#but i see faces in the woods at night regularly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dumbsoftheart · 10 months ago

Text

threads of fate

pairing: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x preachers daughter!reader

tags: 18+, mdni. dub-con, heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering, kissing, swearing, sliiight voyerism, corruption and innocence kink,

summary: after a chase in the woods, coriolanus becomes devoted to making you his one and only follower.

notes: i don't know what came over me.. enjoy!

word count: 7.2k

౨ׅৎ

the blood of the lamb, washed over the sins of those strayed away from god, atones those begging to be spared from destruction. the saccharine ichor was the ultimate gateway towards deliverance- and thus sought out by sinners and saints alike to be granted eternal redemption for the transgressions that permeated the sweats and tears of the individuals whose secrets would have them damned to the dreadful inferno beneath their feet. the sweet lamb; symbol of innocence and purity, and the wolf who hunted it, the face of deception and treachery, stood now in the heart of the woodlands, the sweet kill hidden shamefully in the asylum of the crowded aspen as it’s predator tauntingly whistled in pursuit of it’s coveted prize.

tears fell in a waterfall down into the vessels of your collarbones, trailing down and staining the frail white fabric of your dress, unveiling the soft tanned skin of your chest in its wake. with one hand clasped tightly against your mouth, you tried to conceal your wails of fear and the threatening thumping of your heart so as not to draw attention to the towering figure looming dangerously close to you, chuckling lowly as he carefully made his way through the maze of trees and forestry. your other hand was clutched desperately on the golden cross that hung around your neck, thumb haphazardly caressing the delicate engravings and etchings of the cool metal.

hail mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus. holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.

shame washed over you as you thought of your mother and father- your dear father, and what they would make of your inevitable disappearance. you were taught the way of the lord since you emerged from your mothers womb; it followed you everywhere you went. by all means, you had lived your life for god himself. what would he think of you now? the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of god. and yet there you were, a thief, running from, no doubt, god’s punishment for your sins.

despite your fathers widespread fame throughout the district, your family struggled to bring food and water to the table regularly. seeing the despair that clouded your mothers eyes as she failed to provide a dinner some nights for her family had driven you towards madness. you grew desperate- desperate to alleviate the stress that haunted her and satiate the hunger that settled in your stomach for the fifth day in a row. you rationalised, that with your undying devotion, god would find it in him to forgive you. with all the work your father put into his sermons and dedication to delivering god's word to the poverty stricken peoples of district 12, the divine being would be forgiving in his punishment in recognition of the loyalty you harboured.

now, you knew you were wrong.

you berate yourself for even entertaining the stupid idea of pilfering from the small bakery near the marketplace. in truth, it wasn’t even stealing. you had waited until dark threatened the sky, then snuck behind the establishment to snatch a few meagre, stale loaves that had been carelessly discarded in a small bin beside the refuse receptacles. combined with the butter you had been gifted earlier in the week, these provisions would barely suffice to stifle the persistent pangs in your stomach for a few days, at most. you naively assumed you were in solitude and hastily fled when you’d filled up your small leather bag with as many old rolls and loaves as possible.

oh, how wrong could you have been? you never caught sight of the face of the man who now charged after you- only a faint glance at a familiar blue that weaved its way through the trees- but the adrenaline rushing through your veins urged you to run, and to never stop. and now, here you were, caught in the act, pathetically weeping as you waited for the repercussions of your actions to find you.

you moved to press your back harder against the thin trunk of the tree, a twig snapping under the weight of your foot, and your eyes widened with fear as the sound reverberated against the still of the forest, the soft footsteps that trailed behind you coming to an abrupt stop. then, a voice.

“my dear, it would make it so much easier for us if you just came out. i promise you, i don’t bite.” it purred. the way he spoke was low and unrecognisable, laced with an amusement that had you shiver with the depravity of it. your crying ceased at an attempt to remain as hidden as possible, nary a whimper escaping from behind the painful grip of your hand across your mouth.

“i know you know what you did was wrong. i mean, stealing from a bakery? i wonder what your father would think of you now, his daughter a thief.”

you fought back tears at the mention of your father, shame once again weighing at your conscience, “come out, and i promise your punishment won't be as harsh as it should be.”

the proposition had you thinking for a bit, the truth behind the words appealing to you for a sliver of a moment. before you could consider your next step; find an out or comply to the omnipresent man’s offering, a gunshot pierces your ears, and you let out a shriek so loud you swore all of panem could hear you.

you begin to wail again then, uncontrollably, screaming and begging for respite as your body gave in under the weight of itself; your knees buckling and falling harshly against the ground. you shake with the ferocity of a small rodent before you’re pulled up by your shoulders and engulfed into a familiar, warm hug. your eyes wide with panic, you thrash your head back in forth in an attempt to find the man who was tormenting you, only to see that he was now gone, and in his place, a small search party lead by a peacekeeper cheered in glory at the sight of you. relief washed over you as you looked up to find your father, falling into the safety of his arms as he escorted you out of the forest, giving a curt thank you to the peacekeeper and another man you recognized to be one of your fathers students, before dragging you to the comfort of your home.

౨ׅৎ

when your father found out the reason behind your being in the woods, you’d landed yourself a life of extra chores and punished to more frequent church visits until your father decided you had repent enough. your father, reassuring you of god's forgiveness as his child, warned that your actions wouldn't fade from memory. he emphasised the necessity of restoring your relationship with the lord and savior. you were under his constant watch, now. each morning, before dropping you off at school, he compelled you to pray fervently for protection over your family and yourself, urging you to plead for deliverance from the consequences of your actions.

with your increased presence in church taking up most of the time you had to yourself, you found yourself taking note of the other frequent church goers. your father, of course, and his dedicated student, were a constant in your peripheral vision. the old couple who lived only a few minutes away from you, mrs. harmon and her froofy, dirty church outfits, her boisterous children, and her grumbling husband. you noticed small things; like how the wife of the newly-wed couple in town had stopped wearing her wedding ring, and how her husband seemed to never give her a second look. how the twin boys in the grade below you suddenly surpassed you in height, and their younger sister now seemed to lack a certain innocence that was pertinent in her character before. you made a small promise to yourself to pray for her.

there was one person, however, who you were not familiar with, yet you could feel it in the deep ends of your bones that you knew exactly who he was. he had begun to appear only once a week, his shiny buzzcut and blue peacekeeper uniform sticking out sorely from the rest of the crowd. then, twice a week- then three- and then suddenly you found you could not escape from him. everywhere you turned, he was there. when you walked home from school, you would catch him patrolling somewhere nearby, or laughing and chatting with his peacekeeper friends. when you opened the church doors for mass, he would be first to walk in, handing you a small smile before making his way to sit in the pew farthest away from you. he was there, everywhere you looked, and it unsettled you greatly. there was a lack of sincerity in his eyes when he smiled, and for a moment you thought that it had seemed like hunger, but you pushed the idea away before your brain could process it. one night, when closing the church doors and heading to your home, the small sound of rapid footsteps triggered your fight or flight response, the latter winning. when the man rested his hand on your shoulder politely, handing you a handkerchief you had dropped, you felt a strange sense of deja vu. the speed at which it sounded he had ran towards you didn’t match how he stood before you now; breathing even, chest pushed out pridefully, his dark sapphire eyes never leaving yours. but you were so sure that the man had been sprinting, just like the man who had sprinted after you a few weeks ago had. you gave him a small thank you before speed-walking your way to the front door, panting heavily as you locked it shut behind you and your hand made its way back to the pendant on your neck, grasping it so tightly it hurt, the stipe digging into the soft flesh of your palms as a way of grounding yourself back to your senses.

that night, when you got on your knees to pray, you couldn’t shake the look on the mans face from your thoughts. his features themselves were even, lacking any sense of emotion, but his eyes troubled you the most. the way they bore into yours made you feel as if you would burst into flames right then. it made you feel as if there was something he wanted from you, but your poor innocent soul couldn’t figure out what. when you nestled yourself into your bed that same night, you vowed to stay as far away from him as possible.

you hadn't realised how hard that would be.

he approached you the next morning. it was saturday, and the usual gloomy weather of district 12 had been forced away and replaced with the harsh, bright sunlight. it shone spectacularly through the stained-glass windows, gracing the dark wood of each side aisle with vibrant reds and yellows and blues and brightening the deep red carpet that lay evenly along the nave. you stood behind the pulpit, readying your fathers sermons and homilies for that week's sabbath. he had barged in unannounced, making his way towards you slowly as you pretended to ignore the tall figure making its way down the red path.

“good morning, miss,” he spoke lowly towards you, peering upwards slightly as the pulpit was slightly taller than the rest of the church, and you pretended to read through the cards and flip through your bible as if it were you preparing to speak in a mere 15 minutes. he cleared his throat once, and you waved your hand nonchalantly towards the pews, “the preacher will be ready shortly. please, have a seat.”

from behind your fathers flashcards, you could see a small tick of his jaw and he pressed his lips together tightly, nodding slowly before making his way to his usual seat, feigning interest in the architecture of the building.

“its quite beautiful, no?”

you hummed.

“i wonder how the district could afford to pay for it.”

the comment caught you off guard, causing you too look up at him with scrunched brows, your lips parted in confusion. surely, he knew the capitol had paid for it- and even then, what did it matter? a sanctuary for god deserved only the best of resources, you thought. the beauty of the church was a reflection of the beauty of your religion, the intricacies and meticulous carpentry of the building spoke to one of the three transcendentals that point to god. of course, it would be beautiful.

before you could think of a response to the bizarre musing, your father burst in, pressing a light kiss to your cheek and thanking you kindly for preparing for him. the man stood up to make his way to greet the preacher, and you were out of sight as fast as lightning.

that cycle continued for a while. he would sit in the pews, admiring the architecture (when really, he was admiring you), then stand to greet your father enthusiastically, frowning ever so slightly when you disappeared the moment he made any closer to your father. eventually, you had become quite good at avoiding him. you saw him less in the markets, saw less of him in church, and rarely caught sight of him anywhere else. that was, until you found him at your doorstep one hot summer day.

you and your mother swore it was the hottest day to see district 12, and you sat on the porch in a small, lace trimmed top and cut-off jean shorts. your hair was carelessly tossed into an updo to relieve your neck of some heat, and you sat in your fathers old chair as you sipped on some juice your family had been given earlier that day.

you weren’t expecting any visitors that day, so it was safe to say you nearly choked when the man appeared from behind the path of thrush that hid your small home from sight of the church, dressed only in the blue dress pants of his peacekeeper uniform and a thin white shirt, silver dog tag swinging like a pendulum across his chest as he made his way towards you. your father had emerged delighted, mr. snow!, he cheered, patting the man- snow, what a fitting name- on his back and urging him inside. you scrambled to the backdoor and into the kitchen where your mother rest, the door slamming behind you loudly as you entered, causing her to jump.

“dear?”

“that man daddy’s talking to- who is he?”

she gave you a halfhearted shrug, “i wouldnt know, pumpkin, it’s probably business with your father. he goes to the church, no?”

you nodded, pacing back and forth, ignoring the crazed look your mother threw at you as you processed the information.

“do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” she reminded you, and your jaw dropped at the silent accusation she threw at you.

“absolutely not, mother!” you stormed back out the door, drowning your mother’s laughter out with frustrated mumbles of has she lost her mind? and what a woman! how she could ever think something about snow was tempting you was beyond your understanding. however, when you made it back to your chair and your watered down glass of juice, the sight of a shirtless ‘mr. snow’ and your, otherwise fully dressed, father in the garden, dripping sweat shamelessly into your mothers vegetable patch, a snap thought breached your mind that perhaps there was something tempting about the mysterious man.

that sent you into a frenzy. your knee bounced anxiously as you silently begged god to forgive you for the thought, and that it was simply intrusive, and not reflective of the morals and high grounds you held closely to your heart. nervously, you grabbed the book you had abandoned weeks ago and shoved your nose into the pages as if to distract yourself from your own brain and its wicked ministrations.

you weren't sure of how much time had passed, yet it felt like the man's stay was suspiciously short as he and your father made their way inside. you gave him a curt nod, and your father gave you a small lecture about manners, insisting that the two of you become accustomed to one another. and there you were, legs drawn up to your chest as if to protect yourself from the sinful looking man before you.

“my name is coriolanus snow,” he said. coriolanus. it was unlike any name you’d heard before. you returned the gesture softly, hoping that he would disappear behind your father into the house and you could breathe again, but he stayed and stared at you with that look, “your father tells me we’re the same age. he’s a nice man.”

you bit your lip at that. the same age? there was something about coriolanus that seemed older. it also begged the question: what was someone his age doing as a peacekeeper? you opened your mouth to pry at him, but he cut you off, stepping closer.

“tell me, dear, what sins weigh in your heart?”

you drew yourself back further into the safety of your chair, face laced with disgust as you tried as hard as possible to distance yourself from the imposing man now caging you into your confinement. his breath was heavy on your nose, and your heart pounded harshly- from what, you weren’t sure. fear? a sense of danger? temptation? his lips were so close to yours now, you could smell the faint scent of cologne that mingled with the saltiness of his sweat, and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible, feigning indifference to his proximity to you poorly.

“i dont know what you mean, mr. snow.”

he smiled at that, laughing lowly. he didn’t expect you to know what he meant, of course, but he had an inkling that if he played his cards just right, he’d have you right where he wanted. he leaned closer now, lips dodging yours, lightly brushing your nose as his head turned to whisper in your ear.

“do you think of me at night? our little chase?”

“wh-what?”

“you’re smart, miss. think about it.”

he disappeared into the house, bidding goodbye to your mother and father and whisking himself away. your mouth remained parted, eyes wide with confusion as you tried to process what his words could have meant.

surely, he couldn’t mean..

no. absolutely not, you decided. coriolanus may have unsettled you ungreatly, but he was a peacekeeper- and your father had always told you that they served to protect you, that they would never harm you purposely. you stood shakily and made your way quietly into the old house, reeking of old wood and boiled vegetables. you sat on the couch near your brother, holding his head to your chest as you stroked his hair comfortingly, still trying to process. from the kitchen, your father called, “he’s a nice boy, no? perhaps he could be of some influence to you, sweetheart.”

you agreed meekly, despite disagreeing with your father completely. you werent entirely sure what he saw in the man at all, yet you were adamant that he was, in fact, not a good influence, but a parasite. you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. he made you feel unsafe- unsure of yourself, and for some reason, your faith. you decided he was no good; but yet you couldnt make any understanding of the bittersweet ache between your thighs.

when coriolanus walked home that evening, he couldn’t fight his smile. he saw you, in all his glory, struggling pathetically under his gaze, squirming and fidgeting uncontrollably as he trapped you within the cage of his arms.

the sacrificial lamb has been caught, he thought.

what a stupid, stupid lamb.

౨ׅৎ

you rushed into church near 5 am the next day, sleep deprived from the constant running of your mind and the damned words of coriolanus snow.

“our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” you repeated to yourself, kneeled below the large wooden crucifixion of jesus, hands clasped tightly together, your head resting painfully against the white of your knuckles.

what you were praying for, you didn’t know. you couldn't go to the confessional- heavens forbid, no. confessing secrets of your dreams of coriolanus’s hands, the outline of his jaw, the way he whispered his sinister words so sweetly into your ear- to your father? you would rather be hanged for the whole district to see. there was nothing sinful about your dreams, exactly, but it felt sinful, dirty, downright hellish. you thought of his lips, the soft and pink flesh of them, the stormy blue of his eyes- and, oh god, you couldn't stop replaying his words in your head.

‘do you think of me at night?’ he had asked you so earnestly. as if he needed you to tell him yes, you did think of him, every night. it wasn't a lie, of course, only the way you had begun thinking about him had changed. but that wasn't your doing at all, was it? no, he was to blame, for speaking to you like that, for dangling his dog tag so close that it brushed your cross indecently, for showing up to your house and stripping himself half naked, sweating impurely over the soil you and your mother sowed and reaped with love, with innocence, purity. it was entirely his fault, from the way he seemed to be forcing himself into your life. the church door creaked open, and you continued to pray, “give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

your heart raced as footsteps neared closer, as if you knew exactly who they belonged to.

“what troubles you, little lamb?” his voice took you with fear, the way it rumbled in his chest and reverberated on the walls confining the two of you, alone. you raised your head, refusing to look back at him, “i do believe that's none of your concern, mr. snow.”

you heard him chuckle lowly, repeating the words mr. snow to himself under his breath. it made you shiver, and you recited the bible verses your father drilled into your head from as young as you could remember: vindicate me, o god, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation; rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.

you could feel him now, knee pressed lightly against your back. you stood up and turned to face him, eyes wild and daring as they searched the azure maze of his own. his hand reached to stroke your hair, and you flinched.

“why is it that you fear me so much, do you think?”

“i’m not afraid of you.”

he tsked, “‘fear’ is different than ‘being afraid’, darling. to be afraid is a fleeting moment. your brain's immediate response towards danger,” he moved to touch your hair again, now more forcefully, tucking the loose strands along your hairline behind your ear.

keep back your servant also from willful sins.

he continued, “i asked, why do you fear me?”

you tried to search deeper into his eyes, trying to grasp any understanding at what he was trying to communicate to you. your mind ran amok, and it was no help that coriolanus's hand now snuck its way into your fingers, fidgeting with the soft digits mindlessly.

“i don't.. i don't know-” he cut you off by stepping closer before you finished. you had wanted to tell him that you didn't know why he thought you feared him, that you didnt understand the question, and that you needed to get home soon, so to please excuse you.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

you let out an involuntary laugh, giggling childlishly at the accusation. you stopped, when his eyes darkened.

“i’m sorry, mr. snow, but i really don’t know what you mean!” you were struggling to contain your girlish giggles. what he imposes between me and god? it was such a bizarre statement, so plainly laid out for you, that you couldn’t even comprehend it entirely. your laughing ceased, for good now, when his hand circled tightly around your wrist.

let them not have dominion over me.

then i will be upright.

“i’m not stupid, love. i saw you, yesterday, practically drooling over me. i wonder what your father would have to say if he saw the sinful way you ogled at me,” he paused, and you swallowed painfully, “and dont tell me you’ve forgotten all about our little chase, hm? wasnt it exhilarating?” now, panic engulfed you. you tried to back away from him as the pieces etched themselves together in your brain, but his hold on your wrist was only getting tighter.

“that was you?” your voice was impossibly small, weak from the alarm that blared in your head. your eyes darted back and forth desperately, searching for an out, hoping and praying that someone might burst in and see the scene before you, tear hades away from his persephone and save her from her impending doom.

i will be blameless and innocent of great transgression.

he dipped his head to your neck, lips deliciously grazing over the supple skin of your collar bone, pressing kisses so light you could barely feel them as you tried to wriggle from his grasp.

“of course it was me, darling,” the way you felt him smile against your skin was chilling, and you fought back tears as he moved impossibly closer to you, “isn’t that adrenaline rush just addicting? tell me, dove, what do you think about me when you lie in bed and replay our precious little moments together in that pretty head of yours?”

your breathing quickened, and you winced as coriolanus gripped tighter at your wrist, his other hand painfully gripping the small of your waist, massaging the gentle muscle of it. you could feel his entire body pressed against yours, and a tear threatened to slip when you felt the hard pressing of his lower region on your stomach. you shook your head, refusing to give in to his line of questioning, but his grip on your waist tightened and you cried out in pain, “your hands!” you whined, relief slowly making its way to the sore area of your waist as he loosened his grip. he made to grasp your chin under his index, forcing you to keep eye contact with him and urged you silently to keep going.

“your..” you let out a shaky sigh, “your h-ands, your voice, the words you speak to me. i don't understand why.”

he cooed at you now, as if proud of you for speaking up. your eyes darted to his lips, and you saw something flash in his eyes, “anything else?”

let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight,

lord, my rock, and my redeemer.

you tried to look down at your feet as if to run away from the question, but his hold on your chin was unrelenting. shamefully, you whispered, “your lips.”

he let out a small ahhh, as if the admission shocked him. he knew, of course. of course he knew. you poor thing. sweet, little lamb, so innocent and pure. untouched by lust, blind to its deceptive allure. he knew from the moment he’d gone after you in those woods and failed to catch you, that he would do everything in his power to make sure you would never escape his grasp again. he knew when his frail attempts at getting closer to you failed, he had to resort to a harsher solution. he needed to infiltrate every space you breathed in, and break his was into your mind until he had you right where he needed you to be: malleable, so he could corrupt you just as easy.

he knew your father protected you, the extent to which he went to protect you, as well. banning sex education in your school, ensuring your mind stays as pure as possible to the exploits of fickle men and their wants. you knew the basics, thanks to your mother and her worrisome self, but her teachings were meddled down into some confusing allegory that left your mind as clueless as before, so that you stayed intact, perfect and pristine in the lords eye as well as the rest of the district, in your white frilly dresses, light makeup, and perfectly crafted manners.

he knew how easy it would be to get in your head. the human body is funny, like that, wherein it begs for things it doesn’t know of. he knew when he flexed his hands you caught sight of it, when he swallowed you intently watched the way his adams apple bobbed, he knew when he showed up to your home and stripped himself almost bare it would plague your mind with an unknowing want and desire, and soon enough, you’d have no choice but to give in to it, abandon your god and his lessons for coriolanus alone.

he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, swiping his thumb across yours as if to mirror himself, and then ducked his head closer, “go on.”

you squeezed your eyes shut. everything felt so, so wrong, and you didn't know why, but you couldn't stop. when he continued to toy with your lip, slightly plunging the tip of his finger past them and into your mouth, you let out an involuntary, small moan, and your legs shook and quivered as the strange ache from yesterday returned.

“wh-what?”

“kiss me.”

your eyes widened, and you shook your head. coriolanus thought it was adorable, how you struggled to piece together what was about to happen, how your brain tried desperately to fill in the blanks with information it didnt know. you heard coriolanus sigh disapprovingly at your protests and he shoved his thumb further into your mouth, causing you to choke. he removed it, then wiped the saliva that remained over your bottom lip before inserting the digit in his mouth, tasting you.

“its okay, little one. you can kiss me. he wont mind,” you didnt realize your fingers lingered over the necklace nestled on your chest, and your gaze followed his finger as he gestured upwards. he wont mind. you racked your brain over the things coriolanus said to you from he entered the church.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

now, you truly hoped someone would burst in, and you could scream and wail as you explained the horrors coriolanus was about to commit to you (even if those horrors were unclear). he was so close, and something still pressed hardly against your stomach, and suddenly you couldn't breathe, “he would mind. i promise to pray for you coriolanus, i don't know what troubles you, but the lord-”

he cut you off by shoving his lips onto yours harshly, groaning at the contact. his hands made their way to rest on your clothed breasts, and you wriggled and struggled to try get away from him, but your efforts were fruitless. you were cornered, now. a lamb with nowhere to run or hide, forced to face its fate. he ravaged your lips, hands restless as they caressed all over your protesting body. the ache between your legs grew, and a small part of you realized that the last thing you wanted right now was for someone to walk in, and see the preacher's daughter being completely defaced by a peacekeeper.

“your god cant give me what i need, angel. cant you see? you did this to me,” his hand grabbed yours as he pulled away to speak, trailing it down the hard muscle of his abdomen and palming the hardness that threatened to burst through the seam of his pants. your eyes were wide and doe-like, and coriolanus never needed to fuck you more. his lips met yours again, and his other hand fumbled to remove his pants, hissing when the air hit his straining cock, all while you tried your best to distance yourself from him as much as possible. your face was hot, and your hands remained in the air, unsure of where to rest them, as you slowly allowed coriolanus to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“good girl,” he practically growled, and you let out a pathetic squeak when you felt your core tighten, pleasure washing over you at the small praise. coriolanus was turned on beyond conception, moaning disgracefully as he stroked himself through the fabric of his underwear. if you could see the spectacle the two of you were making, in the middle of church- no less, the thought alone had coriolanus close to the edge. you gasped when you saw him palm himself, and without thinking, your hand brushing his ever so slightly, lingering a second too long before his eyes snapped up at yours, pleading you to go ahead and touch him.

when you finally pressed your hand to his clothed region, you swore the way coriolanus threw his head back with a small mewl and moan would land you an eternity in hell alone.

“thats it, baby, jus’ like that.. keep going..” you gasped when his hand sneaked its way under your dress- your sunday best- your hand faltering a bit when his long middle finger lightly grazed your clothed cunt. the foreign feeling it elicited from you had you desperately searching coriolanus’s eyes for an answer, unable to speak as his fingers that toyed with the most intimate parts of you had you moaning softly and lowly, uncontrollably. you continued to palm him, and his hand slipped into the lacy cotton of your panties, cursing hotly under his breath when he feels you.

“so wet for me. you dirty fucking girl, look at you: making a mess in church.” you didnt know what he meant, but shame burned through your skin. confusion grappled at you and you began to sob, not ignoring the way your tears seemed to make coriolanus throb beneath you, “please stop, coriolanus, this is immoral.”

“baby, if it feels good, then it cant be bad,” he stroked the tear stains on your cheek softly, cupping your face with false earnest as he pulled your head to lay on his chest, “does it feel good?”

coriolanus reveled in the way you looked up at him, like a devoted follower in the arms of their saviour. when you nodded slowly, he gently spun you around and shoved your face into the cool wood of the crucifixion behind you, his hand painfully pushing against your cheek enough so that you couldn't look anywhere but above you, into the sad eyes of jesus.

your panties were ripped off with a shriek that was muffled by coriolanus’s hand around your mouth, and you sobbed as pain mixed with pleasure as he gave a few slaps to your dripping cunt, mumbling about how pretty it is. in a desperate attempt to wiggle out of your new position, you accidentally arched your back further, giving him more access.

“let me show you how i can love you,” he whispered into your ear, before returning his fingers to the slick mess that coated your cunt, your body jolting when they occasionally brushed over your clit, the unfamiliar sensation already too overwhelming for you to handle. with a few more agonising strokes of his fingers, he prodded at your hole, teasing your entrance in a way that had your eyes roll to the back of your head. when he finally slipped them in, your hand pounded desperately against the cross you were pressed up on, pleads to stop falling pathetically into the hand of coriolanus and onto deaf ears. he was merciless with it, greedily pounding his fingers into you in a way that had your knees gravitating towards each other and animalistic grunts of pleasure vibrating through his hand.

something in you burned, your body was pleading for more as an unfamiliar coil formed in the pit of your stomach. your hand continued to bang against the cross, tears falling as you forcibly peered into the eyes of your saviour while you got your cunt ravaged in the middle of his shrine.

“oh god, oh god” you mumbled through his hand. you were unsure if it was shame, or the delicious way coryo pumped his fingers into you, but you grew lightheaded and dumb, eyes hazy as you grew closer to your release.

“thats it, take it. you’re filthy, taking my fingers so well in the middle of church.” now, both hands scraped desperately against the cross, leaving marks in the wake of your fingernails digging into the hardwood. coriolanus tugged your head further up, forcing you to stare at him with tears streaming down your face and desperate pleas for him to stop going unheard. he smiled coyly when he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, and he withdrew them just before you reached your release, a loud, agonising whine of relief and desperation leaving your smushed lips. he was quick to replace his fingers with his cock, the slow intrusion of it making you let out a low, droned out groan as he stretched your virgin cunt past its limit.

he removed his hand from your mouth, and a string of prayers tumbled out of it, “o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended thee,” and “and i detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend thee, my god, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” it earned you a slap to your ass, and you cried out loudly as coriolanus shoved your dress off of you, watching as it fell uselessly around your legs into a pool of white. he flipped you around, admiring your soft breasts and the way they spilled over in the hold of his fingers, and he traced the soft, plumpness of your belly as he chuckled lowly at your continuous prayer. with his cock still nestled into you, he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“god loves you, but not as much as i do,” and then he thrust his cock into you with such force that you nearly tumbled to the floor. his hand rest on your lower back, forcing you to arch closer to him, your hips meeting his unwillingly at his fast pace. coriolanus’s cock grazed the inside of your gummy walls perfectly, and you found yourself slipping from reality as he continued to pound his dick into you, moaning when you contracted around him without rhythm, your inexperienced self almost overloaded with pleasure, unable to control your body.

