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[throwthewine]

I’m at a Death To All concert—that is, a tribute band to the 90s Florida-based seminal death metal band Death, made up mostly of original members of Death—and they’re playing a cover of the Beatles’ “Birthday” because it’s one member’s birthday and because I can’t escape the Beatles.

[gyuswhore]

Shut Up (don't)

anniversary event [closed]

lee seokmin x reader

prompt(s): carrying on the argument between sloppy kisses and heavy make out

word count: 2.7k

warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), mean words are thrown at one another while they're fighting, heavy makeouts, fingering (f. rec), breast play, p in v, unprotected sex, soff ending bc im a sap

[a/n]: i have nothing to say. enjoy.

masterlist

Nearly getting rearended, and then breaking the heel of your shoe, to becoming the receiving end of another plethora of snarky remarks from the department weasel; it was all beginning to spill over the rim of your too warm, too full cup. 

All you wanted was to eat a good meal in front of another mindless TV show and nap the weekend away in the arms of your favourite person. Hence why the excitement at your front door was overflowing, creaking the door open to find a darker than usual hallway. You can only slip off your broken shoes and deposit your keys and bag so quickly, barely considering the amount of noise you’re making with all the shuffling and clanging in the doorway. 

“Seok! Babe, are you home?” you raise your voice a little as you enter the kitchen, slamming the grocery bags down on the counter with a loud huff. You peek out the door into the dark halls, brows furrowed. 

Opting to put away the perishables first, you grunt as you stand back up after stuffing all the frozen packages into the freezer, hand supporting your lower back. You were more tired than you’d initally thought.

Shuffling into the living room, your turn on the lights, remaining confused as ever as to why they were off. Even in an empty house, at least one of the lights would remain on. 

You nearly jump out of your skin when you register the lump on the now visible couch, taking a moment to realise it was your boyfriend, still in the clothes he had left in this morning. 

He’s shifting, groaning as he comes around to reveal his face, eyes bleary and face slightly red from sleep. 

“Oh,” he grimaces as he realises you were the one to turn the lights back on. “You’re home.”

“Why are you sleeping on the couch? Have you eaten yet?” you ask your boyfriend who’s now attempting rub the sleep out of his eyes. 

“No,” he confirms, voice still scratchy. “I’m gonna change and go to bed.” 

“Wait, I did the groceries before coming home. I can make you your favourite. You can go to bed after you eat,” you insist. 

He doesn’t answer as he simply rises and makes his way towards the hall leading the bedroom. 

“Seok? Honey, I’ll be quick, I promise. Twenty minutes tops and then you can go to bed.”

Catching up to him, you grab his hand in an attempt to get him to look at you, which he does. Except he looks…annoyed? He brushes another hand across his hair and face, looking more exasperated by the second. 

“I’m not hungry,” he says, slower than usual. Like it was taking an effort to get the words out. “Now can you please just—”

“You can’t go to bed empty stomached, you’ll wake up with a headache!”

“You’re giving me a fucking headache right now.”

You freeze. 

On instinct, you drop his hand, letting it ball into fists at his side. He blinks for a long moment, pinching his nose bridge, before turning around entirely to continue his retreat back into the bedroom. 

It’s like you’ve snapped out of a daze when you register his retreating form, zero comment from either of you after the bomb he’d planted in the room. 

“You don’t get to say that to me and then walk away,” you say, and he’s still not stopping. “You aren’t the only one who’s had a shit day, at least I’m not being an ass about it.”

That seems to do it for him, turning around with furrowed brows and an open mouth that’s ready to shoot back. “This is your problem, you can’t leave things alone.” 

“I’m sorry that I care if my boyfriend’s starving himself?” Your voice comes out louder than intended, the heat of the situation creating an emerging buzz in your head. 

“Don’t care then! Your idea of helping is whatever you want done for you, have you considered that I just want to be left alone?” He tries to control his arms movements but they explode into some waving motion anyway, eyes meeting yours in a wide, angry, accusatory hold.

“Seokmin.” His name leaves your mouth in an unbelievable laugh. “Are you listening to yourself?”

“How can I over all that clanging and banging you do the minute you step foot into this house?!” 

“You know what?” you begin.

“God, just shut up, I can’t do this with you right now.”

“This is beginning to sound like you have a problem with me.”

“I just said—”

“No! Just fucking say it. Moving in together was a bad idea and you wish you’d never asked!” You know you sound hysterical, arms thrown over head as you fight the urge to push something over. 

“Stop it.”

“I’m trying to make this work with our schedules but if you’re gonna blow up anytime you don’t get your way—” 

Seokmin tries to shut you up again, only this time he succeeds. 

In the midst of your rampage he’d crossed the distance between the both of you, opting to slam his mouth onto yours instead of using his words. 

Both of his hands have gotten hold of your face, keeping you from moving your mouth in an way except against his own. He’s taken away your power, your hands come up to grasp his forearms. 

“Seok—” you start again, but he only plants his lips on you again, sliding his tongue at the seam of your mouth to intrude even further. 

You’re mad at him. It’s taking alot to remind yourself of that. He’s trying to shut you up. He doesn’t want to listen to you. He…

Even Seokmin, with all his other worldly breath control, can’t keep his mouth on your forever, leaving your swollen lips to let you both breathe for a moment. 

“What the fuck is this supposed to be doing?’ you ask, breathless but angry.

“Shutting you up,” he reponds, gripping your waist so hard it almost hurts, shoving your entire body right into his personal space. 

You aren’t any better than him, bringing your hands up to his hair, tugging at the strands just to have something to grip on to. 

“This isn’t over,” you mumble between wet, sloppy kisses, already half gone. 

“Like hell it isn’t,” Seokmin grunts, letting go only to pull you onto the warm couch, caging you between the armrest and his own overbearing body. He’s taking over you from all sides, the muddle of your mind unbecoming of the anger that coursed through you just minutes prior. 

Pairing that with your existing exhaustion, your mind seems to be skipping over most of the filler scenes that unfold. 

Your top is gone to wind before you can register his fingers working the buttons. His hands have reached underneath your tight skirt, fiddling with the waistband of your stockings. He’s struggling with the overlapping fabrics, the existing difficulty of handling stockings earning a dissatisfied grunt from his throat. 

Opening your eyes, shifting them to focus on Seokmin’s face, you don’t doubt you look just as fucked out as he does. Pupils dilated, hair dishevelled and sticking out from everywhere, clothes barely framing where they belong. He’s growing frustrated as he instead attempts to shuck your skirt off. 

“Just—” He cuts you off again, even as you try to help with the wretched zipper. 

“Not a word out of your mouth,” he says, almost like it’s a plea, shielded under his scratchy growl. “Not until I’m done.”

This is nothing like you’ve ever seen before, your sweet, gentle boyfriend had turned into some deep monster from hell, like the events of tonight unsheathed some unfed entity that only festered on its ignorance. Despite everything, you can’t seem to complain, enjoying every bit of this as every passing moment only stacks the already leaning tower. 

And when you thought he couldn’t get any more unhinged, you hear the distinct sound of a rip! 

He’s ripped your tights. 

“Seok, I just bought those!” you blurt before you can stop yourself. 

He doesn’t answer you this time, opting to let his fingers do the talking. You feel a distinct pressure on your hot core, and you’re immediately putty. Seokmin is rubbing slow circles over the damp crotch of your panties, steady, but just enough to have you bucking your hips uncontrollably every so couple seconds. Your breathing is loud, bordering whimpers as you squeeze your eyes shut. 

It’s criminal the way he pushes into your core, stuffing you with bulk of his finger and the fabric of your underwear. And just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, he removes hands entirely. 

