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jezebelblues · 5 days ago

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𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐘𝐍 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭.

𝐂𝐖: requested exrry blurb (thank u anon!), slight angst, happy ending, fem!reader, actress!reader, unedited.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 5k

❏ HI ! it’s been such a long time :( but i’m hoping i’m finally through with writers block. i feel like this doesn’t exactlyyyy fit anon’s request but i hope u liked it even a lil bit! i’m not 100% happy w this but i really wanna get something out so this will just have to suffice. missed yall <3

masterlist

there are moments in every love story when the world rearranges itself, tilts just enough to change the course of everything. it's the way a cigarette burns unevenly when the wind interferes, how a misplaced step shifts the dancer's rhythm, or the way a train leaves the station one minute too soon. for harry and YN, their love had been both a symphony and a storm, a masterpiece constructed on fragile scaffolding. in its final act, it had unraveled quietly, with only the sound of two hearts breaking in unison.

they hadn’t spoken in two years. two years of silences punctuated only by the occasional headline, the brush of a photo on a magazine rack, his voice threading through the speakers of a café. the world, it seemed, refused to let her forget him. but there he was now, not a photograph or a memory, but him. real, palpable, standing at the edge of her periphery like a ghost who hadn’t yet decided if it would haunt her or let her go.

YN leaned against the balustrade, clutching a glass of something that tasted more sour than it should have. the event itself was a haze of champagne flutes and low conversations, an industry soirée dripping in muted opulence. her dress was a deep shade of dusk, clinging to her like a second skin, and she felt beautiful in it—had felt beautiful in it—until she saw him.

harry was dressed as he always was: an effortless mosaic of contradictions. the suit was tailored to perfection, but his hair, unruly curls with the hint of rebellion, softened the sharp edges. there was no mistaking the tilt of his head, the way his eyes skimmed the room with an almost reluctant ease. she wondered if he’d seen her yet, if he’d feel that same quiet thrum in his chest when he did.

as if on cue, his eyes met hers.

the evening wasn’t designed for heartache. the sky, opalescent and blushing, rippled with the soft hues of twilight. lights strung through the manicured gardens of the estate flickered like fireflies caught in some eternal dance, glasses catching the shimmer like constellations in orbit. laughter rippled through the space, every corner alive with movement and conversation, yet harry could feel only the staccato of his pulse, sharp and relentless.

he wasn't supposed to see her tonight. it wasn't part of the plan—then again, plans were always shaky things when it came to them, built on the hope that tomorrow wouldn't bring a gust strong enough to dismantle it all.

it wasn’t a moment of cinematic epiphany. there was no gasp, no clinking glass slipping from trembling fingers. it was quieter than that, heavier. their eyes had met, and the weight of two years folded between them like a tide coming in—inevitable, undeniable.

his gaze dropped to her hands, searching for a ring, as though her life might have accelerated in the time since they'd parted. nothing. his chest tightened with something unnamable—relief? regret? both?

the last time they’d been in the same room, the air had been filled with shouting and static. their words had ricocheted off walls that had once heard laughter. they had been too much and not enough, two meteors colliding, destroying everything they touched in their desperate attempt to remain whole.

she loved him. god, how she had loved him. loves.

their love had been big. not in the way people tell stories about epic romances, but in the way it consumed everything around it. they fought like gods waging war. they loved like the first spring after a century of winter. they tore each other apart and put each other back together, over and over, until they couldn't remember what they had looked like before.

they stood like that for what felt like hours but must've been seconds, suspended in a quiet kind of agony. the people around them blurred into shapes, the air alive with the hum of champagne-fueled conversations and the laughter of people who had no concept of loss beyond the polite kind—misplaced keys, a delayed flight, the end of a film they'd rather not have finished. the only thing that seemed real was the chasm between them—filled with every moment they'd ever shared, every word spoken and unspoken, every touch and tear and promise.

he was walking toward her now. she could feel it in her chest before she saw it—the air shifting, the atoms around her realigning themselves to make room for his presence.

YN was radiant, in the way she always had been— light incarnate. her eyes, the same shade of longing he remembered, tried not to meet his own, but of course, they did. she's only human, and humans have always been drawn to the things that ruin them.

“YN.” he breathed when he was close enough, her name falling from his lips like a prayer he wasn’t sure he was allowed to utter.

“harry.” his name tasted unfamiliar on her tongue, like a word spoken in a foreign language after years of disuse.

there were too many things she wanted to say, too many memories fighting to rise to the surface. she remembered the way his hands had once mapped her skin like a cartographer desperate to chart every inch. she remembered mornings spent tangled in sheets, the sunlight spilling over their laughter. she remembered the fights, the nights spent in separate rooms, the echoes of their own voices loud in the spaces between them.

“you look—” he started, then stopped, as though the right words had slipped through his fingers.

“so do you.”

silence bloomed between them, heavy and awkward, like a third presence neither of them invited. she takes a sip of her drink to fill it, but the taste is sour, bitter. or maybe that's just her.

he couldn’t tell how long they just stood there. time had a way of folding in on itself since her, the days bleeding into nights, the minutes stretching and collapsing all at once. einstein once said time was relative, but harry was sure he hadn't meant this.

his lips parted, “i didn’t think you’d be here.”

“neither did i.”

the truth was, she almost hadn’t come. it was only her publicist’s insistence that had dragged her out of her apartment and into this room filled with people who didn’t really know her. but now, standing here in front of him, she wondered if some part of her had known—had hoped.

there was a question hanging in the air between them, not uttered, but loud enough to fill the silence. had they made a mistake?

he remembers how they agreed it was for the best—right person, wrong time. they'd parted with a kiss that tasted of salt and regret, a mutual agreement born not out of lack of love, but out of too much of it.

but how could it be for the best when the air at home still smelled like her, when her name was stitched into the fabric of every song he wrote? he thought of the way she used to rest her head against his chest at night, the way her fingers traced lazy patterns along his skin, as if she were memorizing him in braille. the intimacy of it—the quiet kind, the kind that felt like forever—had undone him. no one ever teaches you how to live without forever.

the first time they met, they were children pretending to be adults. a festival in the desert, both of them younger and wilder, sweat-soaked and sunburnt and drunk on music. they danced in a crowd of thousands, but it felt like the earth shrank to the size of a postage stamp, and they were the only two people left. he had kissed her that night, tequila and the promise of something infinite lingering on his tongue.

“i’ve missed you,” he admitted, so softly she almost didn’t hear it.

her heart stuttered, the words settling into the cracks she hadn’t known were still there. “me too.”

and just like that, the world rearranged itself again.

it had been three days, but the memory of her face still lingered on the edges of harry’s consciousness like the afterimage of a camera flash. no matter how many times he blinked, it refused to fade. he felt haunted—not in the dramatic sense of ghosts rattling chains, but in the quiet, insidious way grief lingers, reshaping the air around it. she had looked beautiful, devastatingly so. and when their eyes had met, he swore he felt time buckle under the weight of something he couldn’t acknowledge, not yet.

it was morning now, or what passed for it in january—a hesitant kind of light filtering through the clouds, pale and thin like it didn’t quite belong. harry sat at his kitchen table, a cup of tea cooling between his hands. the mug had been a gift from gemma years ago, the words world’s okayest brother faded from too many cycles through the dishwasher. he liked its imperfection, the way it felt worn and familiar. it reminded him of things that didn’t change, which was a comfort on days like these.

the newspapers were spread out in front of him, though he wasn’t reading them. his eyes kept drifting to the same headline over and over: YN stuns at charity gala, sparking reunion rumors. there was a picture, of course. she was outside, her dress a shadow clinging to her frame, her gaze distant and heavy with thoughts he couldn’t begin to guess at.

it was cruel, he thought, how the world always seemed to capture her in a way that felt so achingly intimate. even in the stillness of a photograph, she looked alive, as though she might step off the page and straight into his arms.

but she wouldn’t.

he hadn’t expected to see her, not after all this time. the last two years had been a lesson in avoidance—of places she might be, of mutual friends who still spoke her name with a fondness that made his chest ache. he had buried himself in work, in music, in anything that might fill the spaces she had left behind. and for a while, it had worked. or at least, it had felt like it did.

until three days ago.

“you’re brooding.”

the voice startled him, and he looked up to find jeff standing in the doorway, a coffee cup in one hand and a knowing look in the other.

“morning to you, too,” harry muttered, running a hand through his hair.

he raised an eyebrow. “you’ve been staring at that paper for the better part of an hour. do you want to talk about it, or should i just pretend i don’t notice?”

“not much to talk about, yeah?”

“uh-huh.” he set his coffee down and slid into the chair opposite him. “you saw her.”

“yeah.”

“and?”

harry sighed, “i dunno. s’like… seeing her again made everything i’ve been trying to forget just resurface. two fucking years of nothing and then—” he gestured vaguely, another sigh falling from his lips.

“you still care about her.”

“‘course i do,” harry said, almost sharply. “but that doesn’t mean it changes anything. timing wasn’t right—we missed out.”

jeff studied him for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. “you know, timing’s a funny thing. but things do change, harry. don’t lose something you never needed to lose in the first place.”

the words hit harder than harry wanted to admit. he didn’t respond, instead lifting his mug to his lips and taking a long sip.

the tea had gone cold.

–

the email arrived in the late afternoon, slipping into her inbox like an intruder she hadn’t invited. YN stared at the screen for a long time, her tea cooling on the windowsill beside her. she didn’t open it right away; instead, she just sat there, the glow of her laptop casting faint shadows on the walls of her living room.

harry’s name stared back at her, bold and impossible to ignore. two years of silence, and now this.

the day had started out quiet. she’d spent the morning working through a script, her highlighter uncapping and capping in time with the low hum of the music she had on in the background. a storm had rolled in sometime around noon, the sky turning the color of damp stone. she liked storms—their chaos, the way they reminded her of things bigger than herself.

she didn’t like this.

her thumb hovered over the trackpad, indecisive. opening the email felt like a betrayal of all the walls she’d built, but leaving it unread felt equally unbearable. the memory of seeing him at the gala, standing there like something carved out of memory and moonlight, tugged at her resolve.

so, she clicked.

subject: reaching out

from: hs@—

to: YN@—

i wasn’t sure if this was still your email. if it’s not, i guess someone else is reading this, which would be… awkward. but if it is you, then: hey.

i know it’s been a while. seeing you the other night caught me off guard. in a good way. you looked beautiful. not that that’s news or anything, but still. it felt worth saying.

i’ve been thinking about you. not in a way that expects anything, just thinking. like in the way you’re in the lyrics i write without thinking. or when i see a blank sheet of paper i think of the origami you’d make on a whim.

this probably sounds ridiculous. i don’t really know what i’m trying to say. maybe just that it was good to see you.

for old times sake: all my stars and moons,

all my stars and moons.

he used to say it with a lopsided smile, his voice soft, reverent, like it was the only way he could capture what she meant to him.

it wasn't just an i love you—it was a promise, a vow that she had been his beginning and his end. her reply had always been equally unorthodox, a kind of shared language only they understood.

she read the email twice, then a third time, the words tumbling through her mind like loose change in a pocket.

it wasn’t much. it wasn’t an apology or an admission or even an invitation. but it was something—a crack in the silence, a thread pulled loose from fabric.

her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her mind a cacophony of what-ifs. she didn’t know what to say—didn’t know if she should say anything.

the cursor blinked at her, patient and unyielding. YN rested her chin in her hand, staring at the blank reply box as if it might conjure the words for her. the storm outside continued its symphony, wind rattling the windowpanes in uneven bursts. it felt fitting—this chaotic, uncertain moment mirrored by the world beyond her walls.

she had typed and deleted half a dozen responses already, each one feeling either too much or not enough.

harry, she’d started, but even his name felt loaded, like a weight she couldn’t quite lift.

it’s good to hear from you. no, too polite, too distant, too not them.

why now? the most honest question, but also the one she didn’t have the courage to ask outright.

she leaned back in her chair, exhaling sharply. part of her wanted to ignore it. to close her laptop, pour another cup of tea, and pretend she hadn’t read it. but that wasn’t who she was—not with him.

because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much they had broken each other, there was still that small, stubborn part of her that believed in the rightness of them.

she let her fingers hover over the keyboard, her thoughts coalescing into something that felt almost like clarity.

harry,

it is still my email. though if it weren’t, i’d like to think whoever got this would’ve found it endearing.

i don’t know how to describe how it felt seeing you again. unexpected doesn’t feel like enough. i wasn’t ready for it, i guess. not that anyone’s ever really ready to run into their past like that. believe me when i say that you looked even more beautiful.

your email was nice to read, though i’m not sure how to respond to it. i don’t know if i have the right words anymore, or if i ever did. but i’ve been thinking about you too. i’m not sure that ever really stopped, if i’m honest. it’s strange, isn’t it? how someone can take up so much space in your mind, even after so much time has passed.

it’s hard to know what else to say. part of me wonders if we made a mistake. you’re making me remember paper cranes on your coffee table, of mornings where the sunlight always seemed brighter on your side of the bed. remembering makes it harder to pretend like none of it mattered.

but it did. it still does. in ways i can't always explain, and maybe that's why i don't know how to respond. anyway, i guess i just wanted to say that it was good to see you, too.

forever and a day,

YN.

her finger hovered over the send button, her heart hammering in her chest. there was no taking it back once it was gone, no undoing the vulnerability she had laid bare. but she clicked it anyway, the whoosh of the email sending ringing loud in the quiet of her apartment.

forever and a day.

it had been her answer to him, her way of telling him that love wasn't bound by time or space, that it was infinite. it had been their secret, the thread woven through the chaos of their lives.

she didn’t know what would come next. maybe nothing. maybe everything. so, she waited—which only let things unravel further.

the emails became their lifeline over the past few days, a tenuous thread bridging the gap between the past and whatever they were doing now. it had started cautiously—polite acknowledgments, carefully chosen words that skirted too close to old wounds. but as the hours and days wore on, their messages grew longer, softer, laced with the quiet intimacy of people rediscovering the shape of each other.

harry had spent more time staring at his screen than he cared to admit, his fingers hovering over the keys as he tried to balance honesty with restraint. they wrote about everything and nothing—her latest film, a quiet piece shot in the polish countryside, his afternoons spent in the studio, the strange emptiness of passing the time during a break.

sometimes, they slipped into the past. little anecdotes laced with humor or wistfulness, as though they were tiptoeing around the weight of what they’d once shared. he’d told her about the tulips he passed by in the shop one evening, how it made him think of her, if he’d ever buy such a thing for her again—and she’d replied with a teasing remark about how he’d always overthought these things.

it felt natural in a way neither of them had anticipated, like a rhythm they’d rediscovered without meaning to. but beneath the easy flow of words, there was a tension—an unspoken question threading its way through every sentence: what now?

and then, her last email.

he’d read it three times before he noticed the address tucked neatly at the bottom, like an afterthought.

subject: RE: late night thoughts

from: YN@—

to: hs@—

i don’t know why i’m telling you this, but the tulips? i would’ve liked them :)

anyway, you’re right! it’s easier to write like this, but it also feels a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it? like we’re pen pals in some old novel. maybe we should talk.

here’s my address. i’ve moved since before everything happened between us. if you’re ever around, stop by. no pressure though.

harry had laughed aloud when he saw it, shaking his head in disbelief. she hadn’t given him her number, but her address? it was such a maddeningly her thing to do.

he stared at the screen for a while afterward, debating what it meant, whether he should go, what he’d say if he did. and then, as if fate had decided for him, he found himself standing in another flower shop the next afternoon, staring at a display of tulips.

the shopkeeper had been kind, if a bit amused by his indecision. “you can’t go wrong with red,” she’d said, handing him a bunch wrapped in simple brown paper. “everyone likes red, yeah?”

he’d nodded, though his mind had been elsewhere, spiraling through a thousand scenarios of how this meeting might go.

and now, here he was, standing outside her building with the flowers clutched in one hand, his other hand shoved into the pocket of his coat.

he felt ridiculous. what was he doing here, showing up like this? but the thought of turning back felt worse. he buzzed her apartment, his heart pounding as he waited for her voice to crackle through the intercom.

“hello?”

“oh, YN. hi! it’s harry.”

a pause and the breathiest giggle, so quiet harry wasn’t sure if it was her or the crackle of the intercom. “come up.”

once up, she opened the door before he could knock, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of her apartment. she looked different and yet entirely the same—her hair pulled back, her sweater falling loosely over her frame, the kind of effortless beauty that had always undone him.