“you’re being such a good girl, taking my cock like this,” he weaved a hand through your hair, “‘n you’re gonna let me cum inside you, yeah? gonna make a woman out of you.” you couldnt focus on the words he was throwing at you, lost in pleasure as the tip of coryo’s dick hit that one spot over and over again. the way he spoke to you had you at a crossroads, and it didnt help that he was fucking you into oblivion, and now you understood what he had meant when he said he imposed between you and god, because you were becoming addicted to the push and pull of his cock inside of you.

“thats right, take it. you look so pretty all dumb and fucked out on my cock,” you reached to grab his arm to steady yourself, your orgasm creeping in closely, “you gonna cum for me?”

you didn't know what it meant, but you nodded anyways, completely lost in bliss, “coryo..” you moaned out, his brows raising slightly at the new nickname, a smirk settling on his face. moans and mewls lewdly left your mouth as he quickened his pace, his unused hand massaging at your tits, twisting and pinching softly at your nipples as you thrashed with pleasure under him.

“gonna make you worship this fucking cock, baby” he was close himself now, his head falling and his voice itching up an octave, lewd moans clashing with yours as the rhythm and pace he set began to falter, and he fucked you as hard as he could as he chased your high and his own, “gonna make you devoted to me. you’re never gonna wanna be away from me again,” his face twisted with pleasure, and you circled your arms around his neck as you tried to ground yourself, the coil in your stomach slowly beginning to unravel and threatening to snap. a shadow passed, and your eyes widened with terror as you slapped coryo’s arm haphazardly, begs falling from your mouth to stop. he turned his head lazily to look at what you were whining about, but his thrusts didn't stop.

“let them see what a dirty fucking girl you are.”

your walls tightened and your eyes rolled so far back into your head you were scared they wouldn't come back up as your orgasm reached you. you covered your mouth, shrieking desperately as the shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, the newfound feeling unrelenting as it took over every part of your body. coriolanus repeated words of encouragement and praise as he fucked you through your high, before bottoming out and releasing his load in you, christening your walls. you whined at the feeling, so full and drunk off of it that your concerns of the passerby faded. the both of you stood there, panting heavily, both groaning when coryo slid out of you. he slapped his tip on your puffy clit one, two, three times, before a loud knock rapped on the church door.

you could feel coriolanus’s spill leaking out of you as you crouched on your knees, hidden, and you cried silently, the reality of what had just happened to you settling in. coriolanus snow had corrupted you, in the worst possible way, and now you could only feel yourself crave more of him. as he spoke to the intruder, egging them to run along, a thumb caressed your head gently, as if to tell you he had everything under control. the small southern drawl he’d begun to pick up was more prominent. when the intruder finally left, you were forced to your feet, and coriolanus grabbed your ruined panties, resting on his knees below you to shove them into your used cunt, before making his way back to his feet, towering over you. he spoke to you like he would if he were on duty:

“you go on home now, miss. and tell your father i say hello.”

and you did.

౨ׅৎ

@dumbsoftheart, 2023

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow smut #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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scoonsalicious · 6 months ago

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7.1 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, discussion of feelings, nudity, mentions of some sexy stuff.

Word Count: 3.2k

Previously On...: Idk; it's been so long. Who can even remember? Just kidding-- Bucky blew off his plans for a 'friend-date' with Lily to talk to you about what happened that morning.

A/N: And we're back!

Hi, besties! I confess to not getting as much writing done as I had hoped on my break-- cursed writer's block! Then, last night, I ended up scrapping most of the writing I did do and started over, lol. However, I've got a bit of a back log again, and a four day weekend starting tonight, and now that I feel reinvigorated with the story, we'll be able to resume our regularly scheduled program!

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You pulled up to the destination Bucky had sent you as dusk was falling. Langston Park. A weird spot for dinner, you thought, but you’d double-checked the location with Bucky, and he’d assured you that you were in the right place.

Glancing at your map, you noticed that the pin he’d sent you was a little ways up a trail. You parked your truck and double checked your bag to make sure you had your pepper spray at the ready– not that you were afraid that Bucky was going to harm you– just that, a woman alone in the woods at dusk? You could never be too careful. It actually went against your better judgment to go in there at all, but you trusted that Bucky wouldn’t lead you into danger.

If I do come across something unexpected, you thought to yourself, please let it be the bear.

You cautiously made your way up the trail, using the nearly useless flashlight feature on your phone to keep yourself from tripping over anything. It was difficult adjusting your eyesight from the bright light of the map you were following on your phone screen to the darkness gathering around you. After you’d been walking for about fifteen or so minutes, you had to turn left to go off-trail, cutting off your access to the dwindling daylight even more. You gently pushed branches of leaves aside as you made your way through the woods, until you noticed a soft, orange glow coming from up ahead of you.

When you broke through the tree line, your breath caught in your throat. The pin Bucky had sent you had led you to a small clearing nestled along a stream, with a melodious waterfall cascading down into a pool that held a handful of floating lanterns. The entire clearing was lit with hanging lanterns that gently swayed from the branches of the surrounding trees, washing the entire space with low, warm light. Spread out on the ground was a large blanket with some throw pillows, extra blankets, and a picnic hamper. And in the center of the clearing, crouched Bucky. He’d appeared to have just finished setting up his phone to stream some soft music. The entire tableau was the most romantic thing you’d ever seen.

“Hey,” you called softly as you turned your flashlight off, dropped your phone into your bag, and made your way into the clearing.

Bucky stood and turned to face you, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Major, hi,” he breathed. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Did you do all this for me?” you asked in awe as you looked around, taking in your surroundings. You could feel a lump form in the back of your throat, and you had to actively tell yourself not to cry. No one had ever done anything so absolutely romantic for you in your entire life. Not once had Connor ever made a fraction of the effort Bucky had made tonight.

Bucky’s face took on a look of panic. “Is it too much?” he asked, nervously glancing around as though he were trying to judge it anew through your eyes to see what you might find wrong with it.

You smiled, reaching for his hand to offer a squeeze of reassurance. “It’s lovely,” you said. “No one has ever done something so amazing for me, Bucky. Thank you.”

Bucky visibly relaxed at your words. “Figured I owed you something special, to make up for this morning.” He motioned to the blanket, guiding you to sit down with him. “I brought dinner,” he said, opening up the basket. Inside were several subs, a couple of bottles of lemonade, and a few bags of chips. “Sweet onion teriyaki chicken with cucumbers, extra pickles, and red wine vinegar,” Bucky said, handing you a sandwich. You held the sandwich to you for a moment, your chest filling with warmth at the fact that he’d remembered your offhand comment about your favorite sandwich.

You put the wrapped sub down on the blanket in front of you. “Could we talk before we eat?” you asked him. “I’ve got some things I want to clear up first.”

Bucky swallowed and nodded, putting down the sandwich he had gotten for himself and looked up at you through his lashes. “Go ahead, sugar,” he said.

You took a breath. “I get why you didn’t tell Lily about me,” you said slowly. “It’s new, and we’re not even really anything. So, what’s there to tell her, really? Plus, she and I didn’t really have the best first impressions of one another, so that part, I understand. What I don’t get is why you felt you needed to lie about being out on a date at all.” Bucky opened his mouth to say something, but you weren’t finished.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how many calls I got toward the end of my marriage that went just like the one you had with Lily last night. All the times Connor assured me he was just “out with the boys,” when, in reality, he was with his mistress. So, I guess, hearing you tell Lily you were with Sam for a ‘guys’ night’ was kind of triggering.” You sighed, heaving your shoulders. “I need to know, and I need you to be honest with me: Is there something going on between the two of you? Is that why you felt the need to lie to her about being out with me?”

Bucky shook his head vehemently and made a face of mild disgust. “Major, no– there’s never been anything between us,” he said. “I won’t lie, Lily is very important to me– as a friend– she was the first new one I made in almost eighty years, and she stuck by me when I was going through a really difficult time in my life, when I really hadn’t given her much of a reason to, but in terms of anything romantic, or sexual? Never.”

You tilted your head, considering his words. He seemed sincere, though if you had been a good judge of when a man you had feelings for was lying to your face, your marriage to Connor would probably only have been a fraction as long as it was.

“Alright,” you said, choosing in the moment to believe him, “so, if you’re as close as you say, and there’s nothing romantic between the two of you, it makes it even stranger that you lied to her about being out on a date last night.”

Bucky looked down, toying with a loose thread on the blanket you both sat on. “At the time,” he said, not looking up at you, “not telling her the truth seemed like a good idea. It didn’t really cross my mind that I was lying… more like ‘just not telling her the truth yet.’ I was really looking forward to seeing you again, doll,” he told you, his eyes now rising to meet yours, “ and telling Lil… well, it felt like I was needlessly complicating things."

You let out an exasperated sigh. “None of that explains to me the why behind it, Bucky,” you said. “Why would telling your best friend complicate things?

“I just didn’t want her getting involved in our business before the two of us even knew what our business was,” he said, as if that made everything clear.

“But, shouldn’t your best friend knowing your business be, I dunno, a good thing?” you asked him in frustration, wanting to reach out and shake him. You felt like you were going around in circles. “Shouldn’t she be happy for you?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed. “Of course she’ll be happy for me. It’s just…” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Lily’s always had… opinions about every girl I’ve ever dated, and she’s never made it a point of keeping them to herself. I mean, most of the time, she ends up being spot on, and the relationship flops, but this…” he moved to place his hand over yours where it rested on the blanket, “with you? I wanted to enjoy it before she makes those opinions known.”

You turned your hand over and squeezed his. The full truth of the situation had clicked into place for you at his words, and the realization brought both intense clarity and an all too familiar heartache. “All my life, I’ve been… impulsive,” you told him. “I jump head first into things, without thinking about the consequences. It’s how I got into the Army, ended up with Connor, hell, even how I started my business. Sometimes it works out, but…” you heaved a sigh, “usually it tends to blow up spectacularly in my face. I don’t want this to blow up in my face, Bucky.”

The confusion in Bucky’s face as he took in your words was evident. “What are you saying, doll?” he asked.

You took a moment, considering your next words carefully. “I… I really like you,” you began as a wide grin broke out across his face. “Probably more than I should for a person I just met a few days ago, but the truth of it is, I’ve seen this story play out before, and I’m not sure I could handle opening my heart to you, only to have you leave me for the best friend you swore I’d never have to worry about.”

Bucky took both your hands in his own, a look of desperation crossing his face. “Sugar,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Major. I don’t know how many other ways I can tell you that I just don’t see Lily that way,” he said. “Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any dame the way I see you. You’ve got me feeling all kinds of ways I’ve never felt before.”

His words were sweet, and you felt your heart soften, but you had to remind yourself: you’d heard words just like it before. “Look,” you said, pulling your hands away from his, “maybe you don’t , but it seems pretty obvious, even as an outsider, that her feelings for you are stronger than just friendship. I don’t want to lose my heart to you if you’re going to realize that you belong with someone you’ve known for years, instead of a one-night stand that went on for too long.”

Bucky reeled back as if you’d slapped him and closed his eyes in a grimace. “That is never,” he began, a pained expression clouding his handsome face, “ever all that you could be to me, Major.” When he opened them again, his eyes were boring into yours, the blue gone cobalt in the growing night. “I’m not going to wake up one day and decide I want to be with Lily. I’ve had four years in close proximity with her for those feelings to develop, and they never have. I honestly can’t see why that would change, especially now that I’ve met you.”

God, you wanted to believe him, but you’d already played this role and it had nearly destroyed you, despite how nonchalantly you acted about it. “Does she know that, Bucky? Because, to be completely honest with you, on the night we met, both Nat and Wanda advised me not to get involved with you, because of her.”

His face blanched at the admission. “What?! Why would they say that?”

“They warned me,” you clarified, hoping that you weren’t betraying any trust with your new friends and only feeling mildly bad that you were divulging Lily’s secret, “that Lily wasn’t a ‘girl’s girl;’ she was a ‘Bucky’s girl,’ only, you didn’t know it.”

“But she–” he spluttered, “she– we– she never– she’s never said anything. She’s never acted…” He was at a loss for words, and you could tell that the information had genuinely taken him by surprise. Despite what Lily may feel for him, it didn’t seem like he ever suspected it.

“Maybe I should leave you to think that over,” you said, making motions to start standing up. “Thanks for the sandwich.” Before you could even get your legs under you, though, Bucky reached out a hand and grabbed your wrist.

“Wait!” he exclaimed, gently tugging you back down to the blanket. “Why are you leaving?”

You shrugged, confused. “I figured you’d want some time,” you told him. “Decide what you want to do about her feelings.”

Bucky looked at you like you were crazy. “Doll, in what world do any feelings Lily may have about me concern how I feel about you?”

“I just assumed…” you began, but he interrupted you.

“Assumed what? That just because she’s got a crush on me, I’m gonna ignore this thing between you and I? That I’m gonna develop feelings for her, outta nowhere, I might add, and just forget all about you?”

You shrugged your shoulders sheepishly. “Yeah, actually,” you said.

“You idiot,” Bucky said, shaking his head with a gentle smile and a soft laugh. He put a hand behind your head and pulled you forward until your foreheads were leaning together. “I sincerely mean this when I tell you I don’t give a fuck about Lily’s feelings,” he said.

You both widened your eyes at the perceived callousness of the statement.

“Fuck,” Bucky backpedaled, backing his head away from yours a little “that came out soundin’ awful, and definitely not how I meant it.” He ran a hand nervously through his hair. “Of course I care about her feelings– she’s my friend– I just mean… shit. Just, obviously, I feel bad if me not reciprocatin’ hurts her, but there’s nothin’ I can really do for it, y’know? Because it doesn’t change my feelings, and it’s not gonna change my feelings.

And shit, you believed him.

“You know what?” Bucky said, as if an idea had suddenly come to him. “Here.” He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled out his military dog tags. Lifting them over his head, he slowly draped them around your neck.

“Bucky,” you said, fingering the embossed metal, “what…?”

“Think of it this way,” he said, “you, of all people, know what these tags mean to a soldier. Since I came outta cryo, came back to myself, not a single person has worn them, ‘cept for me. I’ve had girlfriends ask– hell, Lily’s asked– but it never felt right.” He brushed a strand of hair back from where it had fallen into your face when you’d looked down at the tags. “But with you, it feels right. So, if you’re afraid that I’m gonna up and decide that I’d rather be with Lily, or fuck, anyone else but you, I want you to look at those tags and remember that you’re the one I’m picking, Major.”

You swallowed. You did know what those tags meant. Commitment. Trust. An unbreakable bond. Wordlessly, you reached around to the back of your neck, unclasping the chain that rested against your skin.

Bucky watched your motions carefully. “Yeah,” he said, licking his lips nervously, “that was probably me moving too fast, huh? I get it– you don’t have to wear them if—”

“Shut up,” you said gently, as you removed your own dog tags from around your neck and fastened them around his. “I don’t need to wear two sets, and your neck looked so lonely without one.”

Bucky held up one of the tags so that he could examine it, and you caught the moment he registered your name and information catching the candlelight.

“Sugar,” he said, his voice cracking on the nickname.

“You’re not the only one making a choice, Bucky,” you assured him.

He leaned in closer, taking your lips with his own, the kiss filled with the fire you’d come to associate with him, and only him.

When you pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours, and you could make out the glassy sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

You admired the way they hung from his neck for a moment, and were overcome with the sudden urge to touch them. You placed a hand over the dog tags, your name, now resting over his pounding heart. Bucky cupped his own hand over yours, pressing it against his chest.

“These look awfully handsome on you, Sergeant,” you told him with a soft smile. Bucky let out a low groan and you looked up at him, eyes questioning. “What is it?” you asked him.

Bucky’s face turned bashful and he shook his head. “Nuh uh,” he said. “Forget it.”

Oh, you weren’t going to have any of that. “Come on, Bucky,” you said, playfully poking him in his rock hard stomach. “You can tell me anything. I’m wearing your tags now,” you added in a singsong voice. “We’re practically going steady.”

Bucky’s gaze on you darkened, and he tugged at his lip with his teeth. “Okay then, if you’re sure you really wanna know.” You mirrored him, biting your lip and nodded eagerly. Of course you wanted to know what was going through his head to cause him to make such sexy sounds. “Just imagining what you’d look like wearing nothing but the tags, sugar,” he responded, his voice a low, husky whisper. “Bet it’d be the prettiest thing I ever saw.”

Well, if you weren’t going to take that as an invitation. Raising an eyebrow in his direction, you got up so that you were standing before him. Bucky moved forward, as if he were going to follow you up, a question ready on his lips, but you leaned down and gently pushed him back to the blanket, so he was propping himself up on his elbows.

Not once breaking eye contact, you slid your hands to the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up, over your head before tossing it to the side. Next, you toed off your shoes while you worked the buttons of your jean shorts, letting them slide down your thighs until you were standing in just your balconette and panties. You didn’t even care that you were in the middle of a public park and you were undressing for a man. All that mattered was that you were undressing for this man, and in the moment, you were willing to do almost anything he asked of you.

Bucky’s eyes roamed your body from head to toe and back again, but you weren’t finished. He’d said ‘nothing but the tags,’ after all. Reaching behind your back, you skillfully unhooked your bra, but didn’t pull it off, instead letting it sit on your chest while you slowly shimmined your panties down your thighs and kicking them off to join the rest of your discarded clothes. Bucky’s breath hitched as he took in your near nakedness, and you almost giggled at the visible tenting taking place in his jeans.

Clutching the bra to your chest, as if you were shy, you slowly got down on your knees and crawled up Bucky’s thighs. Finally, you let the bra fall away, and Bucky’s wide eyes never left your breasts as he licked his lips. You palmed him through the fabric of his pants.

“I believe I once said something about wanting this down my throat,” you told him with a wicked smile.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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owlespresso · 7 months ago

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the golden ivy which clings

omega!luocha/beta!reader you are a beta courier. one of your clients is more interested in you than you'd like. tags: blackmail, coerced intimacy done as a part of @lorelune's a/b/o collab.

Your legs ache. Your muscles twitch with the extended exertion. The last five hours spent on your feet are catching up to you. It’s a trapping of the occupation. Being a courier on the Luofu means you regularly bounce up and down its many layers and areas, rushing from district to district, from the boughs to the canopy. After three years, you’ve long memorized the thin corridors and hardly beaten paths, mapped every vein and pipe and ligament in your seemingly endless pursuit of planning the optimal delivery routes.

Faces blend together in your line of work. You doubt your clients remember much anything about you. You’re a muddy sparrow flitting from branch to branch, a bee gliding from flower to flower, as nameless as any other customer service worker. You earn more than most of your peers, but that’s mostly because you’ve extended your services to stations and ships beyond the Luofu orbit.

…And also because of your status as a perfectly even beta, liberated from the debilitating symptoms of heats or ruts. You have no need for bimonthly off days, and needn’t fear the voracious gazes or grasping claws of wayward alphas. No one is likely to notice a lone, scentless courier, even in areas where the Cloud Knights frequently patrol.

Today’s business sees you on the far ends of Aurum Alley, where night has slipped over the artificial skies like silk over skin, streets steeped in deep shadow. You stick to the walls, underneath awnings and through narrow side paths. Silvery moonlight dapples through a canopy of sunset orange leaves, touching the aged stone path, the askew benches next to the food stalls.

On the furthest side, mist billows from the waters and onto the red wood docks. Quiet, still. Hardly a customer to be seen. It’s been the very same every other time you’ve visited. The only people you’ve seen have been members of the IPC. They’re surely thrilled at the minimal returns the businesses here are receiving. Filthy hawkers, intent on contaminating every locale unfortunate enough to make contact with them. You hope they never see another coin in their entire lives.

Not that it’s any of your business. You’re just a courier. It’s in your best interests to keep your head down and keep your eyes from wandering, lest you attract their attention… or the attention of any other governing body who would disprove of the wares you ferry from place to place.

Near the docks, where the wind churns the briny waves, stands the blond man. A repeat customer, a man you’ve come to know as ‘Luocha’.

“You didn’t have to wait out here,” is the first thing you say to him, adjusting the straps of your heavy bag. Your shoulders have started to ache from the strain of the day's long treks. “It’s cold, isn’t it?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he assures you. He has a delicate kind of beauty, the kind you see in fairytale picture books or depictions of soft omegas in gravure magazines. His cheeks are thin, set of his nose regal. His lips are soft rose, petals curled into a winsome smile. His lashes, thick and blonde, fan against his cheeks every time he blinks. It’s all at odds with his imposing height and strange, cold aura. “Shall we head inside?”

“It’s whatever you want,” you reply drolly.

“Inside, then. You look... tired. Have you been on your feet all day long?” Luocha’s hair sways when he turns and bobs which each sway of his hips. Dim lantern light catches on the ornamental pin which holds his strands in place. Just as striking as the rest of him. You really don’t know how he’s come this far without finding a mate. He surely turns the head of any alpha who catches a whiff of him. Even with your muted sense of smell, you still detect undercurrents of that delicate sweetness. Frosted finger cakes and clean face powder. It’s buried under something bitter and medicinal—only able to be caught in the tender hours of the night. After his work is long done.

“That’s just the job. It doesn’t bother me,” you assure him. The apartment building is darkly lit and nondescript. He doesn’t look like he belongs here, in all his whites and golds, pristine and put together and perfectly pressed.

“Still,” he glances back at you. “You won’t be able to do your job at all if you don’t get enough rest. And I would hate to be deprived of my favorite courier’s company.”

You don’t know what kind of face you’re making, but he takes one look at you and laughs quietly.

“My apologies. Given my occupation, it’s practically second nature for me to be concerned about these sorts of things.” He says with a small shrug. You don’t reply, lips nettling into a frown. If you were kinder, perhaps more naive, perhaps you would have mistaken the sentiment to be genuine.

He doesn’t live in the hollow apartment he leads you to. It’s too ramshackle, mostly undecorated space with a couch, a table and a mismatched arm chair when you walk in. He’s dressed too nicely to tolerate moth-eaten curtains and layers of dust.

“Pardon the state of this place—I don’t actually live here. If it were up to me, we would hold our meetings in a nicer place.” he sighs. You don’t know why he feels the need for small talk. He hasn’t always been like this. During the first few months of serving him, the only words exchanged between you both were basic greetings and fleeting formalities.

“It’s fine. ‘S not like you live here,” you wave him off and deposit your bag onto the leather. It’s an earthy green, the color nearly the same as the worn upholstery. It squelches at the impact, and you tug it open by the zipper. The vacuum of created space is chilled around your arm, goosebumps rolling over your skin. A square package wrapped in plastic, off-worlder medicine banned aboard the Luofu, favored by certain members of Sanctus Medicus.

“Are you a member of Sanctus Medicus?” you’re not sure why you ask.

“Oh? I can’t recall you ever asking me such a personal question,” Luocha observes, a mote of mischief in his voice. “Why? Would you dislike it if I was?”

“No. It’s not my place to police anyone's beliefs—but the members I’ve met seem…” you trail off. It isn’t like you to give your opinion so freely, but you can’t imagine someone so discerning falling in line with those quacks.

“Sanctimonious? Self-righteous? Gullible?” Luocha lists for you, leaning against the back of that dowdy couch. He doesn’t move to accept the package, even when you pointedly zip the bag back up. His smile is unreadable.

“All of those things,” you agree, making the three steps it takes to reach him. “Though, I can’t really blame them.”

“And how could you? The long-lived of the Luofu will be roaming the galaxy and enjoying its many fruits hundreds of years after they’re dead and gone. It’s only natural to pursue that which they feel has been hoarded from them.” Luocha plucks the package from your waiting hands, eyeing it with mildly fond intrigue.

“I suppose,” you hum. You’ve already spoken too much. This isn’t a discourse you should be involved in. Sanctus Medicus, despite their incompetence, is still a faction of individuals with enough outreach to meddle in your business, should this conversation get back to them.

Long fingers wrap around your wrist. Your eyes blow wide as you stumble into his chest—sturdy, so different from what you’d expect from someone so beautiful, built well beneath his layers. There is no presage, no forewarning.

Underneath the chamomile slides forth the tender, ambrosial scent which betrays his status as an omega. Your pulse hums in your ears, body frozen stiff—but you remain unblemished by the adrenaline.

“Mister Luocha?” you say.

“So steady, even now,” he observes with infuriating tenderness, breath warm against the shell of your ear. “I suppose I should have expected that from an emanator of Harmony.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, unable but to be proud of how steady your voice remains. Every meeting you have ever had with him replays in your head, rolls by all at once like jittering strips of old-timey film as you pull them from the rusty bank of your memory. What could have given you away in the brief moments you’ve shared together? What in the way that you’ve handed him his contraband belied your true nature? Nothing, you’re sure. He’s discovered this piece of you on his own, and that worries you the most.

“Come now,” Luocha coaxes, the euphony of his voice slipping into something softer and sweeter. “You can be honest with me. We’ve already shared so much with each other, haven’t we?”

“The only thing I’ve ever shared with you are the poisons you order,” you inform him, hands braced against his chest. He tuts at you, and his scent grows all the sweeter. Even you can recognize the excited pheromones he pumps into the air. Your senses are replete with him, tongue made sticky by the devious croon of his voice.

“And you give so much of yourself with that alone,” he insists. “Your willingness to pass illicit drugs into the hands of your customers tells me far more about you than any small talk ever has. A shame, really. You have such interesting thoughts, whenever you deign to share them.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask flatly. Your eyes narrow with undisguised suspicion.

“A great many things, but to start...” His fingers tap a gentle drumbeat atop your shoulder. You shrug him off. A contemplative sound hums deep within his chest, quiet but loud in the dusty still of the room. “Share more of your thoughts with me, Courier.” he beseeches. “You’re always so quiet, when we’re together. I think we’ve known each other long enough to hold better conversations.” His hands slide off of you, smooth and quick as oil slick. It’s a concentrated effort to not bolt out of his reach like a startled fawn.

His gaze bores into your back as you take several measured, extremely normal and calm steps over to your abandoned bag, zipping it back up with renewed zeal.

“I think that was extremely inappropriate.” you share generously.

“I apologize. I only meant to tease, but it seems I’ve pushed too far,” he confesses, genuinely contrite. There is something else about his inflection. Something which sparks alive the long distant urge to soothe. “I don’t often forget myself like this. You must bring it out of me.”

You frown. The feeling dies. It’s not your responsibility to comfort this weirdo. He’s done nothing to earn your sympathy. Pesky biology, however, would dictate otherwise.

“You’ll be delivering to me again tomorrow, won’t you?” he asks, tilting his head. Your internal discourse snaps to a halt, instinct shafted to the side to make way for the sacred tradition known as “doing business”.

“Of course. Same ingredients, same amount?”

“Yes—and a Core Esse, if you’ve the means to procure one—”

You give him a look, but you nod regardless. “Understood. I’ll meet you at the docks, tomorrow—” It’s not professional to walk away while making arrangements with a client, but you very badly want to be out of this stuffy apartment and away from the new, bizarre scrutiny he looks at you with.

You typically avoid knowing anything about your customers beyond the bare basics. However, you can no longer afford Luocha that same distance. Just how much does he know? And where exactly has he pulled your precious secrets from?

The investigation begins tonight. You’re hesitant to call on her, but you may very well need to reach out to a particular contact.

—

Hours worth of feverish research inevitably lead to you just calling the Stellaron Hunter who owes you a favor. You have not the slightest clue where Luocha procured such private information, or how much of it he has. Penacony’s travel logs will be the first place to look. If your bothersome merchant has been there before, it’ll be no mystery where he figured you out. Does The Family still talk about you? And do they look back on your brief term of leadership with nostalgic fondness or embittered hatred?

You care not. Those mistakes are long behind you. The Luofu is a kinder place, somehow easier to navigate despite its Abundance soaked innards, where only the engineers dare wander. Without the protections they are outfitted with, you suppose you’re more vulnerable to mara exposure and all it entails, but you never dwell longer than half-an-hour at a time.