You nearly scream, the ache becoming near unbearable. He’s shuffling around to take his clothes off but you couldn’t care less if he fucked you half dressed. He’s naked before you can do something about it yourself, immediately planting himself back on you. 

“Put that mouth to better use,” he whispers, bringing two of his fingers to your lips, letting them push past and rest on your tongue. You start sucking on them instantly, tongue running over his long, beautiful fingers, letting him shove them as far as you’d let him. 

When he relents, he only slips them somewhere else. You watch between your flushed bodies as his sticky, glistening fingers disappear, sliding inside your ready, coated walls. Hands finding purchase on the bulk of his shoulders, he lets you dig your nails into his pristine tan skin as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. Throwing your head back you can only groan into the empty ceiling at the feeling. 

“God, Seok that feels so good.”

He goes faster, deeper, separating his fingers inside you to test your limits. Finding that spongy spot, he shows no signs of relenting, now pistoning into you. 

When he stops, you come round to watch him line his hard member up to your entrance, not giving you a moment to register the emptiness. Except, you stop him. 

“Wait,” you breathe out, pushing yourself on your elbows. 

“What?” he asks, like he’s been snapped out of a trance. You maintain eye contact as you push him into a sitting position on the couch, letting his back hit the plush of the pillows. You take the opportunity to slide out of your torn and tattered tights, feeling the muscle of his thighs as you sit on his lap. 

“Fuck,” he curses when he realises what you’re doing. 

You readjust, grabbing his hard shaft, pumping him slowly as you prepare to line him up to your entrance again. Pushing your chest into his face during the process, he wastes no time in latching his mouth over the lace of your bra, licking over the fabric, pushing the tip of his tongue right where your nipple was. 

It send waves of shocks right into your core, busying the tip of his cock to rub itself on your dropping hole, savouring the feeling. Seokmin’s thrown your bra away, his mouth now in full contact with your breasts, tongue flicking across the nipple as he nips and sucks to his heart’s content. His fingers flick over your other nipple, pinching and stimulating it just the same. The sight of his fingers is doing so much to you, enough to encourage you to sink into his cock with finality. 

It’s a stretch, but nothing you haven’t been practiced to handle. He has a hand low on your hips, guiding your ass to sit on him fully. When you move it’s easier, the pleasure returning in its waves and sparks. 

“Fuck, Seok,” you whimper, as you start moving faster, bouncing on his cock, ass slapping his thighs. 

You find a place holder behind you on his knee, reaching one of your hands back to clasp his skin, the other finds reprieve in his hair, mouth still sucking on your breast. 

His palm rests on your ass, guiding you up and down his shaft in a constant rhythm, moaning into the plump of your breast. Letting go of your nipple, he throws his head back in a guttural moan, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your walls engulfing him whole. He continues to play with the swell of your breasts, fondling and groping. 

Taking advantage of the access, you lean into neck, pressing kisses onto the expanse, suckling on a spot near his ear, savouring the salt of his skin on your tongue. Your hips continue to bounce on him, but inevitably slow as you feel the burn on your thighs and hips. 

One particular landing is felt with a harsh buck of Seokmin’s own hips and you realise with a loud moan that he’s meeting you halfway, finishing what you started. Soon he’s created a pace of his own, thrusting his well oiled hips into you so good it has you blinking away the gleam of stars. 

“Baby,” your voice comes out pleading, and he knows exactly what you’re trying to say. 

“Come, baby, it’s alright. Come all over me.”

Taking his words to your cunt, you oblige, letting yourself come undone. It’s loud, it’s desperate and it’s raw, needing to wrap your arms around him in a latch for support. He smells like him, and it’s making the high continue to wreck your body in waves that won’t end. 

Seokmin cums just as your coming down from your own high, tightening his hold on you as he rams his cock into your overstimulated cunt to get his own fill of pleasure. His thighs stutter beneath you, his sounds deep and loud.

By the time he’s done neither of you have enough air in your lungs to say a word, slumped over one another as you catch your breaths. 

Seokmin is the first to recover, and your fluttering eyelids drift open at the feeling of his lips on your shoulders, leaving butterfly kisses as you remain curled into his chest, head on the crook of his neck. 

You’re uncomfortably warm, but you cuddle into his chest closer, feeling the heat that radiates off of his body. His lips have found your temple, seemingly not caring for your sticky, sweaty skin as he trails his kisses to your cheek, right next to your ear. 

“I’m sorry for blowing up on you like that. I always want you to care, please forget about what I said,” he whispers into your ear, and it’s enough to have you shuffle impossibly closer into his naked chest. It’s like you’ve molded into each other’s skin. 

“I’m sorry too, for not being understand and for blowing up on you as well. I should’ve handled my emotions better.” You lift your head for a moment to plant a kiss on Seokmin’s jaw, and then find his lips. 

He kisses you so softly it hurts, pecks of affirmation between his “sorry”s. 

“I love you,” he mumbles into your lips, and you cup his jaw as he pulls away ever so slightly. 

You can see a stretch at the corner of his lips and you realise he’s smiling; you almost weep at the sight. 

Kissing him again, you whisper right back, “I love you more.”

“Please don’t ever leave.”

“Never.”

“Promise?” 

You let out a little giggle, “Promise. As long as you won’t ever leave me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, nothing but love in his eyes.

“We still have to talk about what happened,” you say, brushing the pad of your finger across his cheek. 

“I know, and we will,” he gulps. “I think we need to sleep on it.”

You agree quietly, but quip anyway. “If I had to take a shot, I’d bet it on all that pent up energy you just unleashed. I think you feel better right now.”

He exhales through his nose, slightly embarrassed at being called out, but replies nonetheless. “It…it probably was. I do feel less tense.”

“Hm,” you hum, bringing you arms to wrap around his neck, tucking your mouth right near his ear. You trace a lone finger down the center of his chest. 

“Since we’ve decided this is a topic for tomorrow, do you think you’ve got a little more frustration in there to let out?” 

He’s still sheathed inside you, and you can feel his length begin to harden. 

You don’t realise what’s happening as you feel yourself being jerked forward, suddenly suspended in his arms as he struts towards the bedroom. Arms tightened, a hint of a squeal escapes you, and you can only giggle as he tickles whispered promises into your neck. 

Promises that you can count on him to fulfill. 

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Obligation [Joel x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/f!reader who is 52.

Tags/warnings: Throwing up, unplanned pregnancy, angst, Joel doesn't take it well but is soft, implied abortion.

Summary: You've been fucking Joel Miller for a couple of months when you realize that you're pregnant - which you didn't think possible because you thought you were post-menopausal. How does one get an abortion in Jackson - and how are you going to tell Joel?

Words: 4,267

A/N: For all my old gals out there, as well as those who don't want kids.

My masterlist

I think I may be pregnant.

The realization reverberates through you, bringing with it another wave of nausea. You barely have time to stick your head down the toilet before you throw up. The acrid taste of bile fills your mouth and nose, and tears stream down your cheeks. You grip the toilet seat as you continue retching, your stomach hellbent on emptying itself.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. No. No, no, no, no, no, how can this be?

What an idiot question. You almost laugh at yourself in the midst of this misery. How does one become pregnant? Well, fucking someone like Joel Miller on a regular basis is a good start. He fucks you deep and good, the bed and his body creaking in unison as he has you pinned underneath him, his broad, heavy body a welcome weight on you, his cock balls deep inside your wet cunt when he finishes and leaves you full even after he's pulled out. His thick, creamy cum dripping out of you when you fall into blissful sleep, sometimes with him staying over.

