#but one day i asked her shyly if next time she made fish if i could have more than usual and to this day she thinks its because i started

[middle-name-queer]

I'm venting about food and gender, I'm not sure why but

Something weirdly specific about me nobody needs to know is, and hear me out because this is difficult for me to articulate, damn I literally don't know how to word it. You know the concept of "let him eat, he's a growing boy" or "give him another helping, he's a hungry man". I have always been so so so jealous of that. To this day it sets me off and I feel ridiculous for it but it makes me so mad. Like it's hardly a universal experience for all men and I'm sure there can be downsides when you're on the receiving end of other peoples assumptions about your body no matter what those assumptions are, but speaking from my own experience being made to feel ashamed for being hungry or assumed that I couldn't possibly still be hungry just..... makes me so mad... idk.

[lilasamaaa]

Missed chances | Max Verstappen x Reader / Part One

Genre | Angst, Hurt, Fluff.

Word count | 4.1K

Warnings | Mentions of heartbreak, alcohol consumption, Max being an asshole.

Summary | It's been years since you've had a crush on your best friend's brother. But him too, right? Or is kissing you every chance he gets just a game for him?

Author's note | Angsty Queen is back at it! This piece is the result of this poll. Thank you so much for all the feedback on the previous pieces, I'm so glad you like them. Enjoy this one! (Not proofread yet, sorry!)

You and Victoria are thirteen when you cross paths for the first time. The shy blonde girl stands upright, nervously nibbling her lip. It's the first day of school, and you're both waiting to find out which class you'll be in, hoping to be with friends. Her gaze meets yours, and she offers a timid smile. You're not friends. Not yet. You just have mutual friends. Your names are called almost simultaneously, indicating that you're in the same class. Instinctively, you head towards her, giving her a big smile. You don't know anyone else in the class, so you'll have to get to know each other. Stick together.

A few months later, as your father drops you off in front of Victoria's house before rushing off to your little brother's soccer practice, you take a moment to observe the pale blue house from the outside. Upstairs, a curtain moves, catching your attention. You don't see anybody, though. You knock on the door, and Victoria opens it, immediately throwing herself into your arms.

"I'm so glad your parents agreed to this," she says, excited. "This is gonna be so cool. My parents aren't home so Max is supposed to look after us, but he'll probably lock himself in his room. Boys, you know..." she finishes, leading you into the hallway.

Max? For months, you've been sharing your lives between classes, but you've never heard this name before.

"Who's Max?" you ask, curious.

"My older brother," she replies, rolling her eyes. "We don't get along so well these days. He thinks he's all grown up... Barely even acknowledge me," Victoria says, frustration evident in her voice.

"I can relate," you reply sarcastically. "Well, mine's younger, but not that interested in me either."

You spend the afternoon in her room painting your nails, braiding each other's hair, and sharing your secrets (you're starting to run out, after all this time), until night falls. You're deep in conversation when someone knocks on the door. That must be Max, you think, waiting for the door to open.

And it is Max, indeed. His face appears, and your heart skips a beat. He's cute. He seems a bit grumpy. Not in the best mood, that's true. But there's something immediately touching about his big, wide eyes and annoyed expression.

"Diner's ready," Max says before closing the door.

"I bet he made fish sticks again," Victoria grumbles, getting up. "That's the only thing he knows how to cook."

Sitting at the table, cutting a fish stick in half with your fork, your gaze shifts from Victoria to Max, who sit across from each other, not exchanging a word.

"So..." you start shyly. "What's your favorite subject, Max?" you ask, immediately regretting your words as the boy glances in your direction, brows furrowed.

Of course, your only topic of conversation is school. You've always been one of the top students. A real bookworm, as they say. Plus, you're not exactly comfortable around boys, especially those around your age. Victoria shoots you a desperate look, eyes wide open. But right now, anything seems better than this uncomfortable, excruciating silence.

"Erm," Max says, grabbing a green bean with his fork. "Geography, I guess. I don't know."

Silence falls once again, lingering until each of you finishes your meal, and then Victoria and you retreat to her room.

"Don't even bother trying to talk to him," the blonde says as she slips into her pajamas. "Nothing interests him except go-karting."

The next time you encounter Max, you're fourteen, and he's sixteen. Victoria and you are participating in an endurance race to raise funds for a charity, and your families have been invited to attend the event. Your parents, who have crossed paths several times at school meetings and other events, find each other in the stands and share enthusiastic greetings before sitting down. Already on the track, you watch the reunion with a smile when your eyes fall on him. Max is here? you think. He never attends these things.

The race begins, and Victoria and you take off along the lake, completing lap after lap. On one of them, as you pass by the stands, particularly the one where your parents are seated, you turn your head, hoping to catch a glimpse of them. You don't see your father or your mother. Your eyes only see him. Max. And he's looking at you, too. Your eyes don't leave each other until your foot slips on a stone, and your ankle twists violently. You fall to the ground, letting out a cry of pain as your father rises, rushing to your aid.

A little less than an hour later, as Victoria finishes her run and joins you at the infirmary, the blonde gives you a worried yet disapproving look. "You're too distracted," she says, hand on her hip. "What was it this time? Did you see a cute boy or something? Was it Jan?". You don't respond, giving a sheepish smile to your friend. A cute boy, yeah...

As the years go by, you see Max less and less. At the beginning of your friendship with Victoria, you often ran into the young man when you spent afternoons or nights at the Verstappen's, but the aspiring driver has started to become increasingly scarce in his own home. One evening, though, as you're racking your brains over a philosophy essay, your phone vibrates, signaling a message from the person who's become your best friend.

"Max is throwing a fucking rager at home. Please come, I beg you. I'll shoot myself if I have to deal with his drunk friends all alone."

Thirty minutes later, you're on your bike, covering the five kilometers that separate your house from Victoria's. Summer has begun, with only a few days of classes left, which certainly explains Max's sudden urge to throw a party. On your bike, you're anxious, your stomach tying itself in knots. Despite your daily visits to Victoria, it's been almost a year since you've last seen her older brother. You try to convince yourself that the fact you applied a bit of mascara to your lashes or straightened your hair has nothing to do with his presence. You just wanted to tidy up a bit, that's all. Nothing else to it.

When you arrive at the blue house, your first instinct is to anxiously glance at the surrounding houses. How has no one called the cops yet, you think, impressed by the decibels pouring out of the open windows, and the number of people you can already see inside the house. Leaving your bike in the grass, you venture into the house, passing by the wide open front door. On the way to the living room, drunk bodies cling to you, spilling beer on your shoes, shouting incomprehensible words in your ears. Wow. Victoria wasn't kidding. This thing is a huge mess.

Spotting your friend in the middle of the kitchen, you make your way to her.

"What the fuck is happening here?" you ask, casting a glance over the room.

"Can you believe this asshole?" Victoria replies, fuming. "Mom has been gone for five hours. Five! And I haven't even finished my fucking essay," she says, despair filling her eyes.

"Forget about it," you reply, stifling a laugh. "That's not happening tonight."

Victoria launches into another tirade about how much her brother annoys her when you catch sight of him in the middle of the living room. He's wearing a shirt that looks slightly too big for him. Maybe borrowed from his dad. He's holding a beer in one hand. A girl in the other. The sight twists your heart and brings a bitter taste to your mouth. Clinging to his arm, the blonde —who you recognize as Sanne, a girl from his class— can't seem to tear her gaze from Max, looking at him as if he belonged in a museum.

"Hey, are you listening?" Victoria says, bringing you back to reality.

"What?"

"They want to play a game," Victoria repeats. "Seven minutes in heaven."

"Seven minutes in heaven?" you repeat, eyes wide.

"Yeah. Sanne suggested it."

Of course she did, you think, biting your lip. Of course Sanne, who clearly has a big crush on Max, would suggest a game where the goal is to get locked in a narrow closet with someone for seven minutes.

"Listen to me," Victoria says, suddenly serious. "If Max has to be locked in a closet with anyone, I want it to be you. We'll figure it out. We'll cheat at the draw," she continues. "I hate Sanne. At least with you, I know nothing will happen."

You swallow loudly, completely at a loss for words. Getting locked in a closet with Max? The Max who's never really noticed you? Who's always seen you as nothing but a kid because you're a year and a half younger and his sister's friend? You don't have much time to think about it because already, you're sitting in a circle in the middle of the living room with a dozen other people, a bottle in the center.

Johannes, a friend of Max's, spins the bottle, which lands on Sanne. The girl's eyes sparkle with excitement, her gaze fixed on Max. Johannes spins the bottle again, and this time, it stops in front of another girl you don't know. You glance at Victoria, who seems particularly amused by the situation. Sanne looks absolutely gutted.

"Rules are rules, girls," Johannes says, laughing.

A boy from your class escorts the girls to the closet by the entrance before locking them in and starting a timer. The seven minutes pass, filled by various discussions. When the alarm goes off and the girls are freed, Sanne sits back in the circle, her face closed off.

"It's my turn to spin the bottle," she announces, seizing the plastic object.

She's quite skilled, as the bottle spins twice before landing directly in front of Max. Sanne grabs the bottle again, sending it spinning, and it rotates for a while before stopping right in front of you. Sanne seems beside herself, but your attention is focused on Victoria, who gives you a discreet thumbs-up. Your eyes meet Max's, and it's safe to say the young man doesn't look too pleased. But as Johannes said, rules are rules, and the two of you get up before walking towards the closet.

The space is ridiculously tiny. Max ventures in first, one foot behind the vacuum cleaner, the other squeezed between two shoe shelves. There's barely enough room for two people to fit, and as Johannes pushes you inside unceremoniously and you hear the lock click behind you, you realize you're standing between Max's legs, your hands on his chest.

"Sorry," you say, trying to get away, your back hitting the door.

A heavy silence settles between you as outside, you hear the lively conversations resume in the living room.

"I'm sure you would have preferred to be locked in with Sanne," you say, trying to fill the silence that's slowly eating away at you.

"Not really," Max responds, evasive.

"Aren't you two together?" you ask, curious.

He scoffs against you, sending vibrations to your chest.

"She would like to, yeah," Max says, as you feel his breath against your face despite him being twenty centimeters taller than you.

"And you don't?" you ask, trying to appear nonchalant even though you fear his answer.

"I don't have time for her."

"Oh. I didn't realize your time was so precious," you reply, stunned.

"Depends on who it's spent with," Max replies, his voice deeper.

You're suddenly incredibly grateful to be plunged into darkness because your cheeks are definitely burning red. Is Max Verstappen flirting with you?

"You've changed since the last time I saw you," he continues, as you feel like the temperature in the closet has risen several degrees.

"Changed how?" you ask, seeking his gaze despite the darkness.

"You're taller. Your hair seems longer. It's lightened up a bit, it's nice," he says. "Sixteen suits you. You're not a kid anymore."

You're going to suffocate. Die in a closet.

"We're only a year and a half apart," you reply, breathless.

"I know," he replies, as you feel his hand caress your cheek. "I'm not a kid anymore either."

His lips crash onto yours before you even have time to comprehend what's happening. You melt into him, closing your eyes, savoring the contact you've dreamed of for years. His hand rests on the back of your head, bringing you closer to him, as your hands find their way back to his chest. You bite his lip, and he lets out a groan before wrapping his arms around your waist. You thank the loud music from the living room for drowning out the sounds you're making in this closet, pressed against one another. Your hands find his neck, and his crawl to your ass, squeezing it as you let out a moan against his open mouth.

You thought you couldn't get any closer, but one of Max's hands slips under your right knee, lifting your leg. You've never kissed anyone. Never touched anyone. Yet, as your two groins press against each other, everything feels so easy, so natural. You could stay here for hours, exploring his mouth, his face, his body, but already, footsteps echo in the hallway, and you pull away from each other as if you'd been burned.

"Time's up, lovers!" Johannes says opening the door, prompting laughter from the living room.

"As if," Max says, getting out first. "That's disgusting, bro. She's like my sister."

You stay in the closet for a few seconds, watching the two boys go back to the living room, catching your breath. Several hours later, lying in Victoria's bed as the music has stopped and most of the guests have left the house, you stare at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep, despite your best friend softly snoring by your side. Getting up to get a glass of water, you walk blindly through the dark hallway, passing by Max's room.

"Can we talk?" a voice suddenly rises, making you jump, your hand finding your heart which threatens to leap out of your chest.

You remain silent. Not quite sure if you want to talk, let alone with Max. And certainly not to talk about earlier, in the closet, and be rejected by the boy who stole your heart.

"Come here," he says, pulling you into his room before closing the door behind him. "I don't want Victoria to hear."

You're about to pour your heart out, tell Max how much he hurt you, when he pulls you towards him and presses his lips to yours. Again. Everything you had planned to say escapes your mind as your tongues meet and the hands of your best friend's brother slide under your shirt, stroking your back. Max pulls back, sitting on his bed, pulling you onto his lap, one leg on each side of him. The kisses intensify, your noses brushing, your hands getting lost in each other's hair. Your lips speaking without sound, your hearts opening up without words.

"I don't understand you," you admit between kisses.

"Don't try," he replies, biting your lip.

Max grabs your butt, pressing you against him, and a flash of panic grips you when you feel him against you. Hard. You moan, and suddenly, all the reason seems to come back to him. It's you. His sister's best friend. He pulls back, avoiding your gaze.

"I..." he starts, breathless. "You should go," Max says before pushing you off his lap. You stand here, facing him awkwardly for a few seconds. Waiting for him to say something. Anything. When nothing comes, his head still low, you turn on your heels. Back in Victoria's room, slipping under the covers of your best friend's bed, you let out a tear, feeling a sadly familiar ache tugging at your heart.

Max and you cross paths again a year later, at your high school graduation ceremony. You and Victoria are among the top students in your class, and you're invited to go on stage to give a speech with eight other people. One of these people is Niels. Your boyfriend. You've been together for a few months now. He welcomes you on stage, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before holding you close. In the audience, your eyes meet those of your parents, proud. Those of Victoria's parents, proud. And those of Max. Icy.

The speeches go by quickly, and just before the buffet begins, you apologize to Niels and your parents, saying you need to make a quick stop at the restroom. In the deserted corridors of your high school, your heels click against the floor, soon joined by the sound of another pair of shoes. You turn around, surprised, seeing Max approaching in the distance.

"Niels Harmen?" you hear the boy say. "Really?"

"What do you want?" you reply, eyes cold.

"That guy was still picking his nose last year."

"It's good that he stopped, then," you respond, annoyed.

"Why are you dating him?"

The question makes you laugh. Not a sincere laugh. A laugh that says "mind your own business" and "screw you" at the same time. An ironic, ugly laugh that you don't even recognize.

"When we kiss, I'm not afraid that he'll reject me the next second," you reply, even though you know it's hitting below the belt.

Max scoffs, crossing his arms.

"Is it what it is? Some sort of revenge?"

"I'm not seeking revenge on anyone. My life doesn't revolve around you," you spit before turning on your heels.

You haven't taken a step before a hand grabs your wrist. You already know what's going to happen. So you try to resist. You know you shouldn't turn around. That if your eyes meet his, you'll fall back in. Start another round of false hopes. Disillusionments. Heartaches.

Yet, you do. You turn around, and, of course, his lips find yours. It's almost routine now, mechanical. You close your eyes, your heart torn between the joy of feeling his touch again, and the anticipation of the pain that will undoubtedly assail you in a few hours. When he'll reject you, again.

You're lost in each other when the sound of applause brings you crashing back to earth. The two of you quickly pull away before turning towards the source of the noise. Sanne.

"Don't you have a boyfriend waiting for you?" the girl asks with a fake smile.

"Get out of here, Sanne," Max says like a warning.

"What happened to "I'm not interested in her", Max?" Sanne asks, one hand on her hip. "Or to "She's just a kid, and not even my type"? Or, wait, what was it, the last time?" Sanne continues, stroking her chin. "Oh, yeah. "She was just there, and I was bored"."

You look at him, mouth agape, but Max carefully avoids meeting your gaze. Sanne's words tear at your heart. In a way, it's even worse than being rejected by him. You turn on your heels for good this time, passing by Sanne who's looking at you like you're the most despicable thing on earth. You're vaguely aware of Max saying... no, screaming your name, but you keep on walking, not looking back once. For a second, you thought you were gonna cry, break down in tears in the middle of the hallway. But nothing comes. You don't feel anything. Your heart has given up, surrendered. Returning to the ceremony, you smile at your parents before settling next to your best friend.

"Have you seen Max?" Victoria asks, and you don't miss how the mention of his name doesn't make your heart flutter, for the first time in years.

"Nope," you reply, smiling at her.

Three years later, you're in Victoria's car, on your way to the Zandvoort Grand Prix. You don't even know why you agreed to come with your best friend. You don't watch F1. You have no interest in the sport. Curiosity, your inner voice whispers. You wanted to see him again. You shake your head to dispel those intrusive thoughts when Victoria turns to you.

"I'm so glad you agreed to come. Max is so happy, too."

"What?" you ask, turning to her.

"He told me over the phone. Is that so surprising?"

Well, it is. Max and you haven't exchanged a word since the last ones thrown in the hallway of your high school. But Victoria, of course, doesn't know that. Victoria thinks you're friendly. Like two people who grew up together, gravitating in the same universe without ever colliding.

"He got us VIP passes", your best friend continues. "We'll be able to go everywhere, even see the pit stops!"

"How kind of him," you mumble.

"Look," she says, looking over at you. "I know Max wasn't the kindest... or the warmest, growing up. But he's changed, so much. You'd be surprised!"

"Oh, I bet," you say, smiling at her.

Victoria parks her small car in the VIP space, and a RedBull staff member greets you, handing you two passes before guiding you through the paddock. A stress you haven't felt in three years creeps into your head, into your body. Your thoughts collide, your hands are sweaty. You're beginning to wonder if coming here was a good idea after all when you spot him. At the end of the aisle, in his racing suit. Helmet in hand. Victoria's phone suddenly rings, and she apologizes, gesturing for you to continue without her.

You take the few steps that separate you from the driver. He's changed. So much. His teenage roundness has vanished, replaced by sharp features. His hair is longer, his eyes darker. He gives you a warm smile that twists your insides. It's impossible, you think. After all these years. Having so much power, so much hold over me.

"You came," he says, still smiling.

"For her," you reply curtly.

"Well..." he says, laughing softly. "She's not the one racing."

The silence falls again. Cold. Heavy. You turn your head, spotting Victoria a little further away, hoping she hangs up soon.

"You look beautiful," he says, and you know he means it despite you wearing the blankest blue jeans and white shirt ever made.

Silence, again.

"I'd hoped you'd no longer be mad at me." Max says, and you scoff.

"I'm not mad at you."

"You're cold."

"You broke my heart."

The driver winces, looking away.

"I should have called," he says, softly.

"I wouldn't have answered," you reply.

"I should have come to see you," Max starts again.

"I wouldn't have opened the door."

Your eyes meet his. Fire and ice.

"Well, I should have done something. Fight for you," he continues.

"Fight for who?" you ask. "The girl who was just there?"

Max runs his hand through his hair, embarrassed.

"You were never just that to me. You were so much more. I was just too young, too stupid to realize it. I have. Now."

You hadn't planned on getting into deep explanations with Max today. Not here. Not now. You're about to respond when Victoria returns, linking her arm with yours.

"Maxie!" she says, kissing his cheek. "Are you catching up on lost time? Did she tell you she's still dating Niels? Rumor has it that he's going to propose soon!"

Max's eyes glance down at your hand, and something in his demeanor shifts. It might be the breath he holds, or the way his shoulders seem to slump, defeated.

"She hasn't," he says, smiling faintly at his sister.

"We should go," Victoria says. "The race is about to start. Can we go to the stands?"

"Yes, no problem," Max replies as Victoria begins to head towards the garage, leaving you face to face once again.

"Congrats on your future engagement, I guess," he says.

"Thank you. I'm going to break up with him," you reply, crossing your arms.

"What?" Max says, astonished.

"It doesn't feel right. Him and I."

"If it has anything to do with me, please, tell me," Max breathes, as you avoid his gaze. "I was so focused on my career these past few years that I never wrote to you. I knew I didn't have the time to make it work. I knew it'd be selfish. Unfair to you," Max admits.

"Here you are, once again, thinking that my life revolves around you", you say, smirking at him. "I'm not waiting for you, Max. I haven't been for a while now."

The driver nods, swallowing hard.

"Of course," he says. "I'm sorry for assuming."

"I'm not against the idea of grabbing a drink with you sometime, though," you say, winking at him. "Just text me when you're free."

"I will," he says quickly, blue eyes boring into yours.

"See you around," you say, running to catch up with Victoria.

Watching you leave, Max stands there, grinning like an idiot, before unlocking his phone.

"How about tonight?"

Sent.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Tesco

Leila Ouahabi x Reader

Connected to Uni Love II

Summary: How Leila got the bruise on her cheek

Leila's minding her own business as she wanders through her local Tesco. She's got one earphone in as she goes down the snack aisle. She's meant to be getting food for a little meetup at Deyna and her girlfriend's house but, as the only one out of the Man City girls going currently not injured, she can afford to be a little bit late.

Every Brit she meets says that there's something magical about Big Tesco but, honestly, she's not entirely sure she gets the appeal.

Deyna's girlfriend gave her a list to stick to but Leila's pretty sure that lists are just guidelines anywhere so she's going off vibes only as she crouches down in front of one of the fridges full of dessert.

She doesn't even realise what's happening until she's sprawled out on the floor with pain blooming on her cheekbone. Leila looks up in confusion to see a full trolley where she used to be crouching and the prettiest girl she's ever seen approaching.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?!"

Leila's still completely star-struck as you approach, your hands fluttering over to check her face.

"I didn't even notice you! God, I'm sorry. Can I do anything? Are you alright?"

Leila, in a moment of pure adrenaline, captures your hand in her own and kisses the back of it. "I am so okay." She's trying to be smooth (Deyna and Laia would laugh at her if they were here) and, thankfully, you seem to be flattered if the blush on your face is anything to go by.

"I feel terrible," You say," Can I buy your basket for you? As a sorry."

"If you buy my basket," Leila replies as you help her to her feet," Then can I have your number? I'd love to take you out."