Roots and vines cling to the aged metal paneling and jutting pipes, green and gold particles sour the dim air. The pipes rattle and groan, portions of something neon yellow shooting through the complex web of them at irregular intervals. Flowers sprout from the ropey greenery, some bulbs shut and others agape. Pale petals of pink and white and periwinkle peeled wide open against slick silver and rusted brown. The closed bulbs look oddly wooden, but you’re not stupid enough to touch one.

Luocha could surely excuse you for being mara-struck. The Cloud Knights, on the other hand…

Well. It’s not worth thinking about. The overworld welcomes you back with a gust of fresh wind, washing away the acrid tang of the tunnels. The shallowest of them have several discreet exit and entry points. Crevices in the walls swallow you whole and deposit you in nondescript locations across the Luofu, random alleys and average apartment buildings where it’s easy to sink into the crowds.

Today, it’s a high end district, populated by the high-end homes of diplomats and ranking officials from the Luofu’s sister ships. They come to roost in these behemoth manors a few times a year at most, meaning the streets are emptier than you’re accustomed to. There’s not a soul to be seen or heard, not one resident there to share the wide open road with you. The houses leer at you with wide windows and lacquered doors, sat fat and happy behind their tall gates and gaping lawns.

Luocha calling you here, after all of those clandestine exchanges in that dowdy shell of an apartment, is a statement in itself. Is he threatening you with this obscene display of opulence? You can’t begin to fathom why he’d bother with bothering a simple courier. What does he possibly hope to gain?

The address he sent is among the smallest houses you’ve seen so far. One of the least extravagant, which is to say, still pretty fucking extravagant. The latticework fence is wreathed with delicate cotton roses and the yard is a veritable Eden in comparison to the other lots. The path forward is lined by patches of vibrant wildflowers.

The air is cleaner here, and for the first time since entering the district, you can hear birdsong echoing from the tops of the trees.

How much of this did he plant himself? And how have his neighbors handled living next to a miniature forest? You reach out, palm sliding over the closest oak’s trunk, the bark coarse under your cold palms. Beyond the path, to your left, you hear the babbling of flowing water. The yard isn’t large enough to have a creek, you reason, and the time of your appointment looms close—but you figure you have enough legroom to at very least sneak a glance. Your curiosity for once gets the better of you, sending you through the thicket of green, beyond a copse of trees lined up like appointed sentinels, and over an emerging path of flat stones.

The forest opens into a small clearing. A massive, rock-lined pond nests at the center, surrounded by cattails and watergrasses and other waterfaring plants. The babbling, as you expected, comes from a filtration system stealthily hidden amongst the many reeds.

Sunlight shivers across the gentle waters, stirred up by the afternoon breeze.

A chair has been left unfolded beneath the low-hanging branches of a stout, red maple—a splash of crimson among earthy greens and cool browns.

Cautiously, you pick your way down the slope to the pool, squinting at the fish which flicker and dart between rocks and lotus stems. Mostly koi. Pretty, glimmering things which likely cost an arm and a leg. You’ve been to many aquatic markets, even ferried a few live specimens yourself. You settle by the edge, elbows resting on your bent knees. Cautiously, you extend outstretched fingers towards the water, dragging along the silken smooth surface.

A hand lands on your shoulder.

“My, my—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says. One moment you’re above water and the next under, your startled flailing sending you straight over the lip.

Luocha is at very least apologetic about your unfortunate (humiliating) spill. He shows you to the washroom and closes the door with a contrite little smile. You run up the water bill for your trouble, the shiver chased from your drenched frame as you step under the hot spray. The shower has room enough for three people, easily. There are two heads and a bunch of silver knobs and dials you don’t feel like fucking with. Rich people and their needlessly complicated household appliances.

You don’t know exactly how long you spend in there, but the mirrors have fogged over by the time you get out. Only once you’ve properly scrubbed the pond water from your skin and tended to your hair do you turn the shower off. The mist sticks to your skin even after a decent toweling. You go through two until you give up and throw on the plush robe he so generously provided. It’s as fine quality as the porcelain tub you spy nestled against the western wall.

The brass glows near gold beneath the warm light. The entire bathroom is all golds and black. Utterly resplendent, but it doesn’t really seem his style.

Is this even his home? You can’t help but wonder as you stroll out the bathroom and into the rest of the house. Most of the interior chambers are linked by wide circular arches. The furniture is cream cushions paired with lacquered dark wood. A sweet smell hangs in the air, but you can’t tell if the potted white lilies on the table beside the sofa are the source.

Luocha stands by the window. Beams of sun hit his face and cast his hair in vibrant gold. He’s ethereal in those shades of sun. He looks delicate, somehow, curves of his body lean under the flowing press of his silken robe.

He looks at you. The dreamy green of his gaze clears your brain of the remaining fog, leaving you cold and alone with the fact that you are alone, together, in an empty house. In a mostly empty neighborhood.

“Your clothes are in the wash,” he smiles. “They’ll be clean in around an hour. Once again, I apologize for startling you—”

“Don’t. I shouldn’t have been skulking around in your front yard in the first place.” The sooner your humiliating slip is forgotten, the better. “Let’s just get down to it. You wanted something delivered, right?”

“All business with you, even now,” Luocha sighs, forlorn disappointment wrinkling his brow. “You don’t have to be so uneasy around me, you know. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll brew us some tea.”

You do not sit. “You called me here for a reason. I deserve to know what it is.”

“Is your company not reason enough?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. He’s closer now, close enough for you to see how glassy his eyes are. The cloying, sweet smell grows stronger with each step taken, reckless pheromones enough to send a shudder down your spine. Is he… “What if I said I simply wanted to see you?” he breathes, gently cupping your chin. “Should I admit that you’ve haunted my near every thought for the past month, or would that be going too far? Would it frighten you?”

A ruddy flush paints his pale cheeks, cracks in his composure beginning to show. He’s always been the perfect picture of composure, to an irritating degree. The certain grace he moves with used to almost annoy you. So steady, in a world contaminated by constant disruption and imbalance. The very pinnacle of perceived harmony. Perhaps you envied the way in which he carried himself or the freedom he enjoyed as an interstellar merchant, but now—

Now you can say you hardly envy him at all.

“I would say that you should wait until your heat is over before making any confessions,” you observe, resisting the urge to swallow and make the problem worse. Omega or not, he still looms large over you.

“I’m in pre-heat, where I’ll most likely stay for the next few days,” one of his hands graces your right shoulder, thumb rolling delicate circles there. “I won’t ask you to… service me through the heat itself, but your company would help soothe the symptoms.” The touch wanders down your upper arm, a smooth, repetitive caress. It feels more like an unconscious gesture or a nervous tic than anything else. A self-soothing sort of motion.

“I’m a courier, not an on-call heat partner,” you inform him. How desperate must he be, to seek out the assistance of a courier of all people? “And I’m a beta. I can’t help you in the same way an alpha could. You know that.”

“And how do you know what will and won’t satisfy me?” he replies cooly, haughtily, as if he did not just sing your praises and plead for succor by your hand. “Betas are known to be particularly adept heat and rut partners due to their versatile nature—”

“I too have read the ‘Galaxy Hitchhiker’s Guide to Dynamics and All their Intricacies’. You don’t need to quote it verbatim to me.” you reply flatly, sounding as unconvinced as possible. Luocha is—dangerous. He is handsome, and he seems very sweet, and always seems well of manners, but you know he hides his daggers deep in his sleeves. The moment you realized you are considering his offer, you feel apart from yourself. Because it is ludicrous an idea.

Luocha’s eyes close. His bright lashes fan against flushed cheeks. “No sexual intimacy has to be involved. While skin-to-skin contact is the most effective method to ease the pain, simply being in the same room as you will suffice.”

The heat of him slips onto your skin, the layers between you thinner than you realized. An absentminded hand roams to the sash tied ‘round your waist, idly toying with the knot. His palm, after a moment of fidgeting, settles on the round of your hip. He gives you a gentle squeeze, but it reminds you more of a cat flexing its claws than a gesture of simple appreciation. He inundates you with scent and touch, pins you like a butterfly to a board, wings splayed open for his searching eyes.

Not that you’ve really tried to fly away at all. A flush of newfound heat encompasses you, unbidden as his scent washes over your palate. You draw him into your mouth and swallow, thighs pressing tight together. It’s ridiculous, really. Inane. Who is he to make you feel so unbalanced?

You find him so utterly vexing. No other man could do this to you, you think. You wouldn’t dare step foot into anyone else’s private home. You wouldn’t consider breaking the strict code of propriety you keep with your customers. But for Luocha, denizen of the Abundance and keeper of your most precious secret, you fear you may do anything.

“I’m a beta,” you repeat quietly.

Luocha remains undiscouraged by your disquiet. Baffling creature, bold beyond reason and reckoning behind his steady, at times coquettish mien. “You can still help me, if you would like. I’m not in the practice of taking unwilling partners.”

You let a poignant pause settle between you, as if you are legitimately considering his request. He leans in, ever so slightly, as if leering at you from three centimeters away is any better than leering at you from five.

Then, finally, after remaining silent for at least thirty long seconds. “Do you prefer blackmailed ones?”

He smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkle with it, entire face lighting up with genuine fondness. So utterly vexing, this man.

“Do you really want an answer to that question?” he asks. When you don’t answer, he presses a kiss to your temple.

—

It isn’t as awkward as you thought it would be. Perhaps it’s because Luocha seems to lack shame in almost everything he does. True to his word, he doesn’t touch you without permission. The rest of the day is spent sitting together in the lounge. He reads a book while you sit on the couch, half-paying attention to the news program you’ve put on. Dinner is takeout. The conversation is… bearable. It helps distract you from how close he is, pressed tight to the side of his body.

You stay in the living room until the sun sets, vivid orange light descending to dusky twilight. Eventually, Luocha stands to head to the washroom. A chill replaces the space he once occupied. You don’t allow yourself to mourn the loss. Instead, you haul yourself onto your feet. Black spots swim at the corners of your vision as your body lags a few seconds behind your brain.

It’s just more time wasted, as far as you're concerned, so you push yourself. You stagger until your eyesight clears, intending to make a break for the guest room that certainly must exist. Somewhere. A house this extravagant must have a guest room.

You manage to peek into two rooms, one a particularly extravagant closet and the other a sunroom.

You sullenly retreat back into the main hallway and head for the next door. Luocha slides out of the bathroom and fixes you with a questioning stare. “Where are you going?”

“Isn’t there a guest bedroom?”

“Ah,” he stands there and looks at you for a long moment, like you are a stranger in his home. Which is partially true, you suppose. You are little more than strangers. “There is, but I was hoping…” he looks off to the side with a pointed sigh. “you would spend the night in my bed.”

You stare at him like he’s grown a new head. He stares back, completely unrepentant.

“Because skin-to-skin contact helps?” you supply wryly.

“Right,” he smiles, as though glad you understand. “During pre-heat, an omega craves the constant companionship of a trusted person, preferably a mate, but that label doesn’t apply to our arrangement. Remaining isolated during this time could cause anxiety, depression, feelings of worthlessness, headaches, migraines—”

“You’ve gotten all the pity you’re gonna get out of me.” you inform him crisply. You relent anyway. The wooden floor is chilly as you pad towards him.

Your stoicism “Wonderful. Thank you for accommodating,” At very least, he seems to know that he’s putting this upon you. Luocha’s bed, you think, is far from the worst place you could spend your night. He’s far from unappealing. He smells good. He’s been weird to you, before, but he’s also unwaveringly polite and currently weaker than usual, hazier.

Not like you have much of a choice.

He could easily leak your location to your former allies. The Family’s connections span the universe wide. They could easily track you down and cause you all sorts of trouble, maybe even get you kicked off the Luofu. It’s best to cooperate with him, for the time being. And it’s not like he’s terrible company. He holds the door open for you even now, when you’re here for his sake.

His bedroom is as luxurious as the rest of the house. The floor is dark wood and the walls are black with golden accents. Tapestries hang over tall windows, blocking out the moonlight. A porcelain vase sits atop a combination dresser-vanity, its knobs and gnarled claws a warm bronze. The rest of the furniture is similarly colored, and of similar quality.

What draws your attention the most is the bed. It’s a wide mattress held aloft atop a platform. Gauzy black curtains hang from the top of the thin gold frame, parted to give you a good look at the mountain of pillows and blankets stacked atop of it. This, you recognize.

“Ah, that’s…” you begin, not quite sure how to phrase it. Aren’t some omegas super touchy about their nests? You haven’t the slightest clue as to which compliments to pay and to which part.

“A nest. I typically don’t indulge in the baser instincts that come with heat, but the urge was stronger than usual,” Luocha informs you, padding over to the mattress. He flops backwards on it, swimming through silks and satins like a minnow up a stream. Soon enough, you’ve lost him in the pile. “There isn’t much else for me to do besides twiddle my fingers, and I can only watch television for so long. So I thought: why not? It’ll be as good a way to keep busy as any other.”

There’s a small pause. Luocha hesitates by the vanity, drumming his slender fingers atop the hard wood. There’s something uncharacteristically fretful about the gesture. “What do you think?”

“It looks comfortable,” you nod sagely.

“What glowing praise,” he says, almost beaming. You’re kind of annoyed at how… no, you won’t call him cute. Not even within your own internal dialogue. “I’m glad to hear that. Why don’t you join me?”

He rests up against the headboard, lines of his body lean and lithe. He looks like something out of an old painting, long locks and pale limbs flowing over the dark sheets like

The green of his eyes is startling in the dim of the room. He looks you over, haughty like a monarch on a gilded throne, until his eyelids dip and his head tilts.

“Come here,” he beseeches again. “Please.”

And you do. You cross the threshold of the room, slipping past the open curtains and into the bower of his bed. The mattress dips plush under your hands and knees. Once you’re halfway across, you sit back on your knees—but this is not close enough for him. He needles and pleads with you until you’re close enough to grab. One of his hands wraps around your upper arm, the other at your hip as he tugs you to him, fitting your back snuggly against his front.

You still, but the tension remains wound tight in your shoulders. You’re more amazed at your own stupidity more than anything else. Wasn’t it you who insisted on keeping your clients at arm’s length? All of that haughty professionalism was tossed out the window the moment you succumbed to his pleading—if it could even be called that. He asked nicely.

Your eyes flutter shut. You lean backwards into his chest. His wide hands slide over your body, thumbs rolling circles onto your hips. A soft and sticky feeling settles underneath your skin as his thighs (bigger than you imagined) cradle your own, silken fabric of his robe pooled over the sheets. A low sound rumbles in his chest, suspiciously close to a contented purr.

“I’m so glad you decided to spend time with me, courier.” he coos. His hand glides up your arm to cup your own, long fingers interlacing with yours. A contemplative hum rumbles within his chest as he turns it over. His thumb traces the lines and creases of your palm. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I suppose I don’t.”

“And that’s why it means all the more to me that you stayed,” Luocha murmurs. He reaches over to the nightstand, and the lamp flickers off. The room is plunged into matte darkness, hardly a glimmer of moonbeam slipping in. “I think that you’re more considerate than you pass yourself off to be. Does that frighten you?”

“I didn’t think you’d be able to talk this much,” your brow wrinkles. “Aren’t you supposed to be too horny to think?”

“I’ll remind you that I’m currently in pre-heat—a process my body uses to prepare for the actual heat.” he says with a light sigh. “Believe me. If I were in heat,” his breath brushed against the shell of your ear, a warm and heady caress. “You would know.” He delicately presses the shell between his teeth, nosing the space behind it with another pleased sigh.

You shudder, and close your eyes. “And what’s the difference between heat and preheat?”

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t be able to tell… The pheromones for one,” Luocha squeezes your hand. “Are different. They’re similar to the ones we give off when under threat, a signal that we’ll need help soon… Not all omegas go through it—only an estimated forty percent.”

“I see.”

Luocha smiles, the curve of it pressed against your throat. You don’t like not being able to see him. A predator looming in the dreary dark of his den. “The desire is still present. Less a raging storm, more the gentle lapping of the waves.”

“Poetic. But I still don’t get why you picked me. They have services for this kinda thing. People who know more about it than I do.” If you doubted his sanity before, you certainly do now. What kind of sane omega enlisted the help of a postwoman above paid professionals?

“I would rather you than an unfamiliar alpha some service decided would be an adequate match. Even if vetted, a stranger is still just that. A stranger.” Luocha idly toys with your fingers, thumb rubbing circles onto your palm. It’s a touch too familiar, too tender for what you are. But Luocha permits himself to it, and the rest of your body, with a natural ease. You can’t help but feel lulled by it.

“I see. And you feel safe sharing a bed with your dealer?” Tempting as the siren song of slumber may be, you retain enough wit to pry. The whole thing is too absurd to not badger him a bit more. The arm wrapped around your waist tightens in reply.

“I trust someone who has never been late, never sold my personal information or purchase history and has been nothing but courteous to me.” Luocha lists off your credentials with ease. They feel like they’re straight out of an EULA, or some sort of contract. Out of place in a situation as delicate as this. You could easily tell him as much, but he’s starting to sound sleepy. You would rather he get his rest. And be quiet.

“Of course,” he squeezes the space above your hip, making your pulse spike. “Having the endorsement of an Aeon helps. Especially if said Aeon rules over the Harmony. What a lovely and orderly path to tread, courier. She chose you so well.”

“You should have told me that this thing was gonna make you delusional,” you grumble, writhing in his hold to simply signify your displeasure. A part of you wants to come clean and ask where the hell he learned your secret. It’s obvious that he won’t change his mind, or be swayed by your protestations. But you’re still too stubborn to admit he’s right.

You’re almost annoyed by how comfortable this is. He laughs, breath brushing the crown of your head, but he says nothing else, perhaps sensing that he’s reached your tolerance threshold for silliness. His breathing evens out a few minutes later, chest rising and falling beneath you.

You adjust yourself, settling into his side. Over the next few minutes, he contorts around you, the weight of his arm settling around your waist. Time slips away from you, after that.

The rampant pounding of your heart at last begins to slow. You’re almost calm, wedged between the blankets and body. Your sleep shirt is still wrenched upwards, his bare arm pressed against your stomach. The contact is a boundary crossed, a spark to a hunger you didn’t know you had been harboring. You don’t like it. Some part of your hindbrain rejoices at seeing this man’s needs met, and that delight worries you more than literally anything else Luocha has done or said today.

You stare across the room at the covered window. Slowly and steadily, you untangle your legs, curling them to your stomach. Outside, a frog croaks. The pond babbles in the distance. The air above the blankets is cool on your face and legs as you gently kick the covers back. The chill caresses your skin, sneaks between your robes to give you bumbling gooseflesh. The walls of the nest vent out the worst of the cold. Maybe you’ll ask him about cracking a window open tomorrow. Just a little bit.

—

You wake up a few hours later, and blink into the dark. Luocha stirs next to you. He’s awake. You don’t know how you know, but you can tell. His finger curl ever so slightly against the soft core of you. A shiver ripples across you, robe parted just enough for his fingertips to touch your bare skin.

“...Did you plant the garden outside?” you don’t know why you ask, but you do.

Luocha hums into the crook of your neck. He strokes your stomach, petting you.

“I did,” he answers after a moment, a contented sigh ruffling your hair. “Now get some rest.”

—

You leave the next morning, without breakfast. Luocha is a surprisingly deep sleeper, though perhaps you owe that to his current affliction. You’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’re also not going to be lured into skipping work by your own foolish sympathy. He can take care of himself for a miserly ten hours.

The day goes as any other does, at first. You take the shortest route you can find through the Luofu’s abundance-ridden innards, starting at the lower decks first. Packages and envelopes pass hands with little delay.

One of your clients, a buxom woman who owns a silk shop, covers her giggling mouth with an oversized sleeve. You eye her with suspicion. She notices, and giggles harder.

“I don’t mean to offend you, dear courier—it’s just—I hadn’t taken you the type to so openly… wear that kind of perfume.” she says, as if elaborating. You don’t understand what she’s talking about, and you don’t particularly care. You leave her to her frivolities and spirit away, merging back into the crowd with casual ease.

The next few clients each make some degree of face at you. One goes wide-eyed, before schooling his features into his typical, customer-service smile. The next looks at you like you have just thrice cursed his family line, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed into a beady glare. You resist the quite mean-spirited urge to remind of the legality of his purchases, shoring up your mental fortitude by recalling the sumptuous tips he usually gives.

Your seventh customer meets you beneath the crimson awning of a local cafe. You’re glad to be out of the beating sun.

“Congratulations, by the way,” she says with a smile, nursing a cup of iced tea and ah—you realize, something about you has really changed.

“Thank you, but may I ask what you are congratulating me for?”

“Oh!” she looks startled, and then sheepish. “On the relationship? I didn’t mean to presume….but your scent, today…” she trails off, looking awkwardly to the side.

Fortunately, you don’t need her to elaborate. The context clues snap together with sudden, startling clarity, the peevish behavior you’ve endured all day granted perfect context. Of course, evidence of your business with the merchant would be more apparent to those with keener noses. Your cheeks blood with abashed warmth. You resist the urge to shrivel like an old apple peel, overwhelmed all at once with humiliation, with indignation at yourself and the man who cast this misfortune upon you.

Heavens, how outrageous you must have seemed, walking into the esteemed establishments and parlors of your clients bathed in that ridiculous fellow’s scent! It’s but another consequence of yesterday’s poor decisions. You fume silently as you leave, making a beeline for your apartment. It’ll delay the rest of your deliveries, but that can’t be helped.

Your phone jitters in your pocket as soon as you step through the threshold of your dwelling.

You drop your bag onto the grey throw rug. It lands with a mighty thud, loud enough to make you silently hope the downstairs neighbors had not been enjoying an early afternoon nap. Your jacket gets tossed onto the sofa, keys thudding onto the upholstery. Then, you roundabout to the door. A row of locks catch stray rays of sun. You swiftly latch each one and give the door a rough, cursory shove.

Then, and only then do you check your messages.

You left without saying goodbye.

Your brow furrows. You’d never taken him to be this needy. Every other message above this exchange is polite, but ultimately curt. Most of his recent prying has been done in person.

You were still asleep

It’s alright. When will you return?

After work. Around 8 hours

That long? Could I persuade you to return sooner?

I can’t just skip out

I’ll buy you out. How much do you earn in a day?

Honestly, the nerve of this man! You type a series of poignant expletives out before tactfully deleting them.

It’s more than the money. my clients are powerful. i cant lose those connections

A few poignant moments pass before his reply comes.

Alright. I’ll see you later.

The tension drops off your shoulders. You expected him, in truth, to let loose a most potent threat to ensure your immediate return. A part of you, small and illogical, fears he’ll do his worst regardless. The thought of The Family learning your whereabouts nauseates you, bile churning at the very base of your throat, but surely a man possessed of his many sins is too wise to open his mouth about yours.

Without even realizing it, you have completely trapped each other.

What did he ever do with that Core Esse?

It’s better not to think about it. You have hours more left to move, and your line of work demands utmost focus, lest you drop an organ into the wrong customer’s hands.

Fifteen minutes, you afford yourself. The water chases the sweat from your skin, soap and sponge raking your skin raw. The evidence of him washes down the drain with the suds, leaving you remarkably less agitated. Because, really, who gave him permission to linger on your skin and on your clothes and in your thoughts—who gave him leave to evoke your fear and sympathy and intrigue and misplaced affections? Not you, that much is for certain!

You determine yourself free of the vexing beast’s cloying scent and return to the Xianzhou’s busy streets.

—

Arrogance is one of humanity’s most populated wheelhouses. Next door, its foundations built by fools and geniuses both, stands proud senselessness. If you had to name a tenant they share, then with abrupt acuity, you would surely name the Stellaron Hunters, who, as far as you can ascertain, base their stratagems off the ravings of a lunatic. As you wander to the edge between land and space, you cannot help but wonder what his credentials are, and if anyone has ever laid eyes upon them.

You don’t care enough to ask, though, when you reach the jagged edge. The end of the cargo hold, where the Xianzhou’s artificial sky breaks. Fragments of pale blue and white float amongst the void, growing smaller and sparser until none remain. The ground ends in a series of jagged, shiny edges, as though the metal had been cut clean through. You duck underneath a smattering of ships and starskiffs and cranes and cargo containers. Cold, silvery chrome gives way to the cold, open empty. That is where the man in black waits.

“Blade” is his name. He is a vision against the star-scattered expanse of the empty. Stood beneath a bright, red star, unbothered hy the thin oxygen levels and freezing temperatures. Tall and looming and perhaps irredeemably beautiful. It could be the lack of air talking. You like him more than you like Silver Wolf. She wastes your time with always unnecessary and often personal questions.

“Here for Silver Wolf, I assume?” you ask, already rifling through your bag for the cables and strange, circuit-board devices which she has ordered from you.

“Yes,” he nods, and you appreciate how he says nothing else.

“Alright. Here you are, then. Make sure she knows that she owes me another favor. These things were hard to find. She’s getting the discount of a lifetime.” you hand him three small boxes and he leaves with a nod. A polite and concise interaction. As distant as mostly-strangers should be.

—

“Home” is after that. The skies have gone a bright gold, nighttime looming in the near distance.

Luocha’s home is not your home. You refuse to identify it as such, for doing so opens dangerous doors and implications which are most inappropriate for what you have. You make a brief pit stop to your apartment to gather a night bag, changes of clothes haphazardly crammed into the black canvas alongside a toothbrush and other necessary toiletries.

You nudge the door open with your hip. Pale orange light falls across the threshold and into the dimly lit living room. Luocha sits on the couch, or rather, he lounges. The silken collar of his robe drapes over his right shoulder, exposing a frankly indecent amount of his chest. You pay his naked skin no heed, plonking your bags onto the floor. It’s a welcome weight off your shoulders. You wish you could lay on the floor. A good sleep on that fine, polished wood would fix you.

“Welcome home,” he greets you, daintily depositing the book he’d been reading onto the side table. “I never realized just how long your hours are. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m used to it,” you reply, but you flop onto the opposite end of the sofa regardless. A heavy sigh punches out of you, weary eyes shutting.

“With how much you charge me, I would think you could afford to shorten your shifts,” he says, with sympathy you know is feigned. You crack an eye open to cast him a cursory look—but the room shifts around you in a blur as long fingers curl around your wrist and pull, tugging you onto his side of the couch.

You land with a disgruntled squawk. Your hands curl into silken fabric. and you realize belatedly that you’ve all but been dragged atop of him, left laid out between his legs. You twist, top half of your body turning to the side to level him with a nasty glare.

He’s flushed, is the first thing you noticed. More so than yesterday. His cheeks are dusted in pale pink, a delicate blush that runs all the way to his shoulders. He’s warmer, too. You can feel the heat of him pressed along your body.

“You didn’t have to do that. You could have just asked,” How does someone who looks so willowy have such a strong grip? It’s beyond you, truly.

“Forgive me,” Predictably, he looks completely, and utterly, unrepentant. “You were just so unsuspecting, I couldn’t help but want to surprise you…” You make a point of looking as surly as possible, and the fiend laughs. Quietly, and behind his oversized, crimson sleeve. Unbidden comes to you the shape of his lips around that euphonic sound, what they might look like when parted by soft breaths and dulcet moans— “Ah, please don’t make that face. It only makes me want to tease you more.”

“Enough of your insanity. ” you bite out, pointedly pressing your elbow into his side. You wriggle in his arms. His grip curls tighter around your waist and he sighs, pressing his face into the crook of your neck to take a long inhale. “Let me up!”

“Just a few more moments?” he asks, words mouthed into your skin. You feel hot all the way down to your shoulders. You muster all your resilience with a swallow, but it isn’t enough. A hush falls over the living room.

Against your better judgment, you find yourself lulled by the gentle sound of his breathing, by his warmth at your back. Nearly ever part of you aches. Your legs throb, the tight muscles of your thighs worn and throbbing from a long day’s labor. The scorching pains dig deep into your shoulders and your back—you’re due a nice, long shower, you think.

