thirteen of them. We didn’t say anything—words weren’t necessary. The warmth of their bodies, the steady rhythm of their breathing, the feeling of belonging—it was enough.

“I love you,” I whispered into the quiet, the words heavy with truth.

“I love you too,” came the chorus of replies, each voice layered with the same deep affection.

In that moment, I knew that no matter how difficult it might be, this was worth it. They were worth it. We were worth it.

And that was all that mattered.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

‐Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-Gabi✨️🎀

[itjazzbicch]

Particular Attention

Pairing: Shimmon Benimaru x Fem Reader

First time writing for Fire Force & Benimaru,  so I hope I did well!

Summary: Inspired by Season 2 Ep 1 (The calendar photoshoot! This will be a mini-series w/multiple characters)

Learning the Konro had secretly taken his picture for the Fire Force nude calendar, Benimaru takes his S/O, the reader, to the bathhouse with him in case someone were to snap his photo again, and the inevitable tension quickly takes their attention...

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ ONLY! MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!) Swearing, foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya tap it!), Established relationship.

Word Count: 0.8k

“I still can’t believe Konro was taking those photos for the calendar behind my back.”

Typical Benimaru not wanting to take part in the yearly calendar event. I understood but took the opportunity to tease him as we entered our private section in the bathhouse.

“Did you bring me to keep watch or for something else?”

Letting my robe drop, I giggled at his eyes staring at my ass, the water steaming hot as I submerged slowly.

“You’re something else,” He groaned, dropping his towel and joining me in the water, sitting back and exhaling deeply as the hot water consumed him.

“Oh, come on. Loosen up,” I giggled, slipping behind him to rub his shoulders, whispering in his ear, “You don’t realize how appealing you are to the naked eye, do you?”

“I don’t seek attention or flattery,” He mumbled, relaxing against me as I massaged deeper, adding kisses along his neck:

“Yeah, but at least allow me to give you some attention. Hm, baby?”

“Urgh,” I swear that he enjoyed being grumpy, trying to hide the satisfaction behind his groan, subconsciously tilting his head to expose more of his neck, mumbling, “You’re lucky to be the only one to have my heart.”

“I am,” I purred, deepening my kisses, hand grazing his thigh to find his stiffening cock, stroking softly, “And so grateful.”

“Mmhm,” He hummed, slouching as I stroked his cock faster, thumb teasing his swelling tip, staring off for a moment as he was thinking.

“Something on your mind?”

“Just making sure Konro or anyone else is trying to snap photos.”

“With me here?” I laughed, reverting to my slow strokes, “They’d be signing their death certificate.”

“Yeah,” He sighed, taking my hand, “If he does, he’ll probably drop dead from what he sees. Get over here.”

“No one’s lurking, Beni,” If anyone were, I’d sense it. We were all alone, so I gladly got up and stood before him, going to kiss him.

“I’m not worried about that,” Placing a finger on my lips and then pushing me to guide me around; he made it clear he wanted me sitting on his cock, “Only worried about what you started.”

“You know I’ll take care of it,” I smiled, back facing him as I straddled over his thighs, naturally able to line myself up with his cock.

“Yeah, you better,” He toyed, tapping my ass and holding as his tip rolled through my folds, letting him feel that I was slicked and ready, the familiar stretch having a moan ooze from my lips.

“I’ll always love that,” I cooed, sitting down to enjoy how his cock always had me stuffed, gently rolling my hips forward.

“Need some motivation or something?” He was so impatient, fingers swimming to my clit to make my nerves run wild, the judders making my hips roll quicker by instinct, “You know how I like it, so c’mon.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking our time sometimes, you know?” I gasped, shooting an audacious look back at him before picking myself up, leaving just his tip, “But if that’s what you want, baby.”

The water splashed from how hard my ass smacked against him, taking him deeper and deeper each time I rose and bounced up and down, not fighting the lewd moans that grew along with my movements, the satisfaction strong in his lingering moan:

“Ughhh. Y/N, baby- “

Taking two handfuls of my ass, every ripple and jiggle of my skin had him falling into delirium, digging into my plush, an idea in mind as his tense hand glided up my back, pushing me forward.

“Beni-“ The angle had my clutch around him strengthen, gripping to his knees as his hands found my hips.

“Stay just like that,” He cooed, thrusting upward so his tip would hit the pits of my stomach, my yelps of pleasure almost drowning out his following command, “Keep bouncing, too. If you can handle it.”

“Uh-Uh,” Bouncing into his thrusts, my walls started to throb, the friction stronger, and the way he could split always had me cock drunk and submissive to him, “I can, Beni!”

“I know you can, sweetheart,” He always knew when I was close, lost in bliss and wanting my pussy clamping his cock even harder, his hands guiding my hips into a harder, faster pace.

“Gosh-“ The steam from the bath filled my head and turned it to must, burning hotter and hotter as I got closer, babbling out pleases that mixed with my whimpers and moans, “Beni-i! Ah-ahh!”

Our skin meeting almost felt like electricity. It was heavenly, extremely potent when he pulled me back toward him, hugging my upper half and kneading my breasts as I was still whimpering, creaming his cock, and the intense throbbing from my orgasm had his cock twitching, struggling to fight the urge of cuming in me.

“That’s too good,” His warm, deep breath grazed my ear, not finished with me as he panted softly with impatience, “Let’s go to the showers so I can finish.”

“In a second?” I needed a moment for my nerves to calm before moving, smiling at the annoyance in his eyes, brushing back his dark locks, and pressing my lips to his cheek, “Don’t worry. I’ll never leave you unsatisfied, hon.”

2023 © itjazzbicch — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome

[corpsekiller]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐲) — 𝐭.𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. thomas shelby x fem!reader (maid!reader)

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. angst, jealousy, seemingly unrequited love that isn’t actually unrequited, mutual pining

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲. thomas thought he knew desire before he met you, but you proved him wrong. since the day you started working for him as a maid, he has been watching you from afar, trying to contain his hunger for you and it was only a matter of time until he finally breaks.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤. this is the second part to wanting you (is all i’ve ever known). i got many comments asking for another part and since i already planned to turn this into a small series with three parts, i felt more motivated to continue writing this, so thank you for your reblogs and sweet comments on the first part! and @luv-gin thank you for your support, you're the best <33

𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧. 1.696 words

MASTERLIST     PART 1

Despite knowing better, Tommy finds himself thinking of you.