You know how babies are made, for God's sake. You just didn't count on you still being able to make them. You're past 50,  and your period stopped years ago. This is new to you, you’ve never been pregnant before or even had an interest in trying, but you’re not stupid. You’ve been feeling tired lately, out of sorts, a dull nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach like just before your period, and last night when Joel grabbed your breasts, you almost punched him. Even now they’re so sore even the weight of them hurts.

And now this. Morning sickness. You haven’t eaten anything strange, you were okay last night, and paired up with everything else that has been going on… you must be pregnant.

Thank God Joel isn’t here, you think dimly. He didn't stay over last night, quoting an early morning today to go on patrol. You didn't mind. What you have together is casual, and you're not the one who needs to be cuddled – or coddled, for that matter. You like it when he stays over, but don’t care if he doesn’t. It has worked out well for a few months now.

And now this. You draw a quivering breath, and slump against the wall. It seems like your stomach has settled, so after a couple of minutes, you carefully stand up and bend over the sink, rinsing out your mouth with cold water before splashing some in your face. Straightening your back, you meet your tired gaze in the small mirror above the sink. There is nothing different there, except a lack of energy, but nothing that could reveal the fact that you are carrying a growing clump of cells in your belly.

The thought makes you nauseous again, and you step back to the toilet, expecting to be sick, but there is nothing else to expel, so you flush the toilet, and slowly make your way to the kitchen. Despite being sick, or because of it, you’re hungry, so you take out what provisions you have, and sit down at the table. You usually take your meals in the dining hall, but you don’t want to show yourself right now. God knows what will happen if anyone asks you how you are. And what if you eat, and then throw up again?

Slowly, you gnaw away at a slice of bread with cheese on it, while trying to get yourself together and think over your options. But no matter how you try to think about it, there are no options except one: you have to get rid of it. The reasons are many, but the two most pressing ones are the simple fact that you have never wanted children, and this is not a world into which children should be born, as far as you’re concerned. The more you think about it, the more certain you are. But how in the hell are you going to get an abortion? And while you may not be shy, how the actual fuck are you going to tell the doc that you, a 52-year-old woman, didn’t think to protect yourself? Or that you know your own body so badly that you didn’t even know that you’re, in fact, not post-menopausal?

You stopped crying years ago because tears have no function in this world, but now your humiliation makes your tears well up. You sniffle wetly, put down the piece of bread, and angrily wipe at your eyes.

“Fuck,” you mutter, but there is no stopping the tears. When the first one runs down your cheek, you bang your fist to the table and scream.

“FUCK!”

You let the tears fall, confident that there won’t be too many. When you’re done crying, you finish your meagre breakfast, wipe your face, and get dressed. A day of work awaits you, and maybe if you work hard enough…

You shudder at the thought. You may not have any experience in this department, but you know that your age is a liability. Things could go wrong, and you could die. You don’t want to die. You didn’t survive for all these years just to get taken out by a goddamn unwanted pregnancy.

Fortified by your sheer will to live, you open the front door, and get to work.

During your lunch break, you slip into the Jackson library, which is only just one room in the schoolhouse. The collection consists of whatever has been found during raids, as well as works that the residents have brought with them. The stacks are neat, though, thanks to the teacher who also doubles as a librarian. The collection is divided into main classes, and you quickly find the small section for Biology. There is a middle school book with a chapter on human reproduction, but that’s just the basics. You check the Medicine section, finding nothing. You leave the library, mentally chiding yourself for thinking that you’d find anything there to help you deal with the fact that you’re geriatric, pregnant, and in need of an abortion, with no hope of having one because there are no hospitals, only one doctor who operates out of a simple cabin with barely any equipment or drugs.

Anxiety rises in you again, bringing bile with it. You slink in behind the nearest house and bend over. What little breakfast you had lands before your feet, and you spit away the taste.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck am I going to do?

You take a steadying breath before reappearing back on the street, aiming for your house. So purposeful are you to get away from people, that you don’t notice the tall man next to you before he puts his hand on your arm.

“Hey.”

You start, jerking back before you recognize Joel’s frowning face.

“Sorry,” he apologizes immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, casting your eyes down as you continue your walk. “Just didn’t see you there.”

“Going to lunch?”

“I already ate.”

“All right.” His hand is on your arm again, now effectively stopping you in the middle of the street. He stands in front of you, broad, tall, and smelling of horses.

“You sure you’re okay?” His voice is lower now, so as to not have anyone overhear him. “You look a little pale.”

Joel Miller has been nothing but good to you. He doesn’t talk much, and what little he talks, happens in the darkness after you’ve fucked, when there are no barriers left between the two of you. He keeps to himself, to the girl who was with him when he arrived, to his brother. To you, now. You may not be able to make him laugh as Ellie does, but he saves soft smiles for you. He’s loyal, kind, and helpful. And despite all that, you’re going to lie to him.

“I didn’t sleep well.” You look into his eyes, even giving him the ghost of a smile. “You wore me out, but I still couldn’t sleep.”

His face softens visibly, a smile playing in the corner of his mouth as he leans in and whispers: “I’m sorry, darling. Just have to try harder next time.”

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach, but it doesn’t translate to the usual heaviness between your legs. Instead, you just feel sick for having lied to him.

Joel’s hand travels down your arm to your hand, thick fingers quickly squeezing years before letting go.

“See you later?”

You hear the question, know what it means.

“I think I better get a good night’s sleep?”

Joel flashes a sympathetic grin. “Good idea. See you around.”

You watch him stride towards the dining hall, broad back squared, head held high in constant vigilance, even here within the walls of Jackson.

He’ll figure it out eventually. He’s smart. He’ll know something’s up.

You shake your head to get rid of those unwanted thoughts, and then you return to work.

The next morning starts the same way the previous one did: with your head down the toilet bowl. This time you feel even more sick because you didn’t get much sleep, and when you finally emerge out of your house, you run into Joel, who’s halfway up your porch.

“Morning,” he greets you, then stops as he sees your ashen face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m coming down with something,” you shrug, stacking another lie upon the previous one.

“Maybe you should stay home, get some rest,” he suggests, and even if he’s wearing his customary frown, you can hear how his voice is laced with concern. Managing a smile, you brush your arm against his.

“I’ll just get antsy. I’ll take it easy today, I promise.”

He’s happy with that and doesn’t question you when you don’t go to communal breakfast.

For the next few days, you do what you can to avoid Joel. You don’t want him to know that you’re sick in the mornings, don’t want him to touch you and find out how tender your breasts are, don’t want to talk to him or even see him because it only reminds you of the solution you inevitably have to find soon. You’re going to have to come clean to the doc at the very least –  unless you try to deal with the situation by yourself somehow. But you have no idea how to do that without hurting yourself, and that’s the last thing you want to do.

Finally, it’s Joel who takes the first step. You have declined his visits for a week when he surprises you by knocking on your door one night. His face is backlit by the porch light that creates a halo around his ragged, curl-prone hair.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m tired,” you mumble, but he speaks your name, and you realize that there is no running away anymore. So, you step to the side to let him in.

He stands before you, arms crossed over his broad chest as he stares at the floor between the two of you. You can’t look at him, so you stare at the same spot. There’s dirt from his boots there, but you don’t care.

“Listen, I…” he starts, clearing his throat. “I know nothing’s been explicitly said here. About us, I mean. It is what it is. But I thought we had a good thing going, and now it seems like you don’t want anything to do with me anymore?”

Your stomach drops, and for a moment you fear that you’ll throw up your dinner as well as you did your breakfast.

“Joel…”

“I just want to know if I did something wrong, so that I can apologize and then leave you be.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself to prevent the slight trembling that’s starting to travel through your body. Your nerves are shot, and you press your lips together to keep your teeth from chattering.

“Then what is it?” Now he’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes burn into you.