“hi.”

“hi,” he echoed, offering her a tentative smile.

she glanced at the tulips in his hand, her lips twitching into a small, knowing grin. “you brought flowers.”

“yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “thought about daisies. or lilies. but tulips–”

“you overthought it.”

“probably,” he said, handing them to her. “but you said you would’ve liked them.”

she took the flowers, her fingers brushing his briefly. “i do.”

he hesitated, shifting on his feet. “you didn’t give me your number, but you gave me your address. thought that was funny.”

her laugh was soft, almost shy. “guess i figured if you wanted to talk, you’d show up.”

“and here i am.”

“here you are.”

she stepped aside, letting him in, her apartment warm and inviting in contrast to the chill outside. the space was a bit small but full of character—books stacked haphazardly on shelves, a record player in the corner, the faint scent of tea lingering in the air.

“s’bigger than the last one.”

she hummed, setting the tulips on the counter and reaching for a vase. “it’s cozy.”

he watched her move, his chest tightening at the familiarity of it all—the way she tilted her head when she was concentrating, the slight curve of her mouth as she arranged the flowers.

“i’m surprised you actually came over.”

“‘course i did,” he said, his gaze steady. “you asked.”

“i didn’t think you would.”

he frowned slightly, “oh,” he paused, “why not?”

she shrugged, turning back to the flowers. “it’s been a long time, i guess. people change.”

“how much d’you think changes in two years?”

her hands stilled, her fingers brushing against the edge of a petal. she didn’t look at him, but he could see the way her shoulders tensed, the way her breath caught.

“i don’t know what this is,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“s’just us talking. that’s all.”

they settled at the island in her kitchen eventually, stools drawn close but not close enough. it wasn’t purposeful—not exactly—but the gap between them felt intentional in its own way, a hesitation they hadn’t yet learned how to breach.

the space was quiet, save for the soft hum of the rain outside and the faint creak of the wood beneath them. the overhead light pooled in warm, golden tones across the countertop, casting long shadows that blurred the edges of the moment.

YN fit into the space like she always did—carefully, like she was trying to take up less room than she was owed. one knee tucked against her chest, her arms wrapped loosely around it, while her other leg dangled from the stool, her toes brushing just lightly against the floor. she turned slightly, her side leaning against the edge of the island, her eyes steady but unreadable.

his own body had never been built for this kind of furniture—too long limbs, too much of him for the delicate frame of the stool. he had to spread his legs wide, one foot braced against the floor to keep himself steady, his elbows resting on the countertop. his fingers toyed with the lip of a glass left abandoned,something to keep them occupied, something to keep them from reaching for her.

and then she said it.

“you’ve written songs about me.”

a statement, not a question. a fact pulled from the quiet places of their past, dusted off and placed between them like an offering.

harry felt the heat climb his neck before he could stop it, the corners of his mouth betraying him with the telltale pull of a smile. a man of twenty-nine reduced to something pink-cheeked and bashful, like a schoolboy caught in the act. his dimples carved deep, his fingers tightening around the glass as if he could pour all of his flustered energy into the curve of it.

“see that head of yours hasn’t gotten any smaller.”

his voice came easy, light with humor, a well-aimed deflection meant to soften the truth. but the truth was written all over him, in the way his gaze lingered, in the way his body angled toward hers as if he couldn’t help but close the distance.

she laughed, and the sound curled into his chest, tucked itself between his ribs like something meant to live there. her cheeks had gone pink too, though whether from the warmth of the room or the warmth of his attention, he wasn’t sure.

she pressed her temple against her knee, a slow, knowing smile stretching across her lips before she murmured—“red wine and ginger ale.”

it was enough to knock the breath from him, to make something stir deep in his gut, something familiar, aching, unshakable.

his grip tightened around the glass, knuckles going white. because of course she remembered. of course she had caught that line, plucked it from the verse and turned it over in her palm like a rare coin.

it had been a memory—hers, theirs, tucked into the lyrics like a secret, hidden in plain sight.

a dinner in chiswick, years ago, where he had ordered exactly that, red wine with ginger ale, because he liked the way the bitterness and sweetness met on his tongue. she had looked at him like he’d just confessed to some great crime, her nose scrunching, her lips parting in that wide-eyed, incredulous way.

“you’re disgusting.”

he had laughed, offered her a sip, only for her to recoil in mock horror. and later, in the taxi home, when he had kissed her, her lips had curled into a smile against his, and she had whispered against his mouth—

“m’never letting you live it down, baby.”

and she hadn’t. for months. for years. because she had hated the drink, but she had loved him, and that was enough.

and now, here she was, saying it back to him, plucking the words from a song meant for millions and holding them up to the light, a knowing glint in her gaze.

“you remember that?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost disbelieving.

“i remember everything.”

the words settled in his stomach, warm and heavy. he stared at her for a long moment, the air between them stretching thin.

he could still taste the memory of her, even now. and he wonders if she knows she’s still his favorite lyric.

time continued to stretch around them, hesitated words and heavy pauses, stolen glances and knuckles that barely grazed each other in fleeting touches.

they moved after that, standing from the stools as if a forced step back would be enough space to stop what hummed between them.

she turned to face him, her eyes searching his. for a moment, the air felt electric, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

she lingered there, before her body angled toward the window as though she might drift outside. the soft light overhead caught the lines of her face, the curve of her shoulders.

she was beautiful in the way the stars were—distant but unmistakably present, a quiet inevitability against the darkness.

and just like the stars, she had always been there, even when he couldn't see her.

he crossed the room slowly, as though afraid that the floor might give out beneath him. his hands were empty now, his thoughts stripped bare. she turned slightly as he came closer, her eyes meeting his, and he could feel the pull of her, the way she seemed to realign the very fabric of the air between them.

YN could feel it, the frequency only the two of them could hear, a static that crackles in the air between bodies too familiar to be strangers, too distant to be anything else. the static that translated into pins and needles along their lips. the static, buzzing heat in their chest, not fire, not yet—but the ember that never fully died, flickering in the place where love was buried but never truly laid to rest.

"you came back.” she echoed from before, though it was less saturated in disbelief but rather dripping with solace.

he looked up, his throat tightening—the ache of déjà vu wrapped in silk. his body remembers before his mind does—remembers the press of his palm against the small of her back, the weight of his mouth against hers, the way her breath used to tremble when she whispered his name.

you never left he wanted to say, but the syllables tangled in his throat, thick as honey, heavy as grief. because she hadn’t—not really. she lingered in each pause between heartbeats, in the empty quiet of rooms too big and beds too cold.

so, he keeps his mouth shut. he leans in, nose barely grazing hers. she can feel the flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek as his head tilts, he can feel the tremble of her breath.

he was merely a shipwreck, his body leaning toward the tide even as his mind screamed to stay ashore. but the tide is warm, and the tide is her, and oh—how easy it would be to drown again.

the collapse of distance, the death of restraint.

the air between them is thick with ruin and remembrance, a graveyard of every night they spent apart, every moment they spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

but the body is merciless in its remembering.

her breath stutters again as his fingertips ghost over her jaw, tracing the path of old devotion, the map of a love that never truly faded. it’s not a hesitation, not a question—it’s reverence, the final breath before a prayer is spoken. and then—

then he kisses her.

it’s not soft, not gentle. it’s every unsaid word, every agonizing hour, every night spent staring at the ceiling wondering if the she felt it too. it’s the pull of gravity, of fate, of something written into constellations.

his mouth slants over hers like a plea, like an apology, like a man succumbing. and she—she meets him with a hunger that borders on violent, fingers fisting in his collar, dragging him closer, closer, as if she could consume him, as if she could crawl inside his ribs and carve her name there all over again.

it tasted like champagne and ripe fruit, like summer bursting behind teeth and getting stuck there. peaches, maybe, or strawberries picked in the height of july. his tongue slid against hers like silk against satin, heady—red wine drunk too quickly, the dizzied sweetness of berries crushed between thumb and forefinger.

it didn’t seek, did not demand; it reclaimed, a vow remade in flesh.

his tongue curled, coaxed, tangled in the wet heat of her mouth. it was slow, decadent—the first pull of opium in the lungs, the hush of velvet being drawn through greedy fingers.

and when he deepened it—when he pulled her flush, let the kiss bleed into something savored, something syrup-thick, cursive against the roof of her mouth—she tasted it:

forgiveness, the hands of a clock rewinding.

not spoken, not granted, but exchanged in the language of tongue and teeth. of breath shared between gasps, of bodies rediscovering the art of belonging.

when they part, it is not for lack of wanting.

it’s for breath, for sanity, for the simple fear that if they do not stop now, they never will. she licked her lips—not to rid herself of him, but to commit him to memory.

"YN.” he murmured, her name nothing more than a breath, a vow, a benediction.

she swallowed, throat tight, her pulse a bird trapped beneath her skin. she wanted to say something, anything—wanted to capture this moment in words before it slipped through her fingers like sand.

but there was no language for this.

there was no word for what it meant to be kissed like that—like time had never moved forward, like they had never parted, like the years apart were nothing more than a cruel trick of the universe. no word for the way his tongue had found hers, the way he had kissed her not just with his lips, but with the sum of his longing, the marrow-deep ache of missing her. no word for the way she had melted into him, the way her mouth had answered his like it had been waiting all this time.

so she didn’t speak.

instead, she pressed her fingers against his mouth, feeling the shape of his lips beneath them, like trying to hold onto a dream before waking. and maybe he understood, because he only smiled—soft, knowing, his hands still firm against her skin.

all my stars and moons, he had said once.

forever and a day, she had answered.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harry styles angst #exrry

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bosinclairsgff · 9 months ago

Text

What the slashers smell like

Warnings: this is realistic lol

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Otis Driftwood, Baby Firefly, Amanda Young, Mark Hoffman, RZ Michael Myers, The Grabber, Thomas Hewitt

A/n yes I realize this may be just a bit weird

- He smells like grease, sweat, and a cheap cologne. Of course there’s a hint of iron on him most days buts it’s just faint enough to miss. Bo definitely washes his hair with soap. He also reeks of cigarettes.

- This man is musky I’m sorry. He probably doesn’t shower a lot. His hair is very greasy, all the time. He usually smells like a moldy basement and sweat. With a waxy smell (duh).

- This man smells like blood, sweat, alcohol and a man who hasn’t showered in YEARS. He is stinky sorry girls. He also smells like piss.

- Baby takes better care of herself than Otis does. She smells like alcohol, blood and maybe I cheap perfume she stole from one of her many victims. Something floral.

- She takes regular showers so she’s not stinky. Amanda doesn’t care what shampoo she uses so she probably smells like coconut or vanilla, whatever she found at the store. I say she most likely doesn’t drown herself in perfumes. However there’s slight irony smell about her most days.

- This man smells like a expensive cologne he bought years ago and still hasn’t used it all. Also, he DEFINITELY uses three in one shampoo, conditioner and soap.

- He smells awful. Reeks of death and literal shit. Michael kills humans and animals, he’s stinky guys. He doesn’t know how to take care of his hygiene. His breath is AWFUL to.

- Albert loves being clean and well kept. He showers regularly, brushes his teeth regularly and wears a nice cologne. His cologne smells like old spice.

- Another stinky boy! He does not shower, ever. Maybe he’ll take a bath? I doubt it though. Thomas smells like blood, human shit and pure musk. You know how in cartoons when someone stinks there’s a green cloud? Yeah, that would be him.

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haeryna · 1 year ago

Text

thinking about idol!gojo and rockstar!geto (tw: mentions of underage drinking, implied abandonment, implied homophobia from gojo's parents, vague mentions of illness)

how you three, along with shoko, lived in the same ratty small town in the middle of nowhere. you'd moved when you were six, all shy and scared of the house your parents had moved to in order to help your sick grandmother that you barely remembered because the last time you'd seen her was when you were four. you were from the city; you'd never seen fireflies, or grass that stretched out as far as your eyes could see, and so when you saw the first firefly appear just as the sky turned to dusk, how were you supposed to resist it?

so you chased it down to the creek, all smiles and filled with excitement, until you realized it was dark, and you were in the forest, and you were scared. you couldn't help but start to cry, and that's where geto found you.

"are you lost?"

sniffling, you peered up at the dark haired boy, whose soft brown eyes filled with a sort of concern. "y-yeah," you hiccupped, and geto offers up a gentle smile. "it's okay, i know the way back."

and so, you'd taken his hand, let him tug you out of the creek bed, and lead you back toward the house that still didn't quite feel like home. you'd learn, his name was suguru. suguru geto, and wherever suguru geto was, satoru gojo was never too far behind (although you didn't know that, yet).

"you crying?"

you'd let out a startled yelp, still clinging to suguru's hand, twisting to look at the other boy who was staring at you with unrestrained curiosity. even at the age of six, you found him beautiful, with the piercing blue of his eyes, and the soft white down of his hair, even as he mocked you. satoru hadn't known how else to express the sort of silent jealousy that had torn its way through his chest once he saw you holding suguru's hand.

the two of you bickered, all the way back until they left you at your front door, much to suguru's displeasure. yet satoru was beaming; nobody but suguru and shoko dared to speak to him that way. he was too young to understand the way his heart seemed to churn every moment he saw you after .

later, you would meet shoko ieiri, who instantly took a liking to you, defending you with the stubbornness of an older sister you never had.

later, you would realize just how beautiful suguru and satoru were, as they grew. you were the one who pierced suguru's ears (a decision made at 1am in his basement), who bought satoru his first eyeshadow palette (his parents would have died if they'd ever see him use it). and it was eventually you who brought them into music, as you stared up at the ceiling of suguru's basement. the lights grew hazy as you blinked up at them, empty bottles of stolen beer surround you. suguru and shoko were busy smoking a pack of (also stolen) cigarettes, and satoru was on his phone.

"what if we like. made a band?"

you were only 16, and dreamed of leaving the small town you'd moved to. the temporary stay had turned permanent after your grandmother had inevitably passed. shoko immediately snorted. "i love you, but i can't sing for shit."

but you were persistent. you thrifted an old guitar that you gave to suguru as a birthday present, encouraged satoru's angelic singing.

you should have known they would outgrow you.

you're 21 now, still living in the old house, taking care of your parents. the dreams you'd had years ago turned into ash in your mouth. even shoko had left, off to pursue medical school.

you can't stomach looking at the news anymore. satoru has broken into the idol industry, creating equal amounts of chart toppers and scandals. an idol like that only comes once every one hundred years, they say. with the way he moves, the way he acts, you're inclined to believe it.

(when you watch him for the first time, on some variety show, you see him, see the way they've done his makeup, and you're brought back to sitting on the couch, telling him to stop moving or he'll mess up the eyeshadow you attempting to apply. you wonder if his parents were furious at the decision. you wonder where the eyeshadow palette you gave him went. did he take it with him before he left for good? bile rises heavy in your throat, and you shut off the television, unable to stomach it any longer.)

the radio is equally as traitorous. you know suguru has been dominating the indie charts, to the point where it's simply suguru and satoru competing against each other. you hate how whenever you go to the local bakery, you can hear his voice again playing through the speakers. hate how when you make the long drive to pick up your parents' medicine, how you can hear him through your car's speakers. it feels intimate in a way that you cannot bear.

(still, you hear the guitar and remember the look in his eyes when you gifted him the one you'd found in the thrift store. suguru had treated it reverently, telling you with an earnest sort of smile that, "the first song i write will be for you." he's traded out acoustics for rock. he has no need for that guitar anymore, you think absentmindedly. just like he no longer needed you.)

but what you don't know is that every time satoru's makeup artist gets to his eyes, he has to keep them firmly shut or else he'd burst into tears. she didn't do it like you. she never would. every time he steps onto the stage, he looks for you, though he knows he'll never find you. it never stops him from looking. how he sings his heart out in the hopes you'll hear him, unaware that despite his popularity, you avoid his music like it's deadly.

what you don't know is that every time suguru writes, he realizes how he lied to you. "the first song i'll write will be for you," he remembers, and yet now every song he writes is about you. now, girls he doesn't even know, screams his name, screams along to his songs that he wrote for you. they pretend that they're the girl who was left behind, the girl that he's never stopped loving.