Often, he wonders what you’re doing when you aren’t serving him drinks or cleaning his study, sweeping over the cracked spines of his books to clear away the dust that has settled on the pages over the years due to the lack of use and polishing the deep mahogany of his desk until his reflection stares back at him, punishing him with a deadly stare for the secrets he keeps buried in the back of his head. Still, his mirror knows. No matter how many cigarettes he smokes, how many glasses of whiskey he downs, he finds his thoughts inevitably returning to you.

Memories of you flood his mind at times when he’s trying to focus on business, the scent of your perfume and the warmth of your hand grazing his, the spark of desire glinting in your eyes whenever his gaze met yours, wondering, hoping, praying that one day, he’d reciprocate your feelings. For the longest time, he had tried to ignore his longing for you because he didn’t want to ruin you — you’re young and sweet, so gentle that his heart threatens to burst at the seams whenever you offer him a timid smile and brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear and he’s—

Well, he carries the scars of death on his body as a constant reminder of what he truly is. A monster, no matter how beloved.

But even when you aren’t in the room, your presence still seems to linger around him, and sometimes he feels as if he could stretch his scarred hands out into the empty space and find you reaching back for him. It’s a blessing and a curse at the same time, to yearn for someone he can’t have and it has begun to form into something akin to anger, growing like a tumor in his chest and draining him of all sanity.

And see, a part of him is tempted to get rid of it in the most violent way possible, find a valve and let the rage seep out of his body as if it were blood spilling from an open wound before he finally loses his fuckin’ mind. Because it hurts more than it should, to love someone as he loves you, it pulls his skin too tight around his joints and makes his bones feel more like explosives hidden beneath his flesh, ready to blow at any given moment and-

Ah, but only in your absence.

That’s the other side speaking, the side he didn’t know still existed — his mother’s son, the boy he once was before he went to France and faced the horrors of war, who cared about others in a way that always left him broken, Perhaps, that boy died back then, down in the tunnels but his ghost has followed him back and haunts him in moments of utter silence. Tommy usually ignores his cries and whimpers, but sometimes, he listens. Don’t let her see you, he whispers, frail hands tugging on the sleeve of his jacket, don’t let her see your anger.

Tommy makes a silent promise to the boy who has fallen hopelessly in love with you.

He breaks it soon after.

Of course, it’s not your fault. No, you’re as sweet as the sugar cubes he fed his horse this morning, dutifully serving his brothers their drinks and fulfilling every request he directs at you without an ounce of hesitation, yet he somehow finds you to be a nuisance on this evening.

Perhaps it’s your voice, he thinks, soft and smooth as you mumble ‘As you wish, Mr. Shelby’ and lean over his broad shoulder to pour him his second drink and suddenly, he’s dangerously aware of the heat your body radiates, the close proximity between him and you. Maybe it’s your hand ghosting over the length of his arm as you set another plate loaded with delicious food on the dinner table that keeps distracting him, that keeps setting his skin on fire.

Even your dress seems to be shorter today and puts your legs on full display when you walk, skirts swishing around your plush thighs with every step you take. The palms of his hands itch with the urge to touch you and his eyes roam endlessly over your figure, can’t seem to let you out of sight for even a moment. Fuck, he curses himself for the desire that burns through his veins like the alcohol he tastes on the back of his throat and devours him whole.

Still, he perseveres.

Until his brothers begin to flirt with you. Of course, Tommy knew they would take a liking in you and, just as he expected, you had them wrapped around your finger in a blink of an eye - it only took a sweet smile and a curtsy, the very same smile that follows him into his dreams every night.

But even though he’s clever enough to predict what’s going to happen in any situation he finds himself in (roughly, he’s been wrong many times) and cunning enough to beat his enemies at their own games (barely, he’s danced with death too often to count), he didn’t expect you to fall for any of their advances.

They’re idiotic brutes, especially when it comes to girls they’re trying to fuck and Thomas never cared much for their half-assed attempts at getting into a woman’s knickers. Still, as he watches you from across the room, he feels his anger resurfacing — a black hound baring his teeth and scratching at the inside of his chest like he just caught the coppery scent of fresh blood.

And it’s not your fault, he tells himself bitterly, but the lighthearted laughter escaping you at one of John’s jokes and the blush covering your cheeks after every compliment he tells you makes it harder to contain this uncontrollable violence he holds against no one but himself. Even the little twirl you do so innocently when Arthur whistles unashamedly seems to drive him to the very edge of his sanity and the whispers of the boy begging him to hide it, to restrain it seems to drown out in the sound of his blind rage tearing through the chains of his self-control.

No, you’re supposed to smile only at him and no one else in this god-forsaken room, even if it’s his own family occupying each seat at the table.

In his peripheral vision he can see you walk past Finn, can see Linda tensing up beside Arthur, can smell her disgust as she throws you a dirty look and Tommy opens his mouth to tell her to fuck off, but thinks better of it when his youngest brother suddenly wraps his hand around your wrist. With a grin, he pulls you closer and brushes a loose curl behind your ear, then mutters something that causes you to giggle quietly before you lean down to plant a kiss on his freckled cheek.

And despite all his efforts, Tommy feels something inside him snap.

His cutlery clatters against his plate. It’s loud enough to gather the attention of everyone present — his brothers whip around and you gasp quietly, immediately straightening your back to loom at him seated at the head of the dining table.

His gaze is unwavering, his expression cold and unreadable to his entire family except for Polly who seems to be quite entertained by his theatrics, though so far she hasn’t spoken up to call him out. Perhaps she’s curious about his intentions, but judging by the way her eyes wander to you standing there on the other side like a deer caught in headlights he figures she already knows more than she lets on.

He couldn’t care less. When you finally dare to meet his eyes, after a moment of palpable tension, he’s certain to catch a flicker of bold amusement in your gaze before you rush to his side.

Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Blindly, he reaches out for you and in an instant, his palm finds the curve of your spine. His fingers trace along your back and dig into the fabric of your dress, pulling you an inch closer and keeping you there like a helpless kitten grasped by the neck.