The dappled sun against the adjacent wall writhes and shifts with the artificial breeze. You can hear the winds shifting through the canopy outside. A songbird sings a trilling little tune. It’s easier to focus on these things while you indulge him and wait to be let up, even if he is being unusually quiet. You’re wise enough to not necessarily be glad for the silence.

His hand cups your hip, shifting you even closer. It’s only a centimeter or two, but it lets you feel the pointed hard thing jutting into your back in greater clarity. Unbidden, your cunt throbs between your thighs. The arousal and exhaustion makes your mind sticky, concrete thoughts difficult to come by among the haze.

“Luocha,” you murmur, and he moans softly, breath brushing against your tender skin. Goosebumps flare across your shoulders and arms despite the heat—the sound the shock you needed to get moving. “This is—” you cut yourself off with a swallow as his lips press to the column of your neck. Your already flagging resistance whimpers out into nothing. Each heavy inhale draws him further in, the scent so sweet and cloying in spite of your muffled senses.

“You must have had such a hard day. Doesn’t it hurt? Always going home to that empty apartment?” he purrs, voice indulging, dripping with a delirious sort of fondness. And isn’t that always the trouble with these sorts of situations? Does he want you, or are you the closest warm body available for him to rut into? How strong is his grip on reality? You writhe in his lap and he gasps. His grip tightens in response, holding you fast with surprising strength. “You must be so lonely…”

“I’m not, really,” you nearly snarl, finally losing patience with your clinger’s affections. Your voice, alongside the elbow you jab into his side, jars him from his twisted reverie. He chokes, and muffles a groan into the collar of your jacket, at last lifting his lips away from your skin. The breath whooshes out of him at the force of the blow, but his grip barely loosens. “Behave. Or I’ll leave.”

He inhales quietly, and shudders.

Over your brief stay in his lavish home, you have perhaps twice (or thrice) wondered if keeping to your principles was worth it. Why not sink into his touch? Why not drink deep of the physical affection he saturates you in? The fact that you’re contemplating the subject at all is deeply ruffling. Little less than two weeks ago, you would have scoffed at the idea.

Alas, the creature at your back is more siren than man. It wounds your pride. You aren’t just any beta. You’re a prime beta, a beta noticed and beloved by Xipe herself. The gift of Harmony should allow you to smother the scents around you completely. It should grant you immunity to the bothersome urges which so often get in the way of business. He weakens your shored-up defenses, somehow.

“Of course… My apologies.” he sounds contrite, and despite yourself, you soften. Just a tad. “It’s just—well, a little difficult to hold back when you smell like that.”

“Like what?”

Luocha evades the question, without even pretending to humor it.

“Your last customer was an alpha, wasn’t he?” He lifts his head from the hollow of your throat, looking down at your intertwined fingers over your shoulder. His thumb brushes along the back of your hand before he flips it over. His fingertips brush over yours, before curling into a fist around your pointer and middle, giving a gentle tug. He idly toys with your hand while he speaks. Voice a light, low murmur. “A tall man. Black hair, pretty red eyes… They look like candle wicks, don’t they?” He says it fondly, and your heart sinks into your stomach.

Of course he knows Blade. Why wouldn’t he?

You’ve never bought anything from Luocha, but you can tell from what he orders that he’s a merchant who idles in the same, seedy markets as yourself. A man who had asked you to trade him an organ brushing shoulders with a Stellaron Hunter somewhere in the darkest corners of the Luofu sounds completely and utterly plausible. A group of little coincidences which occurred just to be a thorn in your side. How did they meet? You can’t help but wonder. How well do they know each other? What kind of relationship do they have?

You don’t ask any questions. It’s not your place. Getting involved anymore than you already are is just asking for more trouble.

“And if I did meet him?”

He pauses, and laughs a little.

“Well. I am almost in heat. Perhaps I just became… a bit defensive when you came back, smelling just like him. Omegas in heat can be just as territorial of their dens as alphas in rut, though that's often overlooked in the social narrative. We’re supposed to be weak, dainty little things, you know?” If he feels self-conscious about this, he doesn’t show it. He has a tighter leash on himself, now. He sounds more contemplative than resentful.

“You, weak and dainty? I have to laugh,” you don’t.

“I appreciate how open-minded you are,” he says sweetly.

A brief silence falls over the room. You take in the soft sound of the breeze outside. The steady shifting of the trees’ canopies. The steady breathing of that small ecosystem he has birthed and nurtured.

He’s hesitating. A question hangs in the air, tangles on the tip of his tongue. You can’t see his face, but you have a sixth sense for these sorts of things. That, and it’s typical of him to demand more than you’re willing to give. No more ground will you cede to him. If he begs again for you to remain during the duration of his heat, he’ll find himself succinctly refused.

Still, you’d rather not have to go through the uncomfortable hassle of rejecting him. But he clearly thinks better of it, because he stays quiet—only breaking the contemplative quiet to ask you what you would like for dinner, his thumb rolling circles onto your palm.

#hungering for hsr #luocha/reader #luocha #imagine hsr

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elsfairy · 2 years ago

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✧ ˚. SOFT RIDGES ⎯ ABBY ANDERSON

꒰ ♡ ꒱ sub!abby who is so messy when she eats you out. your slick and her spit running down her chin, calloused hands gripping tightly onto your hips, not giving you any chance to move away. mouth practically glued to you, shamelessly making out with your cunt. moaning and whimpering when you tug on her braid. “Baby, slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”

꒰ ♡ ꒱ sub!abby whose brain short circuits and shuts down at the mention of her being your good girl. always wants to be your good girl. whether it be when she’s taking your strap, or when you’re eating her out. if you say it when she’s so blissed out, panting under you, then she’s an even bigger mess. sobbing into the pillow, & babbling in agreement. “I know, baby. you’re doing so good, my good girl”

꒰ ♡ ꒱ sub!abby who has a habit of sitting in your lap, face shoved in your neck and her voice quiet. barely a whisper, pleading and begging for you to touch her, kiss her. when she begs, she becomes red & flustered, whinier than usual but she sounds so pretty & needy. especially with how dirty words fall from her lips, and they sound so innocent. if she’s too shy, she’ll just sit on your lap, watching you. “gotta tell me what you want, or i can’t give it to you pretty girl. use your words”

꒰ ♡ ꒱ sub!abby who loves nothing more than waking up to your fingers buried in her cunt, lips leaving sweet kisses over her shoulder, and just hearing those pretty little sounds that escape from between her own lips. hearing the way she pants quietly, whining into your neck, whimpering against your mouth. if there was something else she loved a lot more though, it would be having your fingers in her mouth at the same time, fucking her throat. the sound of her moans, and whines filling the room. “you’re so greedy aren’t you, pretty? having my fingers in your cunt isn’t enough is it? need them in your bratty mouth too? dirty girl.”

꒰ ♡ ꒱ sub!abby who gets so needy when you don’t give her any attention, that she takes matters into her own hands, forcing you to sit there, and watch her. forces you to watch her fuck herself on her fingers, forces you to watch the way they move in her sopping cunt. she's so wet, can always hear just how wet she becomes when you're watching. and you can't do anything, just have to sit there, listening to every whine, whimper, moan, and plea that fall from her lips. have to watch the way her thighs tremble, the way the sheer sheet of sweat covers her body. “If only you could see how beautiful you look right now, fucking yourself all because i didn’t give you attention. needed me that bad huh?”

꒰ ♡ ꒱ sub!abby who loves the way you take care of her. always making sure she’s eating regularly, and drinking enough water. adores watching you prepare your shared dinner. of course, though, those innocent thoughts are out the window and the neediness is around the corner the longer she watches you, silently. tugging on the sleeve of your shirt, hugging you from behind, whining quietly into your shoulder. she craved your attention more than anyone else. she needed yours the most. she needed you. she needed your attention so much that she didn’t mind when she ended up bent over the table, and your fingers knuckle deep in her cunt, moving at such a fast but gentle pace. gasping and whimpering into her arms that were folded in front of her on the dark oak wood “you’re doing so well, you look so pretty like this. so messy but so beautiful Abs”

꒰ ♡ ꒱ sub!abby who loves you. loves how you help her wash her hair when she’s too tired to do it herself. loves when you cook her food after a long day and she can’t be bothered to stand there and cook. adores when you braid her hair for her, gently and with so much love & attention. she loves when you let her curl up in your lap, slowly & soothingly rubbing her back when she’s tired. loves when you hold her hand during the night. whispering quietly into her ear when she’s half awake. melts when you play with her hair, twirling strands around your fingers. just loves when you take care of her, and keep her safe. “I love you, pretty girl.”

#my mothers day gift to yall <3 #not sorry for using that gif either <3 #abby anderson smut #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby anderson x you

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animereaderinsertwriter · 1 year ago

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Pairing: Cloud Strife x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: frenemies to lovers, Cloud's memory problems, reader is an assassin, smut, porn WITH plot

Final Word Count: 9k

Plot summary: A mercenary and an assassin walk into a bar. They bicker, have sex, then go home and freak out about it. The whole thing feels like it should be a joke, but it isn't— and no matter how bad it hurts, they keep coming back for more.

ao3 link

“Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table…”

The entrance to Hell's Maw yawned lazily open, with the wooden door leaning crookedly off of its hinges. The door— made of sturdy oak— had held up well against bar fights between mercenaries, master thieves, and assassins for over a decade; it was riddled with holes from unsuccessful knifings and stray bullets, and sported faint airbrushings of blood from more successful endeavors of the same sort. Really, the agency ought to have replaced it by now as a favor to the bar for letting its employees regularly trash the place— but those stingy bastards couldn't be bothered with anything outside of making money off the hard labor of people bigger, meaner, and certainly more deadly than themselves, and so the door remained as it was.

Fondly, you patted the door as you passed it; the little creak it gave felt like a 'thank you,' and you smiled as you slipped inside the building, largely unnoticed by the Friday night crowd.

Despite its name, Hell's Maw was a cozy, comfortable establishment. There were large, comfortable booths lining the walls, the fabric of their green seats cracked and slightly worn in the middle; a few pool tables with green felt were nestled comfortably in the middle of the room. There was always something soft and smooth playing from the jukebox in the corner, and the lighting was dim enough to feel gentle and ambient, but bright enough that a girl didn't feel the need to squint at her plate for deformed food.

Tonight, a few familiar faces were gathered around the pool tables, holding cues that had been haphazardly duct taped back together a few times. The quiet buzz of conversation was a comforting lull, and there was a pleasant smell drifting out from the kitchen that had you sighing at the thought of a warm meal.

Home sweet home, you thought, smiling as you took in the scene.

"Evening, Kitty," you greeted one of the servers as she passed by. "What's the special tonight?"

Kitty was a short, pleasantly plump woman with a freckled face and flaming hair. To look at her, you'd never know that she spent her evenings catering to smugglers, tramps, thieves, and worse— but she was as strong as she was beautiful, so generally speaking, she got whatever she wanted out of Hell's Maw's regular patrons.

"Shepherd's pie," said the waitress, grinning back as she bussed a table, "but your friend over there is putting everyone off their dinner with that sour look on his face. It's a wonder anyone can keep their drinks down, what with his mean-mugging."

You followed Kitty's gaze to the bar, where a familiar shock of blond hair glowed honey-golden in the incandescent lighting.

To your credit, you tried hard to stifle your laugh.

Sitting on what you had come to think of as your barstool, Cloud Strife looked even more brooding and mysterious than usual. A glass of his choice poison— lemon water with a pinch of mint— was sitting untouched on the mahogany wood in front of him. As he sat there, glaring at his glass, he seemed so miserable that you couldn't even be mad at him for stealing her seat.

Alas, despite your efforts, the sight earned a giggle.

"He looks to be in a fine temper," you noted slyly, wagging your eyes at Kitty.

Kitty huffed.

"He looks like he's swallowed a hornet's nest."

You laughed again.

"I'd best go see what he wants, then," you said. "If it's any comfort to you, I can't imagine he'll stay very long."

"Oh, he's no trouble," said Kitty mischievously. "As for myself, don't care what face he makes when he's got a face like that."

You giggled. He really was handsome, that bastard.

"I'll be sure to tell him you said that. Later, Kitty."

"Later," said Kitty with her signature wink.

As you approached the bar, you wondered at Cloud's presence there. It was a rare day that he arrived at the bar before you, and even rarer that he should be waiting for you and not sitting in a booth with a friend— an actual friend— or chatting up some girl at the pool tables. You couldn't recall a time when he'd been this forward with his presence at your little meeting place, and you'd be lying if you said the newness of it all didn't set you on edge.

Cloud Strife in general set you on edge.

"Hello, first class," you greeted him, smiling.

As he turned to acknowledge you, you slid gracefully into the seat next to him, signaling to the bartender for a little something sweet and strong.

"Cutthroat," he returned without malice.

You turned your best pout on him.

"Now, now, you're being uncharitable. You're in my seat, and I haven't even considered cutting your throat." You thought for a moment. "Well, until now at least "

He raised a brow, in a moment both teasing and deadly.

"If it's any consolation, though, it's more of a scientific interest than anything," you added as an afterthought. "It's not often that I get contracts for anyone like a SOLDIER, you know."

Blue-ringed green peered at you with familiar, friendly distaste.

"I'm not stupid enough to be one of your marks," he said, taking a sip of his drink. "I think with my upstairs head, which is more than I can say for the guys you get paid to kill."

It was a bit naive of him to assume such a thing. No man was above being one of your marks.

"Then praise be that the world isn't full of good, right-honorable ex-SOLDIERs like you," you shot sweetly back at him. "Poor little me would be out of a job."

Cloud let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, then sobered and stared moodily into his glass of water. He looked like a petulant child who'd been sent to his room as punishment.

"Come on, why so sour?" you prodded, trying to keep your tone teasing. "Did you get turned down this evening before I got here? If so, I'm sure the pretty brunette in the corner would go home with you— she's been staring at you since I walked in."

He scowled.

"Why does it always have to be about sex with you?" he snapped as the bartender handed you your glass of fruity bliss. "Are the men you seduce to kill not doing it for you anymore?"

You took the insult in stride.

"Why?" you challenged, leaning forward, eyes flicking up to meet his. "Curious?"

Cloud was the first to look away.

Somehow, it was always this. He would come to you in moments of woundedness or weakness and pick a fight that he couldn’t finish. Fights about work, fights about drinks, fights about the sex that neither of you were having, and fights about fighting just for fighting's sake— too often, you found yourselves here, in this endless cycle of strange and hateful amicability. Why, you didn't know— but it wasn't like that was going to stop you from playing your little game.

"Why are you in my seat?" You began again, changing tactics. "You know that's my seat. I'm fairly certain the groove of my ass cheeks are worn into the shape of it by now."

"Wanted to be," he replied with a little shrug of powerful shoulders. "It's a nice seat. Got a problem with it?"

You hummed, sipping from your drink.

"Not at all. Just curious as to what's wrong with you today."

Cloud cut his eyes at you.

"Who says there's something wrong with me?"

"Oh, there's something wrong with everyone here. The fact that you're picking a fight with me today is especially telling, though."

"Not picking a fight," he grumbled.

"Of course not," you replied, placating. "Now— would you like to tell me what's on your mind, or should I try and guess?"

Cloud stayed silent, but took another drink from his minty lemon water.

Guessing it was, then.

"Don't know which girl to pick again?" you scanned the bar. There were plenty of Cloud's type there— sweet innocents that looked like they needed protecting. "I can help like last time. Blondie by the pool table has got great tits and a sweet smile, but she'll want to do it missionary the whole time. The brunette I was talking about earlier is probably a bit kinkier, if that's what you're i—"

Cloud moved to get up, disgusted.

Wrong guess, then.

"I'm teasing," you told him, tugging his arm. "Sit down, drama queen."

Cloud eyed you warily, but reluctantly sat back down.

"You know," you said gently, "this would be easier if you could just tell me what's going on."

Cloud's expression shuttered closed. It was as if a mask had dropped into place over his features, locking them into a single blank expression.

"Nothing's going on. I told you, I'm fine."

You were beginning to feel frustrated. Hell's Maw was a haven for damaged colleagues of a hellacious profession. Most of them came for one of two reasons: to have sex, or to play house in a place where the job didn't matter. Cloud was the former, you were the latter. You fulfilled his need to banter and blow off steam, and he fulfilled your need to care and watch out for someone. It wasn't like you were friends. Currently, he wasn’t fulfilling your needs, and you weren't fulfilling his— so why were either of you even there?

"You're a shit liar, Cloud Strife," you huffed. "If all you're going to do is act like an ass, then you can get out of my seat and find someone else to abuse with your presence."

He shook his head.

"I doubt someone like you could understand."

You leaned back in your seat. An odd hurt pierced your chest.

You knew your lives were different. You knew he disapproved of yours. That was an old fight that had already scabbed over into little more than scars on your psyche; but if he wanted to pick it until it bled once more, you would indulge him with scratches of your own.

"Someone like me," you repeated, the words bitter as lye soap in your mouth. “Tell me, Cloud— what, exactly, do you think I am?”

You stared deeply into his eyes, challenging him. As you did so, you noted the mako-greenish tinge in the center of his iris, and not for the first time, the weight of your secret pulsed within you, threatening to fizzle out from you in white-hot sparks.

“I think you’re a murderer,” he told you, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re a contract killer, and what’s worse, you use your body to lure men to their deaths like some kind of demented, two-bit—”

You had heard these words before. Refusing to hear them again, you drew back your hand and made to strike him; you didn’t get far, though, before Cloud’s SOLDIER reflexes proved their worth and caught your hand before the slap could land. Even through his glove, you could feel the mako beneath his skin, and you shivered.

“I told you before,” you said, speaking carefully, willing control to return to you. “Don’t call me a whore ever again. If you do, it will be the last word you say.”

Gently, you nudged the blade in your other hand against his ribs, and he flinched backwards, apparently not having seen or anticipated the movement despite the obvious distraction of the slap.

“I don’t have to say it,” he replied calmly, tightening his grip on your wrist. “You put the words in my mouth, so if the shoe fits, then fucking wear it.”

The flow of mako within him was strong, pulling at you physically like the opposite side of a magnet. A breath, then two, and it was under control— but those words cut deep. Hearing them from someone like Cloud cut even deeper.

"You know what, I don't have to take this from you," you said, trying to take your arm back. He didn’t let you, instead holding you fast against your will. Feeling vengeful, you added, "Especially not when you're such a hypocrite."

Cloud's expression was impassive, marble-esque, but the hardening of his eyes told you that you'd hit the mark.

"Excuse me?"

You smirked.

"What, you think I don't know what you get up to around here? How you fuck around with these girls and that pretty barmaid at Seventh Heaven? And yet you think I’m the whore? Get a grip, man."

"What?"

There it was— hurt and indignation that mirrored your own flashed in his eyes, and you knew you had him.

"Oh, you heard me," you said, tilting your head like another girl might for a kiss. "I'd bet top dollar that your big-titty Tifa would give her right arm to play housewife for you, and you play right along with her, the poor thing. Does she know you come here every week for an easy lay?"

Cloud snarled, enraged, and roughly threw your wrist away from himself as though disgusted.

"I've never touched Tifa!"

You grinned wryly, massaging your wrist, and said,

"And don't you know it kills her?"

It occurred to you then that you might have gone a bit too far. Cloud's hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, and he looked as if he might hit you. A moment of tense silence swept over the both of you, a tug of war of will-he-won't-he between you— and then as he always did when it came to matters of the heart, Cloud Strife took the easy way out.

He turned away.

"Coming here was a fucking mistake," he growled, fitting that giant, way-too-Freudian sword to his lean, muscled back. "I don't know why I fucking bothered— of course you wouldn’t take this conversation seriously."

"What conversation?" you shot back. "If you think shit-talking me to my face is a conversation, you've got bigger problems than leading some girl on."

He rounded on you.

"I'm not leading anyone on. I don't feel for Tifa like that and she knows it."

You arched a brow. "Oh, so you've told her?"

Cloud faltered.

"Well— no."

"Then is she just supposed to guess?"

Cloud scowled, no doubt ready to double down on his point— but you, suddenly conscious of the setting and the kind of hurt it would cause if talk like that got back to Seventh Heaven, moved closer and said seriously,

"That girl loves you. Everyone from here to topside knows except you. You break her heart, and I feel for her. Every woman has cried the tears she cries for you— most are just smart enough to cut thoughtless, careless bastards like you off."

Cloud shook his head, expression closed.

"No way. Tifa's smarter than that."

You smiled, though it ached.

"No woman is," you told him gently. "Love is our gift, and our curse."

"You're full of shit."

Ah, that was it, then. Once he began to resort to blind insults, you knew you'd won.

"No, I'm right, and it bothers you— and you know what else I think?"

Cloud folded his arms.

"Can I pay you not to tell me?"

You ignored him.

"I think that you think I should be as tortured and as guilty as you feel, and it bothers you even more that I'm not. I understand this world, live in it, accept it, and so you believe that I am just as bad as everyone else in this stupid bar. And that, Cloud, is why you’re here right now, so let me give you this piece of wisdom."

You caught his arm again as he tried to turn away, feeling the warmth of him beneath your hand.

"I have no guilt, and I have no shame. It is the world who should be ashamed for having need of me. Of having need of us."

In that moment, you found yourself nose-to-nose with Cloud, sharing his breath. His eyes— his beautiful eyes— were trained on yours, calculating, analytical. His breath smelled of lemon. You wanted to taste the sourness of it from his lips, feel the burn of its acid in your split lip.

"Don't be ashamed," you murmured, forcing your eyes to return to meet his gaze. "You are what they made you, but you survived. Never, ever be ashamed."

The place where the skin of your palm met the skin of his forearm burned with electric warmth. You found that touching this prickly, untouchable man felt like holding a live wire. From the very beginning, you had known that Cloud Strife was a powerhouse, a living weapon; somehow, though, you had neglected to realize what kind of power he had over you before this skin-to-skin contact.

After a moment, something dawned on you, and you were horrified. Just like Tifa, just like every woman watching them and seething with jealousy, you wanted him.

"I hate you," he said, but moved closer. "I hate how easily you justify this life."

"I accept your hate," you said, "but you can't deny what I've said is true."

"I hate that too." He moved his arm away from your hand, bringing his hand up to touch your neck, his thumb resting in the hollow of your throat. He could easily kill you, even with your knife still at his ribs. You fought against the urge to close your eyes and let the sensation of it consume you.

"I do wonder why you came here then," you mused softly, "why you're bothering with talking to me when you could take one of these little fawns home with you."

"I don't want them," he said almost distractedly, his eyes dark and intense on yours. "At best, they're a means to an end."

This was news to you. You'd watched him take them home night after night like clockwork.

"Then what do you want?"

He never once broke his gaze with you. You never even saw him blink.

"Would that I knew."

Cloud tilted his head. You thought you had imagined it, until his nose bumped yours.

Was this what he had come here for?

You weren't sure. Either way, he lingered back, unwilling to close the distance. If you wanted to kiss him, you would have to choose it for yourself; if you wanted him, you had to make the active, conscious choice to cut yourself on his edge, and take the pain that would come with it.

You weighed the costs, found them worthy. You leaned forward, closing the gap, and let him kiss you.

Oh, what a kiss.

The act itself was simple. It was only the touching of flesh, soft and surprisingly gentle. The mako-power under his skin pulsed against the places where you touched— your lips, his hand at your throat, your palm against his bicep— and a powerful twinge of want jerked the nerves between your legs, wanting, needing more.

Distantly, it occurred to you that if any of the kisses you'd shared with your marks had been like this, you would have been the one lying dead at the end of it all.

"Do you want to leave?" you asked once your lips had parted from his.

"Depends on where you want to go," he said, nose still brushing yours. "I'm not interested in going back to mine."

Of course not, you thought bitterly. Tifa might see.

Ego bruised, you decided to play the game.

"Who said we were going to anyone's place?" You hummed, your lashes lowered. "An alleyway might work just as well for what you have in mind."

Cloud's eyes darkened further at that.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Filthy sex in a back alley where anyone could see." He scoffed, pupils dilated. "Disgusting."

He went in for another kiss, and you stepped back.

"Who said anything about sex, either?" you teased, eyeing him up and down. "Just 'cause your usual crowd lets you take what you want doesn't mean I will. Not everyone wants Shinra’s sloppy seconds."

Cloud frowned.

"Don't fuck with me," he said, deadly serious. "I don't take that shit well."

At that, you softened. Perhaps that had been a bit too far. There was clearly some amount of bad blood between this particular SOLDIER and Shinra, and you had poked that bruise knowingly.

"I'm sorry," you said, sincere. "It was wrong of me to tease you."

You extended your hand.

"Come on. We'll go to my place."

For a moment, you didn't think he'd take it— but eventually, he placed his hand in your own and let you lead him away from Hell's Maw.

On your way out, you passed a few booths of familiar faces that turned their heads at the sight of the two of you leaving together— but just as you were starting to wonder if you'd made the right decision, Kitty caught your eye. The waitress gave you an all-knowing smile and winked.

It was the closest thing to a blessing that you were going to get.

Outside of a job or a hookup, Cloud was not often outside at night under the plate.

Now, in the awkward silence between himself and (Y/N), he had time to look and reflect. The combination of maintenance lights and the soft glow of energy throughout the plate itself was a poor imitation of a sky full of stars, but it was good enough in the absence of another alternative. It dimly lit the dusty, barren streets, casting everything in the greenish-gray of mako energy-fuelled lights; when he wasn't peering into suspicious shadows, Cloud caught glimpses of (Y/N) out of the corner of his eye, noting the way the unnatural light made her skin appear strange and foreign beneath it. Before now, he had not thought her skin to be so familiar that he would notice a difference.

Tonight was a remarkably bad idea.

"We're almost there," (Y/N) said to him, slowing her walk until she stopped to face him. She peered up at him with piercing eyes, and Cloud suddenly got the feeling that he was being tested.

"Something bothering you?" he ventured, resisting the urge to check over his shoulder for some unseen enemy.

"You could say that."

(Y/N) did not drop her gaze; Cloud refused to give her any ground by being the first to look away for the second time in the evening.

"Why are we here?" she asked him, her eyes throwing the light of the plate back to him in little glowing pinprick reflections. "I wasn't thinking earlier, not really— I let my baser instincts lead me this far. Before we go any further, I have to know what you're in this for."

An excellent question, that— it was one Cloud had asked himself a thousand times before he made the decision to show up at Hell's Maw.

I'm here ecause you drive me to distraction, he wanted to say. Because you're so beautiful, and so deadly, and I have wanted a taste of you since I first laid eyes on you. Because after meeting with you every week for months, moments with you feel like the only thing that's really mine in all the world.

Instead, he did not speak, not for a long time. Patiently, she watched him, staunch in her decision to remain where she was until he gave her an answer.

Because I want you is the answer he should have given, mostly because it was the truest one. The answer he gave was stupid and cowardly, and only true in the vaguest sense.

"To scratch an itch," he said. When she raised a brow, he added, "A deeper one than usual."

He hoped distantly that she could understand his reticence. He could not tell her what he felt without feeling foolish; he could not even acknowledge it to himself without feeling a traitor to the feelings he was expected to bear for others. Tonight, he could have chosen from dozens of women, and at least two of them were as dear to his heart as his very own flesh— but none of them were her. (Y/N) was beauty and grace and nightshade; she was the honey in every trap, the woman he wasn't supposed to want, but wanted carnally. She had no history with him, only the present, and yet he felt that she understood him like no one else ever had.

Don't be ashamed, she'd told him earlier, her gaze steady and strong like steel, her voice soft and gentle as silk. You are what they made you, but you survived. Never, ever be ashamed.

Cloud had spent so much of his time ashamed of everything. Ashamed of his roots, of his failures, of all the things he remembered, of all the things he didn't— and it was as if she had felt the badness in him, sensed it without him saying, and accepted it as a part of him. In her, there was no blind hero-worship, no transference of feelings from a risky rescue. No, she was simply the other side of his coin. She knew him because she was him.