(he'll never forget the way your hand fit into his, how even at the age of six he knew that you were the only one who ever had his heart along with satoru)

how on days he misses you particularly badly, the piercings you'd given him burns. he writes his love into his music, the music that you shut off every time you hear it come on the radio.

it changes nothing, if they come back, you tell yourself. suguru and satoru have each other. they don't need you.

but one day they do come back, come back for you, and it changes everything.

#haerinwrites #satosugu x reader #suguru geto x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader #satosugu #suguru x reader #geto x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #you cannot tell me gojo would not be a kpop idol he is so bbygirl #i need indie singer geto so bad. not want. need.

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alexa-fika · 7 months ago

Note

Could i please request a fem!child!reader who's picked up swearing with the whitebeard pirates?

Reader sorta knows what it means but also doesn't,

Also flips people off mid convo, (doesn't know what means but thinks it's funny.)

And when she gets angry/annoyed she is kinda a savage, like I can imagine reader with ace (and any other characters) then a group of pirates starts threatening them but reader is just going ham with the insults.

Puppy Escapes ( Shanks x gn!reader x Whitebeard pirates)

Part 1 ( Can also be read as a stand alone)

A/N I am combining these two requests, I kinda change some buts since I would be crushed if Dokucha actually rejected their families love so they came back with something else knstead! Iy’all seemef to like the first one so hopefully you like this one to, I think I COOKED just like Shanks is gonna be COOKED 😂

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/drink the sky and @/firefly-graphics

Shanks stared owlishly at the child before them, having just found them in one of the many crow-nests that composed the Red force.

"Boss, what is it?" he heard Lucky call from the ship's Deck.

"My doom," he replied morbidly, fully jumping into the crow's nest and kneeling down next to the child who had the courtesy of at least looking remorseful.

"Dokuchaaaa," he called, stretching the last syllables of their name as they noticed them trying to avoid his stare.

The child, who by now had turned into a flustered mess, both at the fact that they had been busted and that they had gotten busted by the man with whom they were infatuated.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see Mister Shanks again," they mutter.

Shanks lets out a huff but cannot help to give the child a slight grin.

"Your brothers banned you from seeing me again?" he asked, letting out a small laugh as they nodded sadly.

"You know they really won't be happy with this."

"I don't care! Big brothers were being meanies! I just wanted to see Mister Shanks, but they won't let me! I hate them!" they exclaimed

"Come on, Dokucha, I know you don't mean that, do ya?"

"No... I don't," they sniffled.

"It's okay, I know you love your brothers; they love you too. They just worry for you."

"I love them b-but I also love Mister Shanks," they called as they burst into tears and ran towards the man.

"There, There, it's alright," he whispered as he patted the child's back, calming them down as he made his way down the crow's nest, the child held tightly in his hands.

"Come on now, why are you crying?"

"B-Because I said that I hated my brothers! I didn't mean it! I love them so much!" They sobbed

Shanks let a small snicker at their troubles as he continued to rub their back.

"They're gonna be mad at Mister Shanks now, and I won't be able to see you!"

"Already breaking hearts, boss?" Yassop merrily called, letting another belly laugh as his Captain just rolled his eyes at his statement

"Listen, Dokucha, don't worry about that. We will get something figured out, but for now, how about you enjoy your time here? What do you say? Want to be my assistant today?"

They rubbed their eyes furiously at their statement, trying to erase the remains of their previous outbursts, a few rogue sniffles still escaping them, much to their chagrin.

"I get to be Mister Shanks's Assistant?"

"Think you're up for it?" he questioned, lowering them to the floor and continuing to hold their hand.

"Yes, I'm up for anything that Mister Shanks asks of me!" They happily agreed

"Hear that, Beck? I got me an assistant, and they actually appreciate me."

Said man, rolled his eyes as he shook the ashes from the tip of his cigarette, bringing it back to his lips and glancing at the pair

"Better escape while you can; that one right there is a hassle. Too high-maintenance"

"Hah?!"

"Yes, But he's a handsome hassle!" Dokucha piped back with a grin as they hugged his much larger hand against their cheek.

"O-Oi, are you insulting me or complimenting me here?!" Shanks cried

"Now you've done it, Akagami!" Ace growls, jumping into the Red Force, followed promptly by Thatch once it had pulled closer to the Moby Dick

"I don't care if you're my brother's savior; you're not getting away with stealing my baby sibling!"

"Now, Now it was just a misunderstanding," He calls a laidback smile on his face as the young men stomp his way.

"Like hell it was!" Ace hollers, reeling a fire-filled fist.

"Brother Portgas D Ace!" Dokucha calls, halting the man on his step

"Oh, Looks like you're in trouble now," Shanks calls, covering his snickers with his hand as the child marched to the nervous fire user.

"Don't you dare hurt Mister Shanks!"

"Why not Dokucha?! This creep stole you from us," Thatch cried.

"Because you'll damage his pretty face!"

"That's the only reason?!" Shanks exclaimed mortified

"Of course not, Mister Shanks! it's because I love Mister Shanks!" They exclaimed, running his way and attaching themselves to his leg, much to the horror of the two commanders

"I'm not sure if that makes it better," he huffs out.

"Dokucha..." Thatch cries, falling on his knees as tears begin to fall down his face comically

"I think this time my heart is really broken," he sobs.

"Hey, Dokucha, I will see you later, okay? It's time to go back now," he murmurs as he kneels beside the kid.

" B-But I don't want to leave Mister Shanks," They cried, their tiny hands clenching into fists as small tears began to pool at the edge of their eyes.

"I will see you again, okay? I think your brothers really need you now."

"They need me?" they questioned, glancing at the irate Ace and a still knelt Thatch.

"Of course, they need someone to keep them in line, think you can do that? It's your next task as my assistant."

"Leave it to me, Mister Shanks!" they exclaimed, wiping off their tears as a determined look appeared on their face.

"Atta Kid," He cheered, rubbing their head.

"I will see you soon, okay?"

"Like We will let that fucking happen" Thach growls pulling out his swords

"Alright, enough of this," A voice cuts in

"Akagami, please return our sibling to us, Ace; Thatch, we're done here," Marco orders as he lands on the ship's bow, causing the Red Force to sink slightly, bouncing back to the waves as it tried to withstand the sudden arrival.

"Ah, Marco, it's not too late, you know; how about you join me and bring your sibling with you."

"Screw off, Red-haired," he answered scowling as the Captain just sent a grin his way, giving his last goodbyes to the small kid as they ran to the Chef, who hugged them tightly, rubbing their cheeks together ask he continued repeating how much they missed them as he made his way back to their galleon.

"You are grounded."

"But Papaw!" they whine, looking up at the old giant.

"Not buts. You are grounded for a week, and that is final. For the following week, you will be accompanied by either me or one of your brothers at all times."

"But that's so fucking unfair!"

"..."

"MY BABY, they tainted you!!" Thatch cried, shaking the child with tears cascading down his face

"Brother Thatch?" they question, confused, their mind becoming dizzy at the motion.

"Stop it, you idiot," Marco called, hitting the back of Thatc's head, causing the latter to release Dokucha only to turn to him with a scowl.

"Damn you, Marco! Let me lament myself; they have tarnished their pure heart," he cried, throwing himself on the ground once again.

"...I'm going to kill him. I am going to roast him alive and give the fishes a barbecued meal of a lifetime," Ace growled.

"What the hell is going on?" Dokucha cried.

"Dokucha, stop," Marco called a stern tone in his voice.

"You brat, where did you learn those words from? Was it from Akagami's crew?"

"Ah? I heard Mister Shanks say those words-

"Ace. Let's prepare for that barbecue. I will have them fillet for this," The Chef murmured, a dark aura surrounding him.

"But since Big Brothers say them a lot, I thought it was okay..."

"..."

"Dokucha, who exactly did you hear say those words?" Whitebeard asked, a glare in his eye as he questioned them

"Big brother Thatch and Big brother Ace!" they cheered.

"..."

"Dokucha. Will you go find Vista for now? Do not leave his side; you are still grounded, Marco called, watching as they stomped off with a pout on their face.

"Assholes," They mutter.

"Keep it up. You just earned another week of being grounded," Marco called.

"But Brother Marco, I don't know what words I can't say!"

"We will continue this discussion later. For now, if you don't know what it means, then you don't say it understood."

"Okay.." they mutter, walking away to find the swordsman.

"Marco, make sure you have the clinic ready," Whitebeard called as he glared down the two wide-eyed and sweating commanders.

"Will do pops."

"Ah-wait..wait a second Pops-

That day screaming and pleas for mercy from the two commanders reverberated across the sea, reaching the ears of the Red Force vessel as they departed from the Moby Dick's location.

"Hmm, looks like that old man found out who was responsible for the child's colorful language," hums Shanks as he leans back on the chair he laid on, downing a cup of sake as he did.

Here we go! Guess Shanks is not the only one getting Cooked! Good thing they have a express healer on watch! Thatch and Ace will definitely need them!

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

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zablife · 7 months ago

Text

Runaway with Me

Benny Cross x female reader

Divider credit @firefly-graphics

Summary: You're a nice college girl dating a fellow student and photographer named Danny, but your boring life comes to an end when you meet the man you've previously only lusted after in photos. When you spend a night with Benny, your whole world changes.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex, language, drinking, infidelity (sorry Danny)

A/N: Kathy doesn't exist in this AU. Only my second fic for Benny. Let me know your thoughts! Comments are love 💕 No spoilers here!

Benny Cross Masterlist

“Hey,” a low voice called to you, rumbling like thunder on a warm summer night. His smoldering gaze stopped the click of your heels on the pavement before you could reach the bus stop, your attention stolen by a good looking blonde. You watched intently as the flashing streetlight illuminated his rugged jawline and muscular arms, sending a crackle of electricity down your spine.

“I know you,” he remarked mysteriously, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

Your throat went dry, as you struggled to answer. Readjusting your purse on your arm, you shook your head before you finally heard yourself whisper hoarsely, “I don’t think so.” However, you knew he was right, you’d seen his photos in Danny’s dorm room, though the prints hadn’t done him justice.

“You’re that college girl Danny’s always talking about,” he added, eyes roving your body in obvious appreciation.

Your mouth dropped open at the mention of your boyfriend, heart beat quickening as you thought of the way you’d stared at those images, biting your lip in curious desire for a man you’d never met. It hadn’t occurred to you you might actually meet one day, but now it seemed your fantasy was coming true.

Locking eyes with him in a flirtatious stare, you almost felt guilty as you introduced yourself with a coy smile.

Benny's blue eyes twinkled and a wide grin spread across his face as he realized you weren't frightened of him.

"I'm Benny," he reciprocated without saying more. However, the way he allowed comfortable silence to linger, put you at ease long enough to explain that Danny stood you up, leaving you to take the bus home. You couldn’t help the anger that filled your voice, throat constricting with unshed tears as you wondered when you’d be as important as his silly book.

Seeming to understand your need for distraction, Benny asked, “You wanna get out of here?” He didn’t wait for a reply before flicking his cigarette butt to the ground and throwing one leg over his bike.

As you thought of Danny's calls going unanswered, you picked at the strap of your bag hesitantly. “I don’t know, I should be getting back,” you reasoned quietly with yourself.

Benny held up his hands as though accepting defeat. “You gotta go, you gotta go,” he shrugged before starting up the bike.

You glanced over your shoulder toward the uninviting looking bench under the bus shelter just as the engine roared to life, impulsively grabbing his chiseled bicep. His chin jerked up at you in surprise, that adorable grin returning when you yelled, “I’m coming with you.”

Extending a ringed hand for you, he helped you onto the bike, snuggly fitting your arms around his trim waist with the instruction, “Hold on tight."

You didn’t bother asking where you’d be going, your desire for adventure steadily growing. When he accelerated toward the highway with wind rushing past your hair and colors blurring in your peripheral, you could think of nothing except the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the seductive thoughts multiplying with every new sensation.

Pressing your cheek against his back, you inhaled the intoxicating mixture of pomade and leather, closing your eyes to imagine it mingled with the sweat of exertion. The vibration of the bike beneath your legs, body molded tightly against his made you all the more eager for him.

When he pulled into a local motel and helped you off the bike, your legs had turned to jelly and you couldn’t be sure if it was from the overwhelming experience of the ride or your sudden nerves as you waited to see what might happen next.

Benny didn’t seem to notice, walking toward his door with a slow, but confident strut. “Want a drink?” he asked, holding the door for you.

You fidgeted with your necklace as you peeked your head into the small, yet tidy room where he said he’d been staying for the past month.

He offered you the first bottle of beer, knocking the cap off against the dresser with a sharp crack. He shook the fizz from his hand, sucking a little off his thumb before placing the bottle in your hand.

As your fingertips brushed against each other, it renewed the electricity dancing between you, his eyes darkening to a deeper shade of blue as lust overtook his gaze.

With a shaky breath you took a sip and placed the bottle onto the table, quickly forgetting it as he took hold of your arm and pulled you into a searing kiss.

As the cool metal of his rings touched the burning skin of your cheeks, you moaned against him, allowing him the opportunity to lick into your mouth hungrily. He was gentle, but firm as his tongue fought yours for dominance, hands tangling in your hair as his passion increased.

His calloused hands memorized every inch of you on their way down your body to find the hem of your top and pull it over your head. Nipping softly at your lower lip, he distracted you momentarily to unclip your bra and toss it aside, stopping long enough to suck in a breath at the sight of your breasts.

Ducking his head to take a pert nipple into his mouth he lapped and sucked against the sensitive bud, making you whimper with need.

“Like that, pretty girl?” he asked softly, hand kneading your other breast until you thought you’d cum from that simple touch alone. Hands resting atop his blonde curls, you pushed him away gently to catch your breath and he huffed out a little laugh. “A little too much, huh?”

Taking his lead, you wasted no time removing his jacket and shirt to reveal the taut planes of his chest and abs. Skating your fingers across the lean muscle with a sigh, you leaned in to place scattered kisses along his collarbone. You watched the vein in his neck jump before ghosting your lips over his throbbing pulse and chose a place to suck a bruise.

He hissed as you tongued over it in soothing circles, fingertips clutching at your hip when you blew a stream of cold air across his flesh. Deciding to push him further, you snaked a hand down his front, palm gliding over the coarse material of his jeans. A low rumble of satisfaction came from his chest as you stroked his growing bulge, his hips involuntarily bucking against your hand.

You smirked at his responsiveness and the fact that he was much bigger than you’d imagined. Unable to wait any longer, your fingers fumbled excitedly with his belt buckle, Benny groaning at the promise of release for his aching cock.

Falling to your knees, you helped him out of his pants and watched his cock bounce against his tan stomach. The little gasp that left your throat seemed to amuse him as he tilted his head to savor the sight of you before him.

Hand reaching for him like a prize, you began long slow licks along his shaft before taking the spongy head between your lips, eager to please. No sooner had you begun, he grasped for your shoulder to steady himself from the dizzying pleasure, opposite hand sweeping the hair from your face to watch himself disappear down your throat.

Benny’s moans began to fill the room as you worked, a stuttered breath escaping when you stopped to kitten lick and suck lightly on the tip, holding eye contact with him. The sight of your angelic face staring up at him through your lashes, saliva running down your chin was almost too much for him to bear. He knew he couldn't resist you if you continued much longer.

Within seconds you felt him capture your wrists, pulling you up to your feet as he gulped and shook his head. "Not yet, baby."

Walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed behind you, he pushed you onto the mattress with a bounce. You giggled as his eager fingers hooked into the waist band of your skirt and underwear, tugging them down to reveal all of you to him. "So beautiful," he exclaimed, long fingers tracing over your chest and stomach reverently.

He hovered over you, placing kisses to your neck as his fingers found your slick folds, opening you up slowly until you were practically dripping down his fingers. Adding a thumb to circle over your clit, your back arched off the bed and he hushed you with a deep kiss which only intensified when he felt you clench around his digits.

"Need you, Benny," you whined, clutching at his broad shoulders and urging him to rest his weight over you. He pressed his forehead to yours, nuzzling your nose in a gesture far too sweet for the single, powerful thrust that came next. Tears sprang to your eyes from the exquisite feeling of fullness, the pressure on your g-spot intense and immediate.

Benny stilled the moment he'd seated himself inside you, shuddering slightly to hold himself back as he allowed you time to adjust to his size. His cool blue eyes drank you in before resuming a steady rhythm that had you writing beneath him, head tossed back onto the pillows.