It’s enough to make you curse under your breath, a string of foul words he never heard of you before and Tommy finds that he can sense the stuttering beat of your heart behind your shoulder blades — it gives him a strange satisfaction, the knowledge that he has so much power over you and although he never dared to taste it to the fullest on the tip of his tongue, he silently thanks his brothers for giving him the final push to claim what should have belonged to him since the beginning.

“I believe I left my cigarettes in my study. Will you be a good girl and get them for me, love?” It’s not a casual question. No, the syllables are drenched with a sort of sharpness only his enemies get to hear right before he puts the six feet under the cold earth, a subtle threat wrapped in false courtesy that causes you to tremble with fear and anticipation in his tight grasp.

“Go on.” When he finally nudges you towards the door and watches you sway out of the room, tender hands fiddling with the hem of your skirt and nearly stumbling over your feet, he can’t help but chuckle under his breath.

There’s a hunger inside him, a ravenous craving to take what is his, to make you squirm beneath his body and hear you cry out for mercy. His anger has taken over in a way he never experienced before, but he can feel it scorching hot in the pit of his stomach, can feel it settle at his feet in the form of the bloodhound that he has tried to lock away in his ribcage for his entire life — he runs his fingers through the raven fur and whispers the name of his next prey into his ears.

Your name.

[raineandsky]

#56

tw: implied torture, implied violence

The villain makes a run for it.

They would, anyway, if they weren’t limping. A nasty gash in their leg is slowing them down, and with the way this evening is going it won’t even get time to stop bleeding before it doesn’t matter anymore.

Things are changing. Villainy used to pay well, had long prison sentences at worst. Now, fuck, now—

The villain’s coat catches on the decorative metal swirl of a nearby bench. A string of ugly curses fall out of their mouth as they turn back to pull at it, praying that the fabric will just untangle itself. They don’t have time, fuck, not now, please not now—

“[Villain],” a voice calls from the end of the road, like someone spotting an old friend. A figure casually meanders towards them, receiving another series of equally undignified and justified expletives. The figure steps closer, closer, closer.

The villain yanks at the hem in one final desperate attempt to free themself. The fabric chooses then to rip loudly, throwing them to the cold pavement mercilessly. They scramble to right themself. The fall has wasted precious seconds. The figure has closed the space uncomfortably between them, even though they know it means nothing.

Fuck, they’re so tired. They got into a fight they realised too late they couldn’t win. They fled the scene in the hopes that they could return to their base and recover. Their enemy didn’t give them the time of day. They’ve been tailing the villain for almost ten minutes. Not getting too close, not chasing them. Just following.

“I feel like a tiger or something,” the other says casually, though the villain can barely hear them over their own panicked, erratic breathing, “and I’m just waiting for my prey to get tired and lay down.”

They laugh—they fucking laugh. Heroes are fucking sadistic now. They don’t have long anymore. They’re exhausted, hurt, fuck, they’re scared. Terrified. They’ve heard about the fates of some of the more recently disappeared villains. They don’t want to go the same way as them. They can’t.

“[Villain], come on,” the hero calls again, and the villain tries desperately to block them out. They’re horrifyingly close now, just close enough to send a chill down their spine. “You’re making this a big thing that could’ve been over ten minutes ago.”

Panic is flooding everything, forcing the villain to keep moving despite the fact they can’t, they can’t. Every part of them is trembling, forcing them to hone in on the echoing click of the hero’s shoes against the concrete behind them. They’re still keeping their distance, waiting for the villain to make a wrong move before truly closing in. It– it’s fucked up. The hero’s like those killer whales that toy with seals for hours before they inevitably eat them.

The adrenaline can’t keep them going forever. They take a step and their knees buckle, sending them tumbling onto the jagged concrete again. Gravel digs into their palms. They know the moment they hit the ground that they won’t be able to get back up.

That doesn’t stop them trying. They let their hands feel the sharp edges of the pavement below them as they desperately try to pull themself up. They move tediously to get their legs under them, but they can’t. Fuck, they can’t, they’re trapped here.

The footsteps stop a little way away, like the hero wants to respect their space. What a load of horseshit that is. “[Villain],” they try again, and the gentleness of their tone is almost believable. “[Villain], please, stop making this difficult.”

The villain laughs, a sort of pained, choking sound. Tears are threatening to spill, blurring their vision. “Oh, it’s difficult for you?” they demand, their voice scratching in their throat. “It’s hard to kill someone who doesn’t want to die, huh? How tragic that you had to look someone in the eye and see their last emotion be– be fear.”

Those footsteps start clicking again, and every survival instinct kicks in at once. “N–No, fuck, no, I’m sorry—”

A hand digs through their hair, harshly wrenching their head back and earning a raspy cry. They don’t have the strength to stop it anymore. They can’t stop it. Fuck, it’s scary. They want to go home.

“Look, [Villain], it’s nothing personal, a’ight?” the hero says, pointedly ignoring the wet streaks already painting the villain’s cheeks. “It’s business. You know how it is.”

“I’m– I’m sorry, please, I– I’ll never do it again, I swear I—”

The hero shushes them like they’re calming a thrashing animal and not a human they’re about to execute in the street. The scrape of an unfolding metallic blade cuts the air, the sound soft like it was meant to be a secret. The villain makes one last vain attempt to free themself. Their lack of energy only lets them grasp desperately at the hero’s hand in their hair.

Something cold rests against their neck. A despondent sob escapes them. They don’t want to die. They can’t die. Fuck, there’s no way out. They’re going to die.

“Hey, hey, [Villain], it’s okay.” The hero’s voice is hushed. “I’m not gonna kill you, a’ight? This is all just part of the song and dance. You made it difficult, so I have to act like I at least tried to catch you.”

The villain chokes back another sob rising in their throat. “Y–You tried?”

The hero hums absently. “Yeah, agency’s always gonna wanna see a seasoned villain on their knees, right? If I can take you in, we both look how the agency wants.”