Does he have to sound so fucking gentle? It would be easier if he yelled at you, or stormed out, or hadn’t come at all, but you should have known that Joel Miller would be so fucking gentle about it.

You take a deep breath, then finally look up into his eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

Joel stares at you, his face blank. There is just nothing there for several breaths before his brows rise and his arms fall to his sides.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

He still looks at you like he doesn’t understand.

“But… how is that possible?”

You lean your head to one side and give him a come on kind of look. Joel scoffs, scratches his head, then shakes it.

“Aren’t you too old?”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You didn’t know?”

You don’t like the hint of accusation in his voice.

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen my healthcare provider in a while!” you snap, now irritated. The change in tone causes in a change in Joel as well.

“If you weren’t sure, then why the hell weren’t you more careful?”

“So it’s my fault?” Your voice is now raised, and your hands come to your hips. “You took one look at me and thought, ‘Oh, this old hag surely has no eggs left’, and then you happily stuck your dick in me, to hell with any other consequences?”

“You should’ve said something!” he growls, now visibly upset. If you weren’t so intimately familiar with just how soft he could be, you’d be afraid of his dark storm cloud demeanor. But you’re not afraid: you’re pissed off.

“I didn’t know,” you articulate. “I haven’t had my period in years, and I’m over fifty! How the fuck could I have known that I could get fucking pregnant!”

“Is it even mine?” Joel retorts, and for some reason, that’s what makes you snap. Before you know it, your palm has connected with his cheek, and you’re pointing at the door.

“Get out. Get the fuck out, now!”

You don’t need to tell him twice: the door slams only a moment after. You’re no longer feeling nauseous, or trembling. You’re just empty inside.

He's back the next morning. You did not expect that, and eye him with apprehension where he stands in the doorway, shame etched into his features.

"Can I please come in?" he asks quietly. You're nauseous again, but you don't want to be a bitch. He's a good one, you know that, despite everything. He deserves a chance.

You let him in, gesture for him to go on through to the kitchen. Following him, you swallow down the nausea, and hope that you won't have to throw up. It would be so humiliating.

Sitting down, you nod to him to do the same. He perches uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, sincere gaze searching for eye contact.

"I'm really sorry," he finally says, his voice low but earnest. "I handled myself poorly."

You give him a Ya think? look but say nothing. He gets the message.

"I didn't expect... or think..." He falls silent, looks down at the scratched surface of the table. You stare him down relentlessly, waiting for him to speak on. He's slowly rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, like they're itchy or in pain.

"I had a daughter, a long time ago. She... I lost her on the first day."

Your heart could break from the choked agony of his voice. Swallowing hard, this time to fight the lump in your throat, not nausea, you reach across the table to put your hand over his.

"Joel..."

He looks up at you, now with a new fire in his eyes.

"It was a long time ago, but I've lived in that pain every day, until Ellie took me out of it. And now... this feels like a second chance."

He raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm. You stare at him, suddenly wary.

"What do you mean, second chance?"

"To have a child with you."

You stare at him in bewilderment, barely even sure you heard him right. He hurries to elaborate.

"I'll take my responsibility. I'll help you raise the child. You won't have to do it all alone."

You quickly pull your hand out of his, like you burned yourself.

"Joel... I'm not going to keep it?"

Before Joel can say anything, your stomach revolts, and you shoot out of your chair, only just making it to the sink before you throw up. Spitting and turning on the water to wash away the vomit, you cup your hand under the stream of cold water, and drink to eradicate the sour taste in your mouth. Barely having swallowed the water, you throw up again.

Joel's warm body pushes gently against you, and his hand is on the small of your back.

"That's it," he murmurs, "deep breath, you're okay."

"I'm fine," you gasp, trying to breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell that seems to penetrate everything.

"I know," he replies calmly, reaching for a glass and filling it with water before handing it to you. "Here."

You drink carefully, hoping it'll stay down. The cold water chills your entire stomach, but you do feel better.

"Thanks." You glance up at him, hand holding the glass shaking a little. Joel notices, and takes it from you.

"You're welcome. Wanna sit down?"

You nod mutely, and he leads you back to the kitchen table. You can walk by yourself, but it's comforting to have his hand on your back. You're no longer alone in this, and it's a bigger relief than you thought.

You bow your head and hide your face in your hands for a moment, steadying yourself. Hearing the other chair scrape against the floor, you finally look up at Joel.

He looks sad but resigned.

"How far along are you?" he asks quietly. You shrug.

"No idea."

"Probably over six weeks."

You shrug again and draw your hand through your hair.

"I meant what I said, Joel." You try to sound gentler. "I'm not keeping it. I can't. I don't want it."

He casts his eyes down, and for a second you think you see a tremble in his lower lip. Then he sniffles with a grimace and looks up again.

"Okay."

You raise your brows. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"It's not my decision, sweetheart." This term of endearment is new, and you're not sure what to make of it.

"You're not going to try to convince me to keep it?" you dare him, but without vehemence. You're just tired.

Joel shakes his head, but you can see that he has something on his mind.

"Joel?" you prompt, and he finally sighs deeply.

"Are you sure you won't regret it?" His voice is eerily toneless, like he's trying his best not to sound accusatory. You rub your forehead with both palms in an attempt to suppress the headache that you can feel building up behind your frontal lobe.

"I've never wanted kids," you tell him in the same, dispassionate voice. "Not when I was younger, and surely not now. Not in this world, not at my age. Not at all."

He flinches, like your words hurt him, but then he nods solemnly.

"Okay. What are you going to do?"

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, because the question faced you with the fact that you have absolutely no idea how to deal with this.

"I don't know."

Your voice breaks, and the first tears well up in your eyes.

"Fuck." The tears spill down your cheeks, and you hide your face from Joel, embarrassed by this sudden display of desperation.

"Hey..."

He's around the table in a heartbeat, crouching by your chair and collecting you into his arms.

"It's okay, sweetheart, we'll figure it out. We'll talk to the doc."

The tears multiply, and you sob audibly from sheer relief of having someone else take charge. You haven't lived with the knowledge of your condition for barely a week, but it has weighed you down more than you knew. And now Joel knows, and he is telling you that it's going to be all right.

"I - just - feel - so - stupid!" you whimper between the sobbing, and Joel strokes his hand down your back.

"Not as stupid as I feel. It's okay, I promise you it'll be okay."

You draw a deep, quivering breath, and square your shoulders. They feel lighter, and you wipe your eyes and cheeks before smiling weakly at Joel.

"Thank you."

"I got you," he smiles back, a dimple appearing in his cheek. You haven't seen it before. It feels like a promise.

Carl, Jackson's doctor, is a GP, but has had to deal with a variety of emergencies over the years. He doesn't bat an eye when you, seated next to Joel, tell him of your predicament, and that you want a termination. He asks for a urine sample, handing you a cup that you, frowning, take with you into the bathroom, do your business, and leave it on the counter, as per Carl's instructions. Coming out of the bathroom, Carl asks you to come back in the afternoon. You agree on a time before you and Joel step out. He squeezes your hand before you part to go to work.

Returning later to Carl's office, you find out that you are, with a seventy percent accuracy, indeed pregnant.

"It's the best test I have," Carl explains. "If a thin film forms over the urine, pregnancy is likely. If not, there is no pregnancy."

"And it couldn't be anything else?" Joel asks, surprising you. Carl looks pained for a moment, and you realize what a difficult question that is. Your hand moves on top of Joel's on the arm rest.

"Given the symptoms; breast tenderness, morning sickness, light cramping... I can't think of anything else to explore."

 "How do we stop it?" you want to know. "Can we even?"