The slow drag of his cock against your sensitive walls sent your nerve endings firing little sparks of heat through your core, somehow amplifying the need for more. Benny sensed it immediately, raising your leg to his hip and sank even deeper with a low rumble of satisfaction, matched only by your lustful mewls.

Spurred on by every sweet sound you made, his hips began snapping against you, a light sheen of sweat coating his chest. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging slightly at the roots as your brain fogged with pleasure. As he fucked you into the mattress, your eyes fluttered closed, only vaguely aware of him slipping his thumb into your mouth. Sucking eagerly against the salty skin, you heard Benny groan loudly as the sensation shot straight to his cock.

Removing his thumb with a pop, he snaked his hand between you to circle the small bundle of nerves at your apex causing your mouth to drop open. He leaned in for a kiss unlike before, messy and demanding. "Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" he asked breathlessly.

You gave a pathetic nod, biting your lip as you felt the coil in your stomach ready to snap. Staring into the oceans of Benny's endlessly blue eyes, a soft static began buzzing in your ears as you heard him whisper, "Yeah? Let me see." His warm breath hit the shell of your ear just as you tipped over the edge, white heat consuming your body. Wave after wave crashed over you, melting your brain and making your limbs turn gooey.

Benny fucked you through it as he chased his own high, hips stuttering before he pulled out with a quick jerk. Emptying himself onto your stomach in hot, thick ropes, he exhaled a contented sigh and smiled down at you with a lopsided grin.

Hours later, overcome with exhaustion, you curled into Benny's side beneath the covers. Safe and warm in his embrace, you found yourself talking about anything and everything. He listened with rapt attention as you described your boring college, the pressure that came with the classes and your dream to escape, seeing the country the way Danny had.

Mostly, Benny listened, but he talked a little about his own travels too. The life he was leading fascinated you and you found yourself wishing you were part of it. However, your voice began to trail off as you glimpsed the far off look in Benny's eye.

Truthfully, Benny found the excitement in your voice endearing and he couldn't help fantasizing about taking you on the road with him. As he idly traced patterns against your arm, he found himself suddenly saying, "Runaway with me."

Clutching the duvet to your chest you turned to stare at him in disbelief. "What?"

His jaw set determinedly, he nodded to indicate he was serious about what he'd said. "Be my girl," he added, eyeing you carefully to see if you'd accept.

Your heart knocked against your chest as you swiftly agreed, moving to straddle him and take his face between your hands for a celebratory kiss.

As the first rays of sun hit Benny’s eyes, he groaned in protest. The morning had come too quickly despite his best efforts to savor the night with you. Turning over in bed to drag you closer to him, his arm stretched over the cold, empty sheets. Clutching the material in his fist until his knuckles turned white, he wondered if you’d caught a cab, leaving the moment you came to your senses.

Shuffling to the side of the bed to retrieve his jeans, he wondered why he’d been foolish enough to think you’d go anywhere with him when you had so many other opportunities. But he couldn’t think about all that before he’d had a cigarette so he fell out the front door, digging in his pockets for a lighter.

Just as he stumbled off the concrete step, he nearly tripped over the chair you’d placed outside the door, eliciting a cry of surprise from you.

As he quickly apologized, you clutched his Vandals jacket to your shoulders, giggling at his disheveled appearance. He was still effortlessly handsome despite his hair sticking up in all directions, the streaks of golden blonde catching the sunlight and arousing another wave of desire in you. However, you noticed he seemed too distracted to reciprocate.

“I thought you left,” he admitted, graveled voice still full of sleep as he closed the motel door behind him.

You raised the hand that held your cigarette, explaining, "Just came out for a smoke.”

As he retrieved the cigarette he had tucked behind his ear, he considered you warily. "Before you took off with my jacket?"

"I was going to give it back when I came in to wake you up," you explained softly, standing to stub out your cigarette with the toe of your shoe.

He turned his back to you, pretending to survey the parking lot as he nodded in understanding, "You gotta go."

You wrapped your arms around his waist, cheek pressed to his back as you imagined you'd do many more times in the future during long rides together. "We have to go. I thought we were running away together," you reminded him with a playful nudge.

He turned around instantly, pulling you close by the lapels of his jacket for a long kiss. Smirking against your lips he murmured, "Then let's go, baby."

#the bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #the bikeriders imagine #benny cross #benny cross x reader #benny cross x you #benny cross x y/n #benny cross fanfiction #benny cross imagine #Austin butler

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hiiikiko · 3 months ago

Text

𝕚 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕔𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖 [5] : casual

“Yeah? You gonna believe them?”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

ellie williams x fem!reader | friends with benefits

casual m.list | tlou m.list

tw: cursing, light smut, ellie being a douche

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You groaned as you got up from bed, the previous nights events had done a number on you. After you had left Ellie in the restroom, you ran after Abby. Weaving through the crowded bar and finally getting a hold of her outside. She was leaning against a empty keg, her fists clenched, and her eyes fixated on a puddle in front of her.

“H-hey, Abs,” you said, your voice barely audible, you even wondered if you had said that in your mind or in your head.

Abby said nothing, instead, she turned her head away from you.

“I can explain,” liar, you couldn’t explain why you were drawn to Ellie or why you and her had such great chemistry, “I—.”

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say, Y/n,” Abby finally spoke up, you were almost grateful that she did because you truly did not know what you were going to say next, “You think you’re special? She’s a dog, Y/n, she’ll fuck anything that comes her way.”

You gritted your teeth, you didn’t want to believe what Abby was saying but deep down, you knew she was right.

The blonde continued, “Y’know this isn’t the first time she’s done this, Y/n..”

Your blurry eyes shot up, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Abby rubbed her temples and let out a dep sigh, “Ah, y’know how we were looking for a new lead singer before we found you? Well, our old lead singer’s name was Cat, she was the glue of our band and she really knew how to get the crowd goin’, er, not that you don’t, I’d say that you’re even better than her.. anyway, we had been a band for over a year and we were finally making a name for ourselves, at the time we were called “The Fireflies,” but a little after a year, Cat started acting fishy. She was constantly skipping practice, coming back to our place smelling of lucky strike cigarettes, and then one night, Manny was out at a bar, y’know how he is, and he saw her, Cat, our lead singer, in Ellie’s lap,” your mouth went dry and a ball was forming in the pit of your stomach, Abby gulped and continued, “So, when we confronted Cat, she went on and on about how this doesn’t involve the bands, that they truly do love each other, we… we, uh.. believed them.. they dated for around three months but the night before Battle of the Bands, she caught Ellie with another girl, a girl from another band, ‘The Ravens.”

You could still hear Abby’s word clear as day, even now as you brush your teeth.

“Fuck,” you groan, “How could I have been so stupid.”

Jesse hadn’t been home since last night, you were praying that he didn’t find out about what you and Ellie are.. were doing.

Your phone buzzes and reads ‘Coworker 1 - Glasses.’

You groan and burry your face in your pillow, you forgot all about work.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Arriving at work had you dead, your feat trudged in.

Please, please, please, please, please, please don’t let Ellie be here.

“Mornin’ doll,” you inwardly groaned.

You ignored the auburnette and made your way to the break room to get your badge from your locker and prep yourself for today.

Just as you had made your way into the room, you heard the door close a second time and before Ellie could say anything, you slammed your locker door shut and turned to face her, her lips were in a smirk, as fuckin’ usual, her eyebrows propped up in amusement at your sudden anger, and her eyes lingering on your pretty lips, “I’m really not in the fuckin’ mood right now Ellie, so, if you don’t mind, get the fuck outta here and stay outta my way, ‘kay?”

For a second, you could swear that her smirk falters but then it’s back on as quick as it went, “Aww, what’s matter, doll?” She sauntered over and used her arm to prop herself up against the lockers, her green eyes staring into yours.

You rolled your eyes, “While we’re at it, don’t contact me if it’s not about work, got that, Williams?”

With your back turned to her, you couldn’t see how Ellie flinched at the sound of you calling her by her last name, this time it stung a little more than usual.

The rest of your shift went by smoothly, Ellie stayed out of your way, mainly keeping to her office as she suddenly had a lot of inventory to prep. Closing was a different story..

It was just you and Ellie, this wasn’t unusual, the other employees had kids or siblings to pick up from school and you two were always available to work closing.

“Can.. can you help me with these boxes?”

You nodded and followed her into the back room, “What are these?”

“Guitar strings and stuff,” she muttered, “Uh, after this.. can we— never mind, you can leave after we get these outta the way..”

What was she going to say? You were curious but right now, you needed to focus on your band, “Okay.”

You were about to leave when Ellie ran up to meet you at the front door, “W-Wait!”

You turned around to look at her, “What, Williams?”

“Wanted to talk..”

You’re surprised.. you didn’t expect her to be so mature, you’re actually impressed but that feeling soon goes away when she speaks, “Why can’t we fuck anymore?”

You groan, “Ha, I can’t believe I—. I don’t need a reason, okay?”

“It’s Abby isn’t it?”

You shoot daggers at Ellie, “N-no..”

She laughs, folding her arms and rolling her eyes, “Of fuckin’ course.. you know, Y/n, I actually thought you had enough brain cells to think for yourself, I didn’t think that you were like every other brain dead bimbo with a half decent voice out there.”

Ouch, “Oh, fuck you, Williams. God, you think you’re so fuckin’ cool, huh? Just because you can play a good riff every once in awhile and because pathetic girls with no self worth throw themselves at you so that they can live their fantasy of being a groupie but you know what? You’re not as half the woman you think you are. You’re a liar, a fuckin’ cheat, and a player.”

Ellie almost looks hurt, “So, Abby told you, yeah? She told you all about how I’m a player? A cheat? Hm?” She punctuated each question by taking a step toward you, she had you pinned against the wall now, her arms on either side of you.

You nodded, “Y-yeah.”

“Yeah? So.. you gonna believe them? All those rumours?” Ellie leaned closer to you, her breath hot against your neck where old hi kids she had left were finally starting to fade away.

Before you could be tempted further, you pushed her off of you and rushed out of the shop, you could hear a faint chuckle as the door shut.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next few weeks were hell, you had no one to hook up with.. well, that’s a lie. Since moving to Seattle, multiple guys and girls and given you their phone number but none of them could live up to the new standards Ellie had set for you. So you decided to pour all that pent up sexual frustration into your music. It wasn’t that bad, you tried to convince yourself.

You tapped your pencil against your notepad, “I need this like a…. a….a..”

“Cigarette?” Jesse chimed from your doorway.

Your eyes lit up and you nodded him a thanks as you jot that down, “Thanks, man.. I… neeeed.. this.. like.. a cigarette.. no, actually.. I.. WANT.. this.. like a.. cigarette.”

“What’s that for,” Jesse sat across you, “Like, what’s it about.”

“It’s about a fucked up bitch with a fucked up perception of sex and a fucked up hook up,” you muttered, your pen working furiously at a paper.

“Well.. sounds great,” Jesse stuttered out, “Hey, so me and Dina are goin’ out for dinner, wanna come with?”

Without looking up from your paper, you shook your head, “Nah, I’m good..”

Jesse ripped the notepad from your hands, forcing you to make eye contact with him for the first time since he came into your room, “I’m worried about you, Y/n, you’ve been holed up in here for a few weeks now, you barely eat and all you ever do is write.”

“Battle of the bands is in two months and—!”

“You need to get out,” he sighed. He was right, you don’t know why you were keeping yourself holed up in here, you weren’t sad about Ellie.. just more so mad and Battle of the Bands was coming up so you had to get ready for that too, on top of dealing with the annoying auburnette at work and the frustrating blonde at band practice.

‘Come on, we can get something to eat, maybe go to a bar?”

You nodded and pulled yourself out of bed and got dressed.

The three of you went to a nearby bar, it was nice. A little different from the one you played at, it was still lively but the energy was different.. the room wasn’t full of smoke and the music wasn’t as loud.

“One whiskey,” you said to the bartender, she was a tall and muscular woman, a friend of Dina’s late sister. Her thick black hair was pulled into a ponytail, her tattooed arms covered by a rolled up flannel, she smiled at you as she handed you your whiskey. “On the house,” she winked.

You blushed a bit, for the rest of the night, she gave you free drinks and flirted back and forth with you.

She told you her shift ended in half an hour, obviously signaling you to wait up for her, which you did.

“Hey, you waited,” she marked.

“Y-yeah.. um.. your place or mine..?”

“Mm. let’s go to mine, yeah?”

You nodded and looked at your feet as the two of you walked, she said that it was a short distance away. As you were about to take another step, ash was flicked at your feet.

“The fuck?” A raspy voice echoed.

“Got a problem,” the bartender snarked at Ellie who was pushed herself off the wall, flicking her cigarette on the ground and snuffing it out.

“Yeah, I do,” she said, the bartender’s frame towering over her, she obviously was no match.

You groaned, you knew you were going to lose your hook up for this but you got in between them, “Hey.. sorry, but I think I should get her home..” you say to the bartender.

She scoffed and walk off muttering something like “Your loss.”

You could smell beer wafting off of Ellie’s breath, she smiled at you, obviously out of it, “God, Ellie, how many drinks did you have?”

She laughed and stumbled onto you, “You.. you called me by my first name,” she smiled at you like a puppy, “That’s so fuckin’ cool.. ugh.. Y/n..”

She tried to kiss you but her lips missed yours by an inch, “El— er, Williams, stop. Let’s take you home, ‘kay? Anyone I can call?”

She shook her head.. you were really dreading this.

You were able to find her keys and load her into the back of her van.

The drive to her place was.. eventful to say the least.. you stopped once for her to throw up, another time because she insisted the two of you get slushes, and once more because she claimed that the vehicle was too hot.

Getting her into her apartment was rather easy but as you made your way inside, Ellie was all over you. Her hands pulling you in by your waist, her smile pressing kisses into your chest, you whimpered at the familiar feeling, god, It’s been so long since you’ve had a good fuck..

I want this like a cigarette.

But, just as a cigarette could feel good, they were also detrimental.. so was Ellie. No matter how good Ellie could make you feel, you knew she had as many negative side effects as a cigarette.

1. She could fuck up your band. Her lips make their way back up to your neck.

2. You get attached. Her hands make their way under your shirt.

3. You ruin her band, causing Jesse and Dina to hate you.. She tugs at your nipples.

Before you could get to tease four, she’s got you wrapped around her finger.. all logic is out the window until, you hear her quietly say, “Knew you couldn’t quit me.”

You push her off, “The fuck does that mean?”

Through slurred chuckles she says, “You thought you could quit me, huh? You’re fuckiin’ addicted to me, doll, you’ll never be able to get a fuck better than me.”

You roll your eyes and fix your clothes, this was going to be the last time you’re ever alone with her.

“Bye,” you say as you slam her door, she says something but you can’t hear it.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Even though you weren’t allowing yourself to see Ellie, that didn’t mean you couldn’t stalk her instagram… right?

You clicked on her latest post, your breath hitched in your throat as your eyes fell on a picture of Ellie, pants unbuttoned, wearing a cropped tank, her boxers poking out, and her face in that goddamn smirk..

You couldn’t help but blush a little, a dull ache appearing in your panties as your hands made their way down south.

“Fuck,” you muttered as your hands skillfully worked at your aching clit, sometimes dipping down into your pretty hole.

As you pleasured your needy cunt, you imagined Ellie working her fingers inside you and teasing you for being such a desperate slut, begging for her to be inside you even though you know she’s bad.

You whimpered as you stared at her figure, the tank top hugged her so fuckin’ well and the way her eyes felt as if they were staring right at you made your pussy clench around your fingers. You were getting so close but then..

“SHIT,” you screamed, sitting straight up in your bed, the worst thing possible had happened…. you liked her photo..

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

taglist: @elliessweetheart @bready101 @elliecoochieeater @sevyscoven

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darlingdekarios · 2 years ago

Text

hibernate.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 6,152 content: Arthur Morgan x f!reader, animal hunting mentions, cannon-accurate outlaw behavior, cowboy meet cute, Arthur Morgan is a simp, snowed in, fluff, smut [v fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming], kink(s) [spit as lube]

it was like fate insisted on the two of you colliding.

The first time you’d met Arthur Morgan was a lovely March night in New Hanover, opportunities abound as the hustle and bustle of life was at its highest point of the year, the weather the most tolerable for moving about. Returning from an evening of fishing now that the water wasn’t frozen in some areas and sketching birds by the river when he stumbled across a lone figure boarding train – well after midnight. He followed on horseback under the cover of trees in anticipation, joined by your own horse shortly after. He followed alongside with a hold of the strange horse’s reins until the train came to a stop.