What? No, this isn’t right. Heroes always kill villains. They think back as much as the terrified fog in their mind will let them. The disappearing villains. The heroes. No, no, they can’t be—

“You and I are gonna head back to the agency now, a’ight?” the hero continues. They finally let go of the villain, letting them collapse to the ground again. “I have some friends that’d really like to see you. You’ll have a little interrogation, tell us what you know. Easy.”

The villains before, they– they always disappeared into the agency first. For weeks. They were always found bloody and broken afterwards. Fuck, god, no—

The hero bends down to them, their hand latching onto the back of their coat. The villain makes another futile attempt to free themself, but they don’t have the energy to try anymore. They’d cry if they had the strength to.

“[Hero], please…” Their voice comes out in uneven stammers. “Please, I– I swear I’ll never, ever do this– any of this again, please, I– I can’t—”

“Of course you won’t,” the hero says casually. “Agency’s a good place. You’ll come out a changed person.���

Fuck, as if the villain doesn't know that. They wish the hero had just run that fucking blade across their throat. It would’ve been better than wherever they’re about to go.

[dovedewdrop]

Locksmith

If in ten years time I'm still on your mind Would you call and Say you want this? / 1.4k

✨Part 1 ✨✨Part 2 ✨✨Part 3✨

A/N: This is the last part!!! I hope you've enjoyed this little series and thank you to everyone who has read and supported🥰 Writing this scratched a little itch for me and it was nice to just share it! Also locksmith is one of my favourite songs it makes my heart go🥹🫶🏻🥰🩷

Warnings: Post-Outbreak. Soft kind of angst. Hella fluff/soppiness. Self-aware Joel (which we 🫶🏻to see). Not proof read.

---

Days at the Bison kept you busy, distracting your mind from the branded image of Joel’s red eyes but there was no escaping him when he approached the bar two days later, no Tommy to swoop in and save you this time.

“Hey,” his voice was solemn, his eyes were pleading before he’d even truly voiced his request.

“Hi, what can I-“ You plastered on the same smile you did for all the customers, ready to serve him whatever poison he picked before he cut you off and your face fell at his words.

“No, no sorry, that’s not what I came in for.”  His eyes faltered from your soft gaze to glance at his knuckles, gripping the edge of the bar, the skin coating his bones turning white.

“Oh, ok.” You felt slightly feeble under his gaze, unsure of what he could possibly want from you.

“Can I uh,” he coughed, like the words were clogging up his throat, his eyes still looking anywhere but at you. “Can I see you later?” You wanted to say yes immediately which made it hard for the devil on your left shoulder to fight the angel on your right, but ultimately he won the battle, raising his trident above his head. In the moment you decided that Joel couldn’t just swan in and call the shots whenever he felt like it.

“What for?” You crossed your arms across your chest and looked past him at the door.

“Jus’ wanna talk.” You scoffed at that; it pained you to do so. “Please.”

“Why? Why should I say yes?” He finally raised his head to look you in the eye and you noticed the water welling in them.

“You don’t have to, I know I don’t deserve shit from you,” he sniffled, letting out an puff of air, “look if you don’t like what I gotta say, you never have to speak to me again.”

You chewed at the inside of your lip, really taking in what he’d said. I don’t deserve shit from you. If you don’t like what I gotta say, you never have to speak to me again.

You were already deep in these feelings, every day feeling like you were stuck in a sinkhole, clawing at the ground to get out, what’s one conversation on top of all the others?

“Finish at 16:30” You grumble.

When 16:36 rolled around Joel was already stood outside on your porch, waiting. 

He watched as your hands shook slightly around the keys, attempting to fit them into the keyhole and after a few beats his hand hesitantly clasped around yours. Your eyes felt as though they were going to pop out of their skull, whipping round to face him.

 Joel had gained some of his confidence back after this morning, yours however, had depleted, your brave façade cracking quickly in front of him. You let him guide the key in before he stepped back to let you over the threshold first.

“Coffee?” You still remembered how he liked it.

He shook his head, no before gesturing towards one of the chairs in the living room, asking for permission to sit, permission that you grant him, perching yourself on the sofa across from him. The air between you is thick, like a weighted blanket but yet it somehow still doesn’t keep the cold away from your bones.

While Joel is trying to find his words, you take the time to look at him, properly. His beard had greyed and you liked it, his hair decorated with sprinklings of  salt and pepper, something which you must have known deep down was inevitable but never thought about once whilst you were together, too busy being young and in love.

His eyes still captivated you and if anything, they were the very first thing you noticed about him and the very first thing you fell in love with, they never changed and they never failed to make you melt.

You noticed how his green flannel hugged his frame, arms nearly bursting the material at the seams and you had to will yourself to look away, to stop yourself from imagining how it would feel to be wrapped up in them just one more time. But above all else what you noticed is that he’s still your Joel.

For the longest time you’d convinced yourself that everything about him was different, that he wasn’t the same person anymore and to a degree, he wasn’t, but deep down he’s still that young dad you met, who was selfless and who loved deeply, he just got a little lost along the way.

You attempt to speak, to breathe life into the air around you but he clears his throat and beats you to the finish line, “I know nothing I can say will rectify the way I treated you..” You don’t know how to respond; you want to agree with him yet you can feel the ‘but’ coming. “But I want you to know I am sorry and I know that those words won’t fix anything.” His hands sweep across his face as he leans forward in the chair, fingers combing at his beard.

“I was angry, so incredibly angry and I directed everything at people who didn’t deserve it…” As he looks at you his eyes begin to well and you feel your chest tighten, you know all of this already, you understood and if he just let you in at the time you could’ve helped him. Now you just listen because you need to hear it from him, that he understands. 

“I jus’ wanted Sarah back and every time I looked at you, or Tommy, I was reminded of ‘er, I was a dick.”

“Yeah you were,” You couldn’t help the slight chuckle that laced its way through your words but it seemed to lighten the mood, Joel was still looking at the ground but he let out a puff of air and a very small smile, wiping the few tears staining his face.

“I thought I wanted you both to leave but I only broke my own heart more because I didn’t realise you were the only two people keepin’ me somewhat sane.” It was then that you noticed the scar on his temple, before you could even think about what you were doing you’d sunk to your knees in front of him, your hand reaching up to skim cautiously against the skin there.