You laugh and inwardly, Leila pumps her fist in victory. "Are you trying to pick me up? In a Tesco?"

Leila grins, even though the movement makes her cheek ache. "I've heard that Big Tesco was a magical place but I didn't know that it stocked such beautiful girls like you."

You laugh under your breath. "Oh my god. I hit you with my cart and you're trying to pick me up. I can't believe it."

"I'm Leila," She says with a wink," But you can call me your future girlfriend."

"Wow," You say," You're so forward. Is that because of the pain or just what you're usually like?" You take Leila's basket and put it in your trolley.

"Let me take you on a date and find out."

You grin at her. "I gave you quite a shiner. I hope that you don't hold that against me."

"Trust me," Leila says," I am very happy that you hit me with your trolley."

"It was an accident, truly."

Leila winks. "I wouldn't have minded it if wasn't."

You laugh. "Alright smooth talker. Do you need to get anything else or should we go and pay for it?"

"We can pay now," She says," But if you need longer to make your mind up about me then I'm happy to pretend to need more things."

"You're very charming," You reply, beginning the push your cart to the registers," I've already made my mind up about you." You fish out your phone. "I'm working for the next three days but I'm available at any time after six if you still want to go out."

Leila has to restrain herself from snatching your phone to type in her number so makes sure to take her time (but still ends up wearing a smile that betrays how excited she is).

You do the same with her phone, shyly handing it back. "You should probably go get some ice to put on your bruise. Is it far from your place?"

"My friend's girlfriend is a doctor," Leila confesses," I'm actually heading there now."

"Well," You say, feeling bold and giving her a goodbye kiss on the cheek," I hope she has ice for you. I'd hate for that pretty face of yours to be all black and blue during our date."

You waltz off and Leila stands frozen for several minutes as she watches your retreating figure.

Then, her phone chimes.

It's Deyna, asking where the hell she is.

[betsabegrandchester]

My little girl || Jake Sully

Jake Sully x Daughter! Reader

Summary: Where Jake realizes that you're not his little girl anymore and you're an adult now.

Note: Sorry for spelling and grammatical errors, English is not my first language. <3

The truth is that I didn't like it very much, I like the idea but not how I planted it here.

Your delicate steps did not go unnoticed by your mother neytiri who immediately stood up from her seat to greet you with her arms crossed while your brothers and father looked in your direction.

"Where have you been?" was the first thing she asked when she saw you "Where and with whom?" asked Jake from his seat.

Well, you had two choices; one was to lie and say you were alone taking a walk on the nice reef, the other was to tell the truth and say you were with a handsome Metkayina taking a walk.

Clearly you were going to lie.

"I was taking a walk, mommy" You replied giving her an innocent wink. You got a scoff from Neteyam who already knew the truth, and as he was on the ground with your foot you hit him on his knee getting a grunt from him.

"Well, I hope you won't lie to me" your mother warned "We don't know the clan well, you can't always walk alone, it can be dangerous" Your heart skipped a beat because you were lying to him, but you didn't want them to meddle, you were already 18.

"Yes, mommy" You said hugging her. "Yes, sure. A walk alone" Lo'ak said as you sat down next to her "Stop bothering your sister" Jake warned her "If she says she was walking alone, it's because she was walking alone".

Your eyes shifted to your father who was staring at you waiting for a comment on the matter, but you felt bad about lying so you just nodded at him leaving him in doubt.

(...)

The outings with Eykxä had been frequent. Your curious brothers already knew about your encounters and always tried to cover for you by saying that you were in other activities with the clan.

That very day your idea was to go out with Eykxä in the middle of the night, but you didn't count that your father was already suspicious of your outings. He was more worried about you than anything else, you were his little girl, well not so little but always his little girl. He had a certain weakness for you being his firstborn, so when he saw your escapades he wanted to know why.

I wish he hadn't.

While everyone was asleep you went out as quietly as you could to a hidden spot on the reef where Eykxä was sitting in front of the colorful fish.

"Hey, I thought you would be later" He said as he patted the side next to him for you to sit down. "I was able to leave earlier today" You replied as you sat down "Everyone was really tired so I was able to leave earlier."

"I'm glad, more time to enjoy your company" He told you, then brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, an action that made your cheeks warm and you smiled shyly at him "Yes, much more time"

Hours you spent together with his company, not realizing that Jake in just minutes found you and realized something.

You grew up, and you were an adult.

(…)

Well, you didn't know why your father was ignoring you but you couldn't let it go. He had been distant the previous days and even your neytiri mother didn't know the reason.

"But mom, he really hasn't said anything to you?" You asked her as she took care of braiding your hair "No, my love. He hasn't told me anything but if you want I can ask him again."

"No, I'll do it" you told her, looking up at Kiri who was standing next to you playing with your fingers "daddy is outside, he said he needed a break" Kiri told you without taking her eyes off your fingers, "See if you can catch up"

That's what you did after your mother finished braiding your hair and you thanked her, you headed straight to your father who was sitting with Tuk on his lap while tickling him.

You smiled because your father often played with you when you were little (clearly I'm going to write about that).

"Hi daddy, hi Tuk. baby, can you go to mommy?" You said stroking her hair "Hi, but I'm playing" She says while pouting "Please" You beg her, and like the good and tender one she is she kissed goodbye and ran off to neytiri.

"Hi, dad" You repeat since he hadn't greeted back "Hi" Dry, not even a hello with your name. "I think we need to have a talk" You told him dentándote at his side "I don't know what's wrong with you, you've been distant these days. I don't remember doing anything to deserve this, dad."

Your words made your father reason, but the feeling that you were already an adult, that you would start isolating yourself from the family broke his heart. He didn't mean to be that way, but he was also hurt that you didn't trust him to tell him your love situation.

"I saw you, the other day I followed you because I found your attitude suspicious. You started smiling more, you were often distracted or your escapades at night. I'm your father, you clearly didn't go out alone, I know you" He said intertwining his fingers with yours "You're my baby, you always have been and always will be. It's hard for me to accept that you're a woman now. That you're not my little girl anymore."

"I always will be, Daddy. Sorry if I didn't tell you, I didn't know how you or mom might react" You excused yourself "I'm in love, it's so easy everything with him/her. I feel good" You told him shyly.

"I think I should have waited for you to tell me before I acted like this, I'm sorry my girl" He told you "I know it's time for you to meet people outside of us, but you are my girl and it's hard for me."

He slipped one of his arms around your shoulders to pull you to his body and kiss your head "I won't intrude anymore baby, I'm sorry for my behavior, it wasn't apt. I love you, my no longer little girl" He said smiling at you with his most paternal smile.

"I love you too, daddy."

"Your brothers did know about this, am I right?" He asked after a few minutes. "Yes, they did."

"Little traitors."

[the-atlas-sister]

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ (Neteyam x Best Friend!Reader!)

(Image from cinetrix )

Warnings!: suggestive content, language, teasing Lo'ak, very slight Lo'ak x reader, a bit of angst I suppose

Friends for life. That's all you and Neteyam were. At least that's what you said when the two of your were six. You remembered your first meeting with the boy as if it had just happened.

***

Neteyam stared curiously at the young Na'vi that stood, fearfully behind their mother. "Toruk Makto," their mother said, bowing low before Neteyam's father. The young Na'vi looked at their mother before mimicking her movement.

Neteyam laughed gently at the act, making his father send him a stern look.

"No friend of my mate has to bow," Neteyam's father said, cringing at the way Neytiri's old friend dipped before him. "Please, seriously, stand up. I'm not Toruk Makto to you, just an old friend's mate."

"I see why Neytiri likes you," the woman said, cracking a coy smile. Her eyes slowly drifted to Neteyam, making him stand up a bit straighter. "And is this the prince himself? Neteyam?"

"Hello!" Neteyam said. His ears pinned to his head in embarrassment at the volume of his voice. His eyes flashed to the young Na'vi next to their mother, his eyes lighting up at the sound of their soft giggle. "Who is that?" he wondered aloud, his six year old brain lacking impulse control as he pointed at the other child.

Their mother chuckled gently, placing a hand on your head and ushering you forward. "This is my child, Y/n," she said, pushing the child in question towards Neteyam gently.

They looked down shyly as Neteyam looked up at his father. "Can I play with them?" he asked, watching as his father's face lit up.

"If they want to," he stated, smiling gently.

"Do you, want to play with me?" Neteyam asked, turning his attention back to the Na'vi before them.

Their gaze snapped to the boy before them, eyes wide as they fiddled with their hands. They only nodded in response, which was enough for the young Neteyam to believe that you were now the best of friends.

"Come on!" he cheered, grabbing Y/n's hand and pulling them away from their parents. "I'll teach you how to fish!"

"Those two are going to be inseprable," y/n's mother said, matter of factly.

"I hope so."

***

And they were right. Ever since that day, the two of you had been inseparable. You had stuck to the oldest Sully son and he had stuck to you.

As the two of you grew older, as did your feelings for one another.

***

"Yams!" an adolescent y/n cheered, jumping up in excitement as their childhood friend wandering into the small clearing they had found as children. When they were young, they deemed it the hideaway, a word Neteyam's father had taught him. Since then, the name had stuck and it had become your special place.

"Have you been here all day?" Neteyam questioned, meeting you in the middle of the clearing.

"Have I? I hadn't noticed," you said, shrugging slightly. "It doesn't matter. Look at what I made!" You proudly held up a brightly colored flower crown you had created within your time alone in the clearing.

"How many of these have you made?" Neteyam asked, tilting his head, allowing you to place the crown on his head.

Your cheeks flushed as your best friend's eyes wandered to the large pile of flower crowns sitting in a corner of the clearing. Neteyam gave you a cocky grin as your face turned a deeper purple hue.

"They're not all for you," you grumbled, cracking a small smile as Neteyam laughed. You felt a bubble grow in your chest at the laugh. You had heard it over and over again but it was only now that this feeling began to blossom.

"You're so excited," Neteyam chuckled, his eyes scanning your face with a small smile on his. He felt his tail swish behind him, finding himself growing excited as you did.

"Just look at them!" you said, letting out an excited giggle as you ran towards the pile of flowers. "Did you know there are this many different types of flowers in our hideaway?"

"I did actually," Neteyam said, following you slowly as you approached the flowers. "I used them to make that top for you." You felt your heart skip a beat at his words, gently stroking the soft top you currently wore. It had been a gift for your fifteenth birthday from your dear friend, and with his confession, you realized why the flowers sweet scent was so familiar.

"How very like you Yams," you teased, fighting the blush that made it's away up your neck.

You'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't developed a crush on your childhood friend throughout your adolescent years. Everything the blue skinned boy would say or do left your hear skipping a beat and every time he would touch you, you were left wishing he'd never stop.

The only problem is that he never seemed to return the feelings at least not that he showed to you. So, as unhealthy as it was, you decided to push down the feelings, beating them back with a stick as you did.

"Come on, I made a few for your siblings as well."

As the years went by, the feelings continued to grow. As you both began to reach adulthood, the feelings only fought back against you and your emotional stick.

Little did you know although, as you fought with your own emotions, as did Neteyam. As you grew up together he found himself wanting to be closer to you. He never understood the feelings, chalking them up to loving his dear friend in a true platonic sense. The only flaw in his thinking was the strange dreams that he would have of you. He would wake up after dreaming of you below him with wide eyes and sweat dripping from his body.

***

"Dude, you're in love with them," Lo'ak said, scoffing at his older brother as they hunted deep within the forest.

"Don't be ridiculous," a now twenty-one year old Neteyam scoffed, rolling his eyes at his brother. "I just care for them deeply. They are my dear friend, you know this. That is all."

"Okay, then you wouldn't mind if I asked them out?" Lo'ak pushed, smirking as Neteyam's gaze snapped to him. His jaw clenched as he glared at him.

"That would be fine," he said slowly, stomping further into the forest.

"Are you serious?" Lo'ak pressed, following the older Na'vi. "Because I'll do it." Neteyam stopped in his tracks, spinning on his heel.

"I wouldn't care," he hissed, his eyes narrowing. "Y/n could date whoever they want and if they wanted to date you, that'd be their choice."

"Perfect," Lo'ak shrugged.

A/n respectfully fuck all of you who voted for this. Because I suck ass at writing this

Tag list: criticallybella lollife1617

[adeadcreator]

Is it bad I want yo see more of Pinocchio Fem!reader and Jolyne? I really love how you executed the idea ;_;

No not at all, HERE YA GOO (~˘▾˘)~

Jolyne Cujoh x Fem Reader with a "Useless" stand Pt 2

A few days passed since you first met with Jolyne, along with her group of friends who seemed to love spending time in a hidden room within the prison. It shocked you at first but then again it was one of the few bizarre things that had happened within this prison, though another bizarre fact was that it had turned out your cells were relatively close, which you both loved. 

A meeting was called for the next execution of the plan that they had made prior to your presence, which you were now involved with. Though it did seem like many of them were pleased to have another stand user by their side, not that you minded joining. It was rather refreshing to hear different voices and personalities, it was much better than your days in solitary confinement. 

You could feel your face slowly blossoming into a bright pink as you felt a familiar pair of green eyes staring at you lovingly as Hermes explained some details with weather report. Turning your head slightly you gave a gentle smile to the duel-haired girl as she gave a wicked smirk in return, her mouth began speaking without a sound. Your (E/c) eyes scanned her lips as the patterns of the words that never echoed in her voice ‘spoke’.

‘How are you doing, darling?’

Snapping your eyes back to her own before mouthing back ‘Well and you angel?’ your head tilted as she snickered, earning a few glances from the others. The meeting soon ended with an argument on the terms for the next battle, leaving you and Jolyne to your own devices as you whispered back and forth to each other. A soft array of giggles left your chest as Jolyne snickered alongside you before staying quiet for a moment and observing you.

“You never really told me why you’re in here serving a sentence (Y/n)..?” Jolyne’s question went unanswered as your mouth repeatedly opened and closed like a fish out of water, the question caught you off guard as she waited patiently as you glanced around before seeing some loose paper. Your hands were quick to snatch the paper as you began writing down your answer, hoping and praying Jolyne’s patience won’t run thin. 

Her green eyes scanned each word carefully as you handed her the paper, from a distance the rest of the group watched as you and Jolyne conversed amongst each other quietly “What do you think they're talking about?” Ermes asked as she scanned your body language, mentally preparing for the worst “Eh, It’s probably nothing. But the real question is where my water is?” the green haired plankton said as she looked around, clearly not bothering with what you and Jolyne were up too.

“You’re water doesn’t matter right now F.F, we need to hear what they’re saying.” Anasui snared as his eyes glared at your unexpected figure, Jolyne suddenly smiled before lifting her head up and leaning close to you before planting a kiss on your nose, earning a harsh blush from you in return. Anasui’s original plan to confess to Jolyne was immediately discarded as he saw how you both looked at each other.

It had sickened him how sweet you both were with each other, or rather a better word would be jealous, it made him jealous how her beautiful green eyes were quick to ignore his presence in favor of the (H/c)ed girls. The solitary confinement building wasn’t the only place it occurred. No matter who was in the room or what, Jolyne always found a way to have her green eyes glancing at you.

Anasui was quick to jump just in time as a flesh colored stick appeared, nearly impaling him if he hadn’t moved fast enough. “Bless you (Y/n)!” Jolyne’s voice said as she handed you a tissue, which you gladly took “HOLY CRAP HER STAND IS LIKE PINOCCHIO!” Ermes screeched as her eyes landed on the (H/c)ed stand user, who was shyly apologizing “That’s amazing!” F.F said as she poked the wooden-like nose in amazement.

“Isn’t her stand amazing! She my very own Pinocchio~” 

[theshelbyclan]

Trust Issues

Summary: While Yelena is waiting patiently, you have the growing feeling you are being followed (part 3)

A/N: Part 3 already! Thanks so much to everyone who’s supported me on this one; it means the world to me :) 

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 

Words: 1724

*****

When Yelena woke up the next morning, you were gone. She got up and called out your name, but no answer came. Then she checked the different rooms, while trying to suppress the worry she felt growing inside of her, but you weren’t there. “I’ll make you some breakfast, little fish,” she spoke out loud to the empty apartment, “Maybe you’ll be hungry when you get back.”

Meanwhile, you were walking around London. For the last couple of weeks, you’d gotten to know the city well. It was a strange place, almost opposite of Berlin where you’d stayed before London, but you liked this city better. Maybe Berlin had been a bit too nice for you.

You pulled the hoody you had on over your eyes. Eyeing the people carefully, you were always checking if no one paid a little more attention to you than they should. Most people assumed you were any regular school girl, on your way home or whatever. For a second, you’d even contemplated buying a school uniform to blend in even more. But you didn’t think you’d need it, because who really watches some preteen in a black hoody? London was overcrowded with them.

“Hi, John,” you greeted the old man by the door. With a small smile, you entered the church.

The reverend granted you a bigger smile, “Good morning, have you come for the service?”

“Just the music,” you replied, as you’d done every day so far, even though it wasn’t true.

Slowly, you made your way to the back of the church. The first time you’d ended up here was when you’d only been in London for 24 hours. As a city, it had overwhelmed you and all of a sudden you’d found it hard to remember your training and how to adapt. But then you noticed the old building and a seemingly even older Anglican priest that left the doors unlocked for the homeless to sleep inside, and you’d found solace there. You told him you came for the music, but it was the atmosphere of the place and the prayers that managed to calm you down just as much.

After Morning Prayer, the few people that had attended hurried off to work, but you lingered. Somehow, it was always hard to leave and enter the real world again. The reverend took this moment as an invitation and sat down next to you.

You looked at him carefully and smiled a little shyly.

“What do you like best about my church?”

You pointed upwards, towards the south windows, “Those. The birds in the window.”

“I like those too,” he nodded. He was soft and familiar, like a grandfather almost. You lived by certain rules and one of those was to never let anyone get too close or take a special interest in you, but you’d broken your own laws here. He continued, “What about that one, next to your birds. What do you think of that one?”

You followed his pointing finger and asked, “What is that?”

“It’s a wounded raven,” he explained. “The window was damaged during the war and they replaced it with this one, to commemorate it.”

“The raven’s been shot with an arrow,” you squinted, “but the wound would not have been fatal. Not straight away.”

He looked down at you and frowned, “You know an awful lot about hunting for a city girl.”

You cast your eyes downwards and cursed yourself for talking too much. Instead you mumbled, “I’m not a city girl.”

“Oh, I know.”

Again, you’d betrayed yourself. Just shut up, you told yourself.

And it was like he could read your mind: “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you all sorts of prying questions. But just tell me this, if you can: are you safe?”

You wanted to tell him ‘no’. In fact, you wanted to shout out ‘no!’ You wanted to ask him for help and beg him to take you away and plead with him to take you in, but you knew you couldn’t. Not only could you never get the words out, but it would also mean putting his life in danger.

“You’re not, are you?” he filled in, observing you with sad eyes.

“I think I might be soon,” you told him, partially to comfort him and partially believing yourself too, “My sister is coming for me.”

*****

About an hour later, you climbed in nimbly through the window.

“Hi!” Yelena called out, over the sizzling of the full English breakfast she was cooking, although with a Russian twist to it. “You are hungry. I knew you would be.”

You didn’t speak, but sat down at the table. And for a moment you wondered: is this what having a family feels like?

Yelena walked over to the table and placed a plate piled with food in front of you. Eagerly, you started eating.

“Rybochka, eat slowly. I won’t take your food.” 

You looked at her through your eyelashes and continued wolfing down the breakfast. Then you told her, “Don’t you remember?” 

“The Red Room?” she asked nonchalantly. “Yes, I remember. They used to reward us with food and take it away just as easily.”  “Exactly.” 

“The Red Room is gone,” and she offered you more food by way of proof. 

You took it enthusiastically. 

Yelena watched you while you ate. After a while she wondered out loud, “Where did you go?”  “Church.” The word had left your mouth before you could stop it.

“Ha!” she laughed, “Why? God won’t help you.”

“Maybe he will,” you shrugged, picking up a piece of bacon defiantly. 

The widow narrowed her eyes and emphasised, “If there is a God, he isn’t there for us.”

“How do you know?”

Yelena seemed to think about this for a long time. Then she confessed, “When they locked me up, I used to pray.” 

“So did I.”

“And what happened?” she asked, with a small smile playing about her lips. “Nothing,” you answered, as the images of your ruined childhood flashed across your eyes. “I may believe in God, but I’m not sure he believes in me.” 

Yelena nodded slowly and let you finish the rest of your breakfast in silence. Finally, you decided to break the silence again, “Did you talk to your sister? What does she want with me?”

The blonde dug a small knife from her pocket and started carving her initials into the table. Absentmindedly, she said, “It depends. Do you have anyone?” 

“No.” You suddenly felt very small.  She looked at you with sudden sympathy. It’s funny, you realised, with Yelena it always seemed as if her mind was elsewhere and like she didn't really care, but then, all of a sudden, she was all emotion, every emotion. Like she was now: “You have me.” 

“What are you to me?” You tried to keep the emotion out of your voice. 

“I am like you, little fish, I am the only one like you.” 

You eyed her in silence. 

“But you do not know yet if you can trust me.”  “I don’t,” you confirmed. 

Yelena handed you her knife, “This is the only weapon I have. You are the only one armed now.” 

“Liar,” you smirked, and you pointed at her sleeve. “Fine, have this one also.” She handed you her second throwing knife.

You narrowed your eyes at her even more, but you couldn’t help but smile a little too. This felt like a game now, a game that only child assassins knew how to play.

Yelena threw up her hands in mock defeat and played along, “Again, I lie! You caught me!” She stood up and fished a small revolver out of her pants, and put it down on the table. 

There was no way you could keep the mirth from your face now, “Were you any good at the ballet taught in the Red Room?”

“I was not graceful enough,” she shrugged, “Madame B, she called me a svinya.”

You snorted in laughter. Sitting back, you demanded, “Go on. Do a pas de chat.” 

She got up and awkwardly performed the leap. As she did, a few rounds of ammunition fell from her pockets. You clapped your hands excitedly and exclaimed like a child, “I knew it!” 

Yelena grinned, “Knew what? That I was always bad at ballet or that I still had more weapons on me?”