"An itch," she repeated, and he felt as though she were flaying him open with her eyes.

"An itch," he replied, unable to say anything else.

She took a moment, considering. She must have found something within him worthy, because she gave a nod and walked on as though the conversation had never happened.

If someone had asked Cloud that night what her house had looked like, he could not have said. He would not have known the color if it had been neon orange with fireworks shooting out of the front of it; by the time he should have taken notice of it, he'd been thoroughly distracted with (Y/N)'s mouth on his own.

How that happened was a mystery also. One moment, he was walking along with her, slightly behind— the next, he was grabbing her arm, overcome with the desire to see her face once more, his heart somehow damaged by her uncharacteristic silence, and then he was kissing her because he could, because she let him, and because he was swiftly becoming utterly obsessed with the taste of her. It was filthy, deviant stuff, sucking on the length of her tongue, holding her to him by the very hair of her head; eventually, he decided that he wanted her closer still and simply lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist.

From there, he'd been operating mostly blind. She gave him directions, intimately familiar with her route home, and guided him even to the very last detail of how high he should lift his foot to make it up the front porch steps. If either of them had not been who they were, such a thing would likely have been impossible— but with an assassin's precision and a SOLDIER's grace and ability, they'd navigated the journey just fine.

At first, it seemed a shame and a nuisance that, even after they'd done so well getting there, (Y/N) insisted on opening the lock to her front door— but then Cloud got a magnificent view of her backside, and remembered that, as an ass man, it was practically his duty to come behind her and press himself against her with hungry neck-kisses as she fiddled with the lock. His cock, already half-hard, was infinitely pleased with the rocking motion he'd taken up, grinding against her ass; she, apparently, was also pleased as she pressed back against him, encouraging the friction with her own body as his teeth scraped over the lobe of her ear.

“Fuck,” she swore, her hands shaking as she finally managed to slide the key home, using it to turn the lock. “That feels good.”

Never one to let a compliment lead to complacently, Cloud licked a line up her neck, tasting her sweat and the bitter tang of her perfume; his tongue found the lobe of her ear once more, then delved into the cavity of it. (Y/N) shivered at the motion as the door fell away, and Cloud guided the both of them inside, kicking the door shut with a heavy boot.

Her home was smaller than he had expected. For some reason, Cloud had imagined her to live in a palace, or something close to it— certainly, the amount of money her jobs paid could keep her more than comfortably in one, if there was one to be found below the plate— but instead of great columns and outrageous interior decorating, Cloud found soft carpet, flourishing plants, and rows of bookshelves filled with knick-knacks and photographs. All in all, (Y/N)'s place just seemed sort of… normal.

"Bedroom's this way," she called out over her shoulder, smirking— but Cloud caught her arm, stopping her.

The idea of knowing the way she kept her room— the intimacy and implications of that knowledge—was too much to bear.

"Here's fine," he said, touching his nose to hers, then tilting his head. "Kiss me."

And boy, did she ever. Her hands threaded through his hair, pulled him to her; her tongue slid past his lips and he groaned into her mouth, cock jumping at her passion. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her pelvis to meet his own, grinding against her; to his surprise, he found his hands knocked away, replaced by her own on him, which began the process of unbuttoning and unzipping. Soon, his cock was free in her soft, graceful hands, and he couldn't even bring himself to be ashamed of the moan he gave as she spat into her hand and stroked him.

"I wanna suck you," she said breathlessly against his lips. "S'that okay with you?"

There was really only one answer to that.

"Fuck yeah," he replied.

He'd meant the words to be confident, even commanding— instead, they came out like a plea. Not that (Y/N) seemed to notice as she dropped to her knees before him, now eye-level with his gently-curving sex. No, he thought as she placed her hands on the crease of his thighs, playing teasingly in the fine dusting of hair there. She didn't seem to be bothered at all.

"You're a big boy," she said with a mischievous grin, her lips only a breath away from his cockhead. "I thought the sword might be over-compensation, but now I'm starting to rethink things a bit."

Cloud would be lying if he said that didn't stroke his ego just a little.

"Just shut up and get on with it," he said, heat rushing to his face. "You can't talk and suck dick too."

She began slowly, so slowly Cloud thought he might die. She kissed his thighs, his belly, leaving his cock untouched; then came teasing kitten licks to his tip, teasing him, delving into his slit to lap at precome. He bucked his hips at her, impatient, and (Y/N) looked up at him with a smirk and said,

"If you don't like how I do it, do it yourself."

So saying, she grabbed a large, gloved hand and placed it on the back of her head, giving him his cue as her mouth returned to his cock. Cloud, shocked, didn't know what to do with himself for a moment— but it didn't take long for him to figure it out. He held her head— so small in comparison to his hands— and fucked her face, shoving his cock into her mouth over and over again as she tried to keep up with her hands and her tongue. She was hot and wet around him, her throat smoothly textured as he fucked deeper and deeper. It felt good to take that kind of control, he noticed, to take his pleasure from her by force.

(Y/N) gagged a little as he thrust roughly, and he thought he might come on the spot.

Perhaps it felt a little too good.

Rougher than he meant to be, he pulled her back by the hair at the base of her skull, gripping the strands close to the scalp. She looked up at him then, teary, breathless, and smiling, and Cloud was struck at once by how ravaged she looked. Gone was the kitten that had teased him at the bar; gone was the confidante who had confronted him about his intentions. In her place was a woman of pleasures, a woman of fleshly desires. This (Y/N), he hardly knew.

"Open your mouth," he said, wiping saliva from the corner of her lips. She did so, sticking out her tongue— and without quite knowing why, he spat into her mouth. A thick glob of spit dropped from his mouth to hers, landing on her outstretched pink tongue; Cloud, feeling dizzy with want at the sight, leaned to seal it with a kiss. As he did so, she moaned against him, lacing her fingers in her hair, and he found himself pulled to the floor with her, his cock in her hand and her tongue in his mouth.

Piece by piece, he undressed her. First to go was her shirt, followed by her bra; ever greedy, Cloud moved to take off his gloves so that he could feel the soft skin of her breasts in his hands, but she stopped him, her eyes gleaming dangerously.

"Leave them on," she told him, placing his gloved hands on her body, just over her pretty, perfect, and probably sensitive nipples. "I like the texture."

And fuck if that wasn't the hottest thing Cloud had ever heard.

Next to go was her shorts. Made of tough black denim, they were hard to slide over the swell of her hips; thankfully, though, her painties came off with them in the struggle, leaving her sex bare and wet in the chilled air of her apartment. With that, she was finally, gloriously naked.

Except, of course, the gun that was strapped to her torso.

It was a mid-size blaster, whose thin holster and belt were nestled snugly against her skin. The gun and all that held it were a sexy matte black, and Cloud quirked a brow at (Y/N) in question.

"What, don't you know I'm always packing?" she teased him, leaning backward to unbuckle the belt that held the holster to her belly. To do so, she stretched her arms behind her back, arching so her tits were in his face, and Cloud was suddenly distracted.

With SOLDIER strength, he pulled (Y/N) to him by the hips. Sneaking one hand up her back, he leaned down to kiss between her breasts, then more to the right, until his mouth enclosed her nipple. Her moan was heady; without thinking about it, he moved the hand at her back to play with the other nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers, and she threw her head back, pressing into him.

"Yes," she pleaded, her hands tight in his hair, "Fuck, that feels good."

For good measure, he licked and sucked at her skin, leaving love-bites in his wake. Even though he knew he'd not see them, there would be some pride in knowing that they were there, a pleasant, aching reminder of this moment.

Cloud could have spent forever in the pillow of her breasts— but his cock was so hard that it was getting difficult to ignore the throbbing between his legs.

"Turn around," he said, unbuckling his shoulder guard. "I want to fuck you on your hands and knees."

It was a partial truth at best. While fucking (Y/N) from begind was a regular fantasy of his, there was an ulterior motive behind it. He wanted both of them to be naked, but he didn't want her to have to see his scars. They were many and jagged all across his body, from training, from fighting, from losing; up close, he sort of looked like a patchwork quilt. Not exactly pleasant to look at, in his opinion.

"Bossy," she fussed, but did as she was told. Soon, her knees were spread, her back arched to expose the wetness between her legs, and Cloud had never felt the need to undress so quickly before in all his life. It was fast, messy, and careless, but he was naked enough in under ten seconds to call it a win as he lined himself up with her entrance.

"Ready?" he asked her, pushing his self control to the limit.

Irritated, she slung her head over her shoulder and said, "Cloud Strife, it you don't put your dick inside me right now I swear to—"

She didn't get to finish her threat. She was choked off the moment his cock slid home, her entire body moving with the force of it. Enveloped in warm, wet heat, Cloud pulled fully out before pressing back in again, biting back a moan as he watched himself disappear inside her folds.

After another slow, lazy thrust, he leaned over so that his chest was touching her back and began fucking her in earnest; he never pulled out very far before he was pounding in and in and in—

"Cat got your tongue?" he murmured into her ear, wrapping one arm around her to gently lock her head next to his as he fucked her. "Usually you have so much to say."

All she said in response was a single, strangled moan.

After that, Cloud lost himself. For him, nothing existed except the act itself; the world extended only to the places their bodies touched, slick and sweaty and obscene. His lips and tongue were busy, kissing and sucking at her neck and licking the salt from her flesh. It took a while for him to realize that the low, growling sound he was hearing came from deep within his own chest, and even then he couldn't manage to muster any shame.

"M'close," he murmured in her ear, tasting the shell of it once more.

"Inside," was all she said, and that in itself was enough to send Cloud hurling over the edge.

He fucked her through his orgasm, only pulling away once he could bear the sensitivity no longer. Still half-mad with wanting, he moved (Y/N) bodily, intending to finish what he'd started with his mouth and fingers— but when he did, he found her shaking, with tears welling in her eyes.

Horrified, Cloud drew away. He hadn't realized he'd been so rough. He hadn't realized that she'd been reacting this way. He hadn't—

"Hey, don't get squeamish now," (Y/N) told him with a weak little smile that made him feel sick. "Calm down, drama queen— I just have a m-mako sensitivity."

"Mako sensitivity?" he parroted, his own voice sounding strangled even to himself.

She nodded and sat up, though it seemed an effort.

"You— You're a walking b-ball of mako energy," she explained. "With you inside me, and with— well, with—"

She faltered, but Cloud nodded. He could imagine perfectly well what she meant.

"You should have told me," he accused her, suddenly angry and very, very hurt. "I wouldn't have— you shouldn't have—"

All he could think of was mako poisoning, somehow his, somehow another's, how sick he'd been, how very close to death he'd come. He'd put her at risk of such a thing. He was a freak, and worse, a fool, for ever thinking he could have—

With slow, pained movements, she placed a hand on his arm.

"It's not like that," she said. "I— I didn't know. I could feel it, but I didn't think—"

She pitched forward suddenly, and Cloud moved to catch her.

"Easy," he told her, and she looked up at him with a small, weak smile.

"Gimme a second," she said as he steadied her. "I'll be right as rain after this."

She withdrew her hand and held it out for him to inspect. Sparks crackled between her fingers, and Cloud flinched backwards, instinctively defensive.

"You're not holding materia," he realized, dumbfounded. "What the hell is this?"

"Dunno," she replied, shrugging as though she'd just shown him a neat party trick and not a literal physical impossibility. "I've always been able to feel mako, and when I get overexposed, this happens."

"That's— that's impossible," he said, because it was.

(Y/N) merely shrugged looking at him with soft eyes.

"I didn't think it would happen with you. It's just sort of my secret. I get close to mako, get a little sick, and then I have to expel it like this or else it just doesn't get any better. It's… a gift and a curse."

Cloud just stared at her, amazed.

"With your permission, though," she continued, mischief glinting in her eyes, "I'd like to try something. Y'know, since we have this issue and all anyway."

Without really thinking, Cloud nodded, and then her hands were on him. The hair on his neck and arms raised as she dragged the pads of her fingers from the base of his neck to the end of his torso, the sensation of her touch unlike anything he'd ever experienced. The air tasted metallic, like ozone; when she stuck her fingers in his mouth, it was like licking a battery. Already, his cock was jumping, excited by her touch, and then she was kissing him, threading her electric hands through his hair. Overcome, Cloud wrapped his arms around her, feeling stupid and lust-drunk and so, so good.

"Touch me more," she told him, electricity popping in the spaces between her fingers. As he did, the popping increased, and he could feel the discharge of her power in the increasingly coppery taste of the air. Each breath was like a mouthful of blood; Cloud was willing to drown in it if it meant her hands would never leave his body.

"Lemme eat you out," he said, kissing the curve of her breast. "I owe you an orgasm."

She pulled back and raised a brow.

"After you made a mess down there?"

"S'the best part," he grumbled, a bit wounded— but before he could complain too much, he found himself pulled forward as (Y/N) leaned back. She hit the floor with a gentle thud, and Cloud seized the opportunity for what it was.

With careful and precise tongue, he tasted her. First, he lapped at her clit, relishing in the sounds she made, then made it a point to gather the semen that had mixed with her wetness, slurping obscenely as he cleaned her folds. Above him, (Y/N) groaned.

"Why is that so hot?" he heard her gasp as she leaned onto her elbows to watch him. "It should not be that— oh, fuck."

Cloud smirked against her sex and licked a long stripe upwards. With his mouth on her clit, he took a freshly un-gloved hand and began to finger her, curling the digits to reach the place that would make her arch her back and cry—

"Fuck!"

Hearing her swear had never been so erotic before now— but Cloud would be damned if that wasn't a sound he'd love to hear on loop forever.

Before long, she was close. He could feel it in the quivering of her thighs, the pulsing of her sex. He kept a steady rhythm, and then she was at her climax, falling hard with the rush of sensation and friendly, feel-good chemicals that left her limp and boneless beneath him.

Perfect for him to continue fucking, now that his cock was hard and leaking again.

"Round two?" he asked, scarcely daring to hope she'd be ready— but then she sat up with a smile and said,

"Hell yeah."

And so it was, over and over, until they were both spent, and Cloud passed the fuck out on her living room floor, satisfied.

When you woke, it was to an empty floor and no note. You were alone in the place where you'd had the most fantastic fuck of your life.

Some part of you had known it would be this way. You had only known him for a handful of months, but in that time, you'd learned that Cloud was an avoidant man by nature— and you were doubtless not the first of his hookups to end this way. Still, the idea that he could just leave after such intimacy was… distressing, for some reason.

Surprisingly, though, that feeling was easy to shake off once you left the dubious comfort of your floor and started planning your work for the week. Blond assholes who happen to give fantastic head amount to very little to a woman on a mission; you thought of him often, but the thoughts were small and benign, always curious and never of hurt or longing, as you had thought they might be. What had happened had simply happened, no more.

Then Mako Reactor 5 fell to terrorist attacks, and the week went to shit so fast that you got whiplash.

Before the reactor fell, you had considered not going to the bar that weekend. You didn't need an end-of-the week drink that badly; Cloud could take the hint and take a week off from the bar the next week and you'd never have to see each other again. After the reactor and your subsequent compromised mission, though? The devil himself could be in attendance that day and you'd sit in his lap and sell your soul for a drink.

So, on Friday, you headed to Hell's Maw as usual. There was a possibility, you knew, of some awkwardness if Cloud was there, but frankly, it wouldn't be the first time you'd avoided an ill-advised hookup in a bar before— surely you could survive this as well. It would just be some weird eye contact and then a little ignoring, and everything would be as good as new.

What you weren't expecting was for Cloud to be perched on your fucking seat again, early and apparently waiting for you.

"Oh boy," you said to no one in particular— and, as if SOLDIER had given him superior hearing as well as inhuman strength and durability, the bastard immediately looked over his shoulder and met your eyes over the Friday night crowd. On the other side of him, you noticed at least five empty glasses and a half-drunk sixth. They weren't water glasses, either. No, they were short, fat whiskey glasses, and, leaning halfway off of his stool, Cloud looked properly sloshed.

Really, there was only one respectable thing to do in a situation like this.

You turned on your heel and left, walking as fast as you could in the opposite direction.

Would that you could have been faster. You had barely gotten two sidewalk cracks away from the bar when a large, warm hand curled around your arm, stopping you.

"Cloud, get off me," you huffed, pulling your arm against his unbreakable grip.

"No," he said simply, and bodily turned you to face him. When he did, he used a bit too much of his strength, and you ended up nose-to-nose, sharing breath.

"If this is about the other night—"

Cloud didn't let you finish. He surged forward, sealing those words with a drunken, sloppy kiss that was somehow still as electric as your first. One of his gloved hands rested at the base of your skull, cradling your head, and the other wandered to your hip, pulling you close enough to feel the growing tent in his pants.

Heaven help you, but you weren't sure if you wanted to stop him.

"M'sorry," he said against your lips, pulling away only far enough to speak. "Didn't really mean to do that."

Then what did you mean? you wondered, but before you could ask, Cloud peeled himself away from you until the only thing connecting you was his hand resting on the junction of your neck and shoulder. The new distance, though slight, was jarring.

"M'sorry," he repeated. "I— we made a mistake."

Oh boy.

"Spare me the dramatics," you said, tired already. "You don't have to explain anything to me, Cloud. I wasn't expecting anything from you other than what I got."

"S'not that." Cloud averted his eyes, shameful, swaying. "I, uh. Shouldn't have put you in that position."

What, does he think I have carpet burn? You wondered, but then Cloud was looking at you with such raw vulnerability that you couldn't even crack a joke at his expense.

"I don't regret what we did last week," you told him gently. "I'm sorry if you do, but if this is out of some kind of misplaced honor—"

"I'm involved in things," he told you in a tight voice that felt as if he'd said them before. "Dangerous things."

If there was any relevance of that claim to their current situation, you certainly couldn't find it.

"You're a dangerous man," you shrugged. "It's one of your better qualities. I'm a dangerous woman myself, so I think that tracks, don't you?"

Cloud shook his head.

“It’s—” he sighed. “It’s complicated.”

If you had learned anything about Cloud, it was that ‘complicated’ was generally code for ‘Shinra’. From there, it didn’t take much to imagine exactly what he meant.

“The reactor,” you hazarded, heart filling with dread. “That was the job Tifa lined up for you. Holy shit, your girlfriend is a fucking eco-terrorist, what the hell—”

“— she is not my girlfriend—”

“Look, pal, that’s definitely not the part of that sentence we need to be focusing on right now.”

You reached out a hand, meaning to reach out and draw Cloud closer. Instead, as you moved forward, you were met with cold steel raised against your neck. Cloud’s eyes were wild with distress and distrust, but the set of his mouth was frozen with coldness that meant he would do what he felt necessary if you pushed him.

“Hey,” you said to him softly. “I’m not your enemy here.”

Slowly, you lifted her hands in surrender. Still uneasy, Cloud lowered his sword. As soon as it was clear of you, you stepped forward into his space, close enough that he could not bring the length of the sword between you. Cloud shifted, trying to move back to where he could use his sword if he needed to, but you stopped him with a hand to his forearm.

“Come home with me,” you said, brushing your thumb over the flesh of his arm. “You’re too drunk to be swinging that thing around, and if you want to talk, it’s best we do that in private. Okay?”

“M’not drunk,” he complained, but the look behind he gave you behind lowered lashes said he didn’t mind going home with you anyway. With swaying movement, he hefted the sword onto his back; once it was secure, he gestured for you to lead the way.

The trip to yours was short and uneventful. Once the door to your home was shut safely behind you, Cloud grabbed you once more, his hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. His touch was warm and so, so tempting— but you gently pried yourself away. He was a wreck, and you weren't about to take advantage of that even if it was what you both wanted.

"Sit on the couch with me," you requested, grabbing his hand. "Let's talk."

As always, Cloud was resistant to the whole talking thing. Instead of poking and prodding, though, you took a different approach this time; you allowed the silence to creep and crawl between the two of you, swishing its tail like some irritated feline, letting it fester until Cloud was ready to bat it away and say what he had come to say. In the meantime, your hands stayed busy, touching, feeling, grounding the man before you. He relaxed into you, muscles loosening; he leaned until his head rested comfortably on your chest. The steady hum of mako buzzed in your head, lulling you almost to sleep— but then, just when you weren't expecting it, Cloud began to speak.

"I made an oath to someone, a long time ago. "

You pulled away enough to see his face, your mouth agape.

"You're married?"

"What? No!" Cloud made a face of horror and distress. "I— There's a lot of things I don't remember, okay?"

Your brows knit.

"So… you could be married."

"Oh, leave off of that, will you? I'm not married! I'd remember that if I was."

There was a note of hesitation in his voice that you didn't like.

"So, this oath," you said, touching the skin of his cheek. "What was it for?"

Cloud shrugged.

"I only have the vaguest notion. I don't remember the words. It's like— it's like the only way to keep it is to continue fighting, to be in this constant state of war— and yet, that feels wrong, too. It consumes me." He looked down at his hands. "It's like that oath is binding me to something bigger than myself… and as a result, I've gotten mixed up with some pretty dangerous stuff."

"Like?"

Cloud looked at you then, his eyes as heavy as they were beautiful.

"Like saving the world."

You did your damnedest not to laugh. It was a near thing, but you succeeded— if only by inches.

"So, let me get this straight… you're now an eco-terrorist because in a time you don't remember, you've taken an oath to save the planet?"

Cloud's jaw locked.

"It's bigger than that. Much bigger than that. Shinra is corrupt, they kill innocent people— and Shinra's not the only thing." He looked away. "I can't talk about it. It's dangerous. You could get hurt, and the more you know makes you a bigger target."

There it was again, that concern. It had been a long time since someone cared if you were hurt. You tried not to let it take away your objectivity.

"I assume Tifa knows?"

So maybe your objectivity was a little screwy. Sue about it.

Cloud grimaced.

"I don't like that any more than you do, but she chose this path a long time ago."

"And Aerith?"

Cloud shook his head.

"She's… insistent."

"So what am I, chopped liver?"

Cloud shook his head.

"This isn't your fight. You aren't involved like they are."

"And I don't have to be for you to tell me—"

"For fuck's sake, just let me keep you safe!" At close range, with his body pressed against yours, you could feel the vibration of his shouting as though it were your own. "Tifa and Aerith, they belong to this world, to this fight— but you belong to me!"

"I don't belong to anyone, hotshot—"

"Exactly!"

You blinked.

"I— I'm not sure I'm following."

A heavy, gloved hand rested on your cheek. You leaned into it, relishing in its warmth.

"Your soul is your own," Cloud said quietly. "You are the master, the possessor of your own self. You won't die for some cause, won't sacrifice yourself for the greater good. You'll survive. It's all you know how to do."

He tested his forehead against yours.

"I need that. I need you at Hell's Maw every Friday night, sitting in the same seat, drinking the same drink. I need you to talk to me like I'm nothing special, to show me your kindness and your sharpness."

He paused. You waited, teetering on the edge of anticipation, unable to know or even to guess what he would say next.

"And now— now that we've gone this far…" His hand drifted from your cheek to your neck, resting just above the curve of your breast. "I'm afraid of needing that too. I don't want you pulled into my world, and I don't want to need you so badly that—"

I don't want to need you so badly that I'm trapped.

You understood. It was possible that you understood better than anyone else ever could have.

"I get it."

He pulled away, but you didn't allow it. You caught him by the arm, bade him stay with gentle insistence. He allowed it, and you pulled him back to rest beside you, nose-to-nose.

"I know you, Cloud Strife," you said, summoning the words that had lodged themselves in your chest for so long. "You're like a wild animal. I cannot seek to own you… but if you come and eat from my hand, let me dress your wounds, and rest your head on my lap in times of trouble, I will count myself lucky to have someone so dear to me."

Hot pinpricks burned your eyes. How long have you waited to say something so true, so real? Why did it feel like a confession?

Cloud didn't seem to notice your distress— or, perhaps it was because he noticed your distress that he leaned forward, slowly, gently, and kissed you chastely on the mouth. You could taste the liquor on his lips; hungering for more, you deepened it, but Cloud kept a steady rhythm, holding you tenderly.

"Thank you," he said, pulling away.

"For what?" you laughed.

"For being here, for taking care of me. For not letting me wander home by myself, drunk and stupid."

"Of course." A smile stretched your face. "Any time."

The two of you stayed there for a long time, sharing breath, exchanging tender touches. Tomorrow, things might change— another reactor might blow, the plate might drop, or Cloud might use up the last of his nine lives— but tonight, nothing existed outside of your too-small couch. Tonight, he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

#cloud strife #cloud strife x reader #cloud x reader #cloud strife smut #FFVII #ffvii fanfiction #smut #fem!reader #assassin!reader

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ghostboneswrites2 · 4 months ago

Text

𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙙

Summary: As Daryl adjusts to a new life at the Commonwealth, he finds himself regularly attending a crusty hole-in-the-wall bar for the live music and cheap drinks. One night, a band he hasn’t seen before plays, and their lead singer inspires his curiosity.

Warnings: Profanity, TWD stuff, alcohol, mentions of grief/sad vibes here and there.

Pairing: Daryl x fem!reader (reader is described to be tall and likely in her late 30s)

Era: Commonwealth

Vibes: Immaculate

A/N: I haven’t watched anything past the Whisperers arc in quite a while now so forgive any inaccuracies I beg u

𝙎𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙠 (in order):

*tried to pick some of my fav songs that would have been released pre-apoc*

All Along the Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix

Losing My Religion - REM

No Rain - Blind Melon

Free Bird - Lynyrd Skynyrd

Nights in White Satin - The Moody Blues

Crushcrushcrush - Paramore

Masterlist | Taglist | Challenge

Dividers by: @roseraris @saradika-graphics @strangergraphics-archive

Lots of minors interacting lately so friendly reminder that my DNI includes minors!

In the past, Daryl wouldn’t have felt much comfort in a place like the Commonwealth. Busy streets, apartment living, social gatherings. In some ways it was similar to Alexandria, but in many ways it felt more metropolitan. He guessed he’d just been ripped out of his comfort zone so many times that it didn’t feel unusual anymore.

He’d found himself a job, a place in society that wasn’t deep in the woods in search of food. Hell, he’d even found himself a social life, believe it or not.

See, Daryl spent a fair amount of his free time — when he wasn’t with Judith and RJ — at a shithole bar that tended to attract the rougher types. He kept to himself mostly, save for a bartender he found himself rather fond of. He really just stuck around for the cheap drinks and live music. Patrons tended to mind their business, and sometimes there was food, too.

On this particular evening, Daryl was exhausted. He almost stayed home, but he was also restless. He figured a few drinks and some music could inspire some sleep, so he made his way to the bar when it opened at dusk.

“Evenin’, Killer.” Jax greeted the archer as he took his usual seat at the bar. He always remembered his seat because the stool was wobbly and the leather was worn.

“Hey.” Daryl grunted as he settled in and looked around. “Band ain’t here yet?” He wondered. Usually the musicians set up before the bar opened and started when the first patrons arrived.

“Nah, probably won’t even show.” Jax shrugged. “Some new band. Never seen ‘em here before.”

Daryl nodded as Jax handed him his usual glass of room temperature whiskey. Daryl thanked the man before he returned to wiping down the counter. Jax was a short man, sturdy and greasy. He wasn’t so pleasing on the eyes with the plethora of scars and blemishes that decorated his face, but his soul was kind. He rarely wore a shirt, only covering his torso with a torn leather vest similar to Daryl’s.

Jax had coined the nickname Killer for Daryl when an incident with some walkers occurred in the street in front of the bar. Most bystanders panicked and shrieked, but luckily Daryl was there to handle it.

“Oh, there they go.” Jax mumbled to himself as the band finally walked in and toward the stage, barely catching Daryl’s ear. Thoughtlessly, Daryl glanced toward the area the musicians usually played and observed them as they set up their instruments and amps. There was no stage in the bar, but there was a well lit corner that did quite nicely.

The band consisted of the typical drums-bass-guitar-vocalist layout, all of which were men except for the one adjusting the microphone. They only took around twenty minutes to set up. By then Daryl was on his second glass, finally feeling a familiar heat in his face as the buzz settled in.