To your surprise he didn’t flinch or push you away, instead nestling his head further into your hand and drawing a deep breath in through his nose.

“I thought about you every damn day and then I met Ellie and I don’t know, nothing can ever take away from Sarah but she’s given me a second chance, so every day when we’ve been travellin’ I was hopin’ I’d find you again so that I can make it right because you’re still on my mind darlin’” He was rambling now and you let him because you knew if you didn’t he might never let it out again. You kiss the rough skin of his palm and rub your hand against his knee, willing him to open his eyes and see you.

“You really were a dick Joel, a monumental jackass.” He nods in agreement, “But I already told you, there’s no one else. We were gonna have a baby together, get married, I wanted to be with you until the end and I would have been if you weren’t so adamant that I should leave.” He looks ashamed of himself when you speak. “I understood why you did it but that doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt me.”

“And I will spend every day of the rest of my life making it up to you I swear but I can’t live in this town and watch you walk around and act like you weren’t one of the best parts of my existence on this godforsaken planet.” This time it’s you that’s welling up as you move to sit between his legs, back to the chair, you look up at him. “You got a lot of grovelling to do, Miller.”

“I count on it, sweetheart,” he smiles down at you, both of you silently crying. 

“Tommy showed me some spare land today, remember I promised to build us a house of our own one day?” The soft skin of your rosy lips stretches further across your face as you recount the memory.

“You said you’d plant me roses…” He leans down further to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, before whispering in your ear, “already planted the first one today.”

[fluffysucker]

Fine Line

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Mob Au)

' We'll be a fine line. We'll be alright.'

A/N: I'm so sorry for the long delay. I have been having the busiest of days but I finally have some time off which I'm hoping can get me to write more. Anyway so thank you so much for being so nice.

This is supposed to be the last chapter but I got carried away and hopefully the last one will be out soon.

Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me

TW: Violence. Threats. Cursing. LMK if I forgot something,

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist.

It was war, and you knew it. All of you did. But it was inevitable. There was no escape or an easy way out. One had to go down once and for all. You wished it would be them, but you could only pray they didn't drag you along.

A bit of time had passed. You were still staying with Bucky. Whenever you brought up leaving or finding somewhere else, he immediately turned the idea down. He never got bored of reminding you that he couldn't let you go, and it was his fight as well. He's got you now.

And he did. He took good care of you. You were well-nourished and fully rested. You didn't lift a finger. The maid and housekeepers were very happy to have you back. They didn't need Bucky to swear them to secrecy. They could tell that nobody should know you were with Bucky, and despite not being part of the mob, they understood why. And they didn't want to be the ones to compromise your safety. They liked you too much.

Along with the food and sleep, Bruce stopped by every couple of days to check on you and change the bandages on your wounds and stitches. He also kept giving you medications, which helped greatly with your recovery.

Since you got married to Rumlow, this was the longest you felt physically fine. And emotionally as well. Having Bucky within arms reach and getting to keep his company once again has been doing miracles for your mental health. You felt almost pathetic at how much you were genuinely feeling better.

The way Bucky treated you was a surprise. You expected some sort of resentment or bitterness, or at the very least, awkwardness. He tried to stop you from getting deeper into the darkness, and you didn't listen, thinking you were protecting him. Yet here you were. Dragging him further into a mess he never signed up for, seeking his protection

But all you saw were adoration in his eyes, kindness in his words, tenderness in his touch, and delicacy in his actions. It was a pleasant surprise.

You never talked about your current situation or even your history. But the love that connected the both of you was undeniable. He may not have said the words again, but Bucky's behaviour spoke louder than any words. The fact that he was risking it all for you showed his true feelings for you, which never died. The feelings that you deeply reciprocated

You couldn't help but feel a heavy feeling in your heart at how you turned his life upside down. One phone call in the middle of the night put this burden on his shoulders. No matter how much he said it was okay, you couldn't help but feel like you were an obstacle he needed to overcome.

However, he never once made you feel like you were trouble. On the contrary, Bucky provided soft, sweet feelings that you could swear you forgot they existed. It was the ease of hanging out with him. The peacefulness of his company. The compassion in his actions. The great care he put into everything for you. The comfort of falling asleep, held by arms that could never hurt you. A silent tradition the two of you developed that made sharing a bed the rule, not the exception. It wasn't shocking when your demons haunted you fearlessly at night or how your nightmares counted the seconds until attacking you in the deep darkness of the night. It wasn't unexpected or new for this to happen. However, this time, you had a knight in shining armor. Your own knight in shining armor A man your heart loved so much that your nightmares couldn't win.

You didn't need to ask. After finishing his nighttime routine, Bucky would join you in your room, getting in bed with you. You thought he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart after your breakdown on the third day here. Your terrified screams and wailing sobs had rung through the floor you shared. It was all catching up to you. The pain. The hurt. The betrayal. The fear. You were finally letting yourself feel it all. And it wasn't just the murder intention in cold blood. It was unfairness that had been your life for so long now. All the strain you had to endure. All the emotions you bottled in.

You were weeping and close to hyperventilating. Only once did you feel Bucky's arms around you were you consoled, pulling you into his lap and rubbing his hand all over your back and thighs while trying to get you to breathe slowly. Even after catching your breath, his gentle voice didn't stop whispering soothing things into your ears. You knew you should have moved once your sobs were reduced to sniffles, but you didn't find it in yourself to do so. You could only wrap yourself more tightly around him, gripping his shirt firmly in your fists. His voice and touch were grounding you, keeping you afloat away from the pain.

After that, Bucky didn't need you to vocalize it. He understood. So he came to you every night. It didn't make the terror stop. You had so much unpacked to just go away. But every time your mind betrayed you and was to throw you into panic, your tensed body would instantly relax against Bucky's strong hold, who pulled you closer to him once he felt the tension in your body. It was like he knew how to calm you down immediately. And he did. He was your safe place. Your fortified castle.

You were extremely thankful, thinking he was doing another good deed for you. The truth is, it was never just for you. Bucky felt a sense of stability and security having you in his arms, so close to him. He wanted to feel you beside him. He needed to know that he was the one taking care of you. He needed to be sure you were okay. Two years of radio silence between the two of you, then finding out what you had to go through, did this to him.