“Both,” you smirked smugly. 

“Vseznayka,” she winked at you, before reaching out to try and grab you playfully. You jumped out of the way with a giddy squeal. You couldn’t remember the last time you played, really played, without fearing for what would come next. And all of a sudden, you paused and it brought tears to your eyes.

“Oh, detka,” Yelena breathed when she saw, “Come here.” And before you could protest, she’d pulled you in for a hug. “Don’t be afraid. I understand.” 

You relaxed in her arms and let your head fall against her chest, basking in the sense of safety you felt. It was so strange to you, so unfamiliar, yet so warm.

After a few moments, she carefully asked, “Do you want to come with me?”

“To your sister? The one in New York?” 

“Yes, we could go see Natasha,” Yelena mused, “And then you could help me track down the other Widows. The ones that still need saving.”

You pulled yourself back and looked up at the older girl, “What would Natasha think of me coming with you?” Obviously, you’d never talked to the other Widow, but you’d quickly realised that Yelena held her in high regard and that she called the shots from wherever she was. And in some strange way, this made you look up to Natasha already. 

Yelena scrunched her nose a little in a comical manner, “She would probably tell me that I am putting you in unnecessary danger.”

“I’m already in danger,” you shrugged.

“Thank you!” she threw up her hands like someone finally agreed with her, “Please call my sister and tell her that!” 

“I’ll help you,” you decided, “but not just in helping the other girls.”

Yelena looked at you with questioning eyes.

“The Red Room may be gone, but the people behind the operation are still there. We need to dismantle the entire system.”

“Tell me.”

You chewed your lip nervously. “Someone was following me on my way to the church. I think they know I’m here.”

*****

Masterlist

[underforeversgrace]

would you like fries with that?

DannyMay2023 Day 20: Nasty Burger

title: would you like fries with that?

words: 1217

Summary: Danny wants to enjoy a meal with his friends. The ghosts say no.