As the music began, Daryl immediately recognized the tune, though he couldn’t place his finger on it until the woman began to sing:

“There must be some kinda way out of here, said the joker to the thief… There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief…”

He hadn’t heard it in so long he couldn’t tell you the name, but he knew it. He found himself tapping along, entranced by the performance. Smoke from cigarettes filled the bar as more patrons filled the seats, chuckling and chatting as they enjoyed the show. Daryl took a moment to observe them before he turned his attention back to the music.

“No reason to get excited, the thief, he kindly spoke… There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke… But you and I, we’ve been through that… And this is not our fate…”

Daryl quite enjoyed the music, and he began to wonder what they’d play next. He hoped their set list was full of songs he’d known before — songs like this — that made him feel as good as he felt just then. Eventually, the song came to an end, and the woman heading the band lit herself a cigarette and looked around at her audience.

She had a certain aura about her — cynical, yet content. It seemed as if she didn’t necessarily care to be there, but she didn’t treat it as a chore. Her eyes fell on him and somehow it made him squirm inside. He gulped down his last swig of whiskey before he looked away, summoning Ajax for a third helping.

“She was eyein’ you.” Jax commented as he poured the liquid.

“Pfft.” Daryl tutted as he wrapped his thick fingers around the cool glass and pulled it close to himself. “Prolly can’t even see with all them lights over her.”

“Nah, my friend. You locked eyes. She definitely can see you just fine.” Jax chuckled as he leaned over the bar. “Tell me, you’ve been here for months and haven’t found a single lady-companion. Why not get yourself out there?”

Daryl glared for a moment before shaking his head. He’d had enough trying to find companionship.

“Not my prerogative .” Daryl said coldly.

“Suit yourself, man.” Jax shrugged. “She’s easy on the eyes, though.”

As another song began, Daryl tuned out his friend. He had come to relax, not for relationship coaching.

This new song was a bit sadder in tune, and the melody made the singer’s hips sway a little as she clapped to the beat. Her expression was the same as before, but her eyes told a more melancholy story than the rest of her face. As she sang, Daryl couldn’t help but to study her. She was tall, but not as tall as him. Younger than he, maybe thirty-something, but no younger than that.

Her entire soul seemed to radiate with the music, effortlessly conveying emotion in her every note and movement.

“Life, it’s bigger… Bigger than you, and you are more me… The lengths that I will go to… The distance in your eyes…”

Daryl could practically feel everything she sang. Every note played on the guitar, every perfectly timed clap. It all meant something, it was all intended to send a message. As her eyes swept over the ground, avoiding any contact with the crowd, Daryl realized she was singing too someone. Someone that probably wasn’t around anymore, someone she probably would have died for. Someone who may not have felt the same. He knew the feeling all too well.

“Oh, no, I’ve said too much… I set it up… That’s me in the corner. That’s me in the spotlight, losing my religion… Trying to keep up with you, and I don’t know if I can do it.. Oh no I’ve said too much — I haven’t said enough…”

Suddenly Daryl felt her pain. Hell, he’d felt it before. He felt it with her. They felt it together.

As the music picked up, her voice cracked and swayed with everything she felt and everything she wanted to say. All the while, her eyes were glued to the ground, somewhere dust and and below.

“I thought that I heard you laughing. I thought that I heard you sing. I think I thought I saw you try… Every whisper, every waking hour, I’m choosing my confessions. Trying to keep an eye on you, like a hurt, lost, and blinded fool… fool…”

Jax, between filling drinks and polishing glasses, couldn’t help but watch Daryl as he watched the woman. Jax knew it — even if Daryl was too stubborn to accept it. Daryl was falling. An infatuation was forming, quickly and violently ripping through him as her voice consumed him.

Daryl wasn’t the only one who seemed to be swept away in the eerie sadness the girl’s pipes seemed to carry. The whole bar was silent and mournful, allowing her own grief to translate into their own.

Luckily, the next song wasn’t so sorrowful, or Daryl might have teared up with the rest of them.

This song was hopeful and somehow listless altogether. It sounded like a daydream on a sunny day, or like something a poet would write on a rainy morning.

“All I can say is that my life is pretty plain. I like watching the puddles gather rain…”

Daryl knew this one too. He recognized it from the radio. It often came on during the summers on the rock station in his hometown. He was grateful for the change in pace. He needed a laughter tune after the weight of the last one.

He ended up leaving shortly after that, deciding he could no longer be subjected to the enchanting songs of a siren. Plus, he was getting to be just drunk enough to sleep, and he had no intentions of missing that perfect window of tiredness.

A few days later, though, when he returned, he was embarrassed to find himself asking if the same band would be playing again. Jax sadly said no, but that they’d be back the next night. In order to avoid that look, Daryl had a drink before he went home and returned the next night. Just as Jax said, there they were, live and in action.

Daryl had arrived in the middle of another familiar favorite:

“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me? For I must be travelin’ on now… There’s too many places I’ve got to see.”

Daryl tapped his foot to the music, recalling a few drunken nights with his brother at bars just like this one. The old rockers liked to play this one on the jukebox, and Daryl didn’t mind the tune.

“But if I stay here with you, girl… Things just couldn’t be the same. ‘Cause I’m as free as a bird now…”

“And this bird you cannot change.” Jax began to sing along. Daryl chuckled softly under his breath. Of course Jax would know this song, he seemed like the type.

“Bye-bye, baby, it’s been a sweet love… But this feeling I can’t change. But, please don’t take it so badly… ‘Cause lord knows I’m to blame.”

Daryl relished in the familiarity of the tune, soaking in the nostalgia. It wasn’t often these memories felt happy, but with this song, they did.

The next song was much older, though. Daryl could tell by the instrumentals. It was something that would have played in a sad montage in disturbing film.

“Nights in white satin, never reaching the end… Letters I’ve written, never meaning to send. Beauty is always missed with these eyes before… Just what the truth is, I can’t say anymore. ‘Cause I love you, yes I love you.. Oh, how I love you…”

The woman seemed to collapse with every note, losing her breath as she felt each word so deeply. That was it. That was the moment Daryl realized how hopelessly screwed he was, because he was falling for her. He’d never spoken to her, but she spoke to him with every song she sang. He couldn’t explain it — truthfully, it was ludicrous — but he felt like she was singing to him. He had to talk to her.

So, he waited around all night, sipping his whiskey slowly, ignoring Jax’s knowing smirk until the band played their final song of the night.

The music to this one sounded much more modern than the ones before. Quicker in pace and more pop-punk than he would usually listen to on his own.

As lips parted to sing her words, her eyes fell on Daryl with intention, as if speaking directly to him.

“I got a lot to say to you, yeah, I got a lot to say. I notice your eyes are always glued to me, keeping them here and it makes no sense at all…”

Daryl gulped, his throat feeling rather dry. Suddenly his collar felt too tight and his whiskey tasted like water. It all made sense; the change in music, the eye contact… She was talking to him. She had to be.

As the song came to an end, his nerves were fried. Anticipation are him alive as the music played, knowing she’d expect him to confront her after this. He guessed he’d planned to introduce himself anyways, but at least that would have been unprompted. This was much too direct for his taste.

Soon enough the music was done with and the band was packing up. Once she’d finished the song, she turned her attention to helping her crew, not even sparing a single glance Daryl’s way. As if he didn’t even exist.

“Liked your songs.” Daryl spoke awkwardly, clearing his throat as the band approached the bar to have a complimentary drink.

“Thanks, they weren’t mine though.” The woman shrugged him off.

“Nah, maybe not before, but.. Ya made ‘em yours.”

That comment seemed to pique her interest. She raised her eyebrows at him and smirked as she downed a shot of tequila like water, slamming the glass on the table to remind Jax she’d need another. The bartender obliged as she studied Daryl.

“You stayed for the whole show tonight.” She pointed out. Daryl shifted on his unbalanced barstool. “You left early last time.”

“Ya watchin’ me or somethin’, girl?” He scoffed.

“Sure.” She shrugged. “Watchin’ you watch me.”

Daryl gave her a sideways glance as he turned his glass bottoms up, gulping the last of his whiskey in one swift chug.

“Just watchin’ the band.” Daryl insisted.

“I’m not the band.” She countered. “You were just watching me.”

Daryl ran his tongue over his teeth and considered her words before he sighed.

“I gotta get goin’. Nice meetin’ ya.” He announced as he stood up.

“See ya next time, then?” She winked. She smiled and shook her head to himself as he went toward the exit. Men never seemed to know how to take her in as she was. She was always too forward, too snarky, to quick with her tongue.

“Never seen ya ‘round before.” He called over his shoulder as he paused at the door.

“I’m in the apartments just around the corner.” She told him. “I work at the cafe by the library on weekdays too.”

“See ya ‘round, then.” He concluded before he disappeared into the night.

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy @raeraegoaway @ophelialaufey @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfsalltheway

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tupznum · 6 months ago

Text

They were "brothers"

Arthur Morgan X male read

《••••••••••••••••••♥︎•••••••••••••••》

Warnings: angst, suicide, Hurt No comfort, rushed, dyslexic author lol

"They were brothers in a past life" is what they would say about us and we agreed with them.

Me, m/n l/n and everyone's favorite Arthur Morgan joined the Van der Linde gang around the same time, him a month earlier.

We were around the same age, him fourteen, me just turning fifteen so naturally we became bast friends. Throughout the years we did everything together we never drifted apart even after Dutch start to visibly fever Arthur over me, I didn't really care.

In our teen years we were inseparable, whether Arthur went I went, whatever I did he did.

because we were so Inseparable Dutch had to deal with the constant nagging and bribing from us as we did everything in our power to stay together.

the older members of the gang had a kick out of this.

In our young adult years we were still inseparable with exceptions. We gave up on the nagging and bribery and we accepted that we will be separated at times. But if we were in the same area where one was the other was only a foot away.

During these years we start to get very comfortable with each other in a way that some considered too comfortable for friends, we didn't care if we saw each other's naked bodies, we bathed together regularly and changed in front of each other.

During these times we shared every thought that came to mind with each other from the hottest woman we saw that day to the more unsavory thoughts that came with our life choices.

Looking back I think this when I start to develop feelings that were unnatural....

into our prime years our relationship was smooth and strong as ever but my unnatural feelings start to take a toll on our relationship.

I would get moody or upset when a fine woman would put her hands on Arthur in an intimate way, I never knew why but now I know it was jealousy, Stone Cold jealousy the kind that ruins people.

One Day Dutch sent me on a solo mission to collect payments from a poor son of a bitch who owed him money in a town two days over, this gave me time to let off some steam and reflect on my seemingly unnatural feelings.

but I learned nothing. instead I decide to push those feelings deep down and pretend they never existed..

When I made it back to Camp two and a half days later I found Arthur head new company her name was Mary Linton

She was a fine young woman and was very clearly Sweeting on Arthur. the feeling of jealousy claude at my stomach whenever she got a little too close or was a little too flirtatious but I ignored it as best as I could.

it was not my business.

Not long after Mary showed up I distance myself from Arthur as the jealousy was killing me inside. That jealousy was soon replaced with longing and want. the closer the two got the stronger my feelings.

One night as I was getting ready for bed Arthur came into the tent with the biggest smile I ever saw on his face and he announce that he and Mary we're engaged . A big chunk of my heart died that night but after years of being an outlaw I learned to hide my feelings so instead of showing sadness I showed happiness and support.

After he left I cried myself to sleep that night.

It was the night before Mary's and Arthur's wedding and Arthur approached me at the fire and asked to have a drink with him and I agreed.

just like when we were teens We snuck into Pearson tent and stole a few bottles of moonshine from his stash and snuck out to the woods.

We found a big fallen tree and laid against it.

We talked and drink.

he questioned why I was so distant, and I decided to tell him the partial truth I said I was dealing with my own things at the moment and that I needed some time to myself to resolve them.

I was one and a half bottles in and Arthur two and a half I was exceptionally drunk. same could be said about Arthur.

I picked over at Arthur to see him looking at the stars and I couldn't help but let my emotions flow.

it was quite pathetic really a grown man with a half a bottle of moonshine crying his eyes out for seemingly no reason.

Once Arthur realize what was going on he tried his best to comfort me in a drunken Haze, he asked me what was wrong and he said that I could tell him anything but I couldn't find the words. instead I did something that even to this day I'm quite ashamed of doing...

I brought my hands up and grabbed Arthur's face and told them I was so sorry and proceed to kiss his lips. Part of me expected to be slapped punched even shot for what I did but surprisingly the kiss lasted. we only pulled away for air. Despite being drunk out of my mind I knew what I did was wrong and that what i just did will come with dire consequences. So I got the fuck out of there so fast Arthur didn't even have the time to react.

The last thing I heard that night is Arthur's raspy drunk voice calling out my name. I haven't seen him since then as I was too ashamed to show my face to him or the Gang.

I've had close calls with them a few times but I managed to invade them. I knew they were looking for me but I was hard to find. After a year or so they stopped looking as I would assume they either thought I died to the natives or was hung by the law.

I will never know if he remembered that night but it doesn't matter now as everything is coming to a end now.

This was the story that m/n wanted to share with whoever found his body hanging deep in the woods....

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #x male reader #x male #angst #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x male reader #x male y/n

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steventhusiast · 1 year ago

Text

STWG daily prompt 25/10/23

prompt: no prompt, must be 480 words or more

pairing/character(s): steddie

part 2 to this post

Ever since that night at Hawkins Police Station, Eddie’s felt oddly fascinated by Steve Harrington.

Before, he wouldn’t have noticed the former king as he silently slinks around Hawkins and Hawkins High, but now? Now it’s like he’s everywhere.

Eddie leaves the trailer park to walk through the woods at night and bumps into Steve, the bags under his eyes heavy as always and eyes blinking back sleep like he’s fighting it. Eddie goes to his dealing table behind school and notices Steve sitting by himself behind some nearby bushes, head tilted back to lean against a tree and eyes closed as he listens to the world. Eddie goes to the Hideout to bother the manager about letting his band play there sometime, and sees Steve sat in a booth in the corner, a couple empty glasses littering his table and a (clearly) fake ID ready and waiting on the table for anyone who questions him.

Eddie’s starting to think they’ve accidentally existed within the same spaces ever since Steve’s fall from grace, and Steve’s just better at fading into the background than his years as Keg stand King would have most believe.

But he doesn’t get the chance to talk to him again until a few months later. He’s at Frank’s diner with Gareth, Jeff and Freak when he sees Steve walk in, shoulders hunched in a little and face carefully blank. He’s alone.

Eddie lets himself drift out from the heated conversation the others are having (a debate about which monsters their next DnD session will involve once they enter Saltmarsh), and watches Steve as he makes his way over to a booth in the corner, a few tables away from any other patrons.

A waitress makes her way over immediately, and Eddie can just about hear her as she greets Steve with a pet name (honey), and smiles like she sees him regularly. Steve says he’s waiting for someone, and his voice is a little wobbly.

A couple minutes later, Eddie’s just let himself become reabsorbed and amused at the turn of the debate amongst his friends when Chief Hopper enters the diner. On instinct, Eddie’s back straightens a little, and his friends give him triplet looks of suspicion.

“What’ve you done now?” Jeff asks with a roll of his eyes, and Eddie frowns at him in mock offence.

“I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing. I think the Chief’s here for someone else, actually.” He defends himself, just as Hopper walks by. Hopper scoffs and shakes his head.

“Yeah, not here on police business, for once. Stay outta trouble and outta my business, Munson.” He says quietly, and Eddie just watches him as he predictably walks over to Steve. Before he sits down opposite Steve in the booth, Eddie watches Hopper clap a firm hand down on Steve’s shoulder and squeeze, resulting in Steve’s tense posture relaxing a bit.

Very fascinating.

Last time, Eddie didn’t get the chance to see their dynamic, so he can’t help but watch.

“You don’t have to be so paranoid he literally said he’s not here on police business.” Gareth teases him after a couple more seconds, poking him in the side harshly.

“Hey! I’m intrigued by,” Eddie gestures over at the booth, “all that. Sue me.”

The boys’ follow his gesture and seem to only then notice Steve Harrington in all his shaky glory (see? Like Eddie said, he’s good at blending into the background). They frown.

“Huh, what’s up with that?” Freak mutters, and everyone shrugs.

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

The boys roll their eyes at Eddie’s words, and all say something along the lines of ‘sure you will, Ed’ in the least confident voices they can muster. It only eggs Eddie on.

And when Steve gets up to go to the bathroom, he sees his moment.

He’s going to have an actual conversation with Steve Harrington.

Maybe even try to become his friend. And, wow, that’s a thought Eddie from two years ago would’ve shuddered at.

But Eddie from right now is just thinking of ways to have a conversation that won’t send Steve running again.

He’s got this.

tagging anyone who explicitly asked in the first bit to be tagged if there's ever more: @devondespresso

if you want to be tagged if i ever write more, lemme know :)

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie drabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #stwgdailyprompt #dailydrabble #stranger things #mywriting

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steve-faglan · 8 months ago

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Breaking and Entering pt. 2

Reader x William Afton/ Steve Raglan

TW: NON CON!! DUB CON!! NON CON!! NON CON!!

Summary: You can't stop thinking about that place. About him. You make one more foolish visit and end up in a new predicament.

PART ONE: HERE❤️

It's been weeks since you and Mike narrowly escaped the infamous William Afton. Mike doesn't talk about it, though he does find himself masturbating to the feeling of your mouth around his cock. The two of you hang out pretty regularly still, despite the horrors inflicted upon you.

You and Mike get together at a local park. It's usually empty, and today is no different. There's a small nook behind the trees on the far side of the park and that's where the two of you go to smoke. As the weather gets colder, the foliage around the woods dies down, revealing a perfect view of Freddy's. You swallow the lump in your throat when you see it and Mike quickly catches on.

"Hey, don't look at it. Let's just go back to my house." Mike tried to redirect your attention, but you continued to stare. A strange yearning builds in you that you're certain can't be what you truly want. Why would you want to go back there? You don't know, but the longing remains. You attempt to fill that craving in other ways.

"Let's go to your place." The two of you head to Mike's and he tries to softly reassure you that you're safe. Something he's had to do for you these past few weeks after the attack. He doesn't know that something in you has changed.

When you get inside, the second the door closes, you press your lips to Mike's, both hands gently holding his face.

"Is this okay?" You ask, breathlessly breaking the kiss.

"Y/N, are you sure you want this?" Mike looks shocked and concerned.

"Is this okay?" You ask again, more sternly. Mike looks into both of your eyes and finally nods before desperately reconnecting his lips to yours. In minutes the two of you are naked and fucking all over the living room. Mike is rough and desperate like he's only ever dreamt of this moment and won't let it go to waste. But it's not enough.

Mike pulls out and finishes on your ass and the two of you collapse next to each other on his couch. The room is silent aside from the unsteady, deep breaths.

"Holy shit..." Mike sighs in disbelief. You nearly fall asleep next to each other. You're not sure how to ask this, but you need to know if it's just you who can't stop thinking about that night.

"Mike."

"What?"

"Do you ever... Think about going back?" Your question confuses him so much, he doesn't even realize what you're talking about.

"Back there? No, I don't. I-I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I don't- I never think about that day. I try not to, for you." He rambles on, but you tune it out, disappointed in his answer. "Why?"

"No reason. I've just been having a lot of dreams."

"Nightmares?" Mike attempts to clarify.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Nightmares." You shrug it off. Hoping the subject gets dropped seeing as you aren't on the same page.

"Oh shit, Abby will be home soon." That's your cue to leave. Mike drives you home and it's clear he's developing feelings at a rapid rate. He bids you goodbye with a beaming smile and you do the same. Once he's gone, you go inside your house and beeline right for your bedroom.

No amount of fucking Mike or touching yourself to the memory would satiate the urge you have to let Afton has his way with you again. Your only drawback is... Would you get to live a second time? The nighttime air is crisp and chilly as winter rolls in. You stand on your porch for an entire hour before you finally get in your car and make the drive.

At first, you just sit in the parking lot. You look for another car, maybe you missed it last time. You don't see one. You begin to wonder if he's even here tonight. What a waste of this manic, dangerous behavior that would be. You eventually step out of your car and shakily approach the doors you snuck through last time.

"What the fuck am I doing?" You whisper to yourself. Something like a wave of common sense washes over you and you take a few steps away from the building. You're torn between using logic and getting the fuck out of there and the curiosity of him even still being inside. You didn't see a car, after all. You hold your breath and carefully enter the building.

Last time you were here you were careless and loud, this time your steps are as delicate as falling leaves. You hold your breath at every turn. The place is entirely silent and you don't disrupt it any further. You're carefully treading across the main area when you come across the table. You become tense as warmth pools between your legs.

You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly realize you don't want to be here. This was a mistake. You keep your eyes on the crime scene as you run away, not looking where you're going. You run into a tall, broad frame and it leaves you flat on your ass, looking up at him. William Afton. The man you came looking for and hoped you wouldn't find.

"Back already? You're filthy." He chuckles as he stands over you, basking in his power over you.

"N-No! Please I'm sorry. I- I was confused. I don't know- I don't-" You struggle endlessly with your words, raising a hand to shield yourself as you remain on the ground.

"Stand up." His demand confuses you. He's calm and quiet, it's unsettling.

"W-What?"

"Stand. Up." He speaks sternly. Impatient. You do as you're told and scramble to your feet. William places a controlling hand at the nape of your neck, guiding you like a dog on a leash. You're too scared to speak, protest, or even cry. This is it, you think.

"I- I'm sorry," you sob, but he only rolls his eyes.

"Why'd you come here?" He asks, coldly.

"I don't know! I couldn't-" he cuts you off.

"I meant the first time. Why'd you come here?" William seems to lean into your ear when he speaks, sending chills down your spine.

"I- we came here as kids," you say, hoping your nostalgic ties could earn you mercy.

"You and Micheal?"

"Yes. I just wanted to relive it for a while. I'm sorry," your story dissolves to pleas.

"That's adorable." His voice is cold and evil and the two of you disappear into a dark corridor.

Back at his house, Mike calls your landline several times. A little tied up at the moment, you're unable to answer. He recalls your troublesome questioning earlier and decides you need to be checked on. After all, in his mind, you're already his now. Mike pokes his head into Abby's room and sees she's sound asleep so he makes the drive to your house.

"Y/N?" He calls, careful not to be too loud outside your home at night. He knocks for a little while longer and even looks through your bedroom window. Nothing. He climbs back into his car to return home, not wanting to leave Abby alone for too long.

On the way he passed that damned restaurant and at the last second spots your car in the furthest corner of the lot. His stomach drops. He doesn't know how, but he's certain William lured you back there to finish the job. He squeals the tires as he whips the car into the lot and haphazardly parks before clamoring inside through the shifty entrance.

"Have a seat." William gestures to a chair similar to a dentist's chair. It has restraints and looks like it's meant to take different positions. You swallow the lump in your throat.

"P-Please. I know coming back was stupid." You shake your head and try to back away from the threatening furniture, but his hand holds you in place. His grip grows tighter and he pushes you toward the chair. Fight-or-flight takes over and you begin to fight back. You swing at him and scream for help as loud as your lungs will let you. The sound rips through your throat and burns as you pray someone hears you.

"Y/N?!" Mike calls out, having heard your screams echo through the building. "Where are you?! I'm here!" He runs up and down the many passages and doorways of Freddy's, feeling more hopeless by the second.

William successfully fastens you into the chair and steps back to admire your helpless form. He's breathless from the struggle. Pushing his hair back into its coiffed position, he licks the blood off his lip from your resistance.

"You're unbelievable. Coming back for more and acting so ungrateful. Don't think it's not perfectly obvious why you've come back," William taunts. He circles you like a shark in dark waters. He reclines the mechanism and begins to carefully remove your clothes. He's oddly gentle compared to the way he cut your clothes off last time. He unfastens each restraint one at a time until you're exposed before him in nothing but your panties.

William starts to gingerly massage your breasts, his mouth hangs slightly open in an expression that asks "What's next?" Your face becomes red and you can't help but look away from him, squeezing your eyes shut and begging your body to stop rewarding him. Your nipples harden for him and your lace panties become soaked with your arousal.

"You must've worn there for me," William gushes as his hand finally travels down to your waist. Goosebumps ignite on your skin and it's everything you can do to stop yourself from moaning. He's teasing you. He slips his fingers inside you and you lose the battle, releasing a loud, desperate moan as he curls his knuckles inside you. He's older, and more experienced. It's as if he knows your body better than you do.

He fingers you until you've given up on holding back and you're just a writhing, moaning mess in front of him.

"Shh, shh..." He whispers as he knowingly guides you to your climax.

"William-" you start to protest, but it just comes out as you moaning his name. Just as he brings you to your limit, he removes his hand entirely. Something he seems to love to do. "No!"

"Filthy little thing. Look at you," he ridicules you as he licks your arousal off his fingers. He adjusts the chair again and you're left with your legs spread for him. He takes his position, waist high to your aching entrance. "You knew what you wanted when you came back. I'm going to give it to you." William unfastens his belt and releases his throbbing cock. It seems even bigger this time. Likes he's been teasing himself this whole time. His breath shudders as he slips the tip up and down in the wetness of your clit.

"I-" you stutter.

"What is it, puppet?" He roughly runs his hands up and down your thighs, awaiting your next line of resistance. The pet name makes you feel disgusting and your face reddens.

"I don't know if-"

"You don't know if you can take it?" He asks but gives you no time to respond before he's slammed completely inside of you. He releases a loud guttural moan as your cries cause you to flex around his erection. "You're gonna fucking take it."

He thrusts into you repeatedly, stretching you out and stimulating you beyond pleasure. Your screams and moans carry throughout the hallways and Mike follows the sound.

"Looks like we have a visitor," William laughs, continuing to fuck you as he watches Mike scramble around through the security monitors. "He's getting warmer."

"Let her go!" Mike finally reaches the security office door and watches in horror as he bangs on the window. His screams are muffled, but William can still hear enough to laugh at him.

"Come take a turn, Micheal. Listen to her," he begins to toy with your clit while he's thrusting in and out of you. You want to hold back so badly, but it's not an option. You release screams of pleasure. Mike didn't even know you could make sounds like that. So degenerate and needy. It's almost distracting. Finally, he busts through the door, sustaining some damage from using his body as a battering ram.

"Let her go. Now." Mike is a new kind of angry. Protective. William tilts his head as he slowly slips out of you and fastens his slacks. You're left whimpering and exhausted.

"Here, Micheal. Have a go. Tell me how tight she is." He holds out a hand to you like he's offering a friend a tray of cigars. "Don't tell me, you two already fucked, right?" William laughs. "Was it anything like what she needed from me? Are you capable of that?" William's words set off a rage inside of Mike. He charges at the tall, broad, older man, but he's quickly and easily tossed aside. William grabs Mike by the shirt and pins him against the wall.

"Don't be stupid. She's alive because I'm using her. I don't have that much reason to keep you around." He drops the short, protective man and turns to face you where you lie half-conscious on the table.

"Just leave us alone. What more could you want?" Mike sighs, defeated.

"Oh, plenty. Unfortunately for you, it's not enough just to fuck your friend. I want the suffering." He unfastens your restraints. "I want the shame." William wraps a hand in your hair and all but throws you onto the floor. You collapse on the floor with a cry of pain and Mike runs to your aid.

"Hey, hey. I'm here, okay? I'm here," Mike frantically tries to comfort you.

"Micheal, you're really disappointing. You have to know the only reason she gave it up was to relive what I did to her," William laughs. Truly amused to be so powerful over the two of you.

"Shut your fucking mouth. Don't talk about what you did to her!" Mike holds you to him protectively, but he seems to freeze up when William comes to collect you. He stands you up on all fours, holding your head by your hair, forcing his length down your sore throat right in front of where Mike remains on the ground behind you. He's frozen as he watches you put up no fight. Your swollen hole is perfectly presented to him and he can see it becoming wetter by the second.