It would have been easy to let yourself get tricked by the restful atmosphere Bucky created, but you knew better. This wasn't a vacation. This was the quiet before the storm. And you knew Bucky was working on something. But he tried his hardest to keep his promise to keep you away from all this mess. Whenever you asked, he didn't give you answers. You told him you had to know at some point. Despite how much he hated it, he knew you were right.

So you embraced yourself when one of the housemaids told you that Bucky was waiting for you in his office. Pulling all your strength to knock on his door. A breath of relief escaped you once Bucky's voice reached your ear. If Bucky was there, you would be fine. That is the only thing you were so sure of.

Bucky got up from his seat after you entered the office, preferring to stay close to you as long as you were here. A smile made its way to your face when you noticed Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson sitting on the chairs in front of Bucky's desk. Being Bucky's most trusted men and his long-term bestfriends, you were familiar with them. Years ago in your dating days, when Bucky first introduced you to them—if you can call catching you cuddling on the coach with face masks and your hair in towels and watching rom-coms an introduction—you were waiting for the rudeness and unacceptance. But it never came. Instead, you got a family. Both men were so welcoming, treating you like a sister. Like you were one of them. So you were happy to see them again, feeling even more secure now.

Bucky led you to the coach, where he sat next to you. Then they started talking. Telling you everything. And you listened. They gave you all the information they were able to find, hoping you could help them connect the dots and figure out your father and husband's plan. And you didn't hesitate to offer all you knew.

It went on for days. Bucky would call you into his office every now and then. You would have long conversations, and they would ask you even general questions, trying to form a better idea out what was happening. Until Rumlow and Pierce pulled a card that exposed their whole game to Bucky. 

So when Bucky called you in this day, you couldn't hide your unease once you took in all the new people joining in. Bucky's hand never left yours, a sign that he was right here. He tried to delay this meeting as much as he could, refusing to risk your safety, even if he trusted every single person in this room. But it couldn't wait anymore. They need to move fast.

You didn't speak a word as Bucky explained everything to you. Listening and taking everything in. Everything makes so much sense now. You had been the pawn for far longer than you knew. You were played for a fool. A mixture of anger and sadness ran through your veins, making you agree to Bucky's plan right away. He reassured you that you could turn it down and they would figure something else out, but you didn't. You wanted this to be over.

You were declared dead.

It was a weird feeling. On paper, you were gone. In their minds, they had won. However, they were about to be proven wrong. It's the day you've been waiting for yet somehow dreaded the most.

Bucky kept you by his side all morning for both of your sakes. Both of you are praying for the same outcome. The only outcome you can accept You and Bucky stayed together until the last minute possible. Until you had to move.

Everyone was in position. Most of Bucky's men were out of the house or well hidden, so it would look normal. Only Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Natasha were in the house. and, just like expected, at night. Loud footsteps and angry groans were echoing around the house.

Breaking into the house, a very furious Alexander Pierce and out of his mind Brock Rumlow, along with dozens of their men, walked into the house like they owned it.

"BARNES." Rumlow shouted, looking for the man he hated the most.

Keeping his confident, cold composure, Bucky walked out of his office, followed by Steve, Sam, and Natasha.

"That's not a nice way to visit someone." Bucky came to a stop in front of them.

"I'm going to kill you." Brock moved to attack Bucky, only to be stopped by Pierce's hand on his chest.

"How long have you been planning for this?" Despite his calm voice, Pierce was fuming.

"I wasn't planning for anything." This was going to be a long conversation, and Bucky wanted them to be the ones talking the most.

"Cut the bullshit, Barnes." Rumlow tried to move towards Bucky again but was stopped by Pierce again.

"I don't know what you want." Bucky was holding his ground, sticking to the plan.

"You robbed us." Rumlow shouted, anger coating his voice.

"I don't think so." Bucky enjoyed watching the two men lose their minds.

"DROP THE ACT, BARNES." Pierce's voice rang in the house, making all eyes turn to him. Not a single noise other than the unsteady breathing.

"I have been waiting my whole life for this moment. The moment I get back what I deserve. What had always been mine. So I will be damned if I let you play me like this." Pierce moved forward to stand closer, finally digging into the real issue.

"You mean what was hers all the time?"

"It was never hers. She was nothing and deserved nothing. This is my whole life's work. She shouldn't have gotten anything from it."

"Yet her mother left her everything."

"It was a mistake. My wife's only and last mistake A mistake I have been trying to change for so long now."

The piece of information came as a shock to everybody. Alexander Pierce loved his wife so much. They were young lovers. A young, ambitious man who was willing to do anything to get his father-in-law's permission to marry his daughter. Even going so far as to put everything he owned in her name. And he did. And he never changed it. The bigger his empire became, the more his wife had under her name. He loved her enough to trust her.

His wife did love him dearly, but she loved you more. It didn't take Pierce long into the marriage to show his true colors. He was never violent with her or you. However, your mother didn't trust him with you if something were to happen to her. It was distasteful to try and protect your daughter from her own father. But she did.

When Pierce found out his wife left everything he worked so hard to achieve for you, he was raging. It didn't help that he was grieving her and their love as well. His emotions were on high drive. So he channelled them all into hating you and getting back what was his. And all you were told was that your mother left you nothing.

"And marrying her off to Rumlow was going to solve it."

"I had to do something before you would get her to run away with you."

"It has always been about the money for you, hasn't it?"

"Of course it is. Not only did I never want a daughter in the first place, but I got a weak, pathetic excuse for a daughter who could never keep my legacy. My biggest failure in life"

"A stupid bitch who handed you all my wealth"

"I should have listened to him when he said to kill her years ago."

It's infuriating to hear someone talk about you like this when you were nothing but the best. but that was their plan all along. They wanted you out of the picture as quickly as possible so they could have the money. Which is why they had their riot men in the police station to hurry your death announcement. They reported you missing a week ago, and that move exposed everything. Since when do they include the police in their work? However, the fastest way to get your money was a document confirming your passing.

But Bucky was smarter than them. He had you transfer everything to his name before the announcement, making sure to keep the dates unseen on the legal form. And you had no problem doing so. If you trusted Bucky with your life, weren't you going to trust him with money you never knew you had in the first place?