He'd strained to hear you, considered boarding after you to clean up any straggling guards – it wasn’t his business, so he didn’t – but curiosity held him close. When the sound of police approaching quickly began you emerged to the top of the train, looking around desperately for your horse. Temporarily frozen when the moonlight caught your face and confirmed to the man that you were a woman, he recovered just in time to spring into action.

It had been Arthur who had led your horse to you and instructed you to follow. It was Arthur’s path that led you away from the law and eventually far enough away to be free of their hunting.

“Are you some kinda lunatic, lady?” he questioned when the two of you slowed side-by-side under the cover of thick trees, his face hard-set and stern. “You coulda gotten yourself tossed away for a long time back there.”

“I didn’t, though,” you laughed, and despite the feeling that burned in him that he couldn’t quite place as anger or worry Arthur’s stomach flipped at the sound and the way your laugh reached your eyes. You adjusted your hat with a playful smile on your lips, keeping the reins to your horse in one hand.

“Thanks to me,” he asserted, the stress causing him to light up a cigarette and adjust his hat. His eyes caught your gaze and you held it, appreciating his handsome features for a moment as your smile twisted wider.

“I would’ve figured it out, cowboy – you can be sure of that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ve seen your face on ‘wanted’ posters, Mr. Morgan,” you proclaimed, tone proud as you called him on his identity. He took another drag from his cigarette before leaning forward comfortably in his saddle, outstretching a hand toward you.

“Arthur,” he offered, amusement flashing across his features when you shook his hand firmly. “And I’ve seen yours, too. What is it they call you…?”

“The Panther,” you replied, that proud tone ever-present in your voice. “A nice tribute to my best hunt.”

His poker face was too well-trained to reveal that he was impressed – that he was intrigued.

“Well next time you go thinkin’ of doing something so goddamn stupid like rob a train at midnight alone,” he began, gruff voice filled with frustration as he attempted to present his unamused façade. “You could invoke that particular nickname and be a little more subtle.”

The second time was just as circumstantial. It was July – the heat sweltering, the air sticky, the fireflies sparkling in fields at night. You’d been riding for days, hunting gators in the swamps for weeks and now headed back to a more familiar area where you felt more at home. Just past Emerald Ranch you’d spotted him on the road ahead – his hat unmistakable and burned into your mind, his horse giving away his identity to anyone who knew it.

There was no questioning if he’d want your company – you didn’t even give it a thought. Instead, you’d hastened your own horse to catch up with him.

“Where ya headed, cowboy?” you questioned as you approached from behind, adjusting your hat back on your head to offer more of your face to him. Your voice immediately sent a shiver down his spine, the barely-there smile crossing his features unmissed by you.

Four months trying to remember your face and voice hadn’t done it any justice.

“Valentine,” he replied, slowing his horse’s stride to match yours. The two of you set a lazy pace, in no real hurry to get anywhere. “You following me now, cat?”

“Like I ain’t got better things to do, Mr. Morgan?” you joked, nose scrunching as you smiled. The Summer sun had done beautiful things for your color, he noted. “Give you $50 and shine your guns if you can beat me there.”

“Are you tryin’ to race me?” he questioned with a subtle laugh, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

“Won’t be much of a race, cowboy.”

He let out a real, genuine, albeit short laugh at that. The sound filled the air around you, made birds vacate trees. Your heart soared away alongside them.

“And what is it you want if you win?”

“A nice bottle of whisky,” you replied after a brief moment of thought, reaching your hand to rub your horse’s neck gently. Arthur had forgotten how gentle your hands were with everything they touched – the rediscovery lighting up his mind. “And a hot meal at your camp.”

“Can’t promise the gang’ll let you eat at camp without drinking, too.”

“Which is why I asked for a bottle of whisky,” you remarked, that shit-eating grin he was starting to love spreading on your face again. “Do we have a deal?”

“Hope your horse is fast enough to back up that mouth of yours,” he quipped back, intentionally antagonizing you as he started to pick up the speed slightly. “Or that you’ve got plenty of gun oil.”

You shot forward then, the dust of the road kicking up behind you as you left Arthur behind on a road you both knew well. In reality he could’ve caught you – could’ve even won if he’d pushed his horse hard enough – but the sound of your laughter in the cool evening air was reason enough to lose.

It wasn’t a surprise when you crossed over into the town first.

“You cheated,” he argued as he approached, allowing his horse to slow to a reasonable speed for being around other people. “Got a head start. Doesn’t count.”

“You’re just a sore loser.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, reaching up to remove his hat to resituate his wind-blown hair. You were momentarily transfixed on his fingers running through the strands that looked soft – maybe in need of a wash but soft nonetheless – but quickly wished he’d left it messy. “Weren’t mean you didn’t get a head start, cat.”

“Oh, like a couple steps mattered,” you entered an easy banter with him, just like the two of you had done in the Spring. He’d missed it – hadn’t realized how much he had until then. “Coulda given you a five-minute head start and still would’ve beat you and that slowpoke horse you ride.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re difficult?”

“Heard it a couple times,” there was that smile again – the nose crinkling one. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep his thoughts to himself with you smiling that way – at him. You jumped down from your stallion and hitched him with ease, feeding the massive animal a small snack in appreciation of his efforts. “I can compromise. I buy the whisky, but I still get a hot meal at your camp.”

He pondered your proposal only briefly before nodding, letting out an affirmative huff in agreeance. “I’ll meet you at the butcher when you’re done.”

You gave your horse a gentle pat and nodded, turning back to meet his gaze. “Sell that fox pelt I have up on Scratch, will ya?”

Easy. Simple. Honest. Sensible. Arthur loved having you around camp that night – and the night after when you’d been convinced to stay again by the women – though it was hardly just them that enjoyed your company. You’d made easy companions in the camp with your sharp tongue and ability to hold your alcohol. You had plenty of stories to share with Arthur’s chosen family – each one of them genuinely interesting to the gang.

Everyone knew the fact Arthur had brought you around meant you were a good person. The beauty was a bonus, he’d been informed in privacy. He’d only told Sean to shut his mouth in response. Arthur slept by the fire that night so you could sleep in his cot, and if anyone else in the gang saw the way he’d sat up for at least an hour with his eyes transfixed on your sleeping figure in his bed.

It was Fall, October to be exact, the next time he heard from you – this time you had taken fate into your own hands to seek out his company. He was certain he’d never be able to dispose the letter you’d penned and sent to his camp.

Dear Arthur, Kinda strange to call you “dear”, huh? Anyway, I have a job comin’ up in Saint Denis that involves me boarding a train quite late at night and remembering our conversation earlier this year I thought I may ask you to join. Job is planned for the night of October 18, the Saturday after next. I’ll meet you the Friday before at the saloon in Van Horn if you plan on joining me. I do hope you join me. Hope that gang of yours isn’t being too rough on you.

He arrived in Van Horn a day early and rented himself a room – and a bath – so he was prepared for the meeting. He was in the saloon before you, his chest clenching as you walked in through the swinging doors.

You’d taken a page from his book and clearly bathed recently as well, and you were dressed for the first time in front of him in feminine attire. The sight of you in a skirt shouldn’t have affected him the way it did – it was embarrassing for a man his age. It didn’t prevent the pressure building at his waist, nor did it stop him from speaking his mind.

“You had to wear that damn skirt, didn’t ya?” he questioned when you joined him, a smile spreading across your face. It was hardly a gentlemanly way to greet you, but then again, he was hardly a gentleman. “Knew what you were doin’ puttin’ that on with me coming in today…”

“You complained so much about the pants last time I figured I’d save myself the headache,” you replied, sliding into a chair next to him and crossing your legs for emphasis. “You don’t like it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, kitten,” he’d practically purred – a new tone between the two of you. There was no denying that you wanted to hear it more, and you nearly chose to forget the real reason you were now sitting beside him.

“I need to look the part tomorrow for the job,” you replied quickly, eager to squash the tension now building between the two of you, unwilling to allow the job to go forgotten. There was too much money at stake. “Have to board a real nice train when it leaves out of Saint Denis tomorrow night. There’s a safe onboard I’d like to get my hands into.”

“Can’t just rob it the old-fashioned way?”

“Someone didn’t like the last time I did that,” you teased, feeling pleased with the smile it earned. “Figured I’d board and crack the safe.”

“Why you need me then?”

“Need someone to play my husband and keep watch while I’m workin’ on the safe.”

“Your husband,” he huffed out with another laugh, a brief shake to his head. The term had always been silly to him, just as silly as the idea of marriage was to you as a whole, really – and yet, there was no denying the clench in both of your chests at the mere thought. The imaginary suggestion manifested in brief images of domesticity, the vision of you sleeping in his cot in July flashing in his mind.

You didn’t miss the slight redness to his cheeks, he didn’t miss how your smile fluttered into something laced with affection. For all your joking demeanor, it was still clear that there was some secretive sincerity beneath the surface – that you cared for Arthur. And on Arthur’s part, well…he wouldn’t ride across the country to work for just anyone.

“Yes,” you replied when you’d pulled yourself from the depths of his eyes. “A woman travelling with her husband is far less likely to draw attention than if I were alone.”

You thought there would be some protest, though if you’d seen even a fraction of the thoughts Arthur had conjured up in the preceding months you’d never have to question it. To you what seemed to be him conceding was actually the outlaw taking a step he’d long considered taking with you the next chance he got.

Arthur just wanted to spend time with you – there were probably very few things he’d say no to right now in regard to you. He wouldn’t go admitting that out loud anytime soon either.

“Fine, I’ll go along with your little plan. Only so you don’t go gettin’ yourself arrested.”

“Great!” you exclaimed, the brightness that covered your face blinding but serving as confirmation that he was making the right choice. The money he was sure to get would be a bonus, too. “I got you a wedding ring. Looks like it’ll fit. You can sell it when the job’s done, as a thank you.”

“You get it off a dead body?”

“He didn’t need it anymore.”

There was that goddamn feeling in his chest again.

This was the fourth time destiny had crossed your path with Arthur Morgan’s.

Now, the ring still lay in the outside pouch of his satchel, the cool metal brushing against the tips of his calloused fingers often daily in a physical reminder of you. Today, feeling the pull of being apart from you for four months now and into the new year, he’d been clutching the metal in his gloved hands as he led his horse through the far North. Seeking the solitary bliss of being alone in the mountains for the winter, he had opted to simply ride and camp, sketching in his journal and enjoying the snow dusted scenery. Arthur’s plan was soon thwarted as a snowstorm began to roll in.

He'd been riding along the same worn path to make his way down the mountain when he noticed horse tracks leading into the thick forest – a horse, by the look of it, with no reemergence to be seen. Opting to do the honorable thing, Arthur pursued the trail, weaving through trees atop his own horse until he came to a small clearing where you were setting predator bait.

He didn’t know the kind of words to describe the way he felt seeing you right in front of him.

“Are you some kinda lunatic, cat?”

If he had a way with words, he’d tell you that your smile was brighter than the sun itself – fleeting shooting stars, the North Star when he’s lost.

“That’s not the first time you’ve asked me that question, Mister Morgan,” you replied, standing up and patting your horse as your gaze remained transfixed on him now. Even at this distance you could see the blue in his coat had electrified his eyes, the tone a perfect match for the world around you. You found it hard to form any further rebuttal.

“Won’t be the last either, given you’re doing something fucking crazy every time I see you,” he teased, finally giving into the natural ease he felt with you. The light air between the two of you had finally lulled him into a sense of comfort around you – he was willing to admit he was concerned, in his own way. “There’s a storm rollin’ in. You trying to freeze to death?”

“Trying to hunt a white wolf,” you replied, glancing back at the bait you’d just set and adjusting the bow you held in your hands, an arrow already grasped between two fingers.

Fuckin’ hell, Arthur thought. ‘Course that’s what you’re out here doing.

“You ain’t gonna be hunting much of anything when you turn into an icicle,” he replied, hopeful that you would understand his taunting was coming from a place of concern – not control. “You got Scratch nearby?”

“I suppose you’re right,” you smiled, slipping the arrow back into the quiver on your back and whistling to call your horse back to you. You mounted up on the animal easily, Arthur taking the moment to appreciate how languid your movements were – how graceful. His eyes lingered at your waist for a moment longer than was decent.

“If I remember right there’s a cabin just up the road. Been empty the last few times I rode by,” he explained, his words offering more than just a place to shield from the freeze.

Arthur wanted to spend time with you. You’d truly have to be a lunatic to think otherwise.

“Lead the way, cowboy.”

The snow picked up as the two of you rode side-by-side, both of your horses slowing as the powder piled up, creating heavier footsteps. While Arthur spoke to his horse beside you to soothe her through the storm, you could feel his eyes consistently on you despite the painful whip of flakes against his unshielded cheeks.

What could have been a short ride in the summer extended in the weather, and by the time the cabin approached view you had begun to shiver – something Arthur took note of. When he climbed from his horse he unrolled the blanket on the back of his saddle, passing it up to you before grabbing his shotgun.

“I’ll check inside, you try not to shiver s’much you fall off your horse.”

He disappeared into the cabin, your mind focusing on the sounds of him moving about rather the piling snow that was sure to trap you for days. Keeping yourself wrapped in his blanket provided the additional comfort of his lingering scent, and you found yourself clutching the fabric tighter and tighter as the moments passed.

“This’ll be fine ‘til the storm’s passed,” he announced as he exited through the doors, voice raised so you could hear him over the wind. “You go on in while I get some firewood and hitch the horses.”

“I can help, you know,” you offered, eyebrows pulling together to communicate your frustration.

“Would you stop your arguing for once and go inside out of this shit?”

By the time Arthur made his way in from the storm you’d used what wood remained in the cabin to start a fire, the flames warming the air around it quickly. The mattress was considerably dirty and out of the question, so you were validated in the decision to carry in your bedrolls and blankets, having set them up comfortably in front of the fire.

His heavy boots sounded on the floor as he approached where you sat on the floor from behind, and while you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on you.

“Already got a fire going?”

“Uh huh,” you replied, noting the subtle shake to his voice. Arthur was strong, but he was human, and he was cold. The fact that he not only was willing to but insisted on suffering for you caused a knot to form in your stomach. “Got some whisky if you need help warming up.”

He simply grunted affirmatively in reply, setting the stack of wood carefully to the side and picking out the driest pieces to tend the fire with now. You tempted to hand the bottle out to him, the liquid going ignored as he began to peel off layer by layer, tossing the soaked clothing to the side lazily with little regard for how they ended up. Normally you’d have stood to hang the clothes, but you found yourself spellbound by the way Arthur’s muscles flexed with each movement under the simple wet damp button up shirt – the last remaining layer.

When he was somewhat comfortable, he turned to face you, eyes flashing with amusement as he took the bottle from your fingers. You were certain your mouth was hanging open and he’d caught you. At the moment, you could hardly bring yourself to care.

Hours passed as the two of you got warm and caught up over the last few weeks. You sat opposite one another, both wrapped in your own blankets and full of enough whisky to ignore the storm outside – to ignore everything but one another. Arthur hadn’t missed that most of your clothes lie neatly folded atop the countertop. The thought was repeating in his mind – the heavy question of what exactly remained under the blanket haunting him.

He couldn’t be blamed for not being a good listener.

“Arthur, are you even listenin’ to me?”

“Not a fuckin’ word,” he replied with one more small swig of whisky from the bottle, setting it well out of the way to the side. “Stop fuckin’ doin’ that if you want me to listen.”

“Doing what?”

You knew damn well what.

“Lookin’ at me like you want me to come crawl on top of you.”

Why on Earth would you ever stop doing that?

“No.”

Your mouth was going to drive him to insanity one day. He wasn’t going to do a single thing about it.

“Did you just tell me ‘No’?”

“Yeah, Arthur, I surely did,” you replied, quick and agile as you were on your feet. He was beginning to think you may only talk to hm this way, and that thought alone was enough to make him want to reach out to you. “Hoping you take the hint.”

The blanket he’d been using for himself was discarded to the side, your words finally snapping the thin thread of control that remained in him. He extended one arm outward toward the floor to support himself, outstretching his legs to be situated in a more comfortable position before his eyes found yours again.