Warnings: None

AU: D-Stabilized took place in season 2, before Reality Trip

Beta: @probably-dead

~~~~~~

“Is that gonna be all for you today, Danny? It’s only half as much nasty as you normally get.” Valerie said with a grin, keying the order into the terminal.

Danny sighed dramatically. “It’s diet time. I’ve got to keep up my flawless figure!”

Valerie snorted in laughter, merely rolling her eyes as Danny handed her the cash. “I’ll bring it to you three when it’s ready,” she said, setting the money in the register and fishing out his change.

“You’re the best, Val!” Danny responded, grinning.

“And don’t you forget it!” She immediately shot back, mirroring his grin.

“Couldn’t if I tried.” He said honestly as he moved away from the counter, dropping his change into his wallet. “Because you’re also the best human at shooting my ass.” He muttered as he slid into the booth next to Tucker, knowing both he and Sam heard the interaction.

“One of these days you’re gonna have to stop flirting with a girl who routinely tries to murder you,” Sam said, throwing a glare in Valerie’s direction.

“And return to flirting with the girl who has murdered him twice?” Tucker asked, holding onto his chin in pretend deep thought.

“Want me to murder you too?”

“Uh… nope! Never mind! I said nothing!”

Danny laughed, enjoying the moment. It was finally summer vacation after freshman year and, despite a rocky start to the summer - what with the whole being ousted to the world and nearly experimented on by the government until he had managed to reset memories - the summer was going nicely. He’d just turned fifteen a few days ago and had a good birthday party with his friends and family. Even the ghosts had been leaving him alone recently, though he didn’t know why. He was absolutely not complaining about it! School started back in a week for sophomore year and he was really hopeful for a better school year than the previous one had been.

“If I stopped talking to people who tried to murder me, I’d have to move out from my house,” Danny joked.

“Or, you could, y’know… tell them.” Sam said, a discussion they’d had several times.

Danny just shrugged. “Eventually! We know they’ll take it okay now. But I still wanna, like, come out to them on my own terms.”

“Ah, have the gays claimed another of the few good guys?” Valerie asked, setting the tray with the trio’s food on it in.

Danny felt his cheeks heat up as a blush spread across them. “Uh, um, uh…”

Tucker, Ancients bless him, intervened. “Hey! I’m right here!”

Valerie looked at him pointedly, made a face, then returned to Danny. “Like I said, one of the few good ones?”

Danny really needed to think before he spoke in public, didn’t he? He couldn’t tell the girl he liked he was gay! “I’m… bi?” He said, trying to make it sound less like a question and more like a statement.

Valerie either didn’t notice his hesitation and took pity on him. “Ah, same.”

“You’re bi?” Sam asked, visibly more than a little surprised.

Valerie shrugged. “Guys are hot. Girls are hot. People who are neither and both are hot. What’s so shocking about that, Manson?”

“You don’t… look bi.”

“Not all bi people look like you, you know?”

Sam blushed as she was called out, mumbling something even Danny didn’t catch.

Valerie, smirking like she’d just won a battle, talked to Danny again. “I’m sure your parents’ll be fine with it, Danny. Weird as they are, they are very loving.”

Danny smiled shyly. “I know you’re right. It’s just still a lot, y’know?”

“I remember the feeling,” Valerie said. “Anyway, I’m on break, mind if I join?” She didn’t wait for a response as she slid into the seat next to Sam with a relieved sigh.

“Sure, slide right on in.” Sam said sarcastically.

“So, you guys ready for school to start next week?” Tucker asked, leading the conversation to more neutral territory.

From there, the discussion moved fairly easily, no awkward stutters or uncomfortable topics that needed to be avoided, impressive considering this was a ghost hunter, the half ghost arch enemy of said ghost hunter, and two ghost hunting sidekicks.

Well. It was going well until Danny’s ghost sense went off, a breath of blue air as ice water slid down his spine.

“What was tha-“ Valerie started, confused.

“My King!” A nasally voice called out and all four teens' heads snapped towards it, along with everyone else’s, as a cloaked ghost who was more eyeball than anything else hovered near the front entrance. “You are late!”

Danny saw Valerie tense out of the corner of his eye and was suddenly quite grateful she had chosen to sit with them for her break. She had no good excuse to run off on her own and start hunting the ghost.

He, however, had more pressing problems as the Observant floated over to him, rambling in a language Danny didn’t speak before stopping expectantly in front of him.

“My King!” The Observant said again, snapping his fingers in front of Danny’s face.

“King of the Losers, maybe,” Danny heard Dash joke a few tables over.

The Observant began to turn towards Dash, a blast growing in its hand. Danny’s brain finally kickstarted itself at that.

“King?” He asked.

The Observant sent a half formed blast towards Dash’s head, which the quarterback easily ducked under, squeaking in terror, before it returned its attention to Danny. “Yes, my King. You have missed your coronation.” It said, suddenly friendly and jovial again despite having just tried to injure someone.

“My King?” Valerie said.

“Coronation?” Sam asked.

“Aw, coronations have great food!” Tucker lamented.

“What the fuck?” Danny settled on.

“My King, did you not receive your summons?” It asked, clearly growing exasperated.

“Receive what?” Sam asked.

“My summons?” Danny asked.

“The food!” Tucker continued to mourn.

“What the fuck?” Valerie added helpfully.

“My liege, you are the High King of All Ghosts! Didn’t Cren tell you?”

“Who the fuck is Cren?” Danny asked.

The ghost - somehow - paled. “Oh no, Cren said he notified the Phantom child!”

“The fucking what?” Valerie asked, staring at Danny in confusion.

“Stop. Everyone just stop.” Tucker finally interjected, raising his hands up with his palms out. “You,” he said, pointing to the Observant, “have the wrong guy. Phantom isn’t here right now.”

If the Observant had a mouth, Danny thinks it would’ve dropped. “Phantom is right here, are you blind?” It called, gesturing towards Danny. “Danny Phantom, heir to throne of the High King of the Infinite Realms, opener of the Gateway, Bridge Between Life and Death, Savior of the Ghost Zone and Champion of the Mortals, is sitting right there!”

Danny just paled the more the Observant talked, punctuating each word while jabbing its finger towards Danny’s very much human face.

At just the perfect time, Jazz and Danielle, also human now, ran through the doors of the Nasty Burger.

“Danny!” Dani called. “I need to tell you-!” She stopped when she saw the Observant and Danny’s pale face. “Oh. I’m late.”

Sudden realization dawned onto Valerie’s face and she stared at Danny. “Oh, have you got to be kidding me right now.”

Not knowing what else to do, Danny just muttered.

“Fuck.” 

[elk96]

Hey, this just occurred to me haha

I was wondering if you could do a male dom reader x Cillian, please. 🫶

Where the reader and Cillian had a relationship when they were younger but Cillian decided to end it for x reason and each one went their own way and made their lives, from that day on he didn't hear from Cillian again, until after a while the reader goes to a premiere and they meet again, making the reader remember him and the moments they had as a couple, falling in love with Cillian again

I'm sorry for my bad English.

We Will Make It Work

Cillian Murphy X Male Reader

Warnings: smut, anal sex, oral sex

Words: 2559

No disrespect to Cillian Murphy, it's just a story.

The atmosphere at the premiere was dazzling, photographers, reporters, haughty actors. You blinked harshly as the flash of the camera blinded your eyes. An arm slipped through yours, you flinched as the director of the movie came next to you. Her white dress came in sharp contrast with your dark, red suit, but so did your temperaments. You had been working as director of photography in television and films for almost fifteen years now, but you had yet to get accustomed to the intense lifestyle of the job. You tried your best not to θαscrunch your face as the woman next to you smiled for the cameras. 

"Come on, let's go", she said sweetly, tagging your sleeve, and you followed her through a sea of people, only to find yourself nearer the center stage. 

It was a double premiere that day, a shared date for the two movies released together. You realized you had come to where the stars of the other film were, much to your confusion. 

"It's so good to see you, it's been a long time", your partner said. You snapped your head at her place.

Your breath itched. 

"Yeah, I know -good to see you too", the man in front of her answered shyly. 

His accent is a lot more subtle, you thought immediately, still too surprised to speak.

"Um, meet Y/N", she introduced you, nodding to extend your arm for the customary handshake.

He smiled before you could even draw in a second breath.

"Oh, we actually know each other", he said with his soft voice. "We used to hang around, some ages ago".

"You're making me look old as well"!, you complained, the memories easing your anxiety. 

"But that's lovely"!, the woman next to you exclaimed. "I've wanted you to meet for so long, you seem to have the same style in work so I thought a collaboration would be ideal"!

"Y/N! They're asking for you buddy-hello everybody. Come on"!, urged one of the movie's actors, and you let him guide you away. 

Your relationship wasn't as casual as Cillian had made it seem. You could still see him in your mind as he was back then, that disheveled mop, the little scar on his chin, his skinny form. 

He hadn't aged a day, you smiled, apart perhaps from those laugh lines in his eyes and around his mouth, the deep wrinkles on his forehead. 

Funny enough, the smell of sunscreen and sea air engulfed you- the perfume of one of the ladies attending, and it took you back to your very first kiss.

You were casually sitting by the dock near his family house at Cork, early in the morning, waiting for the rest of your friends to arrive. The seagulls were diving in the sea searching for fish, the sun sparkled at the even surface of the water. Cillian was picking up the wood, going on and on about life and how he wanted to change things in Ireland. And then, the world felt silent, and he came to sit closer to you, shoulder to shoulder, a large hand coming up to the side of your neck.

You had leaned in without second thought, pressing your mouth against his soft, plump lips. He'd clumped to your lap soon after, hands roaming each other's bodies, sincere and passionate as young love is.

You shivered on the memory, feeling your heartbeat flutter under your chest.

You tried to observe him from afar without ignoring too much the ones talking to you. He still seemed shy. Still, stiff, polite, flashing everybody gracious smiles. 

   It had been fifteen years. Fifteen years you had barely heard of him, and that only through some crappy interviews. Gradually, new things had come into your life, travels, friends, you'd managed to fill the gap in your chest.

Seeing him so unexpectedly made you realize the pull on you he had still. 

—--

"And this is your room card sir, enjoy your stay", the receptionist said, her mouth pulling in a grimace that resembled a smile. You took them with slow moves, huffing and picking up your baggage. You climbed up the stairs in heavy steps, unaware of the pair of eyes pinned to your form.

You laid in your bed, tossing and turning as the night went on. 

I should've called. Found a way

somehow, you repeated in your foggy mind. 

After the best year of your life, your relationship came to an end. You had received a scholarship in Budapest, ensuring the best possible development for your career. 

Perhaps humans were too powerful to stay together, and so Zeus separated them, you remembered the old myth.

Cillian's aunt had fallen sick, and since his siblings were little and had to stay with his parents, he was the only one who could take care of her. That, and the job opportunities ahead led him to London.

It was still painful to recall your last day together, because you both knew it was the world getting between you, and who could fight the whole world? 

A knock on your door sent you jumping to your feet. You held your breath, listening in for another noise. Nothing came. You sighed in annoyance-you and your damned nerves, but as you buried yourself under the cushions, you heard a soft voice. An unmistakable voice, calling out your name.

You very much ran to open the door.

"Cillian"?, you blurted out, seeing him outside your room still in his suit.

"Hello…Um, I…asked the receptionist for the number of your room…and I've been trying to gather the courage to come to you for two hours now…".

He gave you another one of his cute, shy smiles and you felt your knees go weak.

"Come on in", you said simply, your voice hoarse. 

He sat at the edge of your small bed, accepting the cup of tea you offered him.

"Those insulated bottles are amazing, I made some tea to help me sleep and it's still warm", you muttered just to fill the silence.

"Yet you're still awake", Cillian said sympathetically.

You cast him a long gaze, letting the feeling of familiarity settle inside your stomach. Fifteen years can be a long time, actually, almost everything had changed.

You tried to shake off the heat pooling in your stomach and heart. He had just come to talk.

"I had things in my mind", you answered at last.

"Your film was amazing. Best cinematography I've seen in a long time".

You smiled, his soft voice music to your ears, taking you back to times when he'd so passionately encourage you to follow your dream.

"You were right after all. I did have what it took to succeed".

Cillian nodded in agreement, his fairy, freckled skin illuminated by a small lamp.

"What happened to your aunt"?, you asked hesitantly.

"She's all right. She needed a lot of care and help for the first eight months, but now, she's fine. Living with my parents".

"I'm glad to hear that. What else? What has changed in your life since then, Cilly"?, you laughed and watched him swallow harshly at the nickname.

"Not much. I've been blessed with some truly amazing projects…but nothing interesting and not work related", he huffed, lost in thought. "You? 'd you find anyone…good"?

You lowered your eyes, a slight smile tagging at the edge of your lips. I wouldn't be here if I had, you wanted to say, but after all this time you were lacking the courage.

"No. Not yet. To be honest, I'm kind of convinced I'll end up spending all my money on cat food", you chuckled.

Cillian laughed along with you, his eyes creasing in the corners.

You took a sip of your tea as he fidgeted with his fingers. Both of you searched desperately for a topic to talk about but suddenly all things in life seemed incredibly dull, unimportant.

You waited for him to say something, explain why he'd come to your room in the middle of the night…until you remembered he was never one to take the first step.

"You need to take off that suit, you know? It looks fucking uncomfortable", you mumbled, observing his face.

Cillian sighed deeply, shivering slightly as your lips brushed the fabric of his shirt. You waited, feeling your pulse beat in every part of your body. 

The rejection you feared never came. Before you knew it your lips were touching the soft skin of his neck, feeling his warmth. You re-adjusted your position, a hand running over his chest and stomach as you licked behind his ear, biting his earlobe. 

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this", Cillian breathed, tilting his head back. You nipped at his skin, hearing his breath itch as you worked your way to his mouth. 

He wrapped his arms around you, lips crushing against each other in a feverish kiss. You sucked on his tongue, making him moan loudly. 

"I want you", he murmured in between the kisses. "I want you. I've missed you".

A growl escaped you as you helped him off his shirt, pushing him on the bed, climbing on top of him. You took a minute to admire his body, thin and toned as you remembered it. You sucked at the column of his neck, enjoying the slight bruising of the skin. You kissed his nipple, tagging at it softly with your lips. Cillian's chest was falling and rising rapidly, already overwhelmed with the sensations. 

During your first month or so he would hold back, hide his reactions, tone down his responses. You'd had to make him lose complete control of himself to actually, finally hear him, and ever since, you settled for no less. 

You licked a long stripe down his stomach, teasing the thin skin between his ribs. 

"Hurry up", Cillian complained with a whine.

You bit his lips in a harsh kiss before doing what he wanted, unbuttoning and getting rid of his pants. You tagged at his underwear and soon it was gone as well, leaving you with the sight of his throbbing cock, his big balls.  

You spat on his head, teasing it with the tip of your tongue while your wet hands massaged his balls. 

You took one of it in your mouth, sucking lightly, watching him in awe arch his back. 

You smeared the precum all over his cock, a devilish smile on your face. 

"Stop teasing Y/N", he threatened, his voice in complete contrast to his needy whine. 

"Or what"?, you asked, taking both his balls into your mouth. Cillian yelped in pain and pleasure as you grazed them with your teeth, sucking strongly. Your hand pumped his cock in tight, small motions and soon his moans reached your ears. You raised your head, fisting his dick, taking in his form. Mouth open, eyes tightly shut, head fallen back, fingers twisted in the sheets. His breath was erratic.

"You gonna cum Cilly"?, you asked hoarsely. "Mmh"?

You ducked your head, burying his cock in your throat.

"Yeah…don't stop", he answered through his groans, his words cut short as his orgasm hit him.

He whined and trembled, thick ropes of cum spilling in your mouth. You tried not to swallow it, enjoying his salty taste. 

Once he fell heaving to the mattress you climbed on top of him, arms pressing him down. He opened his mouth to receive your kiss, and you connected your lips eagerly. 

"Swallow".

Cillian smiled, swallowing his cum, finding your lips again in a sloppy kiss.

"I'm talented with my mouth too", he whispered, his arm finding your cock.

You looked him in the eyes, your gaze endearing, his defiant. You turned your body, your back facing the ceiling, cock pressed forcefully against Cillian's mouth. 

You groaned softly as he began sucking on it, tongue swirling over your slit.

"I've missed you", you said again, eyes fluttering shut. Cillian moaned to show his agreement, sending reverberations through your whole body.

You then raised his legs, folding them over your head, finding his hole. You rubbed circles around the tight skin, pushing a finger inside.

Cillian moaned again, and soon the room was filled with the sloppy sounds of tongue against flesh, your fingers opening him up slowly for your cock, moans you had been waiting years to release.

"Stop", you said after a while. Cillian was still eagerly taking you deep, ignoring the strain in his neck.

"You filthy bastard", you chuckled, getting away from him before it all ended too soon. Cillian smiled at you, lips shining spit, and you trapped him underneath you, kissing him hungrily.

With a disappointed groan you got of the bed, searching his drawer for a condom. You rolled it over your shaft quickly, going back to him.

Your moves synchronized, you both got on your knees, Cillian's back pressed tight against your chest. You ran your hands over his taut bodice, rubbing his cock as you entered him slowly. His brows connected into a frown, mouth falling open.

"So how does it feel to have me fill you after all these years"? you whispered in his ear. 

You started moving, slow and sensual, enjoying his tightness.

"I wanna hear you love". You thrusted harder, slow but deep.

Cillian let out a long whine.

"That's better". 

"Harder. I want it harder", he begged.

You grabbed his arms, folding them over his stomach, using them to keep yourself steady. You snapped your hips quickly, growling like an animal in his ear. His whines kept getting smaller and smaller, signaling his orgasm. You took his cock in your hands, fucking him harder than any other time before.

"I'm close, 'm close Y/N", he breathed out.

"Cum for me Cilly", you growled, your own head getting foggy and heavy as your orgasm hit you. You had strength for a few more sloppy thrusts, Cillian's cock softening in your hand.

You felt him collapse onto you, too far gone in pleasure.

You kissed his neck tenderly, revisiting your lovemarks from earlier.

"The make-up artist is gonna kill me tomorrow", he murmured.

"I'm not sure you'll be able to go down the stairs love. Unless I pull out".

Cillian whined in complaint but your position left no other option. You pulled out of him, throwing the condom away quickly.

Cillian was lying limp in the covers as you left him. 

"Wore you off"?, you asked cheekily. 

"You wish, you bastard", he bit back laughing. You hugged him tightly, pulling the covers over your naked body, carefully avoiding the wet spot on the sheets.

"I've been thinking about you. All these years, no matter who I'd meet", Cillian whispered, his voice raspy.

You kissed him softly, admiring his beauty once again.

"What's gonna happen now"? he whispered.

You sucked in a deep breath. Everything that had happened suddenly felt more real with his question. You'd broken up not because of lack of love, but because your lives were so different…and now…Had that really changed now?

"Do you love me"?, you asked, looking into his beautiful eyes. 

"I love you Y/N".

"Then we'll make it work. Because I love you too Cilly".

You brushed his cheekbones, your heart full of the warmth and happiness you'd always associated with his smell.

"I've never been happier to attend a premiere", he whispered, giving you a peck on the lips. 

Cillian settled against your chest, a content little sight leaving him before he was fast asleep. 

Any form of interaction is always highly appreciated!!!

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

A little scene of domestic life with Undyne and Alphys! Remember the good days is a Sans x Reader story :D

Way before you have the chance to, Neelam smashes the doorbell. With all these plates in your arms, you couldn’t have done it yourself anyway. Footsteps can be heard hurtling down the stairs, then a huge crash that makes you and your sister jump. You share a worried look with her. Did someone just fall or…? Before you panic, the door opens wide on Undyne, smiling brightly. She seems fine. The floor behind her on the other hand is another story.

“Sorry for the wait, I was on the third floor!” she says excitingly.

“Oh, it’s fine.” you answer. “We didn’t wait that lo…”

“I jumped the last two floors to get here quicker!” she claims victoriously.

Well, that explains why there is a huge hole right next to the entry, just under the spiral staircase. A blue spear is planted in the ground and some tiles are broken close to the walls, far away from where they are supposed to be. You shrug. It’s probably a cultural monster thing. 

The fish lady welcomes the two of you inside with a theatrical gesture of the hand and leads you to the living room. The decoration sticks to what you expected : the walls are covered with bookcases filled with comics and manga. The rare left-over space is upholstered with animes and video games posters. In front of the TV, Alphys, her cats’ headphones on her head, is playing Animal Crossing, a dreamy smile on her face. She seems very focused on her pansy’s plantation that she is disposing along what seems to be the main alley of her house in the game. In her world, you are wondering if she even noticed you yet.

Well, she sure does when Undyne abruptly jumps on the couch right next to her. In panic, the gamepad slips from her hands as she screams in surprise. Her eyes widen again when she sees Neelam and you standing there. You wave shyly at her. Hastily, she pulls off her headphones and painfully extracts herself off of her cocoon made of plaids. A sphynx cat, nested against her, meows in protestation as its living heater is awkwardly trying to stand up. 

“S-s-sorry! I didn’t realise i-it was that l-late already!” she panics.

“It’s fine.” you answer calmly. “I wouldn’t like to move either if I was in your place. I’m playing that game too. I can even make you visit my island if you want to.”

“R-really?” she answers, excited. “Undyne keeps saying it’s a b-baby’s game but she is totally missing the p-point.”

“Oh, come on! There’s no blood and time passes like in the real world, it’s so boring!” protests her wife, standing up on the couch. “At least, in Skyrim, you can hit villagers in the face when they don’t talk nicely to you.”

“And I already t-told you to not s-stand up on the couch. You’re going t-to break it again!”

Guilty, Undyne clumsily jumps back on the ground. Neelam choses this instant to ditch you to pet the grumpy cat left behind by the small lizard woman. Alphys walks close to you and disappears through the corridor, probably to change from her comfortable pyjamas into something more appropriate for the party. 

“So, how was your first day?” asks Undyne while collapsing on the couch. “Did you clean all your stuff already?”

“Almost.” you answer, stealing Alphys place. “There’s still my desk and the kitchen, but everything else is more or less done.”

“Nice. Who took the room with the porthole?”

“Cheyenne, despite my protestations.” answer your little sister. “They said that since they are the adult and that they’re paying the rent, they get to choose their room first.”

“Stop whining. Your room leads onto the Mountain. There’s far worse than that.” you defend yourself. 

“Well, I must agree with Neelam. Your room is super cool.” says Undyne. “Sans had the idea of the porthole. He said it was a crime to not take advantage of the night sky now that we’re out of that hell hole. There’s one in his room too.”

“Not in yours?” you ask, curious.

“We did better! Alphys built a home astronomical observatory on the last floor, with a huge telescope. Sans is squatting there all the time. He’s a nerd, just like my wife. There was this rain of meteors a few years ago and they built all of it in one week just to see it. But then, one of the space rocks crashed in the pond behind Sans home and it was awesome! There was fire everywhere and people were screaming! Best day of my life. I never thought space shit could be so damn epic! It was like we were in an anime!”

“Ah, yes. It looked like a great party.” you react, a bit uncomfortable.

Undyne stands up and goes to retrieve a big rock on a shelf. Curious, Neelam comes closer to see it too. It’s indeed a big rock. Black, big, holed, like the one you can see in these disaster movies sometimes. You are not exactly thrilled at the probability of meteorites crashing into your garden, but it gives more charm to the place.

Remember the good days, chapter 3.

[hauntedjpegcollection]

bloody nose

wc: 2877 au: camp counselor ch: benny, benji, xavier

The crying continues, even after the miraculous healing nature of the band aid. Benny smoothes it over and around the girls reddened ankle, watching big tears drip off her chin and onto her CAMP COLD HOLLOW shirt. Little droplets turn the baby blue a dark navy here and there. She sniffs bravely as Benny leans back and assesses her. More tears swell as she hooks the end of her (now properly messy) shirt up and rubs it against her face. He sighs and snaps off his gloves.

“Okay,” Benny says, tapping under Lorie’s elbow to get her attention. She sniffs even harder. She coughs on the wad of mucus that’s probably hit her straight in the back of throat. She sputters pathetically and then finally blinks wet eyes open to stare at his tattooed hand. Her eyes are shiny with the humiliated pain only a ten year old can feel. Her lip quivers, threatens even more tears.

“Tada!” Benny pops the word with enthusiasm as his other hand does a twirl next to her ear. Lorie jumps back at the sudden movement. Then her round, cherubic face lights up at the sudden reveal of a chocolate bar in his hand. Full sized, name brand, not even melted.

“For being so brave,” Benny says as he lets her shyly take it from him. There’s a moment where he feels a little squeeze around his heart as she softly tucks it to her chest, like hugging the little treat. “T-Tell your parents to s-send you in proper hiking boots.”

“Are there nuts in this?” She asks, plucking at the foil edged wrapping.

“I have every s-single one of you brats memorized,” Benny replies, tapping his temple as he shoves his chair away from the table she’d hopped up onto. He passes her back the loafer her parents stupidly thought would work for a summer camp. “I would never give y-you peanuts.” Her bashful smile continues as she slides off the table and wiggles her shoe back on. She makes for the door, but skids herself to a stop, like the rubbed raw ankle doesn’t even bother her anymore.

“Bye, Counselor Benji!” She nearly yells it, with a big, excited wave to the other man in the cabin. Benji, sitting on the medical desk across the room, lifts a hand in a friendly, lazy wave. He twirls a drum stick in his other hand idly, without much thought, a cassette player peeking out the back pocket of his jeans.

Once the kid is gone, Benny kicks the door shut.

“You’ve gotta st-stop hanging out in here.

“Didn’t realize you owned the cabin, mate.”

“S-suck my dick, Benji.”

“Got a magnifying glass ‘round?”

Benny makes a furious fisted gesture at his hip with a curling sneer of his lip while Benji rolls big, pretty brown eyes. Then Ben is pulling his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and putting two between his teeth. As he does, he wanders closer, fishing out his zippo from the silly little lab coat he gets to wear. Pretend doctor shit, Medic Cabin privilege. A breeze rolls in from the cracked window that Benji sits near, well welcomed because of how hot and stuffy it’s becoming as summer continues on. His booted foot sits on a rolling chair, steel toe bobbing out some rhythm that only lives inside his head. Benny slaps the zippo across his thigh and lights either cigarette.