"A surgical abortion is technically possible," Carl nods, and you feel your shoulders relax. "I've done it a couple of times before I came to Jackson, even."

"Well, good."

"Is it safe?" Joel's voice seems tight. "Is it doable here, in these conditions?"

Carl hesitates for a moment before leaning forward to rest his forearms on his desk.

"The procedure itself doesn't take longer than fifteen minutes, but our conditions are, as you probably understand, not ideal. I can sterilize the equipment, but our biggest concern, apart from post-surgical infections, is pain relief."

He lets the information sink in before he adds: "I simply do not have the means to sedate you or give you the pain relief that you are going to need. I wish I could tell you this in any other way, but I can't: It's going to hurt a lot."

You swallow tightly. Joel's thumb passes over the back of your hand.

"Okay," you tell him in a small voice. "I don't have a choice. I'm not going to have a kid in this world. There's no way. We have to do it."

Later, after an extensive talk with the doc, you step out onto the main street of Jackson, Joel right behind you. Without words, the two of you slowly walk towards your house. Not until reaching it, do you sit down on the porch steps. Joel sits down next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"That's a hard question to answer," you sigh, rubbing your forehead. Joel sighs as well.

"Yeah."

You sit in silence and watch people go by. Ellie passes further away together with a friend, waving hello to you but not coming over to chat. You and Joel wave back.

"What does she know about us?" you ask quietly. Joel grunts.

"She knows we hang out, that I like your company, but I haven’t told her that we… you know.”

"I’m sure she knows. She's a smart girl."

"That she is."

You wet your lips. "Listen, Joel... I just want to say... thank you, I guess. For being there for me."

"Of course," he replies softly. "And I really am sorry for how I reacted."

"I'm sorry for slapping you."

"I deserved it."

"Kind of." You shoot a quick grin at him, and he grins back.

"Don't think about that," you shake your head. "And I want you to know that you don't have to be involved in what comes next."

"I'm not going to - "

"You wouldn't mind having a baby," you cut him off, "so I'm not going to have you watch me take one away."

"It's not a baby yet," he reminds you pragmatically. "And I said we'd figure this out together. I'll be there, every step of the way. I'll make sure you get through this."

He speaks with a quiet, gentle confidence that makes you want to cry again. You never knew how much you have longed for someone like him.

"You don't have an obligation," you try one last time. Joel turns towards you and cups the back of your head with one large hand.

"I want to be obliged to you, sweetheart."

He leans forward to let his lips brush over yours.

"Let me," he whispers, and you wrap your arms around him, accepting both his offer and his kiss.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 4, MDNI

You and Simon are eating dinner. The curtains are drawn shut, but the living room is littered with flickering candles. Their soft glow bounces off the walls and casts dancing shadows around the floor. The crackling fireplace provides a soothing background noise on an otherwise quiet evening. You nestle on the couch, feeling the softness of the plush pillows against your back as your legs cross. Meanwhile, Simon sits on the carpet, engrossed in his meal. His body is hunched over the low coffee table, his elbows placed on its wooden surface.

In your hands, you cradle a simple white bowl, its edges worn from years of use. It’s filled with a warm porridge, with the steam rising in gentle wisps from its surface. Your fingers curl around the handle of a spoon. Its metal is cold against your skin. You drag the spoon around in a slow, circular motion. With detached curiosity, you watch as the thick, brown mush whirls around in the bowl, creating an odd yet mesmerising pattern. You’ve never been one to turn your nose up at food. Especially in a world where each meal is a blessing and food scarcity is a harsh reality. Yet, right now, despite the gnawing hunger that tugs at your stomach, you can’t seem to muster the will to finish the dinner before you.

“I’m full,” you declare with a sigh. The bowl in your hands feels heavy as you set it down. The spoon clinks against the edge before sinking into the porridge.

“You barely ate anything,” Simon shoots back, his words muffled by the food in his mouth. “Finish it.”

You shake your head. Your gaze darts between him and the food; though to label it as food feels like trying to sell a pebble as a diamond.

“Not hungry.”

“Either you eat it yourself, or I’ll feed you,” he threatens, fixing his eyes on you. You study his face, trying to decipher if he is serious or not. His expression is unreadable. Yet something about his countenance tells you he isn’t joking.

“I don’t want to. It’s disgusting.”

You feel like a spoiled child refusing to eat something they don’t like. But given that your stomach refuses to cooperate, you resolve that you’ll finish this unappetising meal in the morning.

“I miss the salt. This… this—” you pick up the spoon once more, scooping a portion of the gruel, holding it up for inspection, and then turn it upside down, allowing the mush to drip back into the bowl. “… is not good.”

Simon rolls his eyes in exasperation and stands up. Holding his bowl in one hand, he sits on the couch next to you. You watch him with curiosity. When he tries to feed you, you jerk back and break into peals of laughter, shaking your head in adamant refusal.

“No, no, Simon. Please,” you keep giggling as he chases your mouth with the spoon.

Eventually, Simon concedes defeat, relenting in his pursuit after you assure him you will eat later.

“But it’ll get cold,” he points out. “It won’t taste as good anymore.”

“It already is terrible. It’s hardly possible for it to become any worse.”

Once Simon finishes eating, he tells you he has a surprise. He retrieves his worn duffel bag from the room’s corner and rummages through it. Your curiosity peaks as you watch him, wondering what he will pull out. Unable to resist, you ask him what he’s searching for, but he remains silent, increasing your suspense. Finally, his hands emerge, cradling a small, wrinkled napkin as though it’s a precious gem. He unfolds it and shows you what is in his palm: five cigarettes. You wrinkle your nose in distaste and your body recoils. You’ve never been a smoker, and to be honest, you’ve always considered it a rather nasty habit. The smell of tobacco is unbearable for you, as repulsive as the stench of rotten eggs. You’ve never actually tried it; you suspect the taste is equally off-putting.

“You’re joking, right? This is an awful surprise,” you tell him with a hint of disappointment in your voice.

Unfazed by your response, he shrugs and replies, “If you don’t want them, I’ll happily keep them all to myself.”

You nod your head.

“Where did you even find them?” You ask, puzzled because you don’t recall him ever leaving your side when you were out scavenging for supplies.

“In your brother’s room. They were hidden in the nightstand, tucked behind a pile of notebooks,” he says, standing up and walking towards the fireplace, which is still crackling with warmth. He kneels and uses the flickering flames to light one cigarette, all the while avoiding the hot pot hanging above the fire.

“My brother doesn’t smoke,” you say, rolling your eyes at his explanation. But then, a sudden realisation strikes you. You remember several instances when your brother would lock himself in his room. When he finally emerged, he and his bed would reek of cheap spray deodorant.

You can’t help but stare as Simon positions the lit cigarette between his slightly parted lips, inhaling deeply and unhurriedly. An almost ecstatic expression sweeps over his face as he savours the flavour. A sound similar to a moan or a satisfied groan escapes his mouth when he exhales. He sits on the couch and spreads his legs, tossing his head back into the pillow behind him.

Your mouth is parched. The dryness makes your throat feel rough, like sandpaper, as you attempt to swallow the saliva that has accumulated in your mouth. The once bothersome smell of smoke now seems insignificant. An ominous grey cloud hovering above your head, which you once detested for fear of its lingering nicotine scent permeating your house, fades into the background. Your gaze fixates on his lips. You notice the half-smoked cigarette precariously hanging between his index finger and thumb. In this moment, Simon exudes an irresistible allure, emitting raw, undeniable heat. Though you’ve always found him handsome, an abrupt shift occurs within you, as if a switch has been flipped. Suddenly, you see him in a new light. A desire to snatch the cigarette from him, pull him close, and kiss him sparks within you.