“Come on over here,” his invitation came thick as molasses and dripping just as sweet, his free hand patting his right thigh to give his words deeper meaning. “Bring the blanket.”

Arthur had finally figured out how to get you to stop arguing and basked in the glory of the moment as you crawled to him carefully, finding a comfortable seat in his lap as you straddled his thighs. He savored the view as you wrapped your arms around his neck, encompassing you both with the blanket, your face illuminated by the golden glow of the well-tended fire – beautiful, warm, inviting.

He was more than happy to finally accept.

“Are you gonna kiss me, Arthur?”

He knew you were trying to sound resolute as you always did – firm and demanding and impossible to deny. While those things lingered – he doubted they could ever truly be gone from you – what really laced your words was the quietest of whines. He sat up fully, bringing his torso closer to yours and grasping your hips in both hands, all the while your heart beating faster and faster in anticipation.

When you opened your mouth to let your protest be known again, he took his opportunity to claim your lips in a long-awaited kiss, the feeling of his lips caressing yours sucking the air from your chest immediately. He opted to slide his hands to your lower back to bring you in closer, pressing your chests together as he kissed you hungrily. Touch starved and overwhelmed by the feeling of you returning his kiss with soft lips he sought more of your skin, sliding his hands up the back of the loose blouse you remained in.

“Clothes are still wet,” he grumbled against your lips, displeased by the cool touch to your skin that remained. You scrambled to reinitiate the kiss, your lips catching his bottom lip as a whine slipped through your lips. A quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose.

“Take them off, then,” you breathed out, bowing your head to press a delicate kiss to his neck. His own breath caught, arms wrapping tighter around you – almost too tight, almost too crushing. You made no move to stop him as you began to test the best places to leave your kisses, spurring him to release his hold on you to start peeling the last layers from both of you.

Your lips brushed against the shell of his ear when all that remained were intimate coverings, a shaky groan rolling through his chest. His hands engulfed you, sliding up your torso until he cupped your breasts, dipping his head to claim your lips again.

That kiss was hungry – starved – clumsy in ways that screamed of desperation. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples lightly, a smile evident on his lips despite the fact he continued to kiss you as a moan slipped from your throat. It spiraled from there, both of your hands exploring, your fingers the best thing he’d felt against his skin in a long time. As the pressure built heavier at your waist his hands trailed lower, one stopping to grasp your waist, the other slipping into the waistband of your underwear.

He'd never heard music that sounded as good as the sound of the moan that left you as his thick fingers swiped through your wet folds, an appreciative hum shaking in his throat as you burrowed your face in his neck.

“You’re already soaked for me, darlin’,” he rasped, his voice getting lower and lower with each word. He began to sink his index finger into you, grasping your hip tighter in his other hand. “Fuckin’ tight, too. Hell.”

“Arthur…”

“Aw, hush,” he cooed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple as he curled his finger inside you, pulling a quiet whimper from you. “No point tryin’ to talk right now, darlin’ – just lemme take care of ya.”

He could take his sweet time, Arthur Morgan. He was a patient man, especially when it came to you, and never more-so than now as he began to work his finger in and out of your clenching heat. He added a second finger soon, pressing the heel of his hand to your clit to give you more pressure, which you gladly accepted by rocking your hips into it.

As he pumped his fingers into you he began to trail kisses lower, the kisses growing heavier and wetter the further down he went. By the time he nipped at your hip with his teeth lightly you were breathless, eyes squeezed shut as you lost yourself to pleasure. He kissed across your waistline as he pulled your underwear down, smiling against your skin lightly when you kicked them free with frustrated fervor.

Nothing up to this point compared to the feeling of Arthur sliding his tongue from his fingers to your clit, giving the sensitive bundle of nerves a soft suck. He repeated the motion as you struggled to even moan, your hands grasping at the blankets now on the floor beneath you as you tried to rock your hips into his face desperately.

“Easy, now,” Arthur reprimanded with quiet reverence behind his words, turning his head to press a kiss to your inner thigh softly. “I’m takin’ my time with you, don’t rush me.”

You finally opened your eyes, ready to give him an earful about being a tease, only to be frozen once again faced with the sight of Arthur, golden illuminated by the fire and somehow still wearing his hat tipped back on his head. You maintained eye contact with him as you reached forward with your hands, removing the hat with one hand and placing it on your own head as your fingers ran through his hair, giving a soft tug at the end.

The growl vibrated through him and you as he connected his lips to your clit, pumping his fingers into you and connecting the tips, curling them skillfully to rub against the sensitive patch deep within you as he sucked your clit. All the while he maintained eye contact, even when he removed his mouth from you with one final flick of his tongue, just as he removed his fingers from you.

“Arthur…” you whimpered in protest, tugging his hair again to try to bring him back to your needy core.

“Hush,” he instructed tenderly, slipping his hands under your ass and grasping firmly to lift your waist from the floor. He soaked in the view of your glistening folds at this angle and tested how it looked to watch one of his fingers slip into you before removing it, licking his lips again. “You are a pretty little thing, ain’t ya?”

Your reply was sucked from your chest and altered into a cry of pleasure as he spit on your folds, smearing the liquid around before connecting his thumb to your clit, rubbing a figure eight. Supporting your raised hips still with one hand he continued to rub your clit, now using his tongue to fuck into you rather than his fingers, tasting you how he’d wanted to for nearly a year now.

The pressure continued to build and boil, eventually reaching a point of eruption – all the usual signs there with your shaking thighs, shorter and desperate breaths, your nails scratching against his temple as you gripped whatever you could. Arthur figured it was a previously unknown bonus to him keeping his hair a little on the longer side. He groaned to encourage you, switching his movements to pump his fingers into you again, circling your clit with his tongue until you became incendiary, your first orgasm washing through you with white hot heat.

He continued to lap at your folds as you came, removing his tongue from you occasionally only to kiss your thighs and mutter tender praises as you came back down to your body. When you had some sense about yourself, he was crawling back up you, pressing kisses to your stomach and breasts before he reached your lips, offering you a taste of your own honey sweet pleasure on his tongue.

When the adoration filled amorous kiss ended so Arthur could breathe you began to trail kisses down his neck again, following a trail to his chest before his index finger caught under your chin, lifting you back up to him, cerulean eyes questioning.

“Your turn,” you offered, slipping one of your hands into the waistband of his underwear and wrapping your fingers around his throbbing cock slowly. Running your finger over the velvet head you smeared the pre-spend leaking already, biting at your swollen bottom lip when he moaned.

“Not tonight, sweet thing,” he declined, his hesitation clear in his voice. You began to rub him gently – slowly – too damn slow – causing his eyes to roll back briefly. “You wrap these lips around me, and I won’t last long enough t’ fuck you.”

“Please.”

You didn’t truly know what you were begging for – for him to test himself and allow you to take his already throbbing cock into your mouth or for him to follow through on that promise to fuck you. Luckily, Arthur seemed to know exactly what your words were asking for – what you needed.

He reached to remove your hand from his cock gently, freeing himself of his underwear before he gently moved you to your side, lying beside you with his back to the fire to shield you from getting too much heat, to ensure you didn’t get hurt. One arm wrapped around your waist while the other slid to cup your cheek in his hand, bringing you in closer to him as he kissed you again.

As much fun as he’d been having teasing, he was done with the games now, and could no longer find the patience. He reached to lift your leg around his waist before grasping his cock, rubbing against your still-soaked entrance for a moment to gather some lubrication before he sank into you. Inch by inch disappeared into your velvet channel, the kiss practically halting as you gasped. He leaned his forehead against yours instead, grasping your waist gently as he continued to slip into you.

“Atta fuckin’ girl,” he breathed out. The large hand that still cupped your cheek slipped downward to rest against your neck instead, his fingertips digging into your skin in attempt to steady himself, to savor your pulse beneath his touch. “Takin’ me so good. You doin’ okay?”

You nodded as you stared into his eyes, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open already at the feeling of him stretching you, almost too full but not something you’d be willing to give up anytime soon. When he’d fully seated himself within you, his cock buried to the hilt he released a shaky groan of his own, his eyes briefly closing as he savored the feeling of being wrapped up in you.

“Goddamn you’re tight,” he groaned out, pressing several light kisses to your lips before grinding his hips into yours slightly. “Shoulda crawled ‘tween your legs months ago.”

“Would…ah…woulda let you,” you managed to reply, pressing your lips to his in an unabashedly salacious kiss, already perfecting how to slot your lips against his in a way that left him craving more. He couldn’t hold back his movements any longer and began to pump into you repeatedly, setting a wanton and quick pace that somehow managed to remain tender and reverent.

He could only be tender for so long, desperation and months of waiting and yearning building in him. His movements began to get sloppy sooner than he’d have liked, though he felt better when your walls began to flutter and clench around him, your thigh shaking around his hip slightly. He picked up his pace to a much more relentless one, driving his cock into you and into your spongy cervix repeatedly as his grunts became more frequent, pressing kisses to your neck now.

“Want you to finish while I’m inside you,” he instructed, though there was something so subtly desperate behind his words – a quiet beg that only someone who knew him would recognize. “Think you can do that for me, darlin’?”

You nodded before leaning your head back again, quiet cries leaving your lips as he connected his thumb to your clit again, immediately choosing a relentless pace to rub in circles. You were almost certain you’d do anything he asked and soon enough you were pushed over the edge again, your walls clenching him so tight he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to remove himself. He did his best to continue pumping into you roughly now as he sought his own release, certain you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Like you’d need to, anyway.

“F-fill me up, Arthur,” you begged unexpectedly through your euphoria, and he didn’t need anything else to convince him. With only a few more bruising thrusts he stilled inside you as he emptied his seed in hot ropes into you, groaning loudly as he lazily leaned his forehead to yours again, his own eyes screwed shut.

He didn’t remove himself from you when you’d both ridden your orgasms, instead holding you close and reaching to cover the two of you in one of the blankets that was on the floor. He wrapped his arms around you tightly to hold you closer to him, slipping one of his legs between yours for additional comfort and warmth. Still semi-hard with plenty of stamina to offer you couldn’t ignore the feeling of him seated in you still, buried as deep as possible as he brushed his nose against yours.

“Be a whole lot warmer this way,” he offered, giving a subtle move of his hips to emphasize the meaning behind his words. He pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose before reaching upward to kiss your forehead, leaving his lips resting there. He was right – you did finally feel warm.

“Mm,” was all you could reply, laying your head against his shoulders and closing your eyes, burrowing your face into his neck. He smiled as you managed to press lazy kisses into his neck before wrapping your arms around him as well.

“Think I’ll keep you here all winter,” he offered after several blissful moments, his head leaning to rest on the top of yours as his own eyes closed. He pressed one final kiss to your temple before succumbing to the comfort of you fully.

“Always knew you were a big teddy bear, Arthur,” you teased. How you managed to run your mouth still after he’d fucked you right was beyond him – but it was also probably a reason he’d want to keep fucking you.

“We’ll call it hibernation, then.”

masterlist. red dead redemption masterlist.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 smut

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luvvictoria · 1 month ago

Text

Made to be

+ pairings. choso x f!reader

+ tags. romance, slow burn, smau, college au, modern au, eventual smut, explicit content, mention of weed, weed use.

In the initial year of your collegiate journey, the relationship with your roommate was far from harmonious. His reticence and the occasional terse remarks created a palpable distance between you. However, as the days turned into months, a remarkable transformation unfolded; the two of you began to cultivate a genuine bond, gradually shedding the barriers that once separated you. Now, you find yourselves utterly inseparable.

You reclined on Choso’s bed, your back against the wall, knees drawn close to your chest, a cigarette delicately held between your fingers as you scrolled through your phone.

Choso lounged nearby, his back resting against the headboard, a joint perched between his lips, the fragrant smoke wafting through the air. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow upon his features.

“switch?” he murmured, taking a deep drag from the joint before extending it toward you.

"Yeah, sure," you murmured, setting your phone aside to take the offered joint. You inhaled deeply, the familiar burn in your lungs momentarily overshadowing the lingering tension of the day. You held the smoke in for a second before exhaling a stream of white that curled into the air, mingling with Choso's.

"So, what's the plan tonight?" he asked, his voice low and rumbling like distant thunder.

You shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe hit the library?"

Choso chuckled, a rare sound that made his usually stoic face crack into a smile. "Yeah, right. Like you ever go to the library."

The truth was, you hadn't stepped foot in there since the first week of school. But something about the way he said it, the teasing lilt to his tone, made you feel a bit defensive. "I could, you know," you said, meeting his eyes.

He took the joint back and took another hit. "I know you could," he said, his voice softening. "But that's not really your scene, is it?"

You couldn't argue with that. The library was his domain, where he studied and sometimes dozed off in the quiet corners, surrounded by the scent of old books and the hushed whispers of other students. You, on the other hand, preferred the chaos of the student lounge, where the smell of stale pizza and the din of voices filled the air.

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound the occasional crackle of the joint and the faint murmur of life outside the dorm room. It was strange how quickly things had changed between you two. At the start of the year, you'd barely spoken, living together in a tense stalemate of unpacked boxes and awkward nods. Now, his room felt more like home than your own, and his company was a balm to the stress of classes and the constant pressure to fit in.

You studied Choso, the way the light played across the ink on his face, the tension in his shoulders as he leaned back, his eyes half-closed. He was still a mystery, even after all this time. A quiet, enigmatic presence that you found both intimidating and intriguing. But lately, there were moments where the mask slipped, and you caught glimpses of something deeper, something that made you want to know him better.

A sudden power outage plunges the room into darkness, leading to an intimate conversation that reveals hidden feelings and shared vulnerabilities.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the distant murmur of the hallway outside. Then Choso sighed, a heavy, weighted sound that seemed to carry more than just smoke. "You know, I never really talked much before I met you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You frowned, surprised by the sudden confession. "What do you mean?"

He took another drag, the ember at the end of the joint glowing like a tiny firefly in the darkness. "I just… kept to myself. My brothers, they were all I needed."

You felt your throat tighten. "What changed?"

There was a pause, and you could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he considered his words. "You," he said finally. "You made me realize that there's more to life than just fighting."

The revelation hung in the air, unspoken emotions thickening the darkness. You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in your chest like a warm stone. You'd never known that your presence had had such an impact on him, that your friendship had been the catalyst for his personal growth.

Without thinking, you leaned over and pressed your lips to his, the joint still smoldering between his fingers. The contact was electric, a spark that had been building for months, waiting for the perfect moment to ignite.

Choso's eyes widened in surprise before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. His kiss was firm and hungry, his lips moving with a newfound urgency that sent a shiver down your spine. The cigarette and joint fell forgotten to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Your hands found their way to his hair, the stringy strands slipping through your fingers as you deepened the kiss. His tongue met yours, a dance of fire and need that spoke louder than any words could. The mattress creaked beneath you as you shifted closer, the scent of his cologne and the lingering smoke enveloping you both.

Breathless, you pulled back, your eyes searching his in the darkness. His gaze was intense, a silent question that hung in the air. You didn't need to see his face to know what he was asking; the answer was in the way your bodies fit together, in the racing of your hearts.

With a nod, you both stood, the tension between you palpable as you navigated the room by feel. Clothes were shed in the shadows, fabric whispering to the floor, leaving only the sound of ragged breaths and the occasional clink of a belt buckle.

The bed dipped as you both climbed onto it, the mattress shifting under your combined weight. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and plane, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You gasped as his thumb brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, arching into his touch.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth again as his hand moved lower, cupping you gently. You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled by his insistent kisses. His touch grew bolder, stroking you through your underwear until you were trembling with need.

With a deft move, he pulled the fabric aside, his bare skin against yours sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You reached for him, your hand finding his hard length, stroking him in time with the rhythm he set.

Choso's breath hitched, his eyes closing briefly before he broke the kiss to gaze into yours. "You're sure?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

"More than sure," you whispered back, your voice a hoarse rasp.

He positioned himself over you, his body a warm presence in the cool darkness. You felt him at your entrance, and for a moment, everything stilled. Then, with a gentle push, he entered you, filling you in a way that made you gasp.

The initial discomfort gave way to a deep, all-consuming pleasure as he began to move, his hips rocking into yours with a steady rhythm. The darkness heightened your senses, making every touch, every kiss, every sensation feel more intense.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper. The sound of skin against skin filled the air, a secret symphony only the two of you could hear.