"I just want to know when. When did you get her to sign off on everything for you? I had eyes on her all the time. And she is too dumb and blind to plan something like this on her own." It was Rumlow's turn to ask questions now.

"So, how did you do, Barnes? When did you get our money?"

And that's your sign.

"When you left me to die,"

Your voice echoed through the house as you stepped out of Bucky's office, all eyes turning to you.

"When I found out you wanted me dead my whole life." You came to stop right next to Bucky, in front of your father and husband. Bucky's hand was itching to hold yours, but he knew it wasn't the right call.

"You are supposed to be dead." Rumlow couldn't hide his surprise and shock at seeing you standing in front of him, looking healthier than ever. You were glad Josh wasn't here among the others because you didn't want to put him in a hard spot. He saved your life, and that is not how you repay him.

"Miracles happen. Just like how I survived all your attempts to kill me." Your voice was strong. Stronger than you ever used with either man.

It's important for them to know that you are still alive and well. That their plan failed beyond what they ever thought. That you were finally making your own decisions. Despite how much Bucky hated it, he knew it had to be done.

"And how did he get it? I willingly gave him everything. Because it's my money, and I get to decide what to do with it. Like Mom trusted me with it, I trust him." You were talking to both men.

"I get to make my own decisions, despite how much you like to think you can control me. You can't." You knew you were pushing your luck, but it was now or never.

"You, bitch." Rumlow marched towards you, trying to reach you.

But Bucky was quicker, pushing you behind him, standing tall in Rumlow's face, daring him to come close, daring him to think about touching you.

"Natasha, please take her to her room." Bucky's voice got colder as he called for his friend.

You went with Natasha as planned, putting all your efforts into not squeezing Bucky's hand before going upstairs.

"Oh, she has a room now." Rumlow's remark was sarcastic but so angry.

"Always had. Always will have." There was no point in hiding it anymore. They already knew. It was now time to see how much you really meant to him.

"What exactly are you expecting to happen now, Barnes? We are going to walk out and accept defeat. You aren't that stupid." Pierce said angrily. The sight of you alive and breathing was aggravating.

"Actually, that's exactly what you will do if you want to walk out of here alive." There was no way they were walking out of here alive, but Bucky liked to play.

"Oh, we are walking out of here alive. You are the one who will never see the sun again. And let me tell you how I waited for this moment.."Rumlow's didn't affect Bucky's in the slightest.

"KILL THEM ALL."

Rumlow's command to his men was loud enough for everybody to hear. But none moved.

"Did you all go deaf? I said, Kill them all." Rumlow repeated his order.

"What do you want us to do, boss?" One of the men asked

"We said kill them." Pierce shouted as he and Rumlow turned to look at their disobedient men.

"Boss?"

"Take them outside. The rest of the men will tell you where to take them."

Pierce and Rumlow's heads almost flew off their bodies with how fast they swung to look at Bucky, who was smirking. It was the moment he was waiting for.

"What? Surprised?. Of course, your men aren't loyal to you. You aren't the least bit decent to deserve anyone's loyalty."

"Unlike you, they are smart men who knew how to pick the right side.

"You, on the other hand, are not so smart."

"You should have never walked in here. You should have never shown your faces."

Bucky moved to stand right in their faces, enjoying every bit of this. Especially seeing the two men crumble under him.

"You should have never let your ego make you think you could win. Think that you even had a chance."

"I'm going to make you regret everything. I'm going to make you pay for everything." Bucky was stressing over every word leaving his mouth, his cold stare like daggers.

His next words were more for Brock Rumlow.

"Especially messing with my girl."

"For every time you made her cry, I'm going to hurt you worse. For every time you laid a hand on her or touched a strand of her hair, I'm going to tear you apart. For every scar on her body, I'm going to burn you alive. For every time you hurt her, knowing she is my girl, I'm going to make you wish that I would just kill you."

"I'm going to make you pray for death but never get it."

"TAKE THEM"

Bucky's demand rang through space, and quickly, the men surrounded Pierce and Rumlow, outnumbering them and dragging them outside the mansion with both men's protests and failed attempts to escape. It was all in vain. They lost. They fell, and they shall never arise again.

Steve and Sam followed the men out, making sure Pierce and Rumlow were taken care of until Bucky had the right time for them. They patted Bucky's shoulder before leaving, happy that it all worked out as planned, knowing how much this meant to him.

There was only one thing left.

Taglist: @ozwriterchick @vicmc624 @pattiemac1 @kandis-mom @dexter99

[peachyprinc3sss]

Gimme something sweet

Tags; Pure smut I think, no plot?, intimate p in v, creampie, eating out, mentions of hickeys, established relationship, fem reader

Notes; this is actually the first full length one shot I’ve ever written, so I’m hoping it’s not complete ass 😋 Id be lying if I told you I proof read this. (Title from Pink + White by Frank Ocean)

Anyway, I had ID! Leon in mind while I was writing this, but you can imagine any version since (despite having played the games n watched the series/movies) it’s probably ooc 😭

•.*-> 🎀 <-*.•

Older Leon, who just can’t keep his eyes off you in the mornings, not when the sunlight bends at the curves of your frame over the thin sheets, blankets abandoned subconsciously, thanks to the heat.

Older Leon, who runs his hands down your sides in ghostly touches, desperate to touch you, but even more desperate to let you rest, stopping every time you stir. Waiting patiently for your movements to cease because he thinks you look so pretty like this, so safe in his strong arms.

But he knows all too well that it won’t last long when the sheets slip, and he sees the remnants of the love he gave just the day before, in this very same bed, littered upon the soft flesh of your breasts. He just can’t help but pull you in with a groan as he finally watches your lashes flutter, feeling less guilty knowing he wasn’t the one to wake you, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Leon wasn’t cruel, not by any means. He wanted you to rest, his sweet girl, had such a hard day at work and the last thing you needed was to be woken up just because he was needy. He knew you said he could, but he couldn’t wake his pretty baby when she slept so soundly, seemingly in the midst of a good dream. You giggle softly as he plants featherlight kisses to your neck, day old stubble scratchy in the most endearing way as he cuddles into you.