Without a word, Benji extends a hand. A cigarette gets tucked between his fingers as Benny pockets the lighter and then leans against the wall opposite his friend. They both take drags at the same time, smoke suddenly filling the little space.

“We still got seven weeks of this shit,” Benny says, picking tobacco from his tongue. He flicks it away and then stares at Benji. He’s awful about the counselor uniform; had ripped the sleeves off his the second he was given a shirt. And they’d got him a size up because—well, Benji’s not small. But that only made it fit fine around his shoulders, but short at the waist. That was the style these days, though, apparently. Benny noticed plenty of bare stomachs.

“Mm.”

“Crazy th-that they actually added another two weeks,” Ben lies.

“Yeah?”

“And they poisoned th-the lake recently. With radioactive crocod-di-diles. Wild shit, Benji.”

“Heard that,” Benji replies in a sleepy voice, fist tucked under his chin as he stares out the window. Every once in a while, the drum stick twirls again. Benny stomps forward and shoves himself into Benji’s space—which has the reaction he’s expecting. Two firms hands at his shoulders, shoving him back. Benny puts his weight forward, turns his head so he can look out the window and see exactly what distracts Benji.

“Volleyball your thing?”

“Fuck off,” Benji snaps against, shoving harder. He’s much stronger than Benny, who tumbles back onto the rolling chair and slides all the way to the other wall again. Only, he’s grinning ear to ear in that sneaky, somewhat nasty way he smiles. Benny slumps in the chair, throwing an ankle over his thigh and tilting his head. Benji’s cheeks go ruddy, but he shamelessly turns his face to the side—peripheral to the counselors setting up the volleyball net outside.

“You have bad taste,” Benny comments after a moment of silence between the two of them. Benji takes another short pull on his cigarette. Benny starts inching his way closer on the rolling chair. He knows better than to really work himself into Benji’s space—and he doesn’t really want to. He’d only popped that personal bubble to get Benji out his own fucking head. Moody, dramatic loser. Benny feels an overwhelming affection for him.

“Xavier’s so st-straight, you could use him like a ruler.”

“That’s a big assumption, yeah?”

“That Xavier’s straight or th-that you’re absolutely staring at him right now?”

Benji’s spine curves more as he finishes the cigarette and pops the butt into a soda can that Benny has been using all week for just that. He twirls the drum stick again, taps it a few times against his thigh. His silence only slightly unnerves Ben, because usually Benji’s hard to shut up. They have that sort of back and forth, this comfortable, if not snide banter. But then again, what queer hasn’t had the disgusting and horrific guilty sensation of looking at someone they shouldn’t look at (just looking, sometimes, that’s enough, that’s more than enough, that’s the sin all along)?

Guilt prompts Benny to continue.

“I’m f-fucking with you, Benji,” he says in an exasperated tone, throwing hands into the air. “Stare at the guy all you want—he’s hot, but he’s also sort of stupid—”

“No he’s not,” Benji immediately defends, sliding off the table. His boots are heavy and loud on the wooden floor. Ben starts to raise his hands in bored defense—but then his friend’s shoulders jump. His eyes pop wider, hands curling around the windowsill as he pushes himself close to the glass. “Fuckin’ hell, that—that look like it hurt.”

“Oh great,” Ben moans, scrubbing a hand down his face. He slowly pulls himself from the chair. The leather creaks as he does. “What kid t-took a ball to the face?” He pauses briefly to make a disgusted, snickering sound. But Benji doesn’t look amused—instead he flits to an immediate panicked expression. He swivels, hands awkwardly dropped by his thighs. Benji is shorter than Benny, but he’s never felt smaller. He’s thickly defined and loud in his fashion. In that moment, he looks incredibly fucking freaked.

“He’s coming to the cabin,” Benji says.

“Who?”

“Xavier is—do these windows open all the way?”

“What?” Benny watches Benji start to yank at the window, to try and crack it further open. It barely budges. Benji tries again, a vein popping in his bicep as he pulls harder. His boots scrabble across the flooring somewhat.

“Man, you wouldn’t fit even if it f-fucking did?” Benny laughs hysterically.

“This isn’t funny, dickhead,” Benji seethes between clenched together teeth.

“No, this is hilarious,” Benny replies. Instead of helping, he crosses the meager medical cabin. He goes straight for the little supply closet and opens it. It’s stocked mostly full because summer only just began—stocked with both supplies and also the hidden cache of alcohol he’d gotten just for the counselors. Benji might need it sooner than later, now that Benny thinks on it.

“Have fun with that,” he says with and closes the door.

—

Xavier cups a hand underneath his chin as he walks. The blood from his nose is thick and syrupy, metallic on the back of his tongue. Tacky all across his skin, miserable in combination with his sweat. The middle of his face throbs, a mean hot pulse that almost stops hurting altogether. He has to blink away tears as he steps through the door to the medical cabin. Xavier’s other hand awkwardly fumbles for the knob and yanks it close.

“Ben—I took a fucking volleyball to the face. Mouse—that bitch—I know she was aiming for me—”

It’s stuffy inside the cabin. Hotter, too; the sweat in his hair is itchy and the drying blood across his face and hand makes his skin crawl. Xavier stands there, staring at Benji, who stands there as well, staring back at him. For a long moment, nothing at all seems to happen. He’s sure—well, something happens somewhere in the world. Car accidents and babies born and all that other shit, but between them there is simply Benji staring at him, covered in blood and Xavier staring at Benji—in a ridiculously fucking short version of the camp counselors shirt.

His dizzy, addled brain takes a very long time to catch up.

“Uh,” he says, intelligently.

“Looks like it hurt,” Benji replies, gesturing a hand up. His other twirls a drum stick effortlessly. He has very nice hands.

“What?”

It makes Benji grin. He has a menacing sort of smile. A bit of a smirk that is a little too knowing. Xavier never seems to say the right thing in front of Benji, always finds himself losing all his sure fire confidence. Xavier is good at talking—or at least, he never seems to run out of the ability. He makes people laugh, he makes the girls around him flustered. Xavier swallows the blood in his mouth and tries smiling. It stretches the skin and makes the pain worse, but he doesn’t stop smiling.

“It’s not so bad.”

“Ben’s, uh. Think he went t’get somethin’.” Benji starts toward the desk. “Or he’s wankin’ off to car magazines. The car’s, by the way, mate, not the people in it. Real weird guy that one—I’ll get you patched alright.”

Xavier swears he hears something for a moment (a thump, maybe, or a something heavy thudding), so he looks around the cabin—but Benji is sort of magnetic. His eyes keep straying. They wander right back to him. Benji bends over to continue rifling through things. His shirt falls forward a little. The dark brown expanse of his back is briefly revealed, so Xavier immediately looks somewhere else.

“Sit?”

“Ha,” Xavier laughs, slowly taking a seat on an old rolling chair. “Bark.”

“Wassit?” Benji asks, his own laugh soft. A bit of the meanness to his smile has faded. The sarcastic curl of his sneer has dulled. His brows are tucked in together as he holds a little red first aid kit, confused but amused at the same time.

“You said sit,” Xavier jokes. He uses the leverage of his long legs to slowly pull himself closer to where Benji stands. The astronomical height difference between them suddenly feels oddly palpable. Benji is not much taller than Xavier even when he’s sitting as he is. “I’m like a good dog, is all. Woof.”

“Real good boy,” Benji replies smoothly and it makes every cell inside Xavier’s body feel briefly alive and on fire. He doesn’t understand where that comes from, why that pulls such a reaction from him, straight from his chest. How that feels better than anything anyone else at the camp has said to him. No amount of girls toying with his hair or playing with his hands, or staring at him from under their eyelashes has made his body have that reaction.

“Tilt your head forward, though, yeah? Backward’s just gettin’ it all down your throat. I’ll clean your hand, first—s’alright if you bleed on the floor. S’what you’re supposed to do when you’re hurt.”

Xavier goes quiet then. He holds out his hand. He does as he’s told, leaning himself forward, chin tilted toward the ground. Fat drops of blood hit the wooden floor and make audible little plunking sounds. He tries to focus on that, but when he glances up, instead he gets to watch Benji use alcohol wipes to clean up his palm. The nose is always dramatic. Xavier knows that because he plays just about every sport he can get himself into—and he’s broken his nose more than once.

The blood thins out to a cherry color. Benji bites his tongue in concentration. He hums a bit. Xavier tries so hard not to comment what he’d usually do in this situation; look at how big my hand is, haha, look at yours? Jeez, that’s crazy. Wow. You should hold my hand, just to see. Xavier has that one practically fucking locked and loaded—but it’s for the girls that take his big palms and ask about his star signs and offer to tell his fortune. His mouth goes dry without the blood wetting it.

“Think it’s broken?”

“No,” Xavier replies quickly. He tilts his head back. The bloods stopped, dried mostly on his lips. He resists the urge to rub at it—secretly hopes maybe Benji will start cleaning that next. He looks ready too, but instead simply puts a finger under Xavier’s chin and leans in closer. He smells like hair product of some sort, a nice soft but masculine scent. All those insane black curls are barely held back by a claw clip, something he’s seen his sisters using before. Xavier blinks rapidly.

“I’ve broken my nose twice, so I’m, like, totally good at telling. When it’s broken, I mean. Which it isn’t—I’d know.”

“Looks like y’didn’t need Ben after all, yeah? Need me t’get—it’s in your teeth a bit, actually.”

“How would you get it out of my teeth?” Xavier asked, brows pulled in confusion. Benji stares at him. There is a pretty dark red color to his cheeks that disappears beneath his facial hair. “Oh, you didn’t mean—uh. I can—I’ll wash up. Actually—”

Xavier stands suddenly. Their too close all at once because Benji had gotten so close to help him. He stumbles around the rolling chair. Xavier hooks a thumb over his shoulder, walking backward.

“I probably could just go shower. I should—I’ll do that. The steam—helps. It’ll—help swelling? Probably reduce it.” His now clean hand finds the door knob again and he jerks at it. “Thank you! By the way. Benji.”

“All good, Xavier,” he replies.

“Would you wanna hang out, by the way?” Xavier pauses, the door to the cabin pushed open. The outside air feels just as warm, but somehow soothing against his even hotter skin. His face burns still. Bloody flakes peel off and he can only imagine how fucking insane he looks, how deeply weird he’s being. Very uncool.

“Yeah,” Benji says quickly.

“Cause I got a canoe actually—oh, nice.” Xavier laughs, taking one step down the wooden porch of the cabin. “Right. The lake’s really pretty at night. You’ll like it. You haven’t been out on it yet, have you?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh sweet, I’m your first.” He presses his hand to his forehead, eyes squeezing shut. The pain has dulled to a sweet, bothersome throb. “Your first canoe buddy, is what we tell the kids—I’ll see you, Benji. I’ll swing by the second counselor cabin later.” Then Xavier finishes his awkward exit, stumbling down from the steps and out onto the dirt path that’ll lead back up to the full campsite area.

“I’d kill myself if I were you,” Lark comments, making Xavier scream and jump. His slender, form materializes from around the cabin, bloody volleyball in his hand. “Want to send this home as a souvenir first?”

“Shut up,” Xavier snarls, snatching it from him. “I’ll tell my mom not to send us any more care packages if you say one more fucking word.” Lark doesn’t, to his credit, say anything. But he does laugh the whole way back.

—

Benny slowly opens the door to the supply closet. He steps out and stares at the slightly ajar door that Xavier had left. The noise of the campsite is muffled, a low rumble of kids screaming and laughing, and counselors. A little dotted trail of blood shows his exact path from inside to Benji, and then back out again.

“Don’t,” his friend says, in a low threatening tone. Benny begins fumbling for his cigarettes once more.

“I take it back.”

“Don’t.”

“Th-that guy is not straight.”

[gritsandbrits]

Thomas and Friends: Nia and the Forest

An original tale by gritsandbrits, Based on the television program created by Britt Allcroft and David Mitton & Based on  The Railway Series by the Rev. W Awdry 

Original characters belong to me everything else to their respective owners (Mattel) 

Since her arrival to Sodor, Nia the Helpful Engine grew to love her new home. One landmark that fascinated her was Henry's Forest. While she thought a heavily wooded area was an odd choice to put a branch-line in, she couldn't deny she loved seeing such gorgeous greenery and sparkling springs up close. 

One afternoon, Nia was on her regular run (trying her best to bear with the stench of raw fish) when she arrived in the forest. A sign told all engines to reduce their speed. Nia didn't mind slowing down, it gave her the chance to embrace the serenity Mother Nature had to offer. 

"I wish I could stay here," she sighed. "If not for being an engine I could walk deeper into the woods and see more of it."

"Perhaps another time when we're free," her driver replied. 

Wistfully Nia continued on her slow journey when suddenly, she heard nearby bushes rustle loudly. Before she could process it something darted out in front of her. She jerked to a stop! 

"What in the world was that?!" She yelped. 

"Must've been a deer," her frazzled driver said as they checked to make sure she was alright. 

"Whoo! At least nothing spilled out. The last thing we need is sturgeon juice all over the rails," the orange engine grumbled. Her eyes then noticed something was on the rails. Faint shimmer. 

Once there was no sign of any more deer, the little crew went on their merry way. But Nia couldn't help but feel uneasy. 

That night at Tidmouth she relayed the encounter to her shedmates. 

"It could've been a deer like your driver said," Rebecca mused. 

"What kind of deer shimmers?" Nia retorted.

"It could be a fairy!" Percy exclaimed. "One of the delivery girls at the mail station always talks about them!"  

"A fairy? Percy you know magic doesn't exist," huffed Gordon.

Everyone stared at Gordon with blank expressions on their faces. Then he remembered, "oh yeah that's right Lady," he muttered in embarrassment.

"We could ask her but she's all the way on the other side of the world," Thomas sighed sadly. Nia caught a faint blush on his cheeks but waved it off.

"You could ask Edward," Emily suggested. "He should know all about the weird things that go on in Sodor; he's been here longer than any of us!"

If she had a neck Nia could've shaken her head yes. "I will tomorrow." Deep down she was nervous about speaking with Edward. She never could muster up the courage to, she felt bad for replacing him. But if she was to get a concrete answer she would have to hide her fears. 

The next morning Nia spotted Edward lounging in the yard.

"Good morning Edward," she greeted shyly.  

"Nia! What a surprise," the blue engine exclaimed. "Uh, how have you been this morning?" 

"Fine. And you?"

"Well I'm just taking the day off. I ain't as active as I used to." 

A brief silence passed between them. Then she asked, "Um, Edward, do you know anything about fairies?"

"Fairies?" 

Nia explained her story to Edward. Afterwards he mused.

"If I'll be honest I think you saw a nymph.

"A nymph?"

"It's a different kind of fairy one that roams the forests and lives in trees," Edward continued. "They protect the forest, you know. I haven't seen it myself, but it is said they're the reasons why this island still has its natural habitats."

"I see."

"Perhaps we should test our hypothesis," said Edward. "I'll go with you to Henry's Forest and see it for myself."

"Oh! You don't have to, I don't want to take up too much of your time," Nia began.

"Nonsense, it'll do me some good to work out my wheels," assured Edward.

Later that day the two engines made their way to Henry's Forest. During the trip they didn't talk. Not out of rudeness but because both were too shy to start a conversation! 

When they arrived they stopped. "Alright," said Edward. "Show me where it happened."

Nia gestured with her eyes. "I think when I passed by those patches of blackberries when I saw them." 

The engines trudged along the shaded path. Listening out for their magical friend. After a while they had found nothing.

"Hm, maybe it was a deer after all," she said. "Still doesn't explain the shimmer."

"Perhaps some naughty children," said Edward. "People can be disrespectful to wildlife, unfortunately." 

Just as they were about to leave, Edward felt something soft whip past him. "What on earth?" He could make out some dust faintly shimmering in the sunlight. His nose started to itch…

"ACHOO!"

Steam whizzed from his underbelly as he let out a huge sneeze. His whistle squealed, jolting Nia to attention.

"Bless you!"

The blue engine sniffed. "Thank you, just some pollen."

"We ought to get back, it's getting late," said Edward's driver. When he reached inside his pocket he groaned. "Oi! My pocket-watch! It's gone!"

"Maybe you left it back at the station?" The fireman asked.

"No, I could've sworn I had it on me!"

Edward was confused. 

Nia's crew were preparing her too. When her fireman reached to fix her hat she felt nothing but her own hair. "Hey my hat is missing!"

The humans looked around for the article of clothing but found nothing.

"Maybe it's been blown off by the wind?" Asked her partner. 

"Darn! I really liked that hat!" The driver crossed her arms and pouted. 

The pair left, but as they did, a melodious laugh rang out from the trees. 

The next couple of days were tizzy for the NWR. Crewmen reported missing their hats and tools. More engines were sneezing. It wasn't enough to delay routes. But soon everyone was getting annoyed by the invisible pranks.

Every day Nia's curiosity grew. But so did her anxiety. After that brief time with Edward she didn't speak to him. Only hurrying off whenever he stopped by to visit Tidmoth. She felt bad for ditching but she didn't want to remind him of being his replacement either. 

A couple weeks later, Nia was running her goods (thankfully no fish this time) when she went through Henry's Forest again. This time she was determined to catch a glimpse of the nymph. 

"Alright you rascal where are you?" She looked around only to be greeted by trees and the large pool on the other side of the curve ahead of her. 

Feeling a bit bitter she huffed and went on. So maybe it wasn't a nymph? But that still didn't explain the random pranks. 

 Suddenly she heard a loud rustling. Once again something large darted in front of her! 

"Oh dear!" Nia screeched. 

"Shoot!" The driver applied the brakes as a great buck lept out in front of them! 

Nia squeezed her eyes shut expecting the impact. Suddenly felt her wheels lifting off the tracks. Then the unfamiliar tingle of grass. Finally careening to a stop...into the very sparkling springs she admired.

"Somebody...help me???" Was her gargled reply. 

Edward was sent to her aid. When he arrived with the breakdown train he gasped. 

"Enjoying some cool down time I see?" Edward jokes in hopes to lighten the mood. 

"Glurb mhhee owa hee!," was Nia's gargled reply. 

"I take it as a yes."

It didn't take long for Nia to get put back on the rails. She sputtered out, "It was a real deer this time!"

"I guess this means we have to be extra careful," replied Edward. "By the way I'm curious. Why do you keep avoiding me?"

Nia's cheeks ached. 

"Well I-I've been busy," she replied quickly. She didn't want to admit she was intimidated by him. 

Before Edward could say anything, their drivers returned with some items in their hands. 

"I see what caused it, someone put a bunch of rocks and sticks on the line!" Exclaimed Edward's driver. 

"Whoever could have done that?" Edward wondered suspicious. 

"Maybe we should wait and find out," Nia murmured. Then she noticed a trail of sparkles streaking back behind the trees. She had a feeling there was more than just deer that lived in the forest.

[shallyne]

Feyre Week Day 4: Inner Circle

Rocks, friends and found family

A little Feyre week AU fic, enjoy. Inner Circle as kids

Words: 1,192

TW: mentions of neglect

Curious Feyre spends her time exploring alone until she meets Mor

It wasn't unusual for Feyre to run outside. She was a curious child and Feyres parents didn't seem to notice when Feyre wasn't there, to focused on fussing over her sisters. Feyre often went to the river near her house, curious about the fishes and the frogs and the pebbles. Curious about the noises the pebbles made when they hit the water, curious about where the fishes were swimming. Curious about clouds and the sun, the sky, the night, the moon and the stars. Feyre asked a lot of questions because she wanted to understand. Why did she have to sleep? Why did she have to sleep at night? Why couldn't she sleep during the day and stay awake at night? Why are colors? Why is green green? Why is red red? Why can't red be green? Why can't blue be orange? Where did she come from? How did she get out of her mother's belly? Why did she get dizzy when she was spinning? And a lot more questions that were plaguing her, that her maids would only give short answers to, if they even bothered to answer. So she tried to get answers herself by observing.

What wasn't usual for Feyre were friends. If she met children that were her age, they weren't interested in being friends, deeming her as to weird or too noisy. Maybe her mother was right after all, when she told Feyre she was weird because she was born on the longest night of the year. After yet another rejection, Feyre stopped trying to make friends. She didn't need them, she could explore the world on her own.

Today she was focused on collecting the prettiest rock. She found a few and now was wandering back to her usual spot near the river.

"Hey!" someone yelled behind her. "You lost something."

Feyre turned around. A blonde girl was running towards her holding one of Feyres rocks. The girl laid it on Feyres pile of stones she was carrying in her arms and then grinned at her.

"It's pretty." she said, pointing at her stone.

"Thank you." Feyre said, unsure if she was nice or if she wanted to make fun of her.

The girl nodded. "I'm Morrigan." she said, clasping her hands behind her back. "But my friends call me Mor. You can call me Mor."

"I'm Feyre." Feyre smiled shyly. "Do you want to look at my rocks?"

Mor nodded vigorously and followed Feyre to her spot. She let the stones fall on the ground and they both sat in the dirt. "That one is so pretty!" Mor said, picking up Feyres favorite rock. Feyre nodded. Mor smiled at her and gave back her rock, picking up another one. As she continued to look through Feyres rock collection, Feyre pressed her favorite rock to herself, watching Mor. She gasped when she picked up a dark rock. "Can I have this?" she asked Feyre. "My cousin would love this one!"

Feyre nodded, smiling. Mor chuckled, putting it in a pocket she had in her red dress. Feyre picked up a rock that was shining in the sun, handing it to Mor. "You can have that one, too." she said. It reminded her of the girl, Mor. They both reminded Feyre of sunshine. Mor smiled brightly as she took it "Thank you!"

"Mor!" someone yelled from far away. She sighed and looked at Feyre. "I have to go now. Are you here tomorrow?"

Feyre nodded.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow!" Mor said, walking in the direction where they came from. "And I'm bringing my cousin!"

She was gone before Feyre could say goodbye. Feyre took her favorite rock and she also took some basic ones that she could paint at home. She loved painting rocks. That's what she would do for the rest of the day.

The next day Feyre walked back to her usual spot. She stopped a small distance away, when she saw that other people already were there. Tears dwelled in her eyes, that was her favorite spot. Four kids were at her favorite spot. She was about to turn back when Mor looked over the shoulder of one of the three boys, grinning at her. "Feyre!" she said. She ran towards Feyre and hugged her. It came so surprising, that Feyre stiffened. She wasn't used to hugs. "I'm glad you came!" Mor said and Feyre hesitantly hugged her back. When they parted, Mor took Feyres hand and pulled her towards the boys. "That's my cousin." Mor said, pointing to the boy in the middle. He smiled at Feyre, his purple eyes twinkling. "Rhysand."

"Call me Rhys." he said.

"And that one is Cassian." Mor said, pointing to the boy with shoulder length hair, who had crossed his arms and grinned at Feyre. As he opened his moth, Mor said "If he annoys you, just tell him to shut his mouth."

"Hey!"

"And that's Azriel." Mor said, looking at the last boy. He nodded, a faint smile playing on his mouth.

"Hello." Feyre said shyly, waving at them.

"Are you new?" Cassian asked. "I never saw you around."

Feyre shook her head. She wasn't new, she just kept away from other kids her age.

Rhys smiled brightly "Mor gave me your rock!" he pulled it out of his pocket. "Where did you find it? It's pretty."

"At the river." Feyre answered.

"You're allowed to go so close to the river?" Mor asked. "Rhys's Mother forbid us to get so close."

Feyre shrugged. "Sometimes." she answered. Which was a lie. Her mother didn't care enough to give her rules like that, she didn't even care enough to realize Feyre was gone.

"Do you paint?" Azriel asked, changing the topic. Feyre looked at him, surprised. He nodded at her arm. She looked down and there was still some paint. She nodded. "Yes."

"What do you paint?" Rhys asked.

Feyre shrugged again. "What I want. I like to paint the night sky."

Rhys beamed. "You need to show me next time!"

Feyre blushed and smiled. "Okay."

"Rhys is obsessed with the night sky." Mor said. Cassian and Az agreed.

"Me too." Feyre smiled. Mor went to Cassian and Azriel as Rhys walked over to Feyre. "Do you know about constellations?"

Feyre shook her head.

"That's okay, I can tell you!" he said. Cassian groaned and Azriel kicked him. "Stop crying, come." Mor said and walked away, Cassian and Azriel following her.

Feyre and Rhys sat on a rock while he told her about stars and constellations. Feyre listened intently, even asked questions. Everytime she did so, Rhys seemed to get more excited.

That was the day Feyre and Rhys became an inseparable duo. Feyre and Mor became best friends and Cassian and Azriel became like brothers to her. It was them five against the world. Rhys got so excited when Feyre showed him a painting for the first time. The newest one she made after their conversation, building in Rhys's favorite constellation. It wasn't until they moved together in their twenties that Feyre realized he had kept her painting. The first she had ever made for him.

Taglist: @reverie-tales @feyreweek @elentiyawhitethorn

[lillywillow]

Seven Dates a Week

Summary: When Natasha signs Bucky up for speed dating, he doesn’t believe any will form a lasting bond until he meets one special person

 Written for: @buckybarnesbingo

 Words: 2800

 Square Filled: U3- Speed Dating

 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral Reader  

 Warnings: None

 Why did he ever let Nat talk him into this? It was bad enough when she signed it up for regular dates but this? All the stress, anxiety and awkward small talk of a blind date tenfold. It was all the same conversations for eight minutes until the bell went and he was moved onto the next person to start over. There were the ones that were trying too hard to get them to like him and then there were the ones who showed next to no interest at all. Bucky felt like a real fish out of water here. The only reason he hadn’t bailed yet was because Nat promised him if he went through with this, she would never try to set him up again. Bucky knew that only meant she would remain dormant for a few weeks, perhaps moving on to pick on one of the other single people in the tower before making her way back around to him.

 It was nearing the end of the session and Bucky was hitting his social limit for the night (maybe even for the week). His next date sat down, wearing the same ‘in pain but trying to be polite’ smile that he was. He exchanged introductions before an awkward beat of silence fell.

 “So…” Bucky began, his brain fried from way too many questions.

 “Look, Bucky, I’m going to have to be honest with you,” Y/N sighed. “I’m sure you’re very nice but, I don’t think I’m going to be very good company right now. The only reason I came here was because a friend of mine pushed me…”

 Bucky felt relieved.

 “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. I’m in the same boat. My friend also pushed me into coming and the only reason I did was that she’d stop trying to set me up on blind dates,” Bucky explained.

 “Friends, right?” Y/N laughed. “I mean, I’m sure their hearts are in the right place but shouldn’t we get to make that choice?”

 “Exactly!” Bucky grinned.

 “I prefer the old-fashioned way of dating. You meet someone, get to know them…”

 “Dinner and dancing,” Bucky supplied.

 “Watching a movie together…”

 “Going to the carnival…”

 “Mini golf…”

 “Going for a drive…”

 “Picnics in the park…”

 Bucky smiled at the same time as Y/N, feeling more relaxed than he had all night.

 “Listen, Y/N, I’d really like to take you out on a proper date after this is over, if that’s okay,” Bucky shyly smiled.

 “I’d really like that too…”

 Before he knew it, the bell rang again, signalling the next changeover of dates. Bucky’s hopes had been refilled and he couldn’t wait to see Y/N again.

…