The tension grew, coiling tighter with each thrust, until you couldn't hold back any longer. You moaned his name, your body shuddering with the force of your climax. Choso followed shortly after, his grip on you tightening as he found his own release.

You lay there, entwined, the only sound your mingled breaths and the occasional crackle from the forgotten joint on the floor. The darkness felt safe, a cocoon around the two of you as you processed what had just happened.

After a while, Choso spoke, his voice low and filled with wonder. "I didn't know it could be like this."

You swallowed, your heart still racing. "Me neither."

He leaned down to kiss you again, softer this time, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

As the power flickered back on, casting the room in a harsh, artificial light, you realized that the dynamics of your friendship had irrevocably shifted. But instead of fear or regret, you felt a warmth spread through you, a sense of rightness that you hadn't known before.

You didn't know what the future held for the two of you, but in that moment, you were both ready to face it together. forever altering the course of your relationship.

The sudden darkness took you by surprise, the room plunging into silence as the glow of your screens and the low hum of the fan disappeared. Choso's hand shot out, catching the joint before it could fall to the floor.

"Well, that's one way to clear the air," he quipped, his voice a touch nervous.

✨ Enjoyed this story? ✨ If you’d like to support my writing, consider leaving a tip or commissioning a custom fanfic on Ko-fi. Every bit helps me and my family, and I’m so grateful for your support! 💕

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georgiapeach30513 · 1 year ago

Text

Your Mark On Me, Part 2

Summary: you realize just how mean Steve can really be.

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, dark, stalking, non con/dub con elements, groping, dirty talk, chasing (chase kink), slapping, humiliation, audience, degradation, pussy worship, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), cameras without knowledge, multiple orgasms, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6.9K

Series Masterlist

*tattoo edit created by @randomagnes0210

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“What is she doing now?” Bucky takes a long drag of his cigarette, while you obliviously bounce into your bedroom in your panties and oversized shirt. Nothing else. Your nipples are pressing up against white shirt, and Bucky chuckles as you lay down on your belly. “You were looking at her body weren’t you?”

“How do you expect me not to look at her body, your highness?” Your legs bend at the knee as you open up a text book, but your eyes quickly drift over to the bottle of pills before sitting back up to grab one. “She’s got a good set of tits.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Steve growls at him. Bucky knew his place. He’d keep an eye on you, but would never touch. It was par for the course with Bucky. No doubt his friend would watch you take Steve’s cock like a good girl eventually. It was just what had to happen.

“What is she doing? She putting one of those pills in her pretty little mouth?”

“She is,” Bucky tilts his head to the side as you root around in a drawer for something. “She’s looking in a drawer beside her bed, Stevie.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” he hangs up his phone, and snaps his finger at his driver. He needs to get there quickly. Let Bucky remove his eyes from whatever you were setting yourself up to do.

Stupid girl. Once he has you where he wants you, he’s going to have to talk to you about leaving your blinds and curtains open for any disgusting man to watch you. He’ll hold off for now. The thought of you putting on a show just for him excites him too much to go ahead and let you know this isn’t acceptable.

Pulling into your apartment complex, Steve’s lip curls up in disgust as he walks over to Bucky. “This isn’t good enough. She’s not even on campus. Who is supposed to be watching her?” Bucky turns to look at Steve with a blank face.

“She doesn’t seem to mind,” Bucky gives Steve a wink, and turns his back to your window. “She found what she was looking for.”

“What is it?” Steve’s face heats up in anger as he thinks about anything inside of you, but himself.

Bucky rolls his eyes, peeking at his friend. Steve’s jaw is pulsing, waiting on Bucky’s answer that wasn’t coming fast enough. If it wasn’t for you laying a pillow down, and straddling it, Steve would have already been marching into your room. “What the fuck does she have stuffed down her panties?”

“Easy, killer,” Bucky’s voice is so animated that Steve shoots a hard look at him, and then goes back to watching you. Timid. You weren’t even sure what to touch on your body. It made him want you that much more. Sheltered, and probably taught that sex was bad. Steve rolls his eyes thinking about how he was going to have to work so much harder. He loved a challenge.

“It took me awhile to find it,” Steve gives Bucky a mere split second of his attention, because you start to grind down on the pillow, and he sighs. “Don’t get hard standing beside me. This thing is kinda cute, it’s called a Cute Little Fucker.”

Steve finally looks at the picture of your toy that Bucky was able to procure. “That doesn’t go inside of her?” Of course you would pick out this cute little bug looking thing. He was falling even more. Sweet girl needed cute sex toys.

“No. It vibrates, and she grinds over it. Is she grinding yet, buddy?” Steve has to bite his tongue as your body goes on autopilot, and you bite on your lip so your roommate can’t hear your pretty sounds. The roommate…another thing Steve was going to have to deal with.

“What did the other toys look like?” Steve switches from foot to foot. Bucky’s eyes are amazing and he knows that his right hand man saw everything in your treasure chest.. Steve’s cock twitches, becoming too uncomfortable. “Bucky!”

“She only had one other one, and no, it wasn’t a penetrating toy. So unless your pretty little Dovey fucks her fingers, that pussy is indeed ready to mold to your cock.”

Steve grimaces as you halt abruptly. Pulling that green vibe out of your panties and staring at it. It is hardly even wet. Steve knows you can do better than that, he’s made it happen, “She didn’t even allow herself to come. My my, am I going to have to teach her?” It wasn’t even that for you. It was the fact that the stupid toy didn’t feel as good as his leg, and you curse yourself for even thinking that.

Steve was someone you weren’t ever going to see again. You are bound and determined that next semester you don't need Adderall. You’ll make sure to start studying earlier, and not rely on outside sources. And now? When you should be studying you are left wanting more. Imagining those tattooed fingers pumping into you, while you stare down at them.

Steve was dangerous, and bad news. You just had to stay away from him. That’s all. Hearing a knock on the door, you roll your eyes. You had to lock the door because you knew what you were going to need before studying.

Jumping up you unlock the door, and give your roommate a smile, “What the fuck is that?” Steve says too loud as some boy leans against your door. “This is absolutely unacceptable. If he touches her,” he pops his neck, glowering at the man that you share an apartment with. He’ll punish you for this later, but this…it won’t happen.

“Roommate, Jack Benjamin. It’s his junior year at the university. He’s studying law, and keeps his GPA at 3.9. Comes from a rich family. Looks like he pays more than half of the rent and all utilities. Well, daddy pays. Guess that’s why he’s the roommate.”

“I really don’t give a shit. He’s in that apartment with my girl. Get rid of him. I’ll pay for everything,” Steve turns to leave, but Bucky clears his throat. “What?”

“Jackie boy is not interested in your little birdie. In fact, I’d say he’d be more interested in you. So you still want me to kill me, or nah?” He flips his phone around, flashing a picture on his social media of Jack on a date.

“Fine. He can live today. If he touches her…Bucky! I want her unscathed and safe. People saw her with me, saw her juices on my leg. I have enemies, and those enemies would use my Dove to get to me. Make sure that doesn’t happen. And if she fucks herself, I need a phone call. I need to know if she’s riding her pillow, using a toy or her fingers, and I need to know if she says my name. I need to hear when the first time she thinks of me and comes.”

Steve gives you one last look. Watching to see if that boy looks at you or touches you, he doesn’t. He’s safe for today. “Steve?” His eyes don't leave you, but he nods to Bucky, letting him know he heard him. “What are your plans for this sweet Dove?”

“I want to break her and own her. I want her to miss the thought of me not around her, craving me with every fiber of her being, and then I’ll make her my wife. She’s perfect. She just doesn’t realize it yet. Let me know if she wears another skirt again. How much fun it’s going to be with that sweet one, she’s got a bit of a spark to her. She told me no. Have a fun night. Keep me updated, and if she takes another pill, let me know. I won’t have someone addicted to pills. Keep her safe.”

He’s satisfied, for now, with the way Jack didn’t touch you. His eyes didn’t wander over what was his. But when Jack points out that deep red bruise on your neck, you slap your hand over it. It’s too late. You were his, and one day you would realize it.

Why haven’t you left the building?

You glance up from your phone, looking all around you. There wasn’t a prickly feeling of being watching, and your friends had meandered out already. Leaving you to stare at your notes. Having to look back over them, just to see if you had gotten the answers correct on the test.

And now an unknown number was waiting on you. Looking through your planner, you didn’t have a scheduled lunch or anything. You rack your brain trying to think if there was someone that you promised coffee with or anything, but still nothing.

I am waiting, and I don’t like to wait.

Thinking it best to respond, you start typing up something when your phone alerts you of him typing more.

Dovey, if you don’t walk your pretty little ass out here I’m going to be angry.

Don’t defy me, little bird.

You roll your eyes, thinking you have seen the last of him. You didn’t need anymore pills. The last final had been taken, and now you had a bit of a break before next semester. He had to go. You had to tell him his services were no longer needed. But a scene at school is not what you need.

Gathering your things you walk towards the exit, and there he was. Legs spread out wide, his neck dripping in gold and diamonds. Each tattooed finger was enhanced by all the rings. Hearing everyone’s whispers, starts to make you lose a bit of self control, but all it was going to take was a quick talk. And everyone could quit their pointing.

Even though he had a beautiful face, he was dangerous. Sin and mischief seeped out of his pours. He had the air of Satan, and everyone on campus could feel it. They might not know exactly who he was, but they definitely had bought his product.

Standing in front of him, you look down at his eyes. Even standing you still feel small. Wanting to crawl up inside of yourself as your body was screaming out a warning of peril to come. “Steve, you can’t be here.”

“And why not, Dove? I see a few of my distributors here. They see you talking to the monster. Their filthy little eyes are casting up and down your body, and I don’t like it. I have to let them know that you are off limits. You get what you need directly from me. And I will gouge everyone’s eyes out that looks at you!” His voice gets a bit louder, and you put a hand on his shoulder, hopefully calming him.

“People look. It’s not that big of a deal. They,” your words catch in your throat as his eyes roam down the front of your body. Moving with the curves of you. Looking like he is trying to undress you in his mind. Tsking when he gets to your skirt. A big meaty hand slides up your thigh, and under your skirt, lifting it up. You quickly slap his hand away, knowing everybody can see what he’s doing.

“I’ll allow that one time,” my god why was he like this? What did he want, and why wouldn’t he leave you alone? “You make it a habit of wearing pleated skirts? It’s not so different from the first time I saw you.”

“Skirts and dresses are kind of my thing,” you shrug because it wasn’t a big deal, and he was making it one. He could only think of the easy access to you.

Steve’s eyes still roam over your form, itching to lift up your skirt because he needed to know, “What kind of panties do you have on?”

“What the fuck?” You screech, averting your eyes around you. They are still staring at you. Judging you for being around this man.

“Don’t talk with a filthy mouth out in public. Why do I make you so nervous?”

“You don’t,” you try to take a step back, but his hand goes back to your thigh, giving it a squeeze, and pulling you more in between his legs. The legs that you hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past five days.

Looking down at his thigh makes you want to shudder. Remembering euphoria coursing through your blood. Even the humiliation of Bucky watching kind of made it better. “Your pulse is rising. I bet if I cupped your pussy, it would be hot as hell.”

“Don’t you dare! There’s people around,” you press your thighs together, creating at least one barrier between Steve’s mitt sized hand, and your core.

“Didn’t stop you from making a mess on me less than a week ago. Had you whimpering, and leaking your pussy juice all over me. That whole club saw what a sloppy little cunt you had. I think even Bucky got a bit of a hard on. You made me so hard that I stroked my cock for an hour, pretending it was your pussy.”

“Steve,” you whisper, trying to pull his inky hand off you. Your thighs press closer together, and you swish them around. A slight bit of relief, but you are quaking. “I need to go.”

“No. You don’t. You’re finished for the semester. But I will allow you to go with me. Come on,” standing up, he pulls at your hand, and you look around at everyone staring at you. Fingers point, and you hear the whispers start. “Let’s go. Get in the car. I’m going to take you on a field trip.”

“But…what do you want with me?” Steve’s mouth turns up into an evil sneer, and one eyebrow sits high on his head. “I — I thought the payment for the pills was…you know.”

“Go on. Say it. I dare you. Tell me how you coming on my leg was not the best feeling in the world,” you stand in silence staring up at him. You are terrified, but you don’t want to react. He was playing games with you, and making a public scene in your space.

“Tell me how you ride your pillow every night, pretending it's my leg. Whispering my name as you refuse to allow yourself to come. I bet you got so much pent up tension in between your thighs, you can hardly sleep without waking up to your fingers playing with your clit.”

“Stop,” your voice cracks, and you can’t look at him anymore. The vein on your neck is visibly telling Steve just how fast your blood was pumping, but also how hard. What he wouldn’t give to just nibble on that vein. He knows he can make you kneel before him by biting down just a tiny bit. His mark from the weekend is already fading. He’s going to remedy that shortly.

“Dovey, didn’t your mama ever tell you not to get involved with a drug lord? You owe me,” he smiles, still dragging you along after him.

“But…I offered you money. You let me go.”

“You had finals. I couldn't keep you from them. And your money's no good with me.”

“Then what do you want?” He stops his movement, and turns to look at you. A faint glimmer of softness runs through his eyes as he steps right up to you. His hard chest pushes into yours.

The back of his knuckles brush over your cheek so sweetly. Relaxing you ever so slightly when your insides are ready to explode. Ready to burst right out in front of everyone. They are still staring, and you hate him for it. Moving his hand behind your head, his fingers tickle at the nape of your neck. Pulling you forward, and he takes a long, slow inhale before stopping right at the shell of your ear.

“I want you.”

“What?” Whimpering as you lean in closer to him. Your body craves him even though your foggy brain was crying for you to run away. Your body currently desperate for more attention than your brain was able to control.

“I only want you. Now, get in the car. We’re going on a field trip,” your body moves on its own accord as he gives your hand a little tug, leading you to his blacked out SUV, and you crawl into the back seat with him.

“Sam, take us to that playground on the edge of town. The one no one goes to. Tell Bucky to meet us there,” words didn’t make sense as you realize what you’re doing. In a fucking car with a fucking drug lord going to a fucking playground.

He said he wanted you. What did that even mean? He wanted to sacrifice a virgin? He wanted to take from you? Wait a minute…

“How did you know?”

“Hmm?” Steve looks up at you with a crooked grin, reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his phone, starting to look through it. You can’t tell if he’s ignoring you, or continuing to play his games.

“How did you know about the pillow?” He flips his phone around, showing you a video of you grinding on your pillow, and only one word on your lips. Steve. “You bastard!”

He turns up the volume without a response. Panting. Deep, labored moans, and you. Looking so frustrated as you grab out the toy, and toss it on the other side of the room, and then the softest moan of your name, followed by fuck. The camera tilts down enough to see Steve’s cream coat his thick fingers. Fucker was outside your window, masturbating, while you was fucking a pillow. And then had the audacity to show you his cum.

“What is wrong with you?” You don’t want to look at him, so you turn to look out the window. Fucking asshole. He lets out a guttural laugh, scooting over closer to you. You can’t escape him in this car. And every inch of him crowding you makes you feel like you're being squeezed by a boa constrictor.

“You didn’t like seeing what you did to me? Never mind the fact that you're denying yourself release. Seeing you hump that pillow every night was bound to make me hard. If you’re enjoying yourself, why can’t I?”

“Fuck your hand at home. Why are you…” Steve’s fingers dig into your cheeks, twisting your head to look back at him. Giving your cheeks a hard squeeze as his eyes narrow at you.

“I thought I told you not to talk with a filthy mouth.”

“You said in public,” you mumble. Your jaw burns as he squeezes even harder. The pressure drawing a line at being painful.

“What I really meant is do not use that filthy language, unless I’m inside of you.”

“You’ll never be inside me.”

“I won’t? Sam,” his driver reaches to the soundboard on the car, and the entire vehicle is filled with your whispered moans. And the repetition of you whispering his name. Over and over again. Asshole had found a way to get into your bedroom. Anger and embarrassment swirls inside of you. Realizing that he was watching everything you did in your alone time.

“Let’s face it, Dovey, you knew you fucked up by walking into that club. What you didn’t know was that I have a very specific taste, and your cherry is exactly what I want. You can’t even help yourself from envisioning me fucking you. And you better be glad. We’ve got a list. And if your roommate so much as kisses you, you’ll be gifted with his lips on your doorsteps. I don’t share. They can watch, but they’ll never get to touch you. Never even get to taste you unless they’re licking your juices off the floor.”