"Y/N..." Mike mumbles your name as he watches. He's unsure if he's heartbroken, scared, or aroused.

"I'm not always going to share her, Micheal." William's manipulative words wrap around Mike like strings on a puppet. Like it's the last time he'll ever feel your skin again, he digs his fingers into your hips and pulls you against him, grinding against your throbbing cunt. Finally, no holds barred, he shuffles his pants down and roughly slams into you. It's as if William's influence was inescapable inside the walls of the restaurant, and Mike couldn't stop his darkest urges.

You moan against William's dick as he manually bobs your head with his fist full of your hair.

"All you're good for is getting fucked. Even your 'best friend' thinks so." William laughs as tears streak down your face. You're jostled back and forth as each man shoves themselves deeper and deeper inside of you. Afton finishes first, filling your mouth and throat with warmth as Mike takes over. He plows into you, quickening his off-beat thrusts as he reaches his peak.

"M-M-" Mike assumes you're trying to say his name. Ask him to stop. Lust has completely taken him over and he gently shushes you between hard thrusts. To his, and William's surprise, you finish your sentence. "More."

With a devilish smirk, William shoves Mike out of the way. He pulls out just as he finishes, covering you in his cum as he sits back, reeling from the orgasm. William takes over, effortlessly spinning you around to take advantage of your battered pussy. He lies you on your back and lifts your pelvis to meet his. He hesitates for a moment to look at you. Your demeanor has been completely shifted. The fear and struggle were replaced with an out-of-character neediness.

"Please!" You wail, arching your back and begging to be fucked. He chuckles as he uses one hand to guide himself inside you. You gasp as he slips past your lips. He has more girth than Mike, and seems to hit something inside you Mike just can't. You release a continuous stream of degenerate moans as he drills you. He laughs over your wails as he picks up his pace, chasing his second climax. Mike can only stare at the two of you. The way you unfold for him and how rough he is with you. He's jealous but frozen watching you cum harder than he thought possible.

William finishes inside you just as he did last time, claiming you. Mike doesn't get that power. You scream as you flood William and his well-pressed slacks and he fucks you through your high. Once he's finally done, he leaves you on the floor, too weak to move. He's so swift with fastening his pants and belt, that Mike barely realizes what's happening until Afton lands a devastating blow to his temple, knocking him unconscious.

You weakly lift your head, slowly coming to and the orgasm and lust clear from your mind.

"Mike!" You exclaim, but it's nearly silent as your throat has been used so roughly.

"Shh..." He whispers and he kneels over you next. His two strong, calculated hands reach your neck and begin to squeeze. Your eyes widen. This is it, you're certain. Tears stream down your cheeks as you look into his eyes, watching as he turns blurry and eventually fades to black.

Hours pass, days, who knows how long? Mike wakes up in the same dark alley as before. He searches for you frantically, but you're nowhere to be found.

"No, no, no, no..." Mike bangs on the doors, screaming your name to no reply. He quickly notices your car is missing and he hopes that you just left him there and went home. He deserves it and worse, after all. He stumbles to his car and drives to your place.

"Y/N," William tauntingly calls your name as he watches you come to. You realize it's the first time you've heard him say your name and you hate the way it makes your clit throb. You squeeze your eyes shut and open them again to see him standing in front of you. "I think I like you. You may feel like a prisoner for a while. But let's see what freedoms you can earn, okay?" You rise from your spot and notice you're in a room that looks almost like an incredibly tiny apartment. Like a pet cage for a human.

"Wait, what? What are-" he cuts you off as he steps out the door.

"You'll be here for a while." The door closes and you're left alone in the plain, beige room. To be used, whenever.

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macabr3-barbi3 · 6 months ago

Note

I'd like to request a reader stumbling upon Alastor and a deer having a squeaking contest in the woods. I don't know why I need it but I need it because squeaking contest. Thank you

Hello! I hope this scratches the itch for you, it was super cute and fun to write ❤️🦌

You were perhaps a bit early for your meeting with Alastor, but you didn’t think he would mind as you eased open the door to his hotel room and let yourself in. You had been regularly spending time together for a few months now since you had started staying at the hotel, and normally you shared an evening cup of tea about an hour later than you currently were.

Alastor wasn’t in his room when you stepped inside though, the fire going but no sign of the Radio Demon. You set the new tea you had brought along for the two of you to try on the table near his armchairs and wander further into the room.

He might be in his bayou dimension, you figure. It wasn’t like him to be outside the hotel at this time of the night, so unless he was down at the bar or something he had to be out in the swamp. You had been itching to take a closer look at the ecosystem anyway, so you hoped he wouldn’t mind if you took a look around.

Stepping over the threshold from bedroom to bayou, the difference was immediately noticeable- the atmosphere felt thicker, warmer, more tangible. You follow the path that’s been eroded into the earth through the trees, marveling at the world that Alastor has created here. It was beautiful, the stars shining through the canopy of trees above you, green-tinted moon casting a faint glow on the flora and little creatures you could see skittering about. Maybe he wouldn’t be too averse to having your tea out here sometimes- iced, since it was a bit hotter, but you didn’t think he would mind.

A faint squeaking noise draws your attention, feet halting as you try to pinpoint the direction it had come from. A moment of silence, and then you hear it again coming from your left. You slip your shoes off to muffle the sound of your feet in the grass and creep towards the sound.

You’ve found Alastor, at least- he’s bent at the waist and face to face with a baby deer, ears flattened against his head and his smile thin. Your eyebrows scrunch at the sight, and then the fawn makes the noise that you had followed; high pitched and cute, it makes you smile, grin widening when Alastor glares at the tiny creature and imitates the sound.

They go back and forth several times, the squeaking increasing in volume and length and Alastor getting progressively more frustrated. You hadn’t even known that he could make a noise like that, so sweet and soft and genuinely deerlike that it finally makes you giggle, the fawn taking off into the darkness of the woods and Alastor standing to his normal height, ears pointing skyward as his eyes narrow at the sight of you.

“What,” he inquires, “are you doing out here?”

“What am I doing out here? You were in some kind of squeaking contest with a baby deer- so cute by the way-”

“My actions are none of your concern.” He turns his head away from you, but even in the dim lighting you can see the faint blush to his complexion.

“Come on, Al,” you tease lightly, not wanting to actually anger him. “You can tell me- did the fawn offer you its soul if you could out-adorable it? You were doing a great job from what I could see.”

“If you must know, it was a riveting argument about the state of my bayou- whatever level of ‘cuteness’ you apply to it is merely a byproduct of the conversation. Since you’ve scared the damned thing off, I shall have to resume the conversation another time.” His smile is tense, leaning into your personal space. “You will speak of this to no one,” he says, brushing his hands off on his suit jacket. “Know that it is only the faintest sliver of platonic affection keeping your afterlife uninterrupted.”

“Gotcha,” you agree. “Big scary Radio Demon? Not cute in the slightest; I have no evidence to the contrary if anyone asks. You have my word.” You place a hand over your heart in mock-seriousness, and know that you’ve won him over when he scoffs and his smile softens. “Now come on, I brought a new tea for us to try- back to society!” You’re already contemplating how to make him make that squeaking noise again; maybe if you asked nicely he would do it for you, or perhaps you’d have to startle him into it-

“It’s not even a mile back to the room, and this is hardly the wilderness,” he complains, but he follows you anyway, your nefarious plot unnoticed.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor fluff #this was fuckin precious #hazbin alastor #simp shit <3

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hopefulidiocy · 2 months ago

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Your Arms

Professor Snape x student reader

Warnings: suggestive but mainly a lot of fluff

Word count: 950

I do not own the Harry Potter characters.

Context: you suffer from night terrors and chronic nightmares, waking up to only want to be in the arms of your favourite Professor.

A/N: all characters are of age :)

⛅️I recommend listening to “Luminary” by Joel Sunny⛅️

Fear. The first thing you wake up to is fear. You clutch at your chest, your heart beating faster and faster as your eyes search around your dark dorm. Everyone is asleep soundly, without fear, around you. You notice the clock ticking towards half three in the early morning and you groan inwardly, sitting up and wiping the beads of hot sweat away from your hairline. You suffered from night terrors regularly but this is the first one in two months, you curse yourself for finding comfort in your sleep after so long. With your heart still beating, you lift the covers off your slick body, your feet landing on the cold wood as you tip toe towards the bathroom. The full moon drips in from the windows as you run the faucet, ice cold water splashing on your face finally brings you back to yourself but your breath still hitches, your shoulders heaving and you grip on the sides of the porcelain sink, breathing deeply through your nose and feel your lungs fill open with some difficulty. You wipe your tear eyes with the back of your hand and know there’s only one thing, one person, who can help you out.

You throw your Gryffindor robe around your shoulders, clipping it so you don’t look so lewd in your silk night dress that stops only at the knees. Tip toeing out of the dorm, your fluffy slippered feet land softly on the stone steps into the common room. There are some students bent over candlelight nose deep in books, too obsessed with studying to see you. You sneak away, closing the portrait behind you, careful not to wake them. Filch is wandering around with his ugly cat, you hear him whisper to himself and know that you’re in for the best sneaking you’ve ever done in your life because the walk to the Slytherin dungeons is difficult and far. The shadows become your best friends as you hop into each shadow, your feet playing against the moonlight until you reach Professor Snape’s office. Suddenly, your heart screeches to a halt. Something stops you from knocking on the door, and then you realise it’s your anxiety talking; worrying that he would turn you away from his door. His moods often swung from one extreme to the other and it’s not something you can predict. You breathe, as best as you can, fighting away the demons in your head and the pain from your night terror, trying your best to ward them off. You bring up your hand, balling it into a fist and knocking faintly but loud enough for him to call.

“Who is knocking at this time of night?” He asks sternly, the door muffling him but the angry tone evident.

“It’s me.” You whisper shout, tugging your robe at your wrists.

“Enter.” He says, still stern. You open the door, trying to minimise the creak, you pad softly into his office. Closing the door behind you and standing against it, your head slightly hanging in humiliation as you look at him through your long eyelashes. He was sitting at his wooden desk, a quill in his hand and marking essays, the candlelight flickering next to his elbows; his robe draped over the back of the chair. He doesn’t look up at you, his face falling into perplexity as he marks a particularly hard essay. He shakes his hand, putting down the quill for a moment, he always does this when his wrist grows tired from the writing. You wait by the door, not daring to inch further to him, your heart bumping hard against your chest as you relive those frightening moments your night terror gave you; a stray tear falling down your cheek. You thought this was a good idea, to be spoken by the one person who understood but maybe it wasn’t. Still, you can’t find the movement in your legs to walk out of the room.

“Um.” You clear your throat, he doesn’t seem to notice. “This was a mistake. I’m going to go.” You say uncertainly, slowly turning to the door.

“Not. So. Fast. Miss L/N.” He says, his voice still down at his essays. You rest your back against the door, breathing in through your nostrils.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” You whimper. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He stays looking at the parchment beneath his nose, sighing as he marks something. You let all over your weight fall against the door, tears falling down your cheeks quicker. Once you sniff, he looks up. His black eyes at first angry and then soften when he watches a drop fall to your feet.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” He finally sets down his quill, clasping his fingers and resting his chin on them.

“I had a night terror again.” You wipe the tears away from your cheeks.

“There’s no need to cry, y/n. You’re alright.” His voice is laced with a mixture of concern and frustration. “You’ve come at a very bad time.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, unable to speak properly, the tears fall freer now.

“Come here, y/n.” He pushes his chair back, still sitting but giving you space to stand between him and the desk. You stand, sad and embarrassed in front of him. Embarrassed to be crying over something that isn’t real. “I… apologise for being grumpy.”

“You’re always grumpy.” Embarrassingly, that makes you cry more. He chuckles softly, reaching out to hold your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin just under your eye.

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” He asks seriously, removing his hand and suddenly that space is burning for his touch again.

“Please, sir.” You sob, burying your face in your hands. You both know it’s a bad idea, the chances of people finding out about your… situationship is dangerous but right now you don’t care, you just want to be in his embrace.

“Okay, but you have to be out before breakfast.” He almost orders it, worry laced in his words. “Come here, sweetie.” You collapse your legs over his lap, you’re not straddling him because this is not the time, and your head rests gently on his shoulder. His arms drape over you, one arm around your shoulders and his other arm lying loosely over your knees. His hand rubs circles on your shoulder which he knows calms you down, his lips softly pressing against your temple. “Tell me about your night terror.”

“I don’t remember it. I just woke up sweating, I was whimpering and crying and I was so wet everywhere. My heart hasn’t even stopped hurting.” You sniff, two tears dropping onto his shoulder. He leans back slightly, wiping the tears away with his thumb, the touch so soft it eases your heart.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” He kisses the crown of your head. “I’m here.” He soothes as his arms move tighter around you, guiding him to his hard chest. You settle into his chest, going quiet as he continues marking the work in front of him. He hums a tune under his breath as his quill works fast over the parchments. Your eyes begin to droop, but not before you snuggle further into him. “Do you want to go to my bed?” He questions quietly, his focus completely on the essays.

“I’m quite happy here. Unless you want me off your lap?” You say, your voice dripping with exhaustion.

“I’m happy to have you here. As long as you feel safe.” He reaches down, pressing his lips against yours and you favour that gentle kiss, holding onto the beautiful intimacy you two are currently sharing - unlike many of the other times you’re on his lap. “Always happy to have you on my lap, in every way.” He slightly teases, trying to make light of the situation. You giggle, wrapping your robe further over your legs as they begin to shiver. “And I’ve seen that night dress. It would be nice to see it another day.” He chuckles lightly, bending his neck over his essays. You laugh in response and then exhaustion takes over, your head lolls on his shoulder and you are swept into the world of rest in the arms of the one person who makes you feel safe.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic rec #harry potter #harry potter fandom #professor snape #severus snape #fanfiction #fanfic #marauders #golden trio x reader #snape x oc

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jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka · 3 months ago

Text

As promised here we have part 8.2! Initially I was thinking we would be nearing the end of this sweet little series, but there was so much more I wanted to add to this part and didn’t get to quite yet so, we may have a bit more to look forward to. Thank you to everyone who patiently waited for this update and sent me encouraging messages 🥰

Pairings: Jake Kiszka X Danny Wagner *slash for the babes

Warnings and tags: 18+ only here! Adult themes including: mentions of previous partner death, mentions of marital problems, little bit of angst and jealousy, brief smoking, smut including: sexy stuff in the car, oral, m/m sex, dad Jake, uncle Danny, let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 7.2k

Vacation Day 3 - Graduation

By Wednesday Jake felt like he’d gotten a little behind in preparing for Luna’s kindergarten graduation. Danny was a welcome respite from the monotony of everyday life, and Jake honestly would have probably cut his vacation short and gone back to work by now if he hadn’t been so otherwise preoccupied with the company.

Josh had assured him that he didn’t need to prepare anything for the party tonight. It was just going to be a small get together at Josh and his partner's home, but Jake knew his brother’s definition of demure was vastly different than his own.

“I’ll see you tonight?” Jake asked Danny as he got ready to leave that morning. Danny had some things to tend to at the shop today that he wanted to get done before the graduation started, and then he was having an early dinner with Emma and their family before ultimately meeting back up with Jake at the party.

“I can’t wait to meet everyone” Danny assured him, a soft smile on his face as he cupped Jake’s in his palms. Jake had his arms wrapped tightly around Danny’s waist, not willing to let him go just yet.

“I thought one Kiszka was enough for you, are you sure you’re ready for three?” Jake raised an eyebrow, partially trying to warn Danny about what he was getting himself into tonight, and partially wanting to scare him into ditching the party so he could keep him all to himself.

“They’re your brothers,” Danny chuckled, granting Jake one quick kiss to the tip of his nose, “I’m sure they have plenty of cute stories about when you were kids”.

Jake finally let Danny go, moving to the edge of his bed to slip his boots on so he could take Luna to her last day of school for the year. “In that case let me call Josh and threaten him to keep his mouth shut”.

“Come on baby, don’t be that way” Danny’s infectious smile was still spread across his face when he leaned over and pressed a kiss to Jake’s lips next. “I’ll see you tonight. Tell Luna I said to brush in circles”.

Jake rolled his eyes, but his own smile worked its way into full bloom as he stood and walked Danny to the door before going to wake his daughter up.

After getting Luna to school Jake headed back home alone. There were dishes in the sink from dinner last night, and a leftover pizza box from the night before waiting to go out with the rest of the trash. In the study, Jake pulled out his work laptop, checking in on some things he’d left others to take care of while he was out of the office. Thankfully his email box wasn’t overflowing with important messages, so he sent a few follow up replies before turning his attention to the array of musical instruments lined up on the far wall.

Jake still played pretty regularly, mostly just old covers he’d learned when he was teaching himself the guitar, but nothing original in a while. His joy in music had never faded. It still grounded him to feel the weight of an instrument in his hands and lap, smell the dirt and sweat that had seeped into the wood from years of heavy use as its body was warmed against his own, and feel the way his fingertips buzzed with the vibrations of the strings he strummed.

He selected a particular piece from the mix, an acoustic he hadn’t touched in a while, the one he’d used to write his last album with his wife. It needed some tuning, but once he got everything right where it needed to be, it sang just as beautifully as the last day he’d heard it.

Jake started with something he played well and often, its notes just muscle memory at this point. Before long though new notes started flowing freely, a song never heard before but one Jake felt intimately familiar with somehow. He closed his eyes and rocked in motion with the melody, the steady pulsating in his chest the beat that kept him in slow fluid tempo. There wasn’t much to it yet, just a few lines of chords he played over again until they sounded like they could eventually be something if he kept at it, but when tears started to fall from his eyes he gave up and quietly set the guitar back in its resting place.

Jake hadn’t written anything new in years, having lost his muse, his love, but now it came to him so naturally, like his heart was vying to speak for itself again.

“Jake! Over here!” Emma’s mom called out to catch his attention as Jake’s eyes scanned the small cafeteria set up with rows of chairs as a makeshift auditorium. “It’s good to see you. How have things been?” She stood up to greet him with a hug like she hadn’t seen him just over a week ago before his vacation started. Well she knew with Danny not being at her house exactly where that meant he was, so her question was mostly just a shot in the dark at getting some news on how they had been.

“I’m doing great” he smiled, hugging her back and taking the seat she had saved. Her husband sat next to her, and he exchanged polite formalities like he always did with Jake before turning his attention back to the small mobile stage.

“Danny went to the restroom, he should be back any second now” she leaned over and whispered to Jake as he stared at the empty seat between them.

“No worries, I figured he was around” Jake casually replied. “How have you been?” He found it difficult trying to maintain the appearance of being completely unaware about her situation with her husband. She on the other hand did an excellent job of fooling everyone into believing things were right as rain with her hand wrapped tightly around her husbands.

“Oh you know how busy we are. Sometimes I can hardly recall what’s left from right or what’s up and what’s down, but we’re healthy and I’m going to be taking a break soon”.

“Really?” Jake was interested to hear more, it had been a while since he’d truly caught up with her and he hoped that maybe if their friendship was still as strong as it was before she would be able to find some solace in confiding in him.

They would have to catch up later though, as Danny arrived. When Jake turned to see him, he was completely awestruck by his appearance being completely different than when he’d last seen him just this morning. His hair looked fresh and glossy, maybe just an hour from the shower probably to clean up after being at the shop. The sweatpants and tank tops Jake had grown accustomed to seeing Danny in these past few days were replaced with a pair of fitted jeans and a black shirt with a high color that made the gold chain he wore around his neck pop even in the dim fluorescent lighting. His eyes were lined with black, and Jake noticed how long his lashes looked in comparison even with having fallen asleep to counting each individual one.

“Everything alright?” Danny asked, mistaking Jake’s wide eyed expression as having to do with being left alone with his sister. His eyes flickered over to his sister's husband who sat ignorantly unaware of the judgment being passed over to him in invisible daggers.

“Excellent” Jake muttered, turning to the side in his seat so Danny could squeeze past him and take his own. Once in place, Danny leaned over and whispered something to his sister that made her unclasp her hand and sit up in her seat. Jake was curious of the interaction, but his suspicions were put to rest when the principal entered the room and called for everyone's attention.

Luna and Emma’s class was the last to take the stage, and when Jake saw his little girl walk across and claim her gimmicky piece of cardstock he stood and clapped as loud as he could alone.

Danny pulled up to the house that barred the same address that Jake had text to him earlier that day. He was sure he had the right place because of the extra cars parked in the driveway, one of them he’d easily recognized as being Jake’s, but he hadn’t expected such an extravagant house.

It was the most beautiful one on the block, white washed brick with teak beams and shudders, large lights in intricate wrought iron sconces and a matching chandelier over the porch. The archway at the front of the porch was overgrown with a vine that was blooming with thousands of star shaped white flowers.

Danny could tell that whichever bother lived here maintained his property nicely and kept up appearances. A sudden nervousness started to bubble in his gut, maybe Jake was right this morning. Was he really prepared to face whatever surprises laid waiting in this gorgeous home?

“Nice bike” a stranger called out to Danny as he set the kickstand down and pulled his helmet off, running his fingers through his roots to make sure his curls were fluffed out enough.

“Thanks” Danny’s eyes scoured the direction he heard the voice come from, the sun setting in the distance behind him casting his and a mix of shadows between the cars and across the yard. Finally his vision came into focus on a tall man standing at the edge of the driveway, a comfortable slouch in his shoulders with one hand tucked into the front pocket of his loose fitting slacks and a half smoked cigarette dangling between the fingers of his other.

“Want a hit?” He asked Danny when he saw him eyeing his cigarette, lifting his hand that held the nearly burned out butt.

“Thanks” Danny accepted the offer, inhaling the smoke through the filter and turning his head to let it blow with the wind, feeling a bit of his jitters slowly start to subside with the influx of nicotine into his system. “I think I’m going to need that”.

“I’m Sam” he introduced himself with a chuckle as he took the cigarette back, gave it one last pull, and stomped it out on the pavement. “You must be Jake’s date”.

“Daniel Wagner” Danny introduced himself, internally confused about why he’d randomly used his full name, but continuing to go with it nonetheless.

“Daniel” Sam nodded, his eyes glancing back towards Danny’s bike. “Is that a Honda?”

“Yeah” Danny breathed out a sigh of relief as he glanced back over his shoulder at the glossy black body. Hopefully knowing now that he and Sam had a bit in common there would be one more person other than Jake he would be able to mingle with. “You know your motorcycles?”

“I know a little bit. Surprised you got Jake on that though, he’s no fun anymore”.

I’m surprised I’ve got Jake at all, Danny thought to himself, a flash of memories from the last two days bringing a warm smile to his face.

“Come on, I’ll show you where everyone’s at” Sam waved Danny along to follow him inside.

The interior of the house was even more spectacular than the outside with its high ceilings and cream colored walls holding a multitude of different pieces of artwork.

“This place is really nice” Danny commented out loud as he scanned the rooms they passed by on their way to the backyard, his eyes growing extra wide when he got a glance into the wide kitchen with its island still covered in food.

“Josh and his partner run a gallery downtown,” Sam revealed, a detail Danny had yet to learn about Jake’s notorious twin. Jake had explained a little about his brothers to Danny during their time together, but most things about them were still a mystery. “Sometimes this place can feel a bit like a gallery too in my modest opinion”.

“Sammy!” A few voices cheered when they stepped outside onto a raised stone patio complete with an outside kitchenette and bar. “Who’s this you have here?”

“This is Daniel” Sam stepped aside and Danny could see another smaller man standing with a drink in his hand.

“Just Danny is good actually” he corrected this time, easing towards the small group who had gathered together, all interested in getting a look at the most recent addition to the party.

“Glad you could finally join us!” Josh chimed, throwing an arm around Danny’s shoulder and giving it a welcome squeeze. “I see you’ve met Sam. I’m Josh, the most good looking Kiszka of the bunch”.

“Hey!” Sam called out from behind now.

“Right, Josh” Danny grinned, unable to take his eyes off of Josh as he studied each tiny difference between him and Jake. He’d been told that Josh was his twin, Jake had even agreed to show some pictures when Danny didn’t believe him, but seeing him in person was even more jarring than the likeness from the images he’d seen on Jake’s cell phone screen. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Sam was telling me that you have an art gallery? That’s impressive!”

“Oh, not as impressive as Sammy over here”. Josh called Sam over and the three of them moved somewhere they could chat alone. At the edge of the patio Danny looked out into the yard and saw that there was a modest pool, surrounded by a gate with metal working that complimented that out front. “He’s the computer engineer” Josh pointed out before taking a sip of his cup.

“Wow, where’d you study at?” Danny questioned intently, trying to soak up as much knowledge during their meeting as he could.

“Ummm,” Sam uttered before he spoke, he seemed a little more modest when talking about himself, “Harvard”.

“Harvard?” Danny nearly choked on his own spit, definitely feeling now like he was surrounded by super successful brilliant super brothers. An art collector, computer engineer, and then there was Jake the artist turned businessman whom he already thought was too good to be true. “Jesus”.

“Danny!” Jake’s familiar soothing voice finally made its way into the conversation as he found the three of them huddled together. “Why didn’t you guys tell me he made it?” Jake asked when he joined the group, shooting sharp looks at both his brothers.

“We were just getting acquainted” Danny explained to him, instinctively reaching around to place his hand at Jake’s hip. “So Sam’s a Harvard graduate?”

“Oh. Right” Jake replied, leaning into Danny’s side a little as he looked over at his younger brother.

“Well, did you study anywhere?” Sam asked Danny next, trying to keep the flow going now that Jake had joined.

“Actually I’m a University of Michigan drop out” Danny replied, a bit of self mocking in his tone, though he wasn’t actually ashamed to admit he’d never graduated college. “I’ve tried a few jobs here and there but body work is what’s stuck with me. School was just… too much book work I guess”. In reality there was a lot more to it. Jake was fully aware of his struggles with his family in the past which was the fuel fire for him up and dropping his life before, but he figured he didn’t need to get into that right now, especially at a party.

“I learned I’m much better with my hands, Jake knows”.

“Oh is that right?” Josh snickered and Jake’s expression turned to one like a deer caught in headlights, his thoughts taking him somewhere else entirely than what Danny had meant by ‘being good with his hands’.

“He’s seen my projects at the shop” Danny continued, subtly squeezing his fingers into Jake’s hip with a knowing smirk. Oh, he’d probably get some hell for that later but he welcomed it anyways.

“You resorted that bike out there? It looked good” Sam asked and Danny nodded. “I’d love to take it for a spin sometime. If you’re okay with that”.

“Of course!” Danny agreed- a little too eagerly for Jake’s liking.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that” Jake scoffed and muttered under his breath, though everyone still heard him clearly. Danny’s smile slowly faded as he gauged the atmosphere, realizing Jake wasn’t in the playful mood he’d been in before.

Sam ignored Jake’s snarky comment, continuing to talk freely as he and Danny went back and forth about computer mechanics in engines, something about engine control units in different models that had Danny growing in excitement the more Sam went on.

Josh made eye contact with Jake, both knowing they had lost the other two in their own conversation. Jake placed his hand on Danny’s chest to get his attention for a second so he could excuse himself, and he followed Josh back into the house.

They checked on Luna whom he’d left with Josh’s partner. She was still completely invested in building a racetrack with the legos and toy cars Josh had found at their parents house from their childhood and brought home for when his Lunbug came to visit.

“Seems Sam and Danny are getting along swimmingly” Josh commented, getting Jake’s attention again.

Jake shot him a sideways look, holding his tongue so he wouldn’t sound like the ass who didn’t want his brother to get along so well with his boyfriend.

“This is a good thing” he added, watching Jake’s expression turn from annoyed, to worried, then softened as he realized Josh was of course right.

“I know, it’s just sometimes I feel like it took me so long to find someone I could share myself with again. My true self that I’ve had locked away for so long that even I was afraid I wouldn’t get to be him again. Now that Danny and I have been spending more time together I get weary that since I’ve opened up to him the challenge has been taken away and he will get restless with me”.