 The next day, you were practically glued to your phone. To your surprise, you had a few matches but there was only one person you really wanted to contact you. It had only taken eight minutes but you were totally smitten with Bucky. Most of the others there were boring, tried to hard or otherwise gave you bad vibes but Bucky was different. He had the same old-fashioned ideas about dating as you did. So wrapped up in your thoughts, you were startled when your phone startled to ring. You fumbled, almost dropping it before answering.

 “Hello?”

 “Hi, is this Y/N?” a male’s voice asked on the other end of the line.

 “Speaking…”

 “Hi… um… this is Bucky. We met at the dating thing last night?”

 “Yes, I remember you,” you smiled, trying to play it cool and not start happily squeal on the spot.

 “I was wondering… if you’re free tonight… I’d like take you out to dinner and maybe dancing… if that’s alright…”

 “Tonight, will be perfect.”

 “Great! Pick you up at six?”

 “Sounds good,” you agreed, giving him your address.

 Only after you made sure you had hung up did you start shrieking and jumping for joy.

…

 That night, you got all dressed up and waited for Bucky to come and pick you up. He arrived six o’clock on the dot, with a bouquet of flowers for you.

 “Oh, Bucky, they’re beautiful,” you smiled. “I’ll just go and put these in some water and we can head off.”

 Bucky smiled as you allowed him inside to wait. He admired your place, getting just a little sneak peek at the kind of person you were. As soon as the flowers were safely in a vase, the pair of you headed off.

 “So did your friend give you the third degree when you got home?” you asked.

 “Absolutely. She was all ‘Did you meet any interesting people? How many phone numbers did you get? Didn’t I tell you it would all work out?’ I somehow managed to keep my grumpy façade and got her to back off,” Bucky grinned. “What about you?”

 “Same thing. ‘Were there any hotties there? I told you this would be good for you. Was there anybody there you could set me up with?’ That sort of thing,” you shrugged.

 “I told Nat the reason I was going out tonight was because I had a meeting.”

 “Did she buy it?”

 “Hard to say. Nat has this habit of knowing when someone is lying to her but she doesn’t tell you she knows you’re lying… I mean, it’s technically true. We are meeting…” Bucky reasoned.

 He only hoped Nat wouldn’t have him tailed or spied on or something. He really had a good feeling about this and the last thing he wanted was for his nosy friends to blow it for him.

 You couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

 “My friends are the same with all their questions. I know they just want to see me happy but at the same time, can’t I just live my life? Keep some secrets to myself?” you sighed.

 “But they are our friends and we love them,” Bucky nodded, speaking like he was trying to remind himself why he kept these people in his life.

 “Yes. They are our friends and we love them,” you repeated in the same tone of voice.

 There was a moment of silence before you both burst out laughing. The rest of the car ride there you bonded over stories of your friends attempting to set you up with some of the worst people you ever went on dates on and of course your friends themselves.

 Bucky took you to a nice restaurant for dinner. The food was delicious and the atmosphere was lovely. The conversations you had were just as nice, getting to know each other without that heavy awkwardness that often fell over blind dates. After dinner, Bucky took you to a place that did swing dancing and it was just like you had fallen back into the 40’s. You were a little clumsy on your feet but Bucky was a natural. By the end of the night, you couldn’t stop smiling.

 “Thanks for that, Bucky. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun on a date,” you smiled.

 “Anytime,” he smiled back.

 “If you’re free tomorrow night, I heard they’re playing Casablanca at a theatre downtown if you’d like to go with me…”

 “I’d love to go,” he smiled.

 As you headed inside, Bucky waited a few moments to make sure you were safe and sound before he headed off. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow night.

…

 Tomorrow night couldn’t come soon enough. Bucky tried to keep up his normal grumpy attitude but when you feel like you’re on cloud nine, it’s hard to come down. Bucky checked the times Casablanca was showing and arranged a time to meet up with you, deciding on an earlier showing than a later one so you could have some time to grab something to eat and talk some more. By the time he arrived, you were already there waiting for him, having bought the tickets and snacks.

 “I could have paid for those,” Bucky mumbled.

 “Yeah, but you paid for dinner last night. Tonight’s my treat,” you smiled. “Besides, I believe in equality in a relationship.”

 “You… you think this is a relationship?” Bucky asked with a blush.

 Now it was your turn to feel flustered.

 “Well, yeah… It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so comfortable with someone and I know we’re still at the beginning stages but I really feel like this could go somewhere… Do you?”

 “I do, Y/N. I really do,” he smiled, feeling his heart soar.

 “Then let’s see where this goes… Now, come on. The movie’s about to start.”

 After the movie, you and Bucky grabbed a hotdog from a nearby cart outside for dinner which he insisted on paying for. You talked about the film which led to a discussion about your favourite movies and books. Bucky liked a lot of the same things as you and whatever he hadn’t watched yet, you made a promise to see it with him sometime. At the end of the night, he walked you to your car like a gentleman.

 When Bucky arrived home, he took a few minutes to wipe the smile from his face and hoped he wouldn’t run into anyone. This hope was dashed as there were in fact, three people waiting up for him like anxious parents waiting up for their child on a first date. Sitting on the couch were Sam, Steve and Natasha, all grinning at him like the Cheshire cat.

 “So… how did it go?” Sam pried.

 “How did what go?” Bucky grunted, trying his hardest not to let his smile bubble to the surface.

 “Bucky, you left your laptop unguarded. We saw you looked up showtimes for Casablanca,” Steve supplied.

 “So? Can’t a guy go to the movies by himself?” Bucky shrugged.

 “A romantic movie? Come on, man. Oh! Was it the mystery person you had a ‘meeting’ with last night?” Nat chirped.

 “I… I don’t have to stand here and be interrogated like this!”

 With that, Bucky stormed off to his room, a brief smile catching the corner of his lips as he thought of you. He thought Nat didn’t notice it but she saw. Now it was going to become her mission to find out who this person was (with Sam and Steve’s help of course).

…

 The day after, Bucky had contacted you asking if you wanted to go to the carnival. Fortunately, you had the week off due to the company you were working for changing hands. An hour later, you met Bucky at the gates and headed in. You had a great time riding on all the rides together, eating cotton candy and other junk foods and Bucky even won you a small stuffed animal at one of the games. As you walked around, you held hands and shared stories about your childhoods. This what you both needed. Something fun and easy to get back into the dating life, not some stressful mind-numbing activity with dull people. As you walked around, Bucky suddenly went pale.

 “Bucky? Are you okay?” you asked, concerned about his sudden change in mood.

 “I just spotted one of my friends…”

 “Do you… not want me to meet them?” you sadly questioned.

 “It’s not that! It’s just… you remember how I told you about my friend Nat? Well, she can be a bit… full on when it comes to her friends. I don’t want her getting her hooks into you and driving you away with all her questions… I like you a lot…”

 “I like you too,” you smiled. “I know what you mean though. One of my past relationships, my friends went into full research mode and found out their occupation, address and found three of their exes before even I knew about it.”

 “Do you want to ditch her before she sees us?” Bucky grinned.

 No sooner had you agreed when two more people approached and cornered you, making Bucky groan.

 “Bucky? Well, what a coincidence!” one of them smiled, throwing on a fake charming voice.

 “You set this up, didn’t you, Sam?” Bucky grumbled.

 “Why, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the one identified as Sam said, feigning innocence.

 “I just want to say I had nothing to do with this,” the blond guy muttered.

 “I know you didn’t, Steve…”

 No sooner had he spoken, then Natasha walked up with the same fake ‘I-didn’t-know-you-would-be-here’ attitude as the other two had.

 “He’s onto us, Nat,” Sam explained.

 “Okay, fine, we’ll drop the act. We just wanted to meet your special someone. Where did you meet? Was it at speed dating? It was, wasn’t it?!”

 “Okay, we’re leaving,” Bucky huffed, grabbing your hand and walking off.

 “This isn’t over, Barnes! We will be discussing this when you come home!” Sam called as you walked away.

 “So, they seem nice,” you grinned.

 “Yeah… they do seem nice, don’t they?” Bucky muttered, making you laugh.

 “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the day. I think the Tunnel of Love is around the corner. They won’t find us in there…”

 Bucky grinned and followed your lead. Another day, another perfect date with it ending with you inviting him to mini golf.

…

 True to their word, Bucky’s friends questioned everything he knew about you. Bucky was honest (but cranky) with his answers but the one thing he begged them to do was to leave you alone. He had a really good feeling about this budding relationship and he didn’t want anything to ruin it. They could see how serious he was about you so they agreed to back off.

 Unfortunately, the next date brought your nosy friends with it. You were enjoying your mini golf date, asking silly questions like ‘If you were a bird, where would you fly?’, trying to make each other miss by getting in the way and just having fun. Then your two friends ‘happened’ to run into you. Much like Bucky’s friends, they wanted to know everything about the pair of you as a couple. You had to shoo them away but promised you would tell them everything at a later time. Bucky didn’t mind. He understood as well as you did that they meant well and wanted you to be happy. At the end of the date, Bucky asked if tomorrow you wanted to go for a drive and take the scenic route which you happily agreed.

…

 When Bucky picked you up, he arrived in a white convertible.

 “Since when do you drive on of these?” you asked, recognising this was not the car he picked you up in before.

 “I’m borrowing it from a friend with good taste in cars. He said as long as we gas up and don’t scratch it, mess it up or in his words ‘do the nasty in the backseat’, I could drive it.”

 You laughed at his words and got in the car.

 Bucky drove to the most beautiful and scenic places around New York. You sang along to the radio and even though Bucky didn’t know the words to a lot of them, he still enjoyed the vibes. Whenever you felt the need to stretch your legs, you stopped and looked at the incredible views, even getting ice cream at one place. There wasn’t a lot of conversation on this date, just good company which at this point was all you really wanted. At the end of the day, Bucky dropped you home again and you invited him to go on a picnic the following day.

…

 Your last date for the week was by far the most perfect. You and Bucky each brought a little something for the other to try, both finding the other’s food tasty. Once you had eaten, you laid back on the blanket and looked at the clouds in the sky, noting any interesting shapes.

 “Hey, Y/N?”

 “Yeah, Bucky?”

 “I was wondering… if you’d like to make things official. This week has been amazing and I couldn’t ask for someone better…”

 “Are you asking me to be yours?” you asked, feeling your heart beat faster.

 “You can be mine if I can be yours…”

 “I’d love to,” you smiled.

 Bucky smiled back and leant forward to kiss you. You kissed back, tenderly holding his face in your hands.

 Seven days. Six perfect dates. Five nosy friends. Four lips made for each other. Three nights dreaming about one another. Two lonely souls. One beautiful relationship. Who knew when your friends signed you up for speed dating you would find something so magical?

[hansensgirl]

not all who wander are lost.

summary. | He’s got your name on his tattoo, wearing the same damn clothes since three days ago. A bottle of gin in his hand, and you’d say he’s just wandering.

warnings. | Strangers to lovers, smut, naive reader, mentions of trauma, angst, fluff, slight violence, slight dub/con, slight blasphemy, drinking, DD/LG, daddy kink, corruption kink, ring/hand kink, size kink, creampie kink, teasing, spanking, choking, spitting, manhandling, praise, male masturbation, handjob, degradation, a bit of humiliation, oral sex, virginity loss, marking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 11k

pairings. | Daddy!Destroyer!Chris x Little!Reader.

a/n. | one of the few fics inspired/based off of chemtrails over the country club. please heed the warnings and don’t forget to reblog. ily! thank you so much to @dragon-of-dreams @mypoisonedvine @tenuntilfightcall and everyone else for helping me out with some information! and thank you to my bb sara @asadmarveltrashbag for beta-ing and being there for me during this insane month, ilysm!!

The first time he laid eyes on you, was six months ago.

Meadows like the ones that surround him only exist in movies and Instagram posts. But even those need editing for perfection. Yet, the ones around him made him feel as though he has camera lenses for his eyes. Each piece of grass is a beautiful green, and some had flowers between them. His thighs may hurt but the view is a reward for all the trouble he just went through. A cute cottage lies on the hill he stands on. It resembles one from a Pinterest board but he doesn’t mind.

Birds chirp, sheep bleat, cows low and chickens cluck amongst Ella Fitzgerald's rendition of Summertime. Chris walks a few more steps and onto the porch he goes. This isn’t his destination. Well, technically, it is. But he isn’t supposed to be knocking on your door like he is now, and his heart shouldn’t be beating out of his chest. To the right of this cottage — Chris’s right — is another cottage.

It’s more modern than he’d prefer it to be. It only looks so because inside lives a drug lord who is on the run. It’s truly unfortunate his girlfriend sold him out for immunity. He knocks on the wooden door and takes a step back. Who knows what kind of person is behind it. “Coming!” your sweet voice calls. Chris doesn’t let go of his grip on his gun that’s down the waist of his pants.

Even the sweetest seeming things can always end up being sour.

You struggle not to trip over your own dress. The tail of it drags behind you and sweeps the floor, too. But it makes you feel just like a princess, so you don’t care. On your hip is a basket, and inside is Cotton. Your bunny. She’s been your company for years, and you don’t know what you’d do without her. Barely anyone visits anymore, only because cars can’t handle the long drive up and many people hate nature. But when the occasional knock on your door echoes throughout the house, you can barely keep your excitement inside.

You open the door and gasp. The man… is brooding. And he’s not the type of broody that would grumble insults under his breath or the type that would stalk people, either. He’s the dreamy type, the man your parents say is bad news when really he just needs love. You take in his form. You can tell he’s slightly tired and you just have to give him credit for walking up to your home. He has no flaws, except for the dirt that stains his clothing.

“Hi, do you live here?” the strange man asks, looking around the inside of your home. You jump and you’re not sure why but your skin raises with goosebumps. His voice is deep yet so soft-spoken. For some odd reason, his hand is reaching backwards and you assume that it’s because he has some sort of ache from the walk. You finally register his words and look up at him.

“Y- yes, do you live here?” you stupidly ask. You don’t even realize what you just said until you noticed his puzzled look. “Oh, sorry,” you look down and notice that his black boots are covered in pollen, something that can be oh so bothersome. “‘S’alright, I was hiking a- and I don’t have anywhere to go… Do you think you could let me stay here?” he asks, letting go of the gun. “Uhm, s- sure, what’s your name?” you ask him, moving out of the way.

Naive, so fucking naive.

“Chris, what’s yours?” he asks, stepping inside. You give him your name and he nods. He goes to wipe his shoes on the rug in front of the door but there is no rug. You hand him a rag and he gratefully takes him, mumbling a small ‘thank you.’ “Are you a tourist?” you ask him, setting your basket down onto the floor. Cotton hops out of it and runs off to the kitchen, probably to chew on your apron. “No…” he solemnly answers. He hands you the rag back and you shyly take it.

“O- okay… Are you a photographer? I’ll tell you God’s truth, the most beautiful photos are taken when the sun rises, when it sets and when it’s raining,” you pointedly inform him. You drop the rag into your basket and turn back around, your dress spinning in a slight swirl. His eyes rake your body up and down, taking in every inch of your body. Red cloth with white polka dots covers your body and your mushroom earrings bring the entire outfit together.  Chris has to assume that the heavens above or whatever the fuck else is there have handcrafted you to absolute perfection.

He’s never read any stories about Greek gods, but he knows that Zeus would be absolutely infatuated with you. He takes note of how your body tenses up when he makes eye contact with you, and he gives you a small smile.

“I’m not a photographer,” he clarifies, looking around. He can’t believe you let him in just like that, but the more he found, the more he understood why. A lonely, innocent little girl like you doesn’t have anyone to tell you right from wrong. “Then what are you, sir? Are you lost? I can call the Consulate if you’d like,” you offer, walking towards him. “I’m not lost… I’m a wanderer,” he whispers almost hesitatingly.

“But you only ever wander when you’re lost, no?” you confusingly ask him. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, before peering out of the window. Luckily, he has a direct view of the other cottage. He really did hit the jackpot. “Not all who wander are lost, little girl. Now tell me, why would you let a stranger inside your home?” he asks you.

Cotton hops from the kitchen to your bedroom, and you stand in place. “I… Well, I’m not sure. You didn’t give me any reason to not let you in or to make me believe you’re dangerous, sorry…” you shyly tell him. “Don’t apologize, just know that not everyone in this world is good. There’s always going to be someone with a little more darkness than the rest of us…”

Chris unzips his duffle bag, and you let out a giggle. “Quite ominous of you, but then again, it suits your whole aesthetic. The cool, bearded man, with his cool words,” you smile at him, but it carries a bit of sadness. “Treat this place as your own, make yourself at home. And if you need anything, I’m always here.”

Chris stays at the window for most of his days. Always with a pair of binoculars and a pack of saltine crackers. Sometimes, he pulls a juice bottle out of his duffle bag, You’ve countlessly offered him something that’s actually filling, such as angel cake and sandwiches. He rejects them all, and you wonder if he’s some sort of super-human. But technology hasn’t invented wireless technology yet, so it’s impossible.

“Uhm, Mr. Chris-Sir? I don’t think those crackers are good for you, they’re all you eat…” you sheepishly admit, carrying a cup of water to him. The mug has a little frog painted on it, but the green paint has chipped away over seven years. You set it down gently, onto the table next to him and Chris just stares out at the cottage. “Bird-watching is so cool, isn’t it? If you see a robin, let me know, they’re so beautiful,” you tell him, before walking off.

At first, he doesn’t take in your words. But once they’ve settled deep in his mind and sunk in, he realizes that you assume he’s bird-watching. He’d honestly take any other assumption, but at least you don’t know he’s spying on the criminal next door. He looks down at the table with a sigh and then notices what you’ve done. Not only did you set a cup of water down, but you also gave him two slices of toast. One has strawberry jam on it, and the other has melted butter.

His mouth surprisingly salivates, but it also doesn’t shock him. Every day he sits there, basking in the beautiful smell of your food and humming. His personal favourite is the smell of focaccia bread being baked. He watches and waits until you leave the room to go tend to the chickens. Apparently, one of them laid a few eggs. He quickly shovels the two slices of toast into his mouth and downs the glass of water like a starved man. Because he is one.

Cotton hopes around once again but all Chris sees is a fluffy white blur. He recalls his memories from when he was younger. Younger him always wanted a pet. Even a fish that would die in the span of two weeks would suffice. But his mom couldn’t afford it, so he dropped the idea. Sometimes, he wishes he had dropped other ideas, as well. Like the idea that he’d enjoy life as an undercover agent, or the idea of sacrificing himself for Erin.

His fingers are sticky with jam. He hates the feeling. He spreads his fingers out and goes to get up from his seat. “Shit,” he curses, realizing that something may happen while he’s away from the window. He stands there, contemplating whether or not he should risk his mission just to wash the fucking jam off of his stupid fucking hands. He calls your name, loudly, hoping you’ll hear him all the way outside the cottage.

“Is everything alright?” you shout, running inside the house. He didn’t expect that reaction, but he’ll take it. You’re holding onto the corner of two walls, slightly bent over. Your chest, your beautiful chest, is the first thing Chris lays his eyes on. He nearly chokes on his saliva, and he just can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. “Uh, hi, I need help,” he gruffly says, his voice a bit deeper than usual. He clears his throat with a loud ‘ahem’ and you begin to stand up straight, much to his dismay.

But he doesn’t think the image of your tits nearly falling out of your dress will leave his mind any time soon.

“Of course… Did you enjoy the toast? I can make you some more if you’d like,” you shyly offer him. “It was good, but I’m fine, thanks though. Can you stay here, right at the window, while I go wash my hands? If anything happens, you have to tell me.” Chris doesn’t leave any room for argument, but your curiosity and naivety get the best of you as always.

“What happens if I don’t tell you?” you ask him, walking towards the window. He blocks your path and suddenly personal space is no longer a thing you need. “You don’t want to know what I’m gonna do if you don’t, little girl,” he warns with a hint of lust in his tone. You nod your head and feel tingles bloom just above your core. You’re not sure whether they’re butterflies or those tingles.

Chris walks past you and you quickly rush to the window. You never realized how beautiful this view is until now. The sun is bright, angled in the most perfect manner so that it doesn’t shine directly in your eyes. The sky is so clear, even with the occasional fluffy cloud that always manages to look like some animal. The window blows gently, shaking the sheer curtains that frame you. You sigh and fold your arms, resting them on the windowsill.

You lay your head on your arms and stare out the window with joy filling your heart.

Chris watches you as you look out the window. You’re slightly bent over, once again. Your ass sticks out, and you subconsciously sway your hips side to side, almost purposefully teasing him. Your white dress has a few strings hanging from the hem, but it doesn’t make you look any less gorgeous. He feels like he’s in a dream.

Not only because of the beautiful scenery, and the beautiful woman in front of him but also because he’s trying his hardest to wash his hands quickly, but his movements are so slow. He looks down and rubs his hands together at a furious pace. Chris hears you gasp and he looks up. “Did you see something?” he asks you, turning off the sink.

“Yeah, my neighbour! I haven’t seen him in months, I need to go say hi,” you tell Chris, before rushing out the door. He only then registers your words once you’ve run out of the house and into the unknown. “Fuck- Wait!” he yells after you. He runs behind you and is so grateful when he notices you haven’t gone too far. But you’re still running and Chris’s target is about ten meters away, so he decides to do what he does best.

He decides to save you.

Chris’s feet hit the ground harshly, crushing the flowers beneath him. Running in socks isn’t fun, but at least he has something to protect him. He calls your name and crashes into you with all the force in his body. You both go down and hit the ground from his fierce tackling technique. You go to cry out in pain and lose your mind, but Chris clams his hand over your mouth. “Shh, be quiet. You’re not hurt, okay? I’m sorry I had to do that, but you can’t go running off like that,” he lectures, throwing his right leg over your body. He frames you down, and you don’t have much room to move. You’re frozen in place, chest heaving, and you furrow your eyebrows at his words.

“Listen, I need you to listen. You may not know me and I may not know you, but when I tell you to do something, you’re going to listen. Understood?” he chastised with a harsh tone. You nod meekly, like a little kid who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “And just so you know, that sweet neighbour of yours over there is wanted by the Feds.” Chris looks over his shoulder and doesn’t see the man there anymore, so he begrudgingly climbs off of your body.

You gulp thickly, out of fear and nervousness. Chris doesn’t seem to want to add on to this newfound information, so your anxiety makes work of it. For all you know, your neighbour could be a murderer. Chris senses your nervousness and gives you a pat on the head, almost as if you’re his pet.

Unbeknownst to you, the sight of you under him, helpless and with his hand clamped over your mouth is something that gets his blood (and hand) pumping. He helps you up, and you don’t even realize it until he brushes some dandelion seeds out of your hair. “Thank you… and thank you for saving me, I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” you shyly speak to him. He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, finding an old cigarette from before he quit.

“‘S’alright, I just need a few things from you,” he gruffly reassured. “O- Of course, anything for my guest and for the man who saved my life,” you beam with a small giggle punctuating your words. He basks in it, almost as though it’s sunlight over a beach. “Ah, you flatter me. Just tell me about yourself, I’m going to be staying for a while,” he says as he turns around to walk back inside.

A bottle of gin is in Chris’s hands. The colourless yet pale yellow liquid swishes inside its rightful bottle. It’s half full, only because last night, he downed the rest. He hasn’t drunk in a while. Since he got over being left for dead. And that’s only six months ago.

He’s shirtless. Only left in his grey jeans and jewelry. His rings clink against the glass bottle and his bracelets hang a little past his wrist. The gunshot wound on his left side had a faint scar on it. He hates it. Every single time he stares in the mirror, that fucking scar just stares back at him.

His father told him it makes him seem more ‘manly’, but it just feels like a point of weakness. Maybe if he was a little quicker, he would’ve saved that bank teller. He would’ve gotten Silas behind bars. He would’ve been able to be proud of himself.

Chris groans at the memories and spins the cap off of the bottle. It flies somewhere across the room, probably hitting one of the wood walls. He mumbles a ‘fucking hell’ and brings the bottle to his lips. The last time he drank like this was three months ago, and he ended up fucking the bartender.

She was bent over the counter, her tits spilled out of her bra and his cock pummeled into her sloppily.

She ended up kicking him out after they were done.

Chris groans again and sits down on the bed, kicking his legs up. His pants are stained with the pigment of dandelions and grass. The splotchy stains are juxtaposed to the grey of his old jeans. They have wear and tear all over them, but he doesn’t care.

Every now and then, he sighs — he sighs quite deeply. The puffs of air come from deep inside his chest. He tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking back to earlier today. He smiles to himself, recalling the way you looked so innocent beneath him.

He’s only known you for a few days, and he already has lewd thoughts for you. Fuck. He just can’t help himself, though. Especially with your innocent doe eyes and pretty little dresses. He closes his eyes slowly, using that memory to fuel his much-needed mental images.

You’re beneath him once again, but you’re naked. His hand is wrapped around your throat, and he’s naked too. His cock is slowly driving in and out of you. He’s teasing you. Your pulsating, wet walls hug his fat cock, and you’re both moaning softly.

“Daddy…” you whisper to him, clenching around his cock. “What’s wrong, baby?” he softly asks you. “Please fuck me harder, please, Daddy,” you beg to him, before biting down onto your bottom lip. “I don’t think you’ll be able to take my cock like that, baby,” he shakes his head.

“I can take it, Daddy, I’m your good girl.”

Chris opens his eyes and his right hand has found its way down his boxers. His cock is all swollen and hard, hard as a rock. He places the bottle of gin down on the bedside table and gets himself all comfortable. Chris slowly begins to stroke himself gently. He goes from the base all the way to the top, and then back down. His thumb occasionally swipes against his leaking tip and all he can think of is teaching you how to make him — your Daddy — feel good.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans, feeling a vein throat against his hand. He moans your name and speeds up his movements. His fingers are slightly sticky, but it’s the type of sticky he doesn’t mind. He begins to slow his hand down, and he sighs, not wanting to come just yet. He hasn’t been this hard in ages, and touching himself feels so fucking good.