But he couldn’t help his hand dipping into the sheets, kneading the soft skin of your waist, before he made his way ever so softly up your ribs, waiting for your permission. The moment you nod, his hand is gripping your chest, desperately kneading the fat of your breast as he kisses your neck, hungry for more. You didn’t mind it, if anything it was a great way to start the day, if not a little frustrating when you inevitably have to get out of bed for work. He made it so hard, the way he held you close, as if you’d disappear if he let go.

So you cuddled into him, your arms draped over his shoulders as he kneaded the soft skin, before his touches became more desperate, taking the soft bundles of nerves on your chest between his fingers and lips as you whined, but you knew as well as he did that it only encouraged him to keep going. And you knew as well as he did that he would, that is until he decides to kiss down the length of your torso, pulling the sheets aside as he slides down the bed, finally settling his head between your legs.

His hands held your hips gently at first, kissing and nipping his way along your thighs as you watched sleepily, cheeks warm and eyes half lidded. And fuck did he love this view, the soft expanse of your belly, the peaks of your breasts, and your pretty little eyes all on him. He knew it wouldn’t stay that way, that soon you’d be throwing your head back, like you always did. He knew you couldn’t keep your eyes on him, no matter how many times you tried. But he loved it, loved making you feel so good you keened into his touch, your back raising off the bed in desperate attempts to get closer. Knew you all too well, in that regard. So he savored the moment, you looking down at him with expectancy like that, brows furrowed and cheeks rosy, bottom lip caught between your teeth. Pretty as a picture, he thought.

When he finally pressed his tongue to your aching core, it felt like ice to your searing skin, you half expected it to sizzle, almost. But as soon as he started his ministrations, you were putty under him. His hands ran comfortingly up your hips and to your waist, before back down right below your knees, finally resting on your mid thigh and squeezing your skin gently. But as you bucked your hips up, as the knot in your stomach tightened, the way your fingers tightened around his hair, fuck. He couldn’t help but press your hips down into the bed when you pulled away. He wanted it, wanted you to come undone so bad, desperately needed to feel the twitch of your thighs as they cage his head in, nearly riding his face.

“Fuck, love the way you grind against me like this.” He finally says, voice sending delicious vibrations up your core as you finally cum on his face, and he moans. He moans with want as you ride out your orgasm before he moves back up, kissing you messily, letting you taste yourself on his warm tongue. “Shit.. like tasting your pussy on my tongue, baby? So cute. Need to fuck you, so bad princess. Please let me fuck you.” And all you can do is nod as you catch your breath. “Use your words, pretty.”

After a few soft pants, you prop yourself up on elbows still weak and tender from sleep, and meet his gaze. “Yes, Leon.”

And a soft groan escaped his lips, just at the sound of his name rolling so sweetly off your tongue, already imagining how many other ways he could make you say it. The ways he has.

He wondered how it’d sound breathless, punched out from your lungs with each thrust deep inside your welcoming velvety walls, punctuating your every word with a push and a pull of his hips as he buries himself into you.

But he was getting ahead of himself.. imagining it when you’re right here in front of him, patiently waiting for him to sink into the wet, needy, desperate walls of your flesh. And who was he to deny you it?

Hands reaching for his boxers, he slips them just down to his mid thigh, far too impatient to take them off when he has you right in front of him. When you were already soaked from orgasm and probably far more sensitive to his every touch.

He wasn’t one to cum too fast, wanting to take his time and savor every feeling you brought, every squeeze, the pulse of arousal in your cunt when he’s only said a few words to you, whispered so tenderly in your ears.

But the sight of his cock slowly stretching you out, as if you could never get used to his size, the way your breath holds in your chest, only to exhale shakily when he’s bottomed out.. he has to take a deep breath.

Planting soft kisses in your skin, he trails from your ribs to the valley between your perfect breasts, along your collarbone and up the column of your neck, purple blossomed into the skin from your previous session.

“Gonna start moving now, think you can handle it baby?” He whispers tenderly into your jaw, nosing along your ear. When all you can muster in response is a nod, he chuckles.

Slowly, his hips pull back, before pushing into your cunt in slow motions, taking his time to feel every reaction your body returns his efforts with. But it won’t last long, never does, when you whisper into his ear, the request for more, to go harder, faster.

And Leon never denies his angel when she pleads so sweetly, voice breathy and light and so goddamn perfect, how could he resist?

So soon, his hips are knocking against your own in a steady rhythm, drawing raspy and loud whines from your throat with each drag of his dick in your eager hole, building you up til he knows you’re close.

If there’s one thing Leon knows best, it’s you. The way your body reacts is so telling, to someone so experienced with it. He knew each and every spot that yanked the air from your lungs, which spots made you desperately pull in more, and especially which made you cum the quickest.

He didn’t mind how long it took you to finish, whether it was mere minutes, or if he could stretch it out for hours. Knowing he could make you tremble under him (or on top of him) so easily was almost flattering.

So when he felt your walls squeezing and releasing him with a lack of rhythm or consistency, he knew you were so close. That he just needed to give you that push.

And push he did, reaching down to circle your clit with his thumb, tight circles drawn into your sensitive skin, legs pushing into the sheets and hips trying their best to thrash as your back arches.

“That’s it, gorgeous. Cum around my cock.” He mutters as he watches the muscles in your thighs twitch, right on the edge of release. And you gave it to him every time, as if on command.

The feeling of you, back bowing off the bed from the pleasure only he could give you, pussy constricting his movements as the muscles contract, was fucking heaven for Leon.

Leaning forward, he rests his forehead on your shoulder, elbows keeping his muscular body from crushing yours, and he thrusts deeper, more erratically.

In your post-orgasmic bliss, all you can do is whine, arms looping under his own to grip his shoulder, to scratch his back, to wrap around him as tight as your hole did, to trace his scars, and whisper encouraging praise into his ears until he’s finally stilling his hips, filling you up with everything he’s got.

Warm, sticky cum flooding your cunt makes your brain feel like mush, even more so when he slowly pulls out, groaning at the sight of it spilling out onto the sheets before collecting it with his fingers and shoving it back in, painting your walls with him.

“Fuck.. so beautiful. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

•.*-> 🎀 <-*.•