The sensation of heat, like a fervent flame, courses through your body. It’s an intense, unignorable feeling that causes you to curl your body tighter. Your thighs squeeze together, a subconscious reaction to the warmth spreading within you. You bite your lower teeth, sinking your canines into the soft flesh, only stopping when it starts to hurt. Suddenly, the room, which was just a moment ago cool, feels hot. The surrounding air becomes dense and heavy. It presses you down into the plush cushions of the couch. Your chest tightens, and it’s hard to breathe as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. You realise that you’re behaving like a nerdy schoolgirl with a crush on a jock. But you try to rationalise that it just has been a long time since you were in the presence of a handsome guy. You tell yourself that your body’s reaction is natural.

Yet, you don’t want to think about it. You don’t want to acknowledge the feelings coursing through your veins. So, in an attempt to distract yourself, you point at the lit cigarette in his hand.

“You know, I think I’d like to give it a shot,” you say, extending your fingers towards him.

He raises an eyebrow at you. A playful smirk forms on his lips.

“I thought you don’t smoke,” he teases you and takes another deep drag from the cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for an extended period, longer than necessary, just to provoke you.

Your response is a glare, and he can’t help but chuckle at the intensity of your gaze. Still entertained, he passes the cigarette over to you. You inhale. The unfamiliar sensation triggers a coughing fit, which only causes his laugh to increase in volume. After your second attempt, it becomes obvious to him you don’t have a clue how to smoke. So, Simon decides to teach you, insisting that if you want to smoke, you at least should do it right and not waste the precious cigarettes. He positions himself in front of you, his body mere inches away from yours. With a confident gesture, he plucks the cigarette from your grasp and demonstrates how it’s done, showing you the proper way to smoke.

“Your turn,” he says, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air. Instead of handing you the cigarette, he raises it to your mouth. Your lips part instinctively, as if drawn by an unseen force, and your eyes stay focused on his face. Intrigued, you watch him as his gaze travels along the contour of your lips.

“Inhale, slowly. Don’t rush,” he instructs, his voice barely above a whisper. As these words leave his lips, you feel his hand brushing lightly against your jaw. The brief contact sends shivers down your spine. You follow his instructions, and as you do so, he pulls the cigarette away from your lips. The taste of nicotine lingers on your tongue, bitter and harsh. You force yourself to suppress the instinctive urge to cough.

“Now,” he continues, “take a deep breath, let the smoke travel down your throat, feel it filling your lungs.” As you obey his command, the smoke burns in your throat. Yet you’re so focused on Simon that you barely notice the discomfort. “Hold it in for a couple of seconds and exhale. Slowly.”

As you exhale, the smoke billows out and hits his face. Simon scrunches his nose but says nothing. You both remain frozen, looking at each other, lost in a moment that seems to stretch on for an eternity. Your distraction worked, but now that it’s over, your desire to kiss him hasn’t waned. You move closer to Simon. When he doesn’t back away, you lean in further. Yet, as soon as your nose brushes against his, he pulls back and coughs. The sudden realisation of what you were about to do hits you like a wave. You blush, diverting your gaze to hide your embarrassment.

For the rest of the evening, neither of you dares to bring up the fact that you almost kissed. As you sit on the couch, side by side, your leg brushing against his from time to time, you’re both aware of the tangible tension that has settled between you. It’s a shame that the two of you stay silent because you are thinking the same thing: you shouldn’t have pulled away. He wanted to kiss you just as much as you wanted to kiss him.

[lionlena]

Just let it go... (PedroPascalxreader) oneshot

Your boyfriend, Pedro, back to home and finds you distraught on the couch. He's trying to do everything to comfort you.

Little sadness, low self-esteem, hurt/comort

*

Pedro returned from the gym and when the silence in the house found him, he felt worried. He was sure you were there because he put his keys next to yours. So why was it so quiet?

It's not like you were a loud person. You were very quiet compared to him. And yet, thanks to you, the house was teeming with life. There were always noises from the kitchen while you were preparing your meal. Or music was coming from the garden. And sometimes the sounds of the show you were watching came from the living room.

Even when you were working, he could hear how fast you were typing or talking to co-workers on the phone. So the silence was unsettling. He cautiously began to pace the house and finally found you in the living room. You were sitting on the couch curled up in a ball and stared blankly at the wall.

"Y/N, I'm back, sweetheart."

You jumped suddenly, as if someone had snapped you out of a trance. You looked at him and forced a small smile.

"Hi."

He immediately saw that your eyes were red. He quickly walked over to you and knelt by the couch. He place his hand on your knee.

"What happened?"

You were in a good mood when he left the house and now he was wondering what could have gone wrong.

You sighed heavily and shifted uneasily.

"Do you remember that new job I wanted got?" He nodded and you continued. "They sent me an e-mail. "Your qualifications are not enough for us." In other words, you sucks."

"Hey, hey, don't say that." He got up for a moment to kiss you on the forehead. "You know it's not like that. You said that there are 150 other people running for this job. Your qualifications are great and they just overlooked it."

You looked into his warm brown eyes. You really wanted to hug and kiss him, but the feeling of heaviness in your chest was too much. You knew he was right. It's just that someone else was a little better, or had a little more luck. Maybe he did better in the job interview. But that didn't make you any worse. However, there were thoughts that tormented you greatly.

"I was really hoping to get this job and make more money."

"We're not short of money."

"You, Pedro, you have enough money. I'm the one who still borrow from you."

He shook his head and grabbed your hand.

"Y/N, it doesn't matter. I don't care. You know I've been in a place like this myself. Do you know how many times I've borrowed money? I believe in you, honey.

"Okay" you replied resignedly. You don't have strength to argue with him.

He got up, hugged you and kissed your head.

"Would you like something to eat? I can make you a sandwich, or I'll warm up yesterday's dinner."

You shook your head. You felt your stomach still knotted.

"No, but if you're hungry, go ahead."

"How about that? I'll make popcorn and watch Lucifer with you. Hmm. What does that sound like?"

Your heart clenched at how sweet he was. You knew he didn't like your show, yet he was willing to sacrifice himself. But you refused again. Pedro wasn't going to give up.

"Do you want to go for a walk? To a cafe?"

You sighed heavily as you felt a new wave of tears welling up in your eyes. His efforts were wonderful but you felt too overwhelmed.

"Pedro, don't be angry, but... I just want to be alone, in silence."

He tilted his head and... He looked like a sad puppy whose toy had been taken away.

"I can't agree to that. I can be quiet, but I won't let you drown in this abyss of despair alone."

Before you could say anything he had already sat next to you and pulled you into his lap. You couldn't resist him. You rested your head against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you tightly. His lips touched your head as he whispered:

"Just let it go... I'm here, cariño ."

So you let go and the first tears fell onto his shirt. The heaviness in your chest was slowly easing and the feeling of being worthless slowly disappearing. Pedro's body heat gave to you comfort and a sense of safety. You gripped his arm tighter and whispered.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, mi amor . We'll stay here as long as you need, but trust me, tomorrow will be a better day."

You nodded your head and closed your eyes. In your sweet Pedro's arms, it was easy to believe that things would get better.

*

A/N: Well, this happen to me today :( And I really need my "Pedro comfort zone".

I hope is well with you all <3

[painsandconfusion]

yoo can u write more yandere whumper? i love the way u write

dang, you guys liked that one huh? sure kids, here ya go

Fix You

[Part One Here]

(tw: forced feeding, yandere, stalking, kidnapping, manhandling, intimate whumper, burning, unhealthy fasting)

“I’m not eating until you do.”