“Did you say my name? Is everything alright?” you ask, barging into his room. He jumps and his hand flies out of his pants. You both stare at each other, not even daring to blink. You eventually break eye contact and notice the bottle of gin sitting on the bedside table. There’s only a sixth of it left, and you frown. You don’t like it when people you care about drink. “Uhm…” he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and then takes in your form.

You’re in a nightgown, and it’s sheer as fuck. The gin gets to him and his mind has a slight buzz to it. His heart beats rapidly and his cock throbs with want and need. Chris’s eyes rake up and down your body like how they usually do whenever you’re in front of him. His mother would scold him for ogling at you, but he just doesn’t care anymore.

“I- I am so so so sorry, I should’ve knocked. I just thought you needed help with something because I heard you say my name, but sometimes I just tend to hear random things, so sorry,” you apologize in a panicking manner. You slowly walk back to the door, but you don’t turn around. Your bare feet leave a faint imprint on the floor from the cold sweats that have taken over your body.

“Come back here,” he orders, sitting up on the bed. Chris’s unbuckled belt clanks quietly, and he begins to remove it in one quick motion. You gulp thickly and exhale shakily. You slowly walk to where Chris is sitting, and he pats the spot next to him. You’ve never had such an interaction with anyone, ever. You sit down next to him, but you keep your distance.

Alcohol should not be called alcohol in Chris’s utmost humble opinion. No, it should just stick to its nickname ‘liquid courage’ because it’s more accurate than anything else. He may not seem like it, but he’s just a man who doesn’t have the heart to do much. Adrenaline doesn’t exist for him anymore, not since the incident.

Chris turns his head and stares at your pretty face. You look down, unable to make eye contact with such a God-like man. You have to assume that even Apollo is envious of Chris’s beauty. “How’d you hear me? Because I know these walls aren’t thin enough, and I know I wasn’t being loud, so tell me; How’d you hear me?” he interrogates you like one of Silas’s companions, but this time is slightly different.

Lust is what’s pumping through his veins, not rage.

“Uhm, well… My room was right there, and I wasn’t doing anything but thinking, and since your bed is against the wall, I- I heard you say my name,” you explain shyly. He hums, and you’re not sure whether it’s a hum of delight or disbelief. “Thinking of what?” he presses, inching his body closer to yours.

You continue to stare at his hand, even though you can feel his heavy breathing against your face. “I… Well- I was uh,” you stutter embarrassingly, and it makes you burn up with shame. “Spit it out, little girl, and don’t think of lying to me,” he growls, placing his hand on your thigh. Your gaze follows his movements, and you take in the set of rings that adorn his fingers.

They’re all black and of similar styles. One has a skull, one is completely plain, one has a cross on it and the last one has the word ‘Daddy’ engraved on it. His veins are so prominent. They bulge out with intensity, and you’d just love to trail your fingers along each of them. “Am I going to have to force an answer out of you?” he roughly asks. His other hand goes to the back of your head and he brings your gaze to his face.  

You quickly shake your head in objection, and he raises his eyebrows for you to spit your answer out. “I was thinking about you, and the way you tackled me…” you admit to him in a low and soft voice. “You liked the way I was on you, little girl?” he asks, moving his hand to the back of your neck. “Y- Yeah, made me feel all… Tingly…” you whisper to him.

“I want to hear you say it, little girl,” Chris ushers, squeezing the back of your neck slightly. “I liked the way you were on top of me…” you tell him breathlessly. “Good girl,” he praises in a slightly deep voice. He pulls you onto his lap and you gasp. His hard, wanting cock is right under your thighs, and you exhale nervously.

“You feel that, little girl? That’s all because of you, you did this to me. And you’re proud of it, aren’t you? Got me so fucking hard just because of you.” Chris squeezes your waist, and you really can feel it all. He’s not wrong, either. You’re so proud that you’ve made a man like him so desperate for you. “Do you know what I was doing, little girl? I was jerking off to the thought of fucking that cunny of yours until you’re begging me to stop,” he growls in your ear.

You moan softly, and the picture comes to mind, making your pussy gush with want. “Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, placing his hand on your inner thigh. You nod, and he raises his eyebrows in warning again. “Yeah, I want that so bad,” you murmur to him. You and your pussy want him so bad. Chris’s hand inches further up your thighs until he’s just an inch away from your bare pussy.

Your thighs are already slightly sticky from your arousal. “Do you know what jerking off is, little girl?” he asks, pulling his hand away from your pussy. You hold back a pathetic, child-like whine, and he begins to lift up your nightgown until he sees your naked body. “Kind of… Isn’t that when a man touches himself? Like how women touch their… down there?” you innocently ask him.

Chris chuckles at how cute you are. So innocent yet oh so slutty. “Have you ever touched yourself, little girl?” he asks, lifting the nightgown over your head. It’s strewn across the floor behind you, and neither of you cares. But you quickly use your hands to cover your most precious, most private parts. “No, no, I don’t want to see any of that. You’re so beautiful, baby, you’re built like an absolute angel,” he husks, and you feel so flustered that you can’t help but giggle.

“T- Thank you… And I’ve done it a few times,” you inform him. Chris nods and smirks, catching the way your nipples have pebbled up. “Have you ever made someone feel good before?” he questions, trailing his broad hands up and down your body. “N- No, it’s pretty lonely up here…” you almost-ashamedly admit. He coos at you. “Do you want me to teach you how to make me feel good, little girl?” he questions, palming your tits.

You moan softly and rub your thighs together as he pinches and pulls at your hard nipples. You’re so small in his large hands, it makes him even harder. You nod your head fervently, wanting to make Chris feel so fucking good. Chris takes his hands away from your body and shifts you in his lap. He reaches down his pants and pulls his cock out of his boxers.

You gasp, having never seen something as big as that. He smirks and uses his right hand to grasp the base of his thick cock. Chris brings your dominant hand down to where his cock is and guides you to wrap your fingers around him. Chris shudders at your soft touch, and he moans softly. “Good girl, yeah,” he praises. “Wrap your hand around me a bit tighter, baby,” he urges, and you do exactly that.

He groans loudly and a small smile stretches across your lips. “N- Now, you’ve got to move your hand up and down. Start off slowly, go all the way to the tip, and then back down,” he instructs, even though he’s helping you out. His hand brings yours all the way to the tip, and then back down; just like he said. His hand leaves yours and goes back to feeling up your pretty body.

“Now do it by yourself, but in a twisting motion, little girl.”

You listen to his words and jerk him off, feeling yourself get wet as his cock twitches in your hand. Your clit throbs and so do the veins on the side of his shaft. Chris curses, and you bite down on your bottom lip. “Good girl, just like that. Fuck, your hand feels so good around me,” he moans, squeezing your waist. You focus on his cock, watching as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down the side of his dick.

It drips onto your slow-moving hand, and you exhale as your movements grow a bit faster. You look at him, watching as his pupils darken with lust. You can tell — it’s written on his face — he wants you to go faster. Your hand speeds up around his cock, making him a moaning mess. “Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. You like making me feel good, don’t you? So eager to please like the good little girl you are,” Chris husks.

His praise goes straight to your needy cunt and he knows this because he can just tell. Your thighs rub together, your breath hitches, you let out a giggle and squeeze a little tighter around his cock. Chris’s hand goes up to your head and smashes your lips against his. You both moan into the kiss, and you straddle both his thighs to get more comfortable.

You place your other hand on his cock and mimic your dominant hand’s movements. You try to keep up with the kiss, but you just can’t. Teeth clash and so do tongues as Chris moves his mouth against yours. He pants and his chest heaves as you continue to stroke him. “Go faster, baby,” he urges, and he pulls his mouth away from yours. He can feel you soaking his jeans, your wetness joining the abundant amount of rips and tears in the material.

Your hand moves faster, twisting perfectly and occasionally squeezing his most sensitive spots as well. Chris pushes your hands away abruptly, and you’re confused. Did you do something wrong? Does he not like you anymore? What happened? “Shit, wrap your mouth around the tip, little girl. Trust me, you’re gonna fucking love it,” he says, and you quickly do so.

You’ll do anything to please him. His mushroom tip is leaking and a raging red. It’s the same red as the rest of his cock, and you could swear it’s almost purplish. You can tell he’s aching because you’ve been through a similar thing. You drop down to the floor and kneel in front of Chris. Your lips smooth around the tip of his hard cock, and you can taste him as soon as he hits your tongue.

He tastes of musk and manliness, along with a hint of saltiness, and it’s oh so addicting. You keep the tip of his cock in your mouth like it’s one of your favourite lollipops and smile around him. Chris smiles and wraps his hand around himself. He jerks himself off quickly, desperate to come in your mouth. “Fucking shit– god, you’re such a good fucking girl,” Chris rasps as he reaches his climax.,

His balls tighten up and his blue eyes roll back into his skull. White, hot, thick ropes of cum shoot out of his tip and fill your mouth. You’re not sure why, but a moan escapes past your throat, and it only makes Chris’s high much better. Chris places both hands on the sides of your head and holds you there, gently. You swallow all his cum as it fills your mouth and leaks from the corners of your lips.

Chris so desperately wants to push your head farther down his cock, but he knows he shouldn’t. Plus, there’s always going to be more time for things like that. He pulls your head away from his cock and watches as a string of saliva tries to keep the two of you connected. You gently lick your lips, still savouring his taste and he smiles down at you. You can’t lie — you feel giddy. Giddy in a way in which you crave his praise and approval like no other.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that? Thank you for helping me out… I do suppose I should return the favour, right?” he teasingly says, lifting you up into his lap. You shake your head out of nervousness. “No? … Why not, baby?” Chris asks, and you gulp thickly. “Don’t wanna rush it… I- never mind, you wouldn’t understand,” you look down and fiddle with your fingers.

The grooves of your nails are smoothed over by your pointer finger. Some dips and rises make you cringe, and others satisfy you. He looks down at your hands and notices the skin picked on the sides. He knows how painful those can be, and he doesn’t want you to feel any pain at all. “I’ll try to understand, darling, but if you don’t tell me, then I’ll be completely clueless,” he speaks to you lowly. “I like the way your words make me feel…” you shyly admit to him.

“Aw, how do they make you feel, baby?” Chris presses, grasping your two hands together. “All warm and small… makes me feel like I have it all. Hey, that rhymes!” you exclaim, bubbling in the utmost adorable giggles ever. “You’re a natural poet, darling. But tell me more…” he urges, rubbing his coarse thumbs against your soft skin. “I get butterflies, and I feel all shy and safe. Your words make me so comfortable yet so vulnerable…” you describe to him even though words can’t describe what you feel.

“Is that right, baby? You’re so cute… Do you- Do you get all tingly and babyish when I use my words?” Chris hesitatingly asks. His voice is so gentle and soft, a low whisper that is so soothing to your ears and rough edges. You nod meekly and smile to yourself. Your cheeks may hurt from all the laughter he caused earlier today but that doesn’t refrain you from hiding your smile.

Now, Chris is no doctor. He’s no professional, he’s no master. He’s just a broken man, but he knows exactly what you’re talking about. But he won’t explain what it is, because he needs you to learn on your own. Maybe with some guidance from him, but he won’t trick you into thinking something completely off base.

“Let’s get cleaned up, okay? Then we’ll sleep, you need the rest. We both do.”

He’s got your name on his tattoo, wearing the same damn clothes since three days ago. A bottle of gin in his hand, and you’d say he’s just wandering. But he isn’t. He was never. The stick-and-poke tattoo may seem a bit much, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. Your name is written in your pretty handwriting. The ink is in his skin, and he’s practically marked as yours, now.

The days go by slower, much slower than he’d like them to. But it doesn’t matter now, because his mission is over, and he’ll be leaving soon. But Chris doesn’t want to leave. His wanderlust has found an end as he finally has a place where he’s meant to be. He’s found heaven in the hills, and between your legs.

“D- Daddy…” you whisper under your breath, loud enough for him to hear. Your hands are locked with his, and they rest at your sides. You’re just in a small bralette, and your hard nipples poke through the fabric. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders and your ankles lace together behind his head. Your neck aches from the angle your body is in, but the pleasure blooming from your core is much more powerful.

Chris is between your legs, and he hums against your wet, throbbing pussy. You moan loudly and squeeze your eyes shut from the feeling. He sucks on your clit harshly, and wetness seeps from your hole. “Feels so good… Oh, my…” you pant. Your hips gyrate and you subconsciously grind your wet cunt against Chris’s face. He pulls his face away from your pussy and licks a broad stripe against you.

You moan again and squeeze his hands tighter. His tongue swirls around your swollen and throbbing clit, bringing you closer and closer to your release. Your taste is addictive, and he could stay between your legs for hours on end, if not for eternities. His beautiful, lovely rings dig into the sides of your fingers, but you don’t care. Chris may treat you like a delicate doll, but he should know how much you love it when he’s rough with you.

“I think I’m gonna come, Daddy…” you cry out to him before a strangled moan leaves your mouth. Chris pulls away from your pussy once again, but this time he spits on your lips. His saliva drops down your cunt and mixes with your wetness, and he goes back to devouring you. He eats you out like a starved man, and you’re squealing at the overwhelming pleasure.

If he was on death row, he’d have your sweet pussy as his last meal.

His tongue works over your clit and brings you closer and closer to your release. It’s coming fast. A searing, heated feeling takes over your body and abdomen as your back arches off your couch. Chris is as hard as a rock, staring you directly in the eyes, and he makes you come on his mouth.

“Oh- Daddy!” you cry out loudly, your mouth falling open into a silent, voiceless scream. Your eyes roll back into your skull and in Chris’s past words, you look like a brain-dead slut. Your wetness gushes out of your drooling hole, and he laps it all up with no problem. He drinks up everything you give him, and then some. Your hands are still laced with his and your chest rises and falls at a fast pace.

“Shh… You did amazing, little one. Taste so fucking sweet, just like nectar,” he hums like a hummingbird, before smacking his lips. You slowly come down from your high as he strokes your hands with his thumbs. Your lids are slightly heavy, but you don’t want to get any shut-eye. Time away from Chris is practically a sin in your eyes. “Thank you, Daddy,” you gratefully reply.

“You’re welcome, little one. Got me so hard,” he husks as he moves to get up. He carefully handles your body and pulls out a handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans. They’ve been washed and scrubbed but there are still faint dandelion and pollen stains that he just doesn’t care enough about. Though the adorable face you were making whilst washing them is something that’ll never leave his mind.

Just like the mental image of you coming undone beneath him.

“Can I make you feel good, Daddy? Pretty please?” you ask sweetly and Chris knows he could say yes, but he doesn’t want to. Making you feel good pleases him, but he doesn’t want to sound so poetic so he chuckles. “Soon, little one, I need to clean you up properly,” he tells you and you jut your bottom lip out, pouting. He coos at you and you scrunch your nose up at the attention.

“But I’m all clean, Daddy!” you reason, reaching over to palm his hard cock through his jeans. Chris chokes on his saliva at the feeling of your touch. “In a bit, little one, you need to listen to Daddy. Okay?” he rasps with a warning in his voice. “Okay, Dada…” you trail off with a deep sigh punctuating your sentence. You fiddle with your fingers as Chris carefully cleans up your pussy.

The damp washcloth is gentle against your sensitive skin. Each movement of his is carried by gentleness and love. “I have a question, Daddy,” you hum after a few seconds of silence. “Go ahead, mushy one,” he says with a smile. You giggle at the nickname before calming yourself down. “Were you really wandering?” you bluntly ask him. Chris’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets, and you gasp.

“What do you mean, little one?” he asks, looking up at you. “Well… You said you were a wanderer! And that’s how you found me! But you don’t seem like a wanderer, you’re too clever to be one,” you explain with a smile on your face. Chris begins to chew on the inside of his cheek, and the skin has already been filled with bite marks and scars. At this point, he should tell you, right? You already know the deepest, most darkest pieces and part of him.

You’ll love him no matter what.

“Well, I wasn’t wandering. You’re so smart, little one. The smartest baby in the world!” he cheers and moves to get up. He sits in the empty spot next to you and lifts you into his lap. You’re still naked and Chris has his shirt off (as usual), so the skin-on-skin contact has you feeling even sleepier. “Sometimes, we lie to protect people. I lied, to protect you, along with many other people. Myself included, of course,” he starts.

“I was sent here with the sole purpose of bringing in your criminal neighbour,” he pauses “and I did.” You nod along with his words, your mind only allowing the most important phrases to sink in. “I arrested him around a month ago, and I was supposed to leave three weeks ago,” he sadly sighs. You look up in a panic, and you’re in shock. “Two weeks ago, I turned in my resignation. I’m not going anywhere,” he quickly adds and your face lights up.

“I’m staying with my best girl, okay?” Chris smiles and leans in to kiss you. You let him do so because God-damn, you’d let him do anything he wants to you. “T- Thank you so much, Daddy!” you squeal and hug him tightly. He laughs in a beautiful cacophony of sounds, and it’s right in your ear.

Chris feels a weight being lifted off his shoulders as you writhe around in his arms. You wiggle around on his hard cock and Chris suppresses a groan. His hands trail from your shoulders to your waist, down to your hips. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and excitement runs in your veins at his touch. Your head rolls back and you exhale shakily. He grips your hips tightly, and you involuntarily buck your hips against his crotch.

Both you and Chris moan before he moves both his hands to your ass. He gropes you roughly, feeling a bit of your wetness on his fingers. “Oh, baby… What’s all that for? Hm? Didn’t Daddy just eat your sweet little pussy out?” he asks in a slightly worried tone. “Y- Yeah… But I can’t help it, Daddy, you always make me so tingly…” you admit to him, shyly.

“Mmm, I like knowing I do this to you. Gets me so fucking hard,” he groans, slapping your ass. You yelp in surprise, but it gets cut off by a whimper. Chris caresses the hit skin and soothes you down from the shock. He smiles at you and then lands another hit. Then another, and then another.

The sting is addictive, just like he is. It leaves you writhing in both pain and pleasure and yet you still want more. “M- more, please,” you quietly beg and Chris coos at you as if you're a pet. And the truth isn’t far off. The coolness of his rings is both brutal and comforting. It soothes you yet acts as if they didn’t just hurt you. “You want more, baby?” he asks in that sweet yet sultry condescending tone of his.

You nod your head and chew on your bottom lip. “‘S too bad you’re gonna have to take what I give you and keep quiet, baby,” he husks, and you whine loudly. Chris flips your bodies around and suddenly you’re on your back, and he’s leaning over you. He locks lips with you and you try your hardest to keep up with the kiss.

His lips move sloppily against yours, but you don’t mind because you’ll take anything he gives you. You moan into true kiss and Chris wedges his knee between your legs. You’d hump him like a bunny because that’s what the demon on your shoulder is telling you to do. But the last time you did something without his permission, you weren’t allowed to make him come for a week.

You just know you’re soaking his jeans but neither of you cares. Chris kisses the corner of your mouth and trails down to your neck, peppering kisses behind as if he’s leaving a trail on your body for when he’s going to explore you later. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw tickles you and Chris falls even more in love with you as your laughter fills the air.

“D- Dada…” you whisper to him as you tilt your head back. His lips land on that sweet spot of yours and your back arches off the couch. Chris smiles against your skin and begins to suck on that sweet spot. Your breath hitches as he bites, licks and sucks on your skin. He marks you up like no other, and you know how much he loves to know that you’re all his.

“Dada… No teasing, please,” you sweetly ask in your soft tone. And how can he turn you down? “In a bit, little girl, be patient for Daddy.” Chris continues to mark you up until he’s satisfied. The feeling of his teeth against your neck and collar bones makes you even wetter than you already are. Possessiveness is carried in his movements, and it only drives you to be needier.

Chris moves further down from your collar bones to the valley of your breasts. Each curve of yours makes him want to sin without any repentance afterwards. He places a kiss there and then looks up at you. “Please, Daddy,” you whisper so quietly it takes him a few seconds to realize what you’ve said. Chris’s hand wraps around your body to your back.

He slowly unclasps your bralette and drags it away from your body at the same pace. You both maintain eye contact all whilst he undresses you to your vulnerability. Chris throws your bra somewhere behind him and places his hands on your body. “Aw, baby… You’re so cute and small,” he sweetly says in an almost shocking manner. Almost as if he doesn't use the size difference as a weapon to make you all soft and mushy.

“Hm, thank you, Daddy,” you tell him because good girls always have manners. “So good, using your manners for Daddy,” he praises, and you wonder if he can read your mind. Your Daddy can do anything, so it would be no surprise if he can. Chris sits upon his knees, but he remains in his towering position. Gently, and with care, he spreads your legs open until he’s satisfied.

He watches as you clench your needy pussy. He just knows your clit is throbbing, and you’re tingly because he just has that effect on you. “Poor baby… Is this all for Daddy?” he asks, and you quickly nod. “Say it, tell me it’s all because of me,” he growls placing his hands on your thighs. Chris slowly moves his hands further down your thighs. His touch is gentle, and he can feel the goosebumps on your thighs beginning to raise.

“‘S all yours, daddy. It’s all because of you,” you tell him breathlessly. “And this pussy is all mine, isn’t it, little girl?” he asks, inching closer to your wet pussy. “Mhm, only yours, Daddy!” you happily assure him, and he smirks at you. “That’s right, little girl. And since it’s all mine, doesn’t that mean I can do whatever I want with it?” he questions, and you nod with no hesitance at all.

Chris traces your wet pussy with his ring-donned pointer finger. “Oh my…” you gasp at the feeling. It may not be much, but your sensitive little pussy struggles to handle it. You clench around nothing again, and he watches, before chuckling at you. “Such a pretty pussy you have, baby, I can’t fucking wait to ruin it,” Chris growls, and you whimper. “Gonna fill you up with my cum after I fuck you, little girl,” he promises, and you never wanted to be fucked so badly until now.

He wonders if his cock could even fit inside you. Usually, he’d want to eat you out and finger you to prepare you. But he’s now thinking with what’s between his legs, and not what’s between his ears. He trails that same pointer finger on your pussy, and becomes mesmerized with the sight. Chris watches as your hole drools with want and need, whilst you watch him.

His already dark eyes are blown out with lust, and it only turns you on even more. Chris knows you’re watching him. He’s not one of the best agents in the FBI for no reason. He looks up at you, and you lock eyes with each other. He smirks and pulls his hand away from your pussy. You hold back a whine, but you still pout in disappointment. Chris begins to unbuckle his pants, and you’re filled with eagerness.

You smile widely, and he coos. “Aw, you’re such a desperate little slut, it’s adorable,” he chuckles, and you shy away. He pulls down his jeans along with his boxers slowly. Chris takes off his jeans and boxers completely, and throws them somewhere around the house. You watch as his cock bounces up and leaks with pre-cum. You just know he’s aching because of how red his cock is.

He’s big, and you already know that. But seeing him in all his naked glory is just something else. The simple yet not so simple idea of Chris’s cock being inside of you is electrifying. It’s both terrifying and exciting. He grabs the base of his cock and the prickly hair pokes the soft skin of his hands, but he doesn’t care. His left hand goes back to your pussy, and begins to rub circles on your clit.

“Oh… Daddy,” you moan quietly. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, so you involuntarily try to shut your legs and keep Chris out. Your knees touch for a brief moment, and he’s having none of that. He separates your legs and climbs on top of you, all while staring you directly in the eyes. His cock drags against your inner thigh. “Oh, is it too much for you, little one?” he asks with faux pity in his tone. You nod and clench your fists to control yourself.

“Too fucking bad, you’re gonna take whatever I give you, and you’re not gonna complain. Isn’t that right, little girl?” he sneers, and you gasp. Usually, you can’t handle someone who raises their voice in the slightest. But hearing Chris do it makes the butterflies in your stomach fly. “Yes, Daddy,” you hum delightfully, and he smiles. “Good girl,” he praises. Chris presses harder on your sensitive pearl of nerves and rubs you in faster circles.

“Daddy…” You moan and it goes straight to his cock. He looks up at you and just knows you’re beginning to drive up that cliff. He slows down his ministrations on your nub, and you bite back a loud whine. “You’re so needy, baby… Already so close to coming, it’s kind of pathetic…” he trails off and more wetness leaks out of you. You’re absolutely soaked and are a little bit ashamed of it.

“Please, Daddy! I’m so close, I’ll do anything,” you beg, but he just doesn’t buy it. “You’ll already do anything I tell you, baby, begging is so useless,” Chris chortles. You let out a small huff and move your hips in a circle, grinding against his thumb. In a flash of blurry moments, Chris pulls his hand away from your pussy and wraps around your neck. He squeezes the sides of your throat, and you gasp quite loudly.

He raises his eyebrow in warning, and you nod in understanding. “Good girl, I don’t want to put you over my knee when I’m feeling so gracious,” he assures, and you smile. Chris brings the tip of his cock to your swollen, needy clit and his pre-cum begins to mix with your wetness. You both moan softly as he rubs his tip on your clit. Your bottom lip finds a home between your teeth and Chris’s tongue swipes over his.

The sight and feeling of his cock on your silky pussy make him so weak in the knees. “Fuck, baby, do you like that? You like it when Daddy makes you feel good with his cock?” Chris asks in a deep, gravelly voice. “Yeah, Daddy… love it so much…” you tell him through a mushy haze of pleasure.

“You’re getting all dumb and stupid already? You’re so cute, little one,” he purrs, and you giggle at his words even though there’s nothing funny about them. “Do you want my cock, little baby? Say it, tell Daddy you want his cock,” he urges, and you look down to where you’re both nearly connected.

“I wan’ your cock, Daddy. Want it so bad, I need it, Daddy,” you beg, and Chris hums. “Just a little more, little girl, it’s like music to my ears,” he smirks, and you bite your bottom lip. “Sing for me, hummingbird,” he pushes, and you just go with whatever your neediness tells you to do.