With Jake willingly exposing his feelings for once, Josh played the devil's advocate with him, hoping he could do some work to put his brother's mind at ease. “Does Danny seem like the type of guy to behave that way? I certainly didn’t get that impression by the way he lit up when you joined us”.

“No he doesn’t” Jake admit. If he’d gotten that impression of Danny he would have never let it get this far to begin with. “You know how my head works though”.

“I know you’re afraid of losing people” Josh quietly remarked, “especially the ones you love the most”.

Jake looked taken aback now, like he hadn't expected Josh to read him so easily. But then again who was he talking to if not his other half?

“Are you?” Josh asked, though Jake was unclear about what exactly he meant. “Are you in love with him?”

“I think it's still a little early to know that” Jake tried to deflect, not giving an outright yes or no answer.

“You’ve been in love before Jake. You know what it’s like to be stricken with someone. To lose all sense of reality around them, learn yourself through them in a way you never thought you were capable of”. As Josh spoke his eyes flickered over to his partner who was watching over Luna with a carefree smile.

“Ok Casanova” Jake teased, grinning at the way Josh’s face flushed when he realized he was staring at his fiancé.

“I know you’re just as much of a helpless romantic as I am” Josh knocked Jake’s shoulder with his own, “we can’t help it, it’s who we are”.

After snacking on some more of the food in the kitchen Jake, Josh and their respective counterparts Luna and Josh’s partner followed them back outside. Jake brought Danny a plate to try some of the fruit knowing he had already had dinner, and Danny had managed to find a drink from the outside cooler while he was gone.

“I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you earlier” Danny mentioned after Josh introduced him to his partner. “I heard next spring is the big date?”

“We’re thinking destination wedding” Josh revealed, wrapping his arm around his partner’s back and resting his head against their shoulder. “But we will still have something to celebrate here too”.

“When were you going to tell me this?” Jake spoke up. When he imagined Josh’s wedding he pictured something grand and luxurious with at least a hundred of their friends and family as witness, not him being somewhere across the globe without any of them there to help should things go awry. He remembered how much Josh had helped at his own wedding, as was his responsibility being his best man, and Jake had been looking forward to repaying the favor.

“Oh don’t worry Jakey, you will still get to be best man at Sammy’s wedding” Josh chuckled, making Sam nearly spit his drink out.

“My what?” Sam replied dumbfoundedly.

“Oh come on Sam, you can’t remain a bachelor forever. Even Jake has gotten back out there”. Josh bit his tongue when he saw Jake slightly recoil at his words. He hadn’t meant any harm from it, just their normal brotherly banter, but clearly it was still too soon to be making those jokes.

“What about you Danny?” Sam turned everyone’s attention to Jake’s guest who had up until now stayed quiet while they went back and forth. “Do you want to get married someday?”

“Not really” Danny answered honestly. A silence settled over them, no one really knowing what to say now that the conversation had seemed to take a downward turn. “I mean I don’t really see the point in it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited for you guys and wish you all the luck in the world, but I just don’t think marriage is for me”.

“See, I’m not the only one” Sam pipped up.

“Well Sammy boy we’ve got to find someone willing to put up with you for more than a few hours first”. Josh continued ragging, though he kept a close eye on Jake who seemed stiff.

“I’m going to go check on Luna” Jake mumbled before slipping away again.

Jake tried to mind his own business while Danny and Sam clung to each other for most of the night, talking and laughing with each other like they had known one another for years. It irritated him to no end, but he didn’t let it show on his face lest Josh give him a talking to again. Instead he just stood idly by watching Luna bounce from person to person at the party.

Danny made eye contact with him a couple of times throughout the evening, and Jake merely looked away, finding something else to pretend being more entertained with rather than watching his every move.

“Daddy, I’m tired” Luna came to Jake, rubbing her eyes and fighting off a yawn.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, do you want to go lay down?” Jake reached over and scooped her up into his arms, immediately forgetting all he had on his mind to ease her. She laid her head down on his shoulder and he carried her off back in the house then into one of the spare bedrooms where it was much more quiet.

It wasn’t too late in the evening, but Luna had a full day so her exhaustion wasn’t without proper cause. He laid her down in the bed, making sure she was nice and comfy and sat in the chair next to the window until she was quickly fast asleep.

Jake snuck out, softly shutting the door behind him so as not to disturb his daughter's rest, and meandered through the house until he found himself in the living room. Sitting alone on the couch as if he was waiting for Jake to join him, Josh turned around.

“Hey” Jake spoke as he came around the side of the white leather.

“Hey” Josh repeated, waiting for the other to sit. When Jake stayed standing though, picking at the skin on his finger, Josh stood as well. “You know I was only trying to give Sam a hard time earlier right?”

“I know” Jake bit the inside of his cheek, “it’s alright. You don’t have to worry about it. I’m fine”. His words were short, strained, but he tried to sound sincere. Honestly, what Josh had said really hadn’t affected him so much. At least not compared to what Danny had unexpectedly said later.

“Thanks for the party Josh, Luna had a really good time”.

“Is she out cold somewhere?”

“Yeah, spare bedroom. I’ll go get her when we’re ready to leave”.

Josh folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. “No it’s alright, let her sleep. She can stay with us, I miss that little hellraiser. You should bring her swimsuit over tomorrow so we can use the pool once more before the weather turns bad”.

“Are you sure?” Jake pressed, but Josh placed his hand on his shoulder before he could talk him out of it.

“Just leave her booster seat with us. We’ll probably go get some breakfast near the gallery in the morning”.

Jake sat in the backseat of his car after switching the seat to Josh’s, in the dark trying to recenter himself before rejoining the party when a rap against the window startled him. Danny was leaned over peering through the other side with an apprehensive look to his face, and Jake slid over in the seat to give him room to join him inside.

“Is everything alright?” Danny asked after a few moments of silence in the still, muggy air trapped there in the car with them.

“Yeah, Josh offered to keep Luna for the night. She’s already passed out in one of the bedrooms. I was just leaving him her booster seat” Jake recounted so that way he didn’t seem like a loser for just sitting in his car alone.

“I feel like I might’ve said something stupid back there to make you upset with me”. Danny blurted out, thinking Jake was purposely trying to get away from him.

“I’m not upset with you” Jake sighed, his shoulders moving with his chest as his warm breath added to the mix inside. “You’re entitled to knowing what it is you do and do not want for your future. You’re still young, there’s so much more in life for you than settling down somewhere”.

“I wasn’t saying I was opposed to settling down, or committing to someone for a long time” Danny tried to explain himself to Jake, though he was feeling more and more discouraged since Jake hadn’t even looked at him yet. “I was just saying we don’t always have to be defined by society’s standards. I want to be happy, and I don’t feel like I should have to build my life around contracts that at the end of the day don’t even mean anything to the people who don’t honor their word. Actions define a man and I’ll always be there to support my significant other whether or not we’ve gone to a courthouse to sign a piece of paper”.

To Danny, marriage had always been a way to tie someone down, make them conform to the image like the one his parents saw for him. Then there was his sister, her own marriage at the brink of collapse to further put a damper on his idea of the sacrament.

“It’s not the paper that matters, or even the rings” Jake argued, getting worked up all over again as he reached up to clutch at his bare chest, the chain that had hung there for so long now gone, back at home tucked safely away in a drawer. “It’s the joining of two families, the vow you make to one another… to death do you part”.

Danny could tell that he’d struck a nerve with Jake. He knew that he was close with his family, and getting to meet them tonight had only put that further into perspective for him. He panicked for a second, thinking maybe he should just give him a little space again, or go find Josh since he apparently always knew what to say to make Jake feel better.

Then Jake finally looked at him. His eyes were so filled with pleading for Danny to do something to assure him that he wasn’t crazy to feel this way that Danny without second hesitation reached over and wrapped his arms around his shoulders to pull the smaller man into his embrace. “I’m right here Jake, I’m not going anywhere. I promise you that”. He kissed the top of Jake’s head once, “you have my heart” another kiss to his forehead, “my body” the next kiss was on the bridge of his nose, “and my soul”.

He waited before kissing Jake again, staring into those downturned eyes and swimming in the darkness of his irises. Jake made the next move, driving forward into the kiss he so desperately wanted. As the kiss quickly deepened Jake moved closer, his hands finding the button to Danny’s pants and popping it open. Jake slipped his hand between the opening he created and the thin cotton of Danny’s boxers and started to palm at his length causing Danny to slide down in the seat to give him better access.

Jake’s movements were rushed. It was late, and dark especially behind the tinted windows of his car, and he didn’t expect anyone to be out wandering around Josh’s quiet neighborhood at this hour. He wanted to get this done though before anyone from the party noticed the both of them were gone for too long and ultimately came looking for them.

Jake turned and slipped into the floorboard, his body twisted at the waist and folded over Danny’s lap. There was a knee in his side, but he ignored the uncomfortable position for a while as he instead focused on freeing Danny’s length and pressing his lips to his overwarm tip. Danny inhaled a sharp breath, anticipating what it was Jake was preparing to do.

“Let’s get something straight first” Jake nipped next, making Danny groan and stiffen even more. “I’m going to give you this, then we’re going to go say goodbye to everyone and when we get home you’re going to fuck me”.

“Hmm,” Danny sounded like he was considering his offer. “So the brat gets what the brat wants then?”

Jake scoffed, he was obviously referring to the attitude he’d had earlier. “Unless you would rather stay and talk to Sam?” He squeezed his fist tighter around the base of Danny’s cock, making him squirm in the seat as he tried to buck upwards in chase of Jake’s mouth.

Danny threaded his fingers through Jake’s hair at the crown of his head and gave him a gentle yet direct push. “No baby, I want you”.

Satisfied with his answer, Jake opened his mouth and took Danny inside, letting the hand in his hair guide him up and down.

“That’s good Jake, just like that” Danny praised him, letting his head fall back against the seats as his fingers worked to massage Jake’s scalp.

Despite the confidence in his words Jake didn’t feel much confident in his skill here. He’d given Danny head once before, on a lazy afternoon without much expectation, but now he worked to get him off quickly. So Jake tried to emulate all the moves Danny had done on him. He hollowed his cheeks, flattening his tongue around his girth, and took him in as far as he could.

“Are you trying to prove something?” Danny groaned, pulling the ropey strands of Jake’s hair that were trapped in his firm grip. Jake looked up through his lashes, his eyes pointed and narrowed to answer him. “Yeah? You are aren’t you”.

Jake only sucked harder, feeling the way Danny twitched wildly on his tongue. It was a comforting feeling, to have such power over someone with just the warmth of your mouth. “Show me Jake. Show me who I belong to”.

Danny moaned loudly, and Jake even hoped that maybe someone had passed by for long enough to hear him. The windows of the backseat were fogged over, and Jake could feel a line of sweat start to form on his brow when Danny’s breaths started to come out unevenly.

When he came Jake swallowed him down, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Danny grabbed him by the wrist of that hand and nearly yanked him from the floorboard back into his lap so he could smash their mouths together, searching for a taste before it was gone.

Danny followed Jake home on his bike, pulling into the same place in his driveway that he’d remained parked since the beginning of this week. Jake was quiet as he approached his front steps, waiting for Danny to be at his side when he punched in the passcode to the front door and they both entered together.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked, recalling the first night Danny had stayed over. How they had attached themselves together right here in his foyer and he had to slow things down a bit under the guise of being a good host. He had the same nervous energy as before, but this time he was filled with more determination than fear.

“Can I save that offer for after?” Danny replied as he wrapped his arms around Jake’s waist from behind. “I don’t think I can wait much longer to have you”.

Jake turned around in his hold, placing his forehead against Danny’s chest to hide the flush in his cheeks. The wait had been long, and Jake felt like he was more than ready to make this final leap to the last step. He wanted Danny, more than he wanted anything in a long time, but first there was something he needed to say.

“Danny” his voice came out in a breathy exhale, and he looked up to meet his gaze. “Tonight,” he began, making Danny’s brows scrunch together in a brooding furrow thinking Jake was still vexed with him.

Jake reached upward and cupped Danny’s jaw, he didn’t want him to worry, but he had to get this out. “Tonight was the first time I felt like you weren’t perfect”.

Danny opened his mouth to speak, apologize again for speaking out of line, but Jake shushed him with a gentle swipe of his thumb across his cheek. “I’ve been waiting for the pen to drop, for all of this to come crashing down on me, but now-”

“Now?” Danny pushed when Jake failed to find the words to explain the rampant storm of vehemence building within him like a typhoon on the horizon.

“Now” Jake nodded, his other hand coming up to wrap around Danny’s neck and pull him closer. He let his lips brush against Danny’s, feeling the way just that light touch pulled his breath right from his very being. “Now Danny, take me to bed”.

Danny kissed at the delicious little concave of skin in the space between his hip and groin, Jake’s sweet moans filling the room with each call of his fingers deep inside him.

“Danny please” Jake begged, his hips starting to grind in time with Danny’s movements in search of what he was missing. “More, I need you, now”.

Danny kissed him once more, sucking a matching red mark into the pattern of colorful bruises he’d left all along Jake’s lower abdomen as he dutifully made sure he was prepped to take him.

“No need to ask, I’m right here” Danny called back to him as he sat up to retrieve the bottle of lube. He positioned himself between Jake’s legs, pausing for a moment to admire his work that lay in a puddle beneath him, eyes closed but body open and accepting.

“Keep your eyes closed” Danny’s voice came out in a whisper that formed in the air all around Jake, like a long lived ghost that haunted him in his sleep. He positioned himself right where he needed to be, and slowly inched forward until he was nearly half way there.

“Fuck Danny, is that you?” Jake balled the silky sheets into his fists to hold all his tension there and keep the rest of his body loose and relaxed.

“That’s me baby, I’m here with you. I’m inside you” Danny groaned as he waited to let Jake adjust to the extra stretch his fingers could not quite prepare him for.

“I feel so full” Jake whimpered next, his breaths coming out long with short pulls of air back into his tight chest.

“Just a little more, I’m almost there”. Danny pushed in further, holding Jake by the hip with one hand and the other hooked underneath one of his knees to keep him steady.

When Danny bottomed out Jake let out a sigh of relief, letting his grip go and blindly feeling around until he found strong arms to cling onto instead. “Can I open my eyes now?”

“Yes Jake, open your eyes”.

Jake grinned when his focus came too and he saw none other than Danny hovering above him, his Danny. “Hi”.

“Hi” Danny chuckled back, his hand on Jake’s knee leaving to reach forward and move a stray strand of hair from his face so that his view wouldn’t be obstructed in any way. Jake chased his touch with his mouth, kissing at Danny’s palm until he moved lower, trailing his fingers down the sails of Jake’s warm ivory torso.

Danny wrapped his hand around Jake’s length, but Jake quickly pushed him away with a groan. “Not yet, I just want to feel you”.

“Now?” Danny asked, checking once again to make sure Jake was ready.

Jake nodded and Danny started to move, slowly at first until he was able to build a steady pace they could both withstand. He refused to close his eyes again, afraid he’d miss any of the beautiful expressions Danny made when fucking him for the first time.

“Can I go harder Jake? Fuck, please tell me I can go harder I’m losing it over here you feel so fucking good”. Danny rambled, fighting the urge to just uncage the animal he had, up until now, been able to keep at bay. His control was slipping though, just as fast as his hips thrust into the warmth that Jake’s body offered him.

“Kiss me first” Jake requested, a fire burning so deep in his eyes they turned black as coals.

Danny obliged, dropping his grip to lean over and cup Jake’s face as their mouths crashed together, teeth biting into lip and tongues dancing with passion.

Jake tugged on Danny’s hair when he’d had his fill, turning his head to speak directly into Danny’s ear. “Fuck me as hard as you want. Give me all you’ve got”.

With his permission, Danny pulled upright again and gave one hard thrust, testing the waters of Jake’s physical limits. First was the sound of skin snapping against skin, high pitched and sharp, and Jake’s face pinched in a way that Danny nearly crumpled down so he could kiss the pain away. Then came the moan, low and guttural as Jake arched his back off the bed.

“Again, Danny!” Jake cried out, his hands returning to gripping the sheets only so that he wouldn’t claw through Danny’s skin.

Danny started again, his new pace slower but harder as the muscles in his lower body worked to control his thrusts, and before he knew it the intensity was growing, swirling and burning within him like an underground fire that wouldn’t be extinguished for years to come.

Jake knew Danny could make him cum this way, all it would take would be a few pulls on his aching abandoned cock and he’d be thrown overboard, but he wasn’t ready for it to end just yet.

“Lay down” he directed now, having to repeat himself when Danny slowed after seeing the words formed on Jake’s mouth, but not hearing or registering what he’d said. “Lay down”.

The trade in position was quick, Danny moving to his back as soon as he understood what was being asked of him, and Jake climbed on to connect them again. He sank down slowly, savoring each and every inch Danny had to offer him before he began to rock his hips.

“Oh my god” Danny squeezed Jake’s plush hips, helping him grind harder as he threw his head back into the pillows. “You’re gonna break me Jacob Kiszka”.

Jake felt like he was the one about to be broken though, his body already weak and trembling, but when Danny’s tip nudged against that special place deep within him he knew he still had the strength left to make this last a little longer.

So he braced his hands on Danny’s chest and lifted his hips, coming back down into that exact same spot each time until Jake felt like he was just about ready to fall apart entirely.

“Tell me again Danny” he panted as he worked to get them both to their end. “Tell me who you belong to”.

“Yours, I’m all yours” Danny answered, no doubt in his sincerity even as he was fighting to hold it together.

“Good” Jake replied, “then make me cum”.

Danny was more than happy to appease him, eagerly spitting into his palm and wrapping it around Jake’s length- especially with his own orgasm on the horizon.

Jake came first, hot spurts of his release coating Danny’s stomach and chest just as Danny finally let go himself. Spent and tired beyond belief, Jake collapsed onto the bed next to his lover, trying desperately to catch his breath.

“You good?” Danny turned over, eyes scanning all over Jake’s glistening body for any signs of actual harm, even though he knew Jake had to be alright.

“I’m good” Jake pulled on a dopey smile, wanting nothing more than to curl up into Danny’s arms and go to sleep. It was too hot right now though, and they were in desperate need of a shower after that grand finale.

“I think I might’ve over done it a little on my first go” he admit, feeling the ache already setting into his lower back, and not feeling much of his legs at all.

Danny chuckled, though he was very thankful for all the effort. “You think so?”

“Maybe, but I don’t half ass things”.

“Oh I know,” Danny replied just as he scooted closer and wrapped his arm around Jake’s waist to grab a handful of cheek, “I’ve got the whole ass here as proof”.

Jake pushed against his chest with a roll of his eyes and a flush on his face, staggering a little as he stood up from the bed.

“Shower?” Danny asked, glancing down at the mess across his chest with a happy smirk.

“Together?” Jake responded, reaching his hand out.

Danny took his hand. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but one thing was for certain, he’d never not take that hand for as long as Jake still wanted to offer. “Together”.

Thanks for reading: @sanguinebats @kultavalo @lipstickitty @gracev0609 @lyndz2names

“A brat gets what a brat wants” is a line taken in reference to the lovely @scarletvanfleet whom I love 🫶

#greta van fic #Greta van smut #greta van fleet #gvf #danny wagner #jake kiszka #janny gvf

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maddiethedogstories · 4 months ago

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Babysitting for the Neighbor - 2

This is a story co-written by the amazing @baby-erica! Go check out her amazing blog!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Mads woke up the next morning just a little hung over. Not bad for a Saturday morning after a long night out, he thought to himself as he got out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. Once there, without regard for whether the door was open or closed, he whipped out his penis, closed his eyes, and sighed as he released a warm stream of piss into the waiting toilet. Before he could open his eyes, his morning meditation was broken by the distinct sound of feminine giggling.

Panicked, Mads hastily cut off his flow of urine, covered his penis, and turned to face the source of the noise. To his absolute horror, Sarah, Erica's best friend, stood staring at him and giggling in the open doorway to the bathroom.

Sarah's blonde hair, carefully quaffed last night, was in a messy tangle. Her well crafted make-up was now uneven and running in places, clearly worse for having been slept in. She appeared to be wearing nothing but one of his roommate Brad's extra-large t-shirts as a night shirt. Regardless of how disheveled his classmate looked, Sarah projected a level of sex and maturity that suddenly intimidated Mads, especially now that he was literally caught with his dick in his hand.

Rapidly, Mads tried to pull his penis into his boxers. Despite having just urinated, he still had some lingering morning wood that the thin fabric of his boxers did little to hide. Sarah looked at Mads' crotch with an appraising gaze.

"You're bigger than I thought. Good for you!" She said with a playful wink.

"Sarah! I'm so, so, so sorry! I thought it was just us guys here! If I knew… that… if… you were here, I wouldn't have… uh… shut the door!" Mads said as his cheeks turned tomato red.

"Don't worry big man! Brad invited me over for some play time last night, and I spent the night. Plus, you don't have anything to be embarrassed about showing," Sarah said, everything about her dripping with confidence. "Speaking of which, did you text Erica yet? She's desperate for a babysitter tonight, and I just know you'll be perfect."

I fresh wave of embarrassment overtook Mads at the mention of his crush.

"Uh, no, I just woke up, but, I should go text her now! I'll, uh, see you later," Mads said as he used the offered excuse to race out of the bathroom.

Sarah just smiled and shook her head as she watched her attractive classmate escape to his room. Once Mads was back in the room, he blushed again as he heard the toilet flush and he realized his last humiliation. He'd forgot to flush before leaving the bathroom for his crush's best friend.

Mads threw himself on his bed in distress. How could he make such a fool of himself in front of Erica's best friend, especially after fumbling so much in front of her the night before. He threw his hands over his face in frustration before reaching for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, he could recover from this.

Mads was a good babysitter, and he knew it. Most parents wouldn't even consider a male babysitter, mostly based on the age old stereotype that women were more nurturing and caring. However, despite his gender, Mads not only regularly got babysitting jobs, he was the go-to babysitter for his professors' kids. If he was ever going to be able to show his worth to Erica, showing off as a babysitter was going to be his way to do it.

Resolved, Mads opened his texting app, pulled up Erica's number, and typed:

Hey Erica! This is Mads. It was great seeing you last night! I hope it's okay to reach out, but Sarah gave me your number. She said you need a babysitter tonight. I'm free and can definitely help out if you want.

Mads read over his text 10 times before he finally sent it. He then immediately threw his phone to his side and covered his face. He hoped beyond hope that this would work. About two minutes letter he heard the familiar ding of his phone receiving a message. Mads quickly tore through his bed, desperate to find his phone and see Erica's response.

Hey Mads! I am SO happy you reached out. I'd love to have you come babysit for me tonight! What time could you be here? You'll really just need to feed the baby dinner and put her down to bed (and maybe change a diaper or two). Think you can handle that?

Mads put his phone on his chest and raised his hands above his head in celebration. He did it! He texted Erica without making a fool of himself. And now, he was going to be able to show off one of his best traits for her--how good of a caregiver he was.

Mads and Erica exchanged a few more text messages throughout the day, ironing out details for the night. Erica was weird and vague about some aspects of the job, but that didn't really strike Mads as odd. He knew Erica didn't have a kid of her own, so he had to be watching a relative's child. It made sense she wouldn't know as much about the kiddo as the parents he normally dealt with did about theirs. He did find it funny that the baby's name was also Erica. It must be a family name, he thought to himself.

As the day passed, Mads spent the time he wasn't texting Erica planning for how to make his best impression on the woman. He successfully hid in his room until he was certain Sarah had left, unable to face his friend and classmate again after the bathroom incident. He then went to work restocking his babysitting bag and picking out his best polo-shirt and khaki shorts combination to help attract his intelligent, mature, and beautiful crush.

The day seemed to pass both too fast and mind numbingly slow to Mads. His nerves had him excited and worried all wrapped into one. However, when the allotted time rolled around, he grabbed his babysitting bag, slid his feet into his favorite pair of flip flops, and made the quick journey two doors down to babysit for Erica.

When Mads arrived at Erica's door he politely knocked, making sure to act as professional as possible to impress the woman. However, after two series of knocks, no one answered. Concerned, Mads checked his phone. He had the right time (although now he was a little late) and right location. Why wasn't anyone answering the door?

After a brief examination of the door, Mads found the doorbell. Usually, he avoided ringing doorbells when he was babysitting for fear of accidentally waking one of his charges up early from a nap. But, in this case, he didn't want Erica to think he was irresponsible, so he pressed the button. An electronic chime sounded in the house. Mads waited, waited and waited. He rang the doorbell again. Still no one came to greet him.

Mads had now been standing at the door for five minutes, and he was starting to get worried. This was the time he was supposed to be here. This was where he was supposed to be. It was not like Erica to just flake like this.

Mads convinced himself that something else had to be going on. Maybe Erica or Baby Erica were sick or injured? Maybe someone needed help in the house? Mads wasn't going to let his first babysitting gig for his crush start and end without at least ensuring everyone was okay. So, tentatively, Mads jiggled the door handle, surprisingly finding it unlocked. Mads turned the door handle and pushed open the door. He stuck his head into the house.

"Hello? Erica? It's Mads from down the street! You texted me about babysitting. Is anyone home?" Mads yelled into the house, announcing his presence while scanning the room.

Unbeknownst to Mads, the whole time he had been knocking, ringing the doorbell, and obsessing about what tragedy may have befallen Erica, Erica was sitting less than 20 feet from the other side of the door. The woman's stomach was full of butterflies as she waited on her tall former student, hoping he would build up the courage to walk in the house, just like he was doing now.

Erica had been planning for this day for what felt like years. With every knock on the door, ring of the door bell, and sound of shuffling feet from her porch, Erica bounced in her seat in both overwhelming excitement and mind numbing fear. After what felt like years of orchestrating this scene and building up the courage to act on her plan, she was now questioning whether she actually wanted this. Only one person, Sarah, knew about her secret. Did she really want to risk another person discovering this side of her?

When Erica saw Mads poke his head into her living room, she knew it was too late to back out. She watched as the attractive undergrad stepped in, announced himself, and surveyed his surroundings. She watched as his gaze turned towards her, and he made eye contact with her. She wiggled nervously from her seated position, feeling a slight squish under her, as she felt a deep blush radiate up her whole body.

"H-hi Madth," Erica, the normally mature, overwhelming confident woman squeaked out nervously from behind the shield of the giant pastel pink pacifier tucked between her lips.

As Mads eyes fell on his crush, his jaw literally dropped. Erica, the grad student that had him tongue tied by her beauty and confidence less than 24 hours earlier, sat in front of him in nothing but a pink crop top with the word 'Princess' scrawled across her chest in a Disney font and a giant diaper that his years of experience babysitting told him was soaked to the verge of leaking.

As Mads brain tried to process the outfit, he took in the rest of the scene. For the most part, Erica's living room looked precisely how he'd pictured it in his head. Mature, clean, and tastefully decorated with modern details and house plants. The exception was the large playpen set up in the middle of the room that Erica, his crush, was sitting in like a toddler who couldn't be trusted with the freedom to roam the house on her own. The playpen was filled with stuffed animals as well as other toys and books meant for toddlers and infants.

As Mads examined the scene, Erica watched him nervously. Her big, surprisingly innocent looking eyes stared out at him from over the pacifier tucked between her lips. Her face, normally covered with tasteful make-up, was clearly free if it's normal accoutrements. Her undecorated face was framed by two messy pigtails that would look more appropriate on a two-year-old than the grad student sitting in front of him.

Despite all of this, Mads couldn't deny Erica still looked sexy as hell. This was not what he expected to see when he walked in the door, but, somehow this was better. He never imagined he would see his intimidating crush debase herself like this in front of him, but now that she was, he realized he loved it.

A smile started to cross his face at this realization that did not go unnoticed by Erica. She opened her legs as wide as she could, exposing just how well-used her diaper was.

"Madth, I had aksident in my d-diapies."

NEXT CHAPTER

#ab/dl couple #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl story time #ab/dl caption #ab/dl kink #ab/dl babygirl #humiliation kink #diaper stories #Ab/dl babysitter #Babysitting for the Neighbor

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