Whumpee eyes Whumper warily, dull, silicone spoon resting heavy in their trembling hands. They let their eyes slide back down to the soup in front of them. Tomato. Grilled cheese next to it. Their favorite artisanal bread. Never before has the worlds simplest meal looked so fucking fancy.

“Not hungry,” they deadpan.

Whumper sighs, leaning back in their chair. “You haven’t eaten in over a day. You need sustenance.”

Whumpee’s eyes flick back up - harder now. “I said I’m not hungry - would you just back off??”

Whumper doesn’t flicker. Doesn’t move in the slightest. They just sit in still silence, same gentle eyes roaming over Whumpee. “I can’t do that, Whumpee.”

Whumpee’s jaw sets. They look away. 

“Come on - I made your favorite.

“It’s not my favorite.”

“It is,” they posit gently. “You were just forced to choose a more refined answer to that question for so long. When you’re unhappy - this is what you want.”

Tears are burning at the backs of their eyes again as they shift their gaze further away - down and to the side. Hardwood floor. If their feet weren’t shackled down, they could make a break for it…

“Please, Whumpee. Do it for me?”

Their hand is scalding before they even register it moving. Soup splattering through the air and slopping onto the ground. Red stains the table and up their arm. “I SAID NO!”

Whumpee immediately snaps their jaw shut, melting back into their chair. Small. Regret washes through them, tailed loosely by cool, curling fear. 

What Whumper might do for them lashing out. The scolding they’d get even from their parents for something like that - let alone a kidnapper. 

But Whumper doesn’t flinch - barely even blinks. Even as the burnt orange splatters up their shirt. “..Whumpee, I-” Their eyes lock onto the soup on Whumpee’s hand. “Oh no- are you okay - is that burning you-?” before their sentence is finished, they’re already up and bounding across the kitchen. In moments, they’re kneeling at Whumpee’s side, not seeming to care about the soup that’s soaking into their jeans.

Whumpee rips their arm out of the way as Whumper reaches for it. “What are y- don’t - don’t TOUCH me-”

Whumper winces, shrinking a little. “I’m just trying to h-”

“WELL STOP HELPING.” Their voice cracks, the tears choking it down to nothing.

There’s a beat of silence, then Whumper rises smoothly. Something in their face hardens. “I’m not going to do that - I’ll never stop helping you.” They snatch Whumpee’s wrist, wrenching it toward them. They blot the cold towel over the light burn.

Whumpee bares their teeth, struggling in Whumper’s grip. “Ss-stop! Lemme go! Lemmego!”

Whumper’s jaw’s set as they scrub away the soup, gentleness starting to wear away with each pass of the towel. “Know what I think?” They step behind Whumpee’s chair, grabbing their other arm too.

Whumpee struggles against them, thrashing in the grip and against the metal around their ankles until it bruises deep against bone. “S-stop! Stop let GO-”

“I think,” Whumper continues, twisting both arms back behind the chair. “That you just aren’t used to this - you’re not used to someone actually caring.”

They wrist and writhe, but can’t break Whumper’s grip. “Wh-what are you talking about???”

The towel shreds in half.

“I think that everyone in your life is so shitty to you that you see something genuinely good as a threat - because that’s the mask they wear to hurt you.”

The towel starts wrapping around their wrists, biting in tight.

“Wh-nngh- stopthathurts-”

Whumper ignores them, tying rough, tight knots. “I think that you need a stronger hand to show you what’s right and wrong.” With one more tug of a knot, Whumpee’s stuck writhing against fabric alone. Whumper’s hands slither up over their shoulders, kneading in.

Lips at their ear have them twitching away, but there’s nowhere to go.

“So you’re going to eat. You’re going to be nice. You’re going to get to know me - and I’ll fix you.” Thumbs grind in - enough to drag a keeing whine from Whumpee’s throat. “Sound good, love?”

Whumpee squirms down, trying to escape the touch that follows them every inch. “Sst-top stop jus-justletme go-”

“No,” Whumper murmurs a kiss to the top of their head and pulls away. They don’t bother cleaning up the mess, they just get a different bowl from the cupboard and ladle a fresh few scoops into it. They prowl back to Whumpee, setting the steaming bowl neatly in front of them. “You need to eat.”

Whumpee glares at the soup, even as a tear trickles off their chin and splatters onto the mess of a table. “..n-no..”

Their scalp burns as Whumper’s fingers twist into it. Their shoulders strain against the sudden angle as their nose crunches against the bottom of the bowl.

Agony explodes around their eyes, fire licking up their cheeks and dripping down their neck. They sputter, thick, splattering air bubbles slopping through the soup as they thrash against Whumper’s hand - desperate to escape the burning. 

“Drink.” Whumper grinds them further down against the ceramic. “You can breathe when it’s gone.”

Whumpee sucks in a desperate mouthful, shoving the fire down their throat out of reflex as much as anything - half of it comes sputtering back up the wrong tube. Curling, grinding fear works up their lungs, following the burn as the acid and blood and tears dance across their throat. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” There’s another hand in their hair. Soft, gentle fingers contrasting the rough grip of the other. Stroking softly. Dancing through their curls and massaging lightly at the scalp. “I’m gonna fix you.”

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @meowsikbox @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @michaeltalks @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @astralrunic @cursedscribbles @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[jhilsara]

Tie Me to You/ Chapter 9

Chapter Summary: Mika's exhausted and Sam forces her to take a nap.

Word Count: 3.1k

<Last | Next>

Chapter Warnings: Heavy making out

This fanfic will explore heavier emotions and will have eventual smut. Minors DNI

Can also be found on AO3 X

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down

You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now

Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

Safe and Sound - Taylor Swift

Mika’s spent the better part of the last two weeks being on a rotation with the incubi. She called it a custody drop off, but no one found that funny besides her. If she couldn’t find some humor in her situation, she’d go insane. Regardless, they refuse to leave her alone without any protection since Malix showed up, so she’s being chauffeured everywhere. She hates that she essentially needs a babysitter, but it’s better than having some hell born devil attacking her in public.  

Her schedule has been nothing short of classes, work, home. Rinse and repeat. She was lucky enough that her job was on campus, so it made her life a little easier. Working in the university library was one of her smarter life choices. It worked to keep Mika away from her parents' house and provide her with time to study.  She cut back on her working hours this month, trying to focus on graduation.  

At home Mika disappears into her room to study for her exams. It keeps her mind off the impending doom of devils targeting her. Which is what she needs. So, she buries herself in her studies to block out her fear and anxiety. She focuses heavily on the goal of graduation, even though her grades are stellar, and she doesn’t need to worry. She didn’t need to study as much as she was. Damien and Erik had tried to persuade her out of her room to eat but were met with refusal. 

“I’ll eat after I’m done studying.” was the excuse. Every night she forgot to eat. Her exhaustion and anxiety were catching up with her body, almost visibly so. Her under eyes were dark and her cheeks appeared sallow. Mika dismisses their worries.  

“She isn’t coming down...again.” Erik tells them in concern. He sits at the dining table, brow furrowed in worry.  

“That’s three times this week and she’s lying to herself. She never eats.” Damien adds distressed over their friend.   

Sam slams his hands on the table and bolts up, fists curled and heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. He doesn’t say a word. Damien almost snorts with the laughter bubbling out of him. Sam was just so aggressive with how he shows care, it’s ridiculous. Who knew it would take Sam’s brute force to make her eat dinner. 

Sam pounds his fist on her door, “C’mon you’re eating with us.” he says sternly. His voice is gruff as he continues to knock. 

Mika almost jumps out of her chair from the sound that comes from the force of Sam’s fist. She can feel the headache starting. His attitude is the last thing she wants to deal with right now.  

“Not hungry!” She shouts back at him. Continuing to look over her notes.  