“I wanna feel your cock deep inside me, Daddy. I want your cum to fill me up until I’m leaking and all stupid. Please, Daddy, please fuck me. I really want your cock, I need it,” you beg and blood rushes to his face and cock. “Fuck, yeah, I’ll give you my fucking cock, and you better take it like the good girl you are,” he growls, and you whimper. Chris slowly drags the fat tip of his shaft down to your drooling, slutty hole.

You whimper loudly, and he looks back at you. Fear is written all over that pretty face of yours, and Chris knows the exact reason why. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be gentle, okay? If you want to stop just say so, and I’ll listen. I won’t hurt you, darling. I promise,” he gently reassures you. You sigh with an almost heavy yet full heart.

You then nod and Chris thanks you for allowing him to fully make you his. “Wanna hold your hand, Dada… Please,” you ask pleasantly, and he nods. “In a bit, little girl, I just need to be careful,” he whispers. Chris slowly begins to push into your wet, tight cunt. You swallow him slowly, and the sight is mesmerizing.

The tightness of your cunt squeezes him in a strong hug, and he wishes he could be buried deep inside you for the rest of his life. “Fuck- Baby, you feeling so fucking good,” he moans while trying to compose himself. You’re still whimpering from the pain, and your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace.

“C- Can I push all the way in, little one? It’ll only hurt for a bit,” he asks, and he looks deep into your eyes. “Mhm… Wanna feel your cock deep inside me, Daddy, please,” you beg, and Chris tries his hardest not to come right here, right now. He thrusts his hips forward, and bottoms out inside you completely.

Your mouth falls open, and you’re silently screaming. The pain isn’t too much, but you feel as though the wind is being knocked out of you. Chris shifts a bit, and that’s when you start to feel it more. He’s so deep inside you, and he’s splitting you in two. “Breathe, baby, breathe,” he says.

You realize you’re holding your breath and it’s no wonder why your heart was beating out of your chest. “You’re doing so- so well, darling. Your little cunny looks so nice when it’s stuffed full with my cock,” he groans, and you whimper. “Dada, is hurtin’...” you whisper, and Chris wants to pull out because he can’t stand the thought of his little girl being hurt.

“Do you want me to stop, little one?” he asks, but you quickly shake your head in objection. Even though the pressure in your core is dwindling, and even though you feel a little too full, you don’t want him to stop. “No stopping, Daddy, please,” you whine and flail your arms towards him. He shushes you soothingly, and you calm down as soon as he flashes a stern look.

The pain soon burns away into nothing but dust and ash, and you finally see why he was so desperate to shove his cock inside of your cunt. It turns into pleasure and your pussy leaks around him. You’re soaking Chris’s cock with no shame at all. “Oh, fuck, baby… You feel so fucking good,” he moans, and you follow with a gasp. “I like the way y- you feel inside me, Daddy, makes me all tingly…” you admit shyly, and Chris chuckles.

“Yeah? Bet it makes you want to be fucked stupid, right, baby?” he questions with a playful smirk on his face. “Yes, Daddy,” you moan. You’re never aware of your surroundings because you’re too caught up in the moments. It’s something Chris scolds you for, but you never learn. But in this moment, you can feel everything. The veins on his cock throb against your silky walls, and you can feel his balls against your ass. His hot breath fans over you as Chris struggles to compose himself.

He slowly drags his hips backwards, pulling out of your pussy until his tip is the only thing in your cunt. The sudden almost-emptiness is surprising, but you quickly get used to it. Chris then pushes back into your pussy, and you moan loudly. “Fucking hell, little one,” he curses under his breath as he bottoms out again. He begins to fuck into you slowly and gently, careful to not hurt you. Even if he wants to fuck you until you’re crying.

The sound of skin on skin is quiet and almost unintelligible. The squelching sounds from your wet pussy and moans fill the room. Chris gently grips your hips and watches as your face contorts into a frown of pleasure and not pain. “Daddy…” you pant softly as you look up at Chris. “Yeah, baby? Am I hurting you?” he asks out of worry. “N-No, it feels so good…” you trail off as one particular thrust lands near your g-spot. And he knows that.

“Wan’ you to fuck me hard, wan’ you to destroy me, Daddy. Please fuck me like the slut I am…” you gently beg and Chris halts his thrusts. His cock twitches inside of you because of your words. Only he can corrupt an innocent angel such as yourself. “Shit- Little one, I don’t want to hurt you, that’s why I’m being so gentle,” Chris explains, but you shake your head. “You could never hurt me, Daddy. Please, I need you,” you beg for one last time, unaware of what you’ve done to him.

Chris roughly pushes his cock back into your cunt without warning. “Awe, I see. My little princess wants to be fucked like the whore she is, hm? Well, whatever princess wants, she gets,” he growls because beginning to fuck you roughly. You moan loudly at the feeling as with each thrust, his cock pummels against your sweet spot roughly. His pelvic bone rubs against your swollen clit and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Daddy!” you cry out as Chris pounds into your poor pussy. The room fills with moans, groans, curse words and wet sounds that all come from the art you two are making. “Aw, what’s wrong, little girl? Can’t take daddy’s cock anymore? Hm? Well, I don’t really give a fuck, you’re just gonna lie there, and take what I give you like a good fucking girl,” he sneers, and you push at his chest.

“It’s so sensitive!” you wail like a little bitch in heat. “But I bet you don’t want me to stop, do you?” Chris asks as a moan bleeds past his plump lips. “Uh-uh, please don’t stop, Daddy!” you squeal after a harsh thrust. The stretch of Chris’s cock is amazing, and you never want the feeling to stop. Chris’s hand leaves your hip and crawls all the way up to your neck. He wraps his fingers around your throat, and squeezes the sides, making you clench tightly around his big, thick cock.

He lowers his face to yours and watches as you react to the way he’s being rough with you. “Oh, God!” you cry out as he makes his thrusts more powerful. “Actually, it’s just ‘Daddy’, but I’m fine with that too,” he slyly smirks. You’re too fucked out to even laugh at his joke. Your eyes roll back into your skull and your back begins to arch off of the couch.  “Awe, are you gonna come around my big fat cock already, slut? How cute,” Chris mocks.

You nod your head and begin babbling like a baby. “But remember, little girl, I have to give you permission to come, okay?” he reminds you, and you whine. Chris’s hand around your throat moves up to grab your jaw, and he stops thrusting into you. “None of that is allowed. Don’t forget your place, little girl,” Chris warns with fury seething through his words. You mumble an apology, trying to formulate the proper words to speak.

“Seems like I really did fuck you stupid,” he chuckles, and you moan at his words. You clamp down on his cock, tempting him to do what you want, like a siren using her voice to lure men into the sea. “Open your mouth up first, little girl,” he orders, and you obediently listen. The searing arousal in your core begins to fade away, and you feel a panic beginning to rise inside you.

Chris drags his hand back down to your throat and rests it there. You watch as he puckers his lips up, and suddenly, he spits into your mouth. You open your mouth even wider and stretch your tongue out. His saliva lands directly on your tongue, and you wait for further instructions before you give in to your desires.

“Swallow it, little girl,” he instructs, and you do exactly so. You open your mouth back up just to earn some praise. “Good fucking girl. The best baby ever,” he smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, Daddy! … Can I have cummies now?” you lovingly ask your Daddy.

“Of course, little one,” he says as he smiles down at you. Chris begins to fuck into you again, deep and hard. With each thrust, he pounds your g-spot and his balls slap against your ass. His remaining hand on your hip moves down to your clit, rubbing your little button with rough circles.

“Daddy… ‘m gonna come!” you moan loudly and Chris fucks you harder. “Come one, baby, come all over my big cock like the good girl you are,” he urges. The building feeling inside you increases, and you feel yourself getting closer to your release. “Fucking come, little girl, wanna hear you sing for me,” he growls. And with one specific thrust, you find yourself coming undone beneath him.

The sight is so fucking beautiful. Watching you as your eyes turn up, your mouth falls open and your cunt hugging his cock just gets him going, and he wishes he could take a picture of you right now. “D- Daddy! Oh, my-” You cut yourself off with a loud moan and Chris keeps on rubbing your clit and fucking you through your orgasm.

You soak his cock until it’s dripping and even then you’re still coming. You moan loudly and Chris can feel himself getting closer to his orgasm. His balls begin to tighten up and a droplet of sweat drips from his neck down to his chest. “Daddy, are you gonna come?” you sweetly ask as he fucks you through your orgasm whilst chasing his own.

“Yeah, baby, Daddy’s gonna fill you up with his cum. I’m gonna leave you leaking with my seed,” Chris growls as he fucks you faster. “Please, Daddy… Please, I want your cum so badly! Please fill me up with your cum, Daddy,” you beg and Chris tosses his head back.

“Fuck, yes, yes yes,” he shouts as his balls tighten up again. He quickens his pace until white, hot, thick ropes of cum spurts out from his aching tip. He fulfills his promise and your wish, filling you up with his cum until there’s nothing left. His cum mixes with your juices as he paints your walls with no expertise whatsoever. Chris slumps on top of your body, engulfing you in a bear hug as his cock remains buried inside of you.

You’re both panting and struggling to come down from the euphoric feelings. You look up at Chris make lock eyes with him for the nth time. There’ll never be a day where you don’t get lost in his eyes. They’re beautiful, absolutely beautiful. “You did so fucking good, little one,” he praises, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Thank you very, very much, Daddy,” you slur, feeling yourself beginning to sleep into little space. “Daddy?” you call out, tapping his bicep after a few seconds. “Yeah, baby?” he asks, lifting himself up to get a better view of your face. “Will you really stay?” you ask with a bit of worry in your voice. He sighs with a full heart.

“Always.”

[mhysa-leesi]

𝕄𝕣𝕤. 𝔸𝕝𝕝-𝔸𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕟

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers 𝒳 (femme) Reader ⭐.

Summary: “Steve Rogers deserves nothing less than an All-American Apple Pie Life, with his Miss America. And he’ll stop at nothing to have it.” 

Word Count: 3,472 

TW‼: Drugging, Kidnapping, Non-Con, Smut, Minor Stockholm Syndrome, Minor Misogynistic Themes, and 1940′s Housewife Themes. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 

AN Cont.:  If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION. 

Steve Rogers is a hero who’s sacrificed so much for the greater good of the world. He’s been fighting his entire life, a constant cycle of getting knocked down, just to get back up and do it all again the next day. A constant blur of black and blue, of broken bones, and bloodied knuckles. Steve didn’t complain too often, he enjoyed waking up every morning and saving the world. He was grateful for the life he led, a life of justice and liberty. So, why did he feel so unfulfilled? Unaccomplished? Incomplete?

Steve would catch himself daydreaming during briefings, dreaming of his childhood. He dreamt about Coney Island, about the smell of popcorn, and the sticky feel of melting popsicles on his fingers. He was stuck in the past and he knew it, maybe he truly was “The Man Out of Time”. He’d journal his thoughts, sketching his memories in charcoal and faded colors. Mostly he’d sketch faces of his past, but there has only been one face as of late that lived within the thick pages. (Y/N). The newest Avenger, his Miss America.

He found himself fantasizing about her with every gentle curve of his pencil, imagining it was his hands running over her hips and not his graphite. The front of his jeans tightened as he shaded her breasts, and he wondered if they were as soft and supple as he made them look on paper. He captured her eyes, adding that sparkle and depth that seemed to become her. Her hair, the unruly hairs, and the ones always perfectly in place. He colored her skin, his heart skipping as he imagined running his lips over the skin of her thighs. Her star-spangled leotard left little to the imagination, so Steve found other things to imagine. The sound of her moans and whimpers, how she’d look as he took her apart one lick and thrust at a time, and how she’d look with him dripping from in-between her legs.

Steve groaned as he threw down his pencil, running his graphite-stained hands over his face in frustration before closing his sketchbook with a soft thump. He needed a distraction--and a cold shower…

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Today was Lila, Clint’s daughter’s birthday, and all of the Avengers were invited to the festivities. Steve sat next to Bucky, both of them donning bright pink party hats with the words “Happy Birthday” on them in glitter swirls. Bucky was telling Steve about a girl he had recently met at some café or something--truth be told Steve wasn’t listening to his best friend. His attention was elsewhere, across the room, to be exact.

You were in a green tonal dress that perfectly complemented your skin tone, with puff sleeves and floral print. Steve was entranced as he watched you bounce baby Nathaniel on your hip. And he watched as the baby babbled and yanked your hair, making you laugh and wince as you handed him back to his mother. He knew at that moment what he had been missing, what he had been deprived of--what he had deserved after all this time. A family, a white-picket fence… You.

It all suddenly made sense as if he had just completed a puzzle he’d been working on since he woke up from the ice. That was what he wanted--no… It was what he needed, what he deserved. All of his life he had made sacrifice after sacrifice, the world owed him this one thing, and he’d have it. No matter the cost.

You were perfect. A nice girl with a strong head on your shoulders and a good heart, who better to start a life with? There was no question, you’d be his wife, the mother of his children. You’d see it in time, but he couldn’t wait for you. He was a man out of time, after all…

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It had been almost a month since his revelation, but it was all due in good time. He had made the arrangements, he had been meticulous in his planning. He made sure to get every single detail right, his and your future depended on his perfection. The trap had been set, now he just needed to go hunting for his prey.

You were just coming back from training with Natasha, your skin sheen with sweat and kissed with soft purple bruises from sparring with the Widow. You were laughing at something she had said, giving Steve a small wave before making your way to the communal fridge. He patiently watched as you grabbed your water bottle, your name written in sharpie with stickers on the front. He fidgeted as you took three big gulps, smacking your lips as water dribbled down your chin and onto your chest.

Steve watched as you made your way to your bedroom, he smiled as he noticed a slight stumble in your steps. The drug took faster than he had expected. He waited until he heard the click of the closing door, but it never came. Like a silent shadow, he crept down the hall to the threshold of your room. You were splayed out on the edge of your bed, legs dangling, and your hair a mess.

He couldn’t help himself. He nudged your arm for a response and nothing; you were out cold. A dangerous smirk crossed his face as he knelt down above you, his shadow consuming you in every delicious way possible. He touched your cheek, tracing down to your jaw, and up to your lips. They were so soft, so plump, and oh, so kissable. He tasted you then, molding his lips to yours in a one-sided dance. Steve shivered as he explored your unconscious body, he groped, squeezed, and tasted your salty skin.

He stopped himself. He only had three hours to move you, six tops if his hunch about you skipping breakfast that morning was right. So, he picked up your unconscious body and began the next steps to his plan…

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When you awoke your limbs were stiff and mind foggy. You stretched away the stiffness and rolled onto your side, blindly reaching for your bottle of water. When your hand failed to meet your nightstand, you froze. What the hell? Confused, you reached out again; telling yourself you just misjudged the distance. But when your hand once again met an empty space, you sat up with a start. You looked around the unfamiliar bedroom. The walls were striped, the floor a godawful floral carpet, and the bed had a wooden frame and a blue blanket tucked into the corners. You blinked, thinking that this room would magically melt into your bedroom at the Tower, and when it remained the same, you blinked again for good measure. You stood on shaky legs and looked around the room once more, disbelief clouding your better judgment. The bedroom looked straight out of a 1940’s catalog.

When the lock on the bedroom door jiggled, you whirled around with your fists raised to meet your captor. You were prepared to see a HYDRA Agent or some other villain with a vendetta against you. What you weren’t prepared for was Steve Rogers. He stood dressed in his old military uniform, his hair neatly combed, and his face clean-shaven.

“Steve? What’s going on?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

What do I mean? “This,” you gesture wildly with your hands in disbelief, “Where are we?”

“Home,” he said calmly.

“Whose home?”

“Ours, honey,”

You narrowed your eyes at the man before you. This couldn’t be your Steve Rogers, this wasn’t your Captain or friend. This was… someone else. You took a tentative step forward, searching for an eerie glow to his blue eyes, for an explanation for his weird behavior. This had to be mind-control, some elaborate HYDRA plot to disarm the Avengers. This wasn’t Steve, right?

“Steve,” you said carefully, “this isn’t our home. We live at the Tower, remember? With Nat, Sam, and Bucky?”

Steve’s frown deepened as you continued to speak to him like an incompetent child, “No. This is our new home, (Y/N). I made it just for us.”

You nodded along as you slowly crept forward toward the door. He shyly stuffed his hands in his pockets as he continued speaking, confessing. When you were close enough, you bolted past him. But you weren’t faster than Steve Rogers. He caught you by the ponytail and threw you back into the bedroom on the floor, kicking the door shut behind him. You scrambled to your feet and into a defensive position as Steve made another grab for you. You twisted and threw a right hook to his jaw, the strength of your powered punch was enough to send him stumbling backward, but it wasn’t enough to win against him. The same serum that made him had made you, too. But you’d be a goddamn idiot to think that you were stronger than Steve Rogers.

You made another run for the exit, but you didn’t get very far as Steve caught you yet again by your ankle. You kicked, punched, scratched, and flailed as he overpowered you. The man straddled your wriggling form and placed his hands around your throat. Squeezing and squeezing until the oxygen caught in your throat and your limbs began to relax. Your arms and legs went lax as your vision began to dot and blacken. When you let out the last wisp of air from your lungs is when Steve released you. You wheezed and gasped like a fish out of the water as you struggled to breathe, to fill your lungs with oxygen once again. You massaged your throat and glared up at Steve who was straightening and dusting off his uniform.

“I’ll only tell you this once, (Y/N). If you disobey me, in any way shape, or form, you’ll be punished. Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned, “Now, get cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready.”

He opened the closet and pulled out a baby blue dress with silver embroidered star details around the off-shoulder neckline, and set it on the bed before you. You sat on the floor, just silently glaring and snarling as he knelt down in front of you with a small velvet box and diamond ring in hand. He grabbed your left hand and went to place it on your ring finger, but before he could slide the diamond on your finger, you wrenched your hand away and cracked him across the cheek. The slap seemed to echo throughout the room as his jaw ticked in silent anger. Before you could react, Steve pulled his hand back and returned the slap. The impact sent your head whipping sharply to the side, and caused your eyes to water with prickling, unshed tears. Your cheek stung when you touched it.

“I told you, (Y/N),” he sighed, “You made me do that.”

“I didn’t make you do shit, Rogers,” you spit.

You flinched as he pointed an angry and threatening finger in your face, “Language.”

He left you then after reminding you of dinner. Alone in the bedroom, you scowled at the dress that seemed to mock you. You threw it onto the floor and stomped out of the room, fueled by anger and hatred.

You found him in the kitchen, knife in hand as he carved a glazed turkey. His smile dropped as he took in your dress-less form. You were still in your gym clothes from earlier. Steve’s nostrils flared as he set the knife down, he stared at the turkey before turning his gaze to you.

“You’re not wearing the dress,”

“No,” you said flatly.

“And why not?”

You scoffed at him, “Why do you think, Steve?”

He moved his head to the side as he grumbled something under his breath. His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. You smirked triumphantly, you didn’t know why, but getting under his skin was satisfying. You weren’t going to make this easy for him, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be wearing that damn dress.

As if he had read your mind, he looked back at you with an ominous smile. He rounded the counter and stood in front of you, his large frame so much bigger than yours. In any other scenario, it would’ve been intimidating--having your Captain looming over you so threateningly. But right now, at this moment, you couldn’t care less. You wanted to piss him off, to knock him down off his pedestal. You’d be damned if you bent to his sick will.

Your eyes darted behind Steve to the counter where the knife waited for you. Before he could track your movements, you made a dive for it. Rolling over the island as you quickly readied the knife. You slashed and stabbed at Steve, growling in frustration as he effortlessly blocked and dodged all of your attacks. In one quick and fluid movement, Steve grabbed and twisted your wrist; forcing you to drop the knife. Your heart breaking with the loud clatter as it hits the floor.

Steve dragged you to the table by the back of your neck and slammed your cheek down onto the wood. Empty wine glasses and plates clattered with the impact. You grunted and kicked out your legs blindly, settling for a shin kick--anything. Steve slammed your head against the table once more as you continued to fight against him. He did it again, and again, and again until your vision blurred and your blood splattered against the polished wood. You weakly clawed at the plates and silverware around you, desperately trying to cling onto something. When your fingers wrapped around on a fork, you didn’t hesitate. You stabbed Steve’s thigh and summoned all of your remaining strength to throw him into the wall.

You fell back as you panted for breath, arming yourself with another piece of random cutlery. You threw a steak knife, missing him by just an inch. Steve growled as he dragged you by your kicking legs, hauling you up, just to slam you down onto the table once more. He held your face down as he growled in your ear.

“You have a lot of fight in you, (Y/N). Breaking you is going to be so much fun, honey,”

Slam.

“I’ll beat that spark out of you, if you make me, (Y/N). So why don’t you just be a good girl for me, hmm?”

Steve took hold of your neck once more as he guided you up the stairs and into the bedroom. He shoved you down onto the bed, and you landed on your stomach with a bounce. Your head was throbbing with an uncomfortable fog that settled over your thoughts. You murmured weakly in protest as Steve began to undress you. You felt the blood from your head drip down to your ear and down your neck.

Panic set your heart in motion as you felt him tug your leggings down your legs. Your brain and body kicked into a desperate overdrive as you writhed beneath him. You tried to shove him away, you summoned all of your super strength and thrashed, but you were simply no match for him--you were utterly powerless and at his mercy. His hands explored your thighs, dipping between them and squeezing that soft, supple inner skin. You scrambled to your knees, inadvertently pressing and grinding your ass to his front. He groaned as he moved his hands to your hips, angling them up as he ground down onto you with a silent promise of what was to come.

His hand dipped down and he held his prize within his hand. He groped and you grunted as you clawed blindly at his forearms, grabbing his wrists as he yanked down your cotton panties past your knees. You screamed as he shoved his fingers inside you, forcing his knuckles past your folds. You kicked and cursed him, hoping your struggle would be enough for him to let you go. You screamed louder than you had ever screamed before, so loud your head ached and lungs burned. With an annoyed grunt, Steve wrapped his thick arm around your neck in a chokehold to shut you up. You babbled breathlessly as you slapped at his arm.

“Steve,” you choked, “Please…”

He gave you one last strong warning squeeze before letting you fall flat on your back, coughing and gasping for breath.

“All you had to do was be good for me, (Y/N). I told you, bad girls get punished,”

He withdrew as he undid his fly. You swallowed thickly, wincing as your throat burned from his assault. You grabbed at his wrists, but he just batted your weak hands away as he held you down with one hand. The other gripping his thick, swollen length. You saw the muscles of his stomach tighten as he parted your legs. His grip on the back of your knees was bruising as he held them apart, lining himself up to your entrance. You tried once more to shimmy away, but he had you where he wanted you; vulnerable and open to him. He bent over you, his eyes black with lust, as he invited himself inside of you. He pushed himself inside, agonizingly slow, inch by inch, just relishing in the grip of you. You were too dry, too unwelcoming, but it didn’t matter to him. You were perfect, warm, and tight. He moaned then, as he forced himself deeper into you, pushing and pushing until his pelvis touched yours.

“Steve, please,” you sobbed, “please, stop…”

He shushed your pleas as his face scrunched in pleasure with every shallow thrust. You gritted your teeth to keep yourself silent, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. But he didn’t seem to notice as he tilted your hips up, finding his own slow, steady rhythm as he fucked into you. He cupped your face and forced his lips onto yours, his tongue swiping and exploring your mouth. You slapped at his head, but he never relented, never pulled back from his searing kiss. He moaned into your mouth as his hips skipped a beat. You took that opportunity, the falter of his hips, to bite down on his tongue. Then, did he finally relent.

He pulled away from you, his hips stilling inside of you. He carefully touched his tender tongue, scowling as he pulled away bloodied fingers. Steve drew back his hand and slapped you across the face. The smack of flesh striking flesh echoed throughout the room. You sneered at him and he frowned in disappointment before cracking you once more. You yelped as he held you down by your neck. Steve had found a new rhythm, and it was relentless. His tempo was fast, and he made sure to never miss a beat as he hammered into your abused cunt. He put pressure on your throat, but not enough to send you into a pool of cold unconsciousness. No… he wanted you awake for this, lucid, and remembering.

His groans and moans grew louder, duetting with the lewd notes of your squelching pussy and his skin slapping against yours. The repulsive symphony he had conducted finally reached its ungodly climax. You sobbed as you felt his warmth flood within you, as he shamelessly emptied himself deep inside of you. He sat back on his haunches, gently pulling himself from your wet grip. Your body instantly curled in on itself, shielding you from the man before you. The man you had once admired. You lay there, just shaking, whether it was from shock or anger, you didn’t know.

You felt as he dropped the baby blue dress with the silver embroidered stars next to you. You sniffled as you looked at the dress in defeat, silently dressing in the blue cotton. When you were dressed, Steve helped you to your feet, holding you against his chest as he gently swayed you. He caressed your head, embracing you gently as if he hadn’t just used your body, as if he was your sweet and loving husband, as if this was normal.

“Dinner is probably cold by now,” he sighed, “It’s okay, though. You can try again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” your voice was smaller now, weaker, afraid.

He hummed, “It’s a wife’s duty to cook and care for her husband, (Y/N). I think I’d like meatloaf for dinner, and apple pie for dessert. What do you think, honey?”

You hesitated, you wanted to spit at him, to curse, to smack, punch, and kick, but your body was frozen against his. When you didn’t reply, his grip on you tightened threateningly, making you flinch.

“Yes, that sounds good, Steve,” you whispered. He kissed your head as he gently swayed you, his warm release slowly dripping down your shaking legs.