“What is wrong with you?” The alarms inside your body was ringing so loud, you couldn’t even think. They are begging and pleading for you to get out, but you’re immobile.

“Did your gut tell you not to come to see me?”

“Well, yeah, but….”

“And still you disregarded that voice, and showed up anyways. I’m an obsessive person, Dovey, and I always get what I want. And what I want right now is you,” you feel like teeth of a brutal animal trap has enclosed on you. Painful and scary. Trapped, and feeling like there was no way out.

“You just want to fuck me. Please, don’t…don’t touch me,” you finally feel fear as your body trembles. Flight or fight is a myth. You just quake with raw fear.

“I won’t be splitting your cunt open until you beg me to. Now get out of the fucking car,” struggling to move with how bad you are shaking, you scramble out of the car. Eyes twisting around and looking for a way out.

“Sam’s too fast, and Bucky is faster. You really want to run, Dovey, be my guest. I love going hunting for sweet little birds,” cocky son of a bitch stands there, crossing his arms over his chest, daring you to make a run for it. “I’m a reasonable man. But don’t test me.”

“I’m not begging.”

“You’re not. But I don’t have to stick my cock in your cunt to have some fun. Do go on. Run,” he cackles out a laugh when you sprint towards the woods. You may not get far, but you could hide. Hide long enough for him to leave.

Realizing just how stupid you are when Steve stomps into the woods. He doesn’t even run. While you're bolting, and hiding behind trees, he walks calmly. God, he’s going to kill you. He’s going to pull your panties down, and make you take him in front of Bucky and Sam. He promised he wouldn’t if you weren’t begging. Did he promise? You can’t even remember.

“Dovey, you’re breathing too hard,” his voice is too close. As long as his legs are in two strides he’d only be feet from him. Exhaling slowly, you stand up from your crouched position, and haul ass. Didn’t even care to look back. Just run.

Running through the thick woods and getting pelted in the face with branches is not how you want to spend your evening. You were supposed to go home, and crash on the bed. Finally resting after a week of hardly any sleep.

Twilight begins to turn to dark, and the woods get to where you can’t even see an inch in front of you. If you could you might not have tripped over a fucking limb. Trying to scramble up when a thick hand grabs your ankle. “And that’s about enough of that, little bird.”

Steve pulls you across the forest floor, and right to him. Leaning over you with a devil may care grin, “You can’t escape me. It’ll be in your best interest to remember that. It’ll help you out a lot.”

“What do you want?” You cry as Steve lifts you up, and carries you on his shoulder.

“I thought I made it clear, I want you.”

“I’m not begging, Steve. I’m not begging!” Tears invade your vision, knowing no matter how calm he is that he is pissed that you actually ran. “Steve, please, I’m not…”

“Please can be considered a form of begging. So if you could do my aching cock a favor and stop using it that would be great,” he grunts, readjusting his pants, and you cry harder. “Tears aren’t helping you either. I can’t wait to see your tears when you take my cock.”

“You sick fuck. Why are you — ow!” Screaming as heat radiates on your ass where Steve’s meaty hand slapped you. The sting races right to your core, and that only makes you want to cry more. What was he doing to you? And why did your body like it?

“Can you stop whining before I give you something to cry about?”

“That hurt!” A deep desire to start biting on whatever you could get of his backside comes over you, but that would be a terrible mistake.

“A second one will hurt more. Tell your cunt that’s throbbing on my shoulder how much it hurts. Dovey, I’m not the only sick fuck here. But if you say that word one more time, and my cock isn’t so deep inside of you that you feel it in your throat, you will have hell to pay. Have I made myself clear?”

He’s a sick asshole. Lighting your body on fire in ways that you didn’t think possible, and it thoroughly pisses you off. “Dove! Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes.”

“Next time, say, ‘Yes, sir,’' he chuckles, and you hate him more. How did you hate him so much, and yet your body yearns for him? You are the one with the brain, and you tell your body that you will never beg for Steve Rogers.

“Stay there,” he says, sitting you on a set of low jungle gym bars. Your feet dangle to the ground, and you give your eyes a moment to look around. Adjusting to the incoming darkness as Sam and Bucky flank either side of you two. “I believe I asked you a question earlier, and not only did you not answer, you denied me a chance to see for myself.”

“And what is that?” Steve’s hand goes up to your face, giving it a little tap as you glare up at him. “What was that for, your majesty?”

“Don’t be cute. I don’t like the attitude. Just because I have added you to my favorites lists doesn’t mean you get to act like a brat. Brats get punished, and next time the slap won’t be that soft.”

“You gonna hit my face like you did my a…butt?” Your mouth is wanting to talk back faster than your brain can compute, and you know that pushing him beyond his limits will only get you in trouble.

“No, you need a good spanking, and that wasn’t even one. You fucking ran from me. Me. Steve Rogers. I have two men with me. Darling, we’re retired military, you can’t escape us. I’m going to ask you one more time, and you better provide a satisfactory answer, or there will be hell to pay.”

The two of you stare at each other, and Steve smirks. You are cute, naive, and just the right amount of stubbornness that he loves. Breaking you is going to be so much more rewarding.

“What kind of panties do you have on?” Your face has to be staring at him with the most disdain that you have ever felt. He is a psycho.

“Why is that your business?” Wrong answer. He gives you another slap to your cheek, but this time there is much more force.

“Dovey, you’re mine. You belong to me. And when you walk around with skirts on around all those boys, you better be wearing the right panties. What do you have on?” Don’t answer. You tilt your chin up to the sky, and Steve has had enough.

Holding onto your legs, he forces you backwards. Leaving you hanging upside down, with your ass out, and panties on full display. Your hands hold firmly onto the bar, in fear of him letting you fall to ground, but the way he was staring hard at your nether regions has your pussy pulsing so hard.

“See. Now this just pisses me off. Do you see this?” He asks, looking at Sam and Bucky. “Do you fucking see this? Your ass is hanging out. Is that what you want? Those little boys to get a glimpse of your ass, and your fucking pussy lips?” Don’t answer. Just hang there. This will all be over soon.

“But do you see that?” You can hear the grin on his lips. Bucky and Sam are too close to you, and all three gaze at your exposed self. “Dovey, you are a sick fuck. You have made a mess of these panties, and we can see your pulse. So tell me how you don’t like this. Clenching around nothing. You wanted attention with these panties, well we’re giving it to you, princess,” his voice gets louder. Or is he getting closer?

“Steve, don’t!” You screech as his finger hooks under the gusset of your panties. The two of you mewl when his finger touches your drenched folds. It was less than a second, but you can feel it throughout your whole body.

“Step…back,” he struggles to get out. Waiting long enough for his men to step aside before exposing your tight little hole. “My God, I believe I see heaven.”

“Steve, stop.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m not begging.”

“And I’m not touching,” you whimper as he bends down closer. His heated breath on your core sends chill bumps all over your body. He inhales deeply, moving over your center, moaning again. “It seriously is heaven. I bet the taste is divine.”

“No!” Your body finally reacts. He is distracted enough that you’re able to drop down, and you scoot back on the ground. “Stop. I wasn’t begging.”

“My tongue licking up your slit, and tasting that delicious honey was not me penetrating you,” you shake your head, unable to look at him anymore. “Fine. Take ‘em off.”

“What?”

“Take the fucking panties off, and get in the goddamn car. I’ll take you home. But…I want a peek of that pussy. No fabric, just the puss.”

“Steve, can you not leave me alone?”

“No. I’m addicted. And you’re my drug. Take off the panties, and hand them to me. When we get in the car, I want to see your pussy that is crying for me. It’s what I deserve. She’s wet for me,” shivers drift through your body as you stare up at him. He was serious.

“And then you’ll leave me alone,” he shakes his head no, and you feel so defeated.

“Sweetheart, we were able to get cameras, and mics in your bedroom, do you not think I could just stare at your pussy while you sleep? Wouldn’t you rather be awake? It’s your fucking choice. But I still want the fucking panties,” he spins on his heels, walking to the car. Pitching a fit, while your brain and cunt are at war with one another.

“He’s meaner than you think,” Bucky warns, walking towards his bike. “I’d do as he says. Steve is more stubborn than you. And either way, he’s not going to stop.”

“He is giving you a choice,” Sam tilts his head towards the vehicle and taps at the gun on his hip. “I’ll give you a moment of privacy.”

Your chest heaves as you look at Sam and then the car. Steve was kind enough to leave the door open, but gave you no choice to retreat. A choice? A choice ot what? Give him your panties so he can gawk at your panties? Or a choice to be punished while he got harder at your paint? You didn’t understand what his game was, or what he even wanted. Besides you, and that would not happen.

“He doesn’t like to wait,” Sam groans at you, and you start to slowly walk to the blacked out SUV. Looking into the car at Steve who is fuming.

“Get in, and take your fucking panties off before I pull them off you myself,” don’t respond. Just do as he says. He doesn’t even look at you, until you close the door to the vehicle.

Lifting your ass off the seat, you slide your panties off, and put the soiled fabric in Steve’s hand and he smirks. His fingers rub over your slick that coats the fabric. Lifting off and strings of your arousal coats his fingers, before starting to pick up your skirt. “You know what else I want. Put your back on the door, and spread your legs. Give me a glimpse of that delectable pussy.”

“Steve, please…”

“Are you begging? You want me to take that cherry right here?” You shake your no. Feeling your lip start to tremble. “Put your back on the door, and lift your fucking skirt. I want to see what is mine.”

“It’s not yours.”

“But you are. She’s part of you, so she is my pussy,” you whisper no, but Steve scoots closer. Grabbing your knee with one hand, and spreading you further apart. His other hand goes under your skirt, and when he comes into contact with your weeping cunt, your eyes flutter. It is like fire on your skin as he roams through your slit.

“Yeah. You’re mine. And so is this,” his hand on your leg pulls you back enough for him to sink one finger down into your core, and your eyes roll in the back of your head. The sweetest little whimpers on your lips. “Oh…Dovey, she is a tight one. You really are a virgin, huh?”

“Y-y-yeah,” you sob. You couldn’t hide the pleasure you were getting from this, and he wasn’t doing much.

“I checked your drawer, I don’t want you to have toys that penetrate you. This hole right here, along with your ass, and your mouth belong to me,” he curls his finger, pumping into you a few times before you grab his wrist. Trying to pull him out from between your legs, but it was like tugging on a tree.

“Why are you denying yourself an orgasm? Even the other night you stopped before you fully came.”

“Steve, it’s too much. Stop stop stop,” pulling his hand out of your center, he brings it up to your lips. Painting your pout with your own juices like it was lipgloss before popping the finger into his mouth.

Moaning at your taste with a delighted grin, “Best thing I’ve put in my mouth. That is before I suck on your clit. Now, lean on the door, and let me see my pussy.”

“Why me?”

“Because I want you. Quit your fucking stalling before I make you ride the whole way to your apartment with three fingers in your cunt,” you couldn’t get out. Steve would assume to just take what he thought was his.

You take a deep calming breath as you spin to the side. Your ass squeaks on the leather from your arousal that had oozed onto the seat, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t utter not one word until you situate your legs further apart. Lifting up your skirt and Steve just stares. Letting out a deep moan, and you yelp.

“What?”

“Steve…you’re…” it’s the first time you have fully looked upon his manhood. You could see his heartbeat in his pants and his cock begs for something to fuck.

“Yeah, I’m fucking hard as a rock. These pants are uncomfortable. But how can I not get hard staring at that work of art? No, it truly is a slice of heaven. Let me taste you,” you shake your head no, trying to cover yourself back up, but Steve gives your legs a quick pull.

Your head goes back to the seat, and his face hovers right over your wide spread pussy. “Steve, she’s a damn virgin.”

“Oh my god,” you whine as Sam gets into the car.

“Better get used to it, sweetheart. Steve is a horny man, and when he wants you, or wants to just look at you, he will.”

“Shh, I’m staring at the face of God,” your eyes roll in the back of your head with his breath alone. He isn’t even touching you, and you are without a doubt a puddle. One that is dripping onto his expensive leather seats.

“It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. She won’t let me taste it, Samual. Dovey, just let me have one lick. Just one swipe from the back of your pussy all the way to that cute little button. Oh my god, Dovey, she is throbbing and swollen. She wants me to nibble on her. Can I?”

“No,” you nod your head yes because that sounded amazing. That pesky brain is still trying to save your soul from the devil.

“I don’t really fucking care,” just as he promised his tongue swipes up your slit. Ending at your clit where he kitten licks it. Flicking his tongue up and down before his lips circle around it, and he gives it a gentle suck. When he hears you moan out his name, he sucks harder. Adding a bit of pressure with his teeth, and your body convulses.

Screaming out his name like a cursed prayer. Lifting off the seat. Your legs try to suffocate him, but Steve would gladly die between your thighs. Your fingers try to cling onto every surface to no avail. Seeing stars when he sucks so hard you black out. Your body limp for a few seconds before you sit up in the seat.

Staring down at Steve who was worried about one thing and one thing only, he wanted to kill you on orgasms. Digging his teeth in again, he lightly scrapes down the swollen nub, and you scream out again. Hitting on his back, but it didn’t matter, Steve would have you in whatever way he wanted.

You buck your hips, flailing around, but nothing mattered. Nothing helped. He just wants you to feel blinding pleasure. And you are. Pleasure so deep into your soul that you feel as if you’re floating. The audience of Sam only adds to your pleasure.

It doesn’t matter if you are wiggling in the seat, kicking, hitting or screaming, Steve doesn’t stop. You can’t even breathe, and Steve continues playing with your sensitive bean. And then…he sinks only finger into your cunt, and you start to speak in another language. Taken to another plane of sin.

“She is sensitive, buddy. I guess the last time she got off was your leg,” Sam’s deep brown eyes look into the mirror at his friend. “Steve, you're going to make her pass out. How many times does she need to come?”

His voice steadily gets louder trying to talk over your noises, but Steve can’t listen. He is drowning in your juices. His oasis. Slurping up your leaking pussy, “Steve! That is enough!”

He pulls off your clit with a pop, and wipes your essence off his beard. Staring down at your sprawled out self. Your clit engorged in pleasure, and you panting like a bitch in heat. “Try and tell me no again, Dovey. We’re here. Walk your sloppy little self up to your room. I’ll be waiting to make sure you get home okay.”

“You’re mean,” your voice is weak. Smoky and worn by the amount of times you had came.

“Yeah, and you got off, and enjoyed it. Don’t ignore my calls again. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes…sir,” you straighten yourself out as much as you can, and you hobble into your apartment. Ready to strip out of your clothes, and pass out. Getting to your room, you’re ready to scream.

In the middle of your bed is a mound of new “suitable” panties. There are hundreds of them in all colors, and materials. Looking out your window, you spot him. Pants swollen, as he stands there with an evil grin beside Bucky.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you don’t have to look to know it’s him. You had a shadow called Bucky who clearly is always around when you’re not with Steve.

I got you a present, Dovey. You’ll find the others are gone. You only get to be a slut with me. Now, I’ll let you put on a fashion show for me. Or let you grind on a pillow again. What do you say?

Walking over to your curtains, you close them. They could stand out there all night, but they weren’t going to watch you.

Good girl

You need a moment. There is anger and frustration drifting into every part of you. Grabbing up a wad of those stupid panties, you sling them to the floor. Over and over again, until your bed is finally clean, and another ping.

I thought you’d like my gift. That hurts you want to just throw them on the floor.

“Stop watching me!” You twist around your room violently trying to locate the cameras and mics.

Quit looking, Dovey. You won’t find them. And if you, I’ll just have them replaced. And I won’t stop. Now get your ass into bed. You’re gonna need the sleep. Now that I’ve tasted you, you’ll never get rid of me. Goodnight, Dovey.

Say it back or I come up there to you.

Goodnight, sir.

Steve smiles, nodding his head at Bucky. “She won’t be masturbating tonight. But, I’ll watch from my phone since she finally closed her curtains. Don’t lose sight of her. I’ve only just begun.”

“You’re so mean,” you whimper, covering your entire body with your blanket. You know you’ll never escape him. And if you do, he’ll just drag you right back to him. But that doesn’t mean you won’t try. And you will. You’ll continue to try, and just maybe this little bird will get out of the cage she put herself in.

Masterlist

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