“Don’t care.” 

 He slams open her door and easily stalks over to her. Before Mika can even try to stand up or shout at him, Sam bends over, grabbing her legs. He slings her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes and turns to haul her downstairs.  

Mika’s face is red from embarrassment as she slams her hands against Sam’s back.  

“Put me down! What is wrong with you?!” she shrieks trying to wiggle out of his grasp. Her small hands pound against his back, not doing much at all except reaffirm to her how firm and muscular Sam is.  

She can’t move, his biceps locking her in place. “You haven’t eaten a real meal in days! Do you want to get sick? Stop being an idiot.” He growls out at her.  

Mika stops hitting him and freezes, growing quiet. “...That’s not-” she tries to retaliate but he cuts her off.  

“Just take a break. It won’t kill you.”  

She stops fighting back and lets him take her downstairs. She only tries to stop him outside the dining room, demanding she is fully capable of walking herself to her chair.  

Graduation is around the corner, and Mika is exhausted. If it wasn’t for the normal amount of stress that comes with graduating university, she also has to worry about devils.  

Mika is spent on her last thread of patience and exhaustion. She’s been getting little sleep and she passed out upon entering the car the last time James picked her up. Safe to say Mika is barely functioning.  

Sam’s driving her to campus this morning, which how he got a license is still debatable considering he’s quite possibly the worst driver she’s even seen. He notices the dark circles under her eyes and how she has the car mirror pulled down looking at them. She tries to cover them with some concealer, to not worry her friends. There are enough people who she’s burdening already. She didn’t need to add her friends to the mix. 

Sam looks over to her out of the corner of his eye, “How much sleep did you get?” Sam asks her bluntly. It sounds harsher than intended, but Sam never tried to be soft.  

She sighs and slaps the mirror back up, “Between studying for finals, work, and you know, stressing over my life possibly ending because of some devils... like, three hours?”  

He rolls his eyes at her answer, “Do you work tonight?”  

Mika turns to face him as she grabs her bag, “No, I took the day off. My last class ends around one.”  

“Why are you asking? I thought Matthew was picking me up today?” It would be her luck that she’s forgetting who is supposed to be driving her too. 

“He was, but I’m taking over. I’m gonna pick you up and you’re taking a god damn nap today.” Sam tells her in a tone that isn’t debatable.  

It’s never stopped her before though. She huffs in frustration, “Sam I have chores and studying and a million other things to do. I don’t have the time besides...” she pauses looking down at her lap.  

“I can’t.” she stresses out.  

“What are you talking about? Of course you can-” She cuts him off.  

“No, Sam, I mean... like I physically can’t sleep. If I could, I would but, it’s like my brain just won't turn off at night.” her grip on her bag is tight.  

She wasn’t planning on telling any of them about her sleeping problems. She had managed not to even set off Damien who couldn’t tune out her brain if he wanted to. So, why was Sam peeling away her carefully composed layer? 

He lays off for a moment, reaches over and places his hand on her head and ruffles her hair. “Don’t worry about it.”  

“Sam!” her hand flies up to smack his away and pulls down the mirror. “I just fixed that.” she pouts.  

He rolls his eyes playfully, “I’ll see you later doofus.”  

“Bye Sam.”  

He doesn’t push her. Doesn’t pry for more information or offer unwarranted advice she didn’t care to hear, he just listens. It eases her unsettling nerves, if only for a moment. 

Mika doesn’t believe that she will be napping. Like she told Sam, she just... can’t. She wishes she could, but the nightmares she’s been having are eating her from the inside out. All she can see and hear are red devils and gunshots. 

 It’s easier to not dream.  

Sam wasn’t joking with her though. He picks her up like he said he would and just like with dinner, he lifts her up effortlessly. Throwing her over his shoulder and tossing her into her bedroom.  

Mika sighs, not enjoying how much Sam’s already man handled her the past few weeks. She does take her time and bask in the hot water of her shower. She stands there long after she’s done washing and doesn’t move until the water almost runs cold.  

She pulls on her comfiest hoodie and shorts after drying her hair. She throws the door open and Sam’s leaning against the wall, waiting. He raises a brow at her.  

“Sam,” she sighs crossing her arm, “I’m not sleepy. I really do feel so much better after that shower though. So, I’ll just study until dinner.”  

Mika feels content with her argument. She still felt awful but not like a living corpse anymore, it was progress. She waves him off but Sam steps forward placing his hands on her shoulders. With a firm grip he pushes her back into the bedroom.  

“Nuh uh, no way. Get in that bed.”  

Mika rolls her eyes but dramatically falls onto her bed. She moves to sit up, crossing her legs and looking at Sam with a pointed look. “I’m on it.” She smacks her hands on her knees dramatically, trying to be irritating. She just wants to study, alone. 

Sam’s had enough of her attitude, he shakes his head and toes off his shoes. “Get under the covers doofus.”  

“Is the plan that you take a nap with me?” She jokes and shuffles herself comfortably under the blankets.  

Sam moves to sit next to her head, “No, just lay down and close your eyes alright?” He rolls his eyes. 

Mika shoots him a questioning look but does as she’s told. More than positive, she won’t be falling asleep anytime soon. She settles in hoping that, at the very least, she can relax for twenty minutes.  

She isn’t prepared for Sam’s hands to start lightly brushing through her hair and massaging her scalp. A soft gasp escapes Mika’s lips as she presses herself deeper into the pillow. Sam’s hands are rough and calloused, but he cards them through her hair so delicately. She doesn’t realize that the sensation and comfort of it put her to sleep.  

Mika stirs awake and it only mildly confused. She remembers Sam forcing her to take a nap but that was it. She had a dreamless sleep and it’s the most refreshed she’s felt in weeks.  

She’s wrapped around something on her bed, and it’s not a soft pillow. It’s firm. Or rather, Sam’s firm. Mika is pressed against Sam’s chest, one of his arms comfortably laying behind her. Her own arms are wrapped around Sam, hugging him close to her. She can hear his faint snores, as she notices he also fell asleep. 

Mika’s face burns in embarrassment and she tries to untangle herself from him. She slowly pulls her arms back toward herself and flips her body over so her back faces him. She moves to try and get off the bed, but Sam’s body follows her movements. He groans as she moves away, his arms immediately moving to wrap around her waist and pull her back against his chest.  

Mika turns to look over her shoulder and sees that he is still very much deeply asleep. She relaxes in his hold, knowing she isn’t going to be leaving the bed until he wakes up. The discomfort leaves her body as she focuses on his breathing and the slow, rhythmic movement of his chest. She sighs and grabs her phone that’s next to her pillow and mindlessly scrolls on it to pass the time.  

A solid twenty minutes pass before she feels him stirring awake behind her.  

“Whattimeisit?” he slurs out groggily.   

Mika softly giggles to herself, “It’s about seven at night.”  

“Five more minutes...” he clutches onto her tighter shoving his face into the crook of her neck.  

The motion sends a shiver of pleasure down her back. Sam immediately feels it and his hands fly off her like he’s been burned from a hot iron. Sam sits up completely straight his face blushing furiously as he looks mortified.  

Once he releases her, Mika finally sits up. She moves her arms up in a stretch.  

“Oh my fucking god. I’m so sorry.” He rushes out, avoiding her eyes.  

“Sam it’s fine. You just fell asleep, and we’ve been exhausted for over a week...” she offers him an olive branch to end his own inner turmoil. 

Sam looks up and reads her face. He finds she is being sincere, and his shoulders release the tension they were holding. He flops back into the bed, rubbing his face in irritation. “I’m more than exhausted.” he mutters to himself. 

“What?” 

“It’s nothing.” Sam swings his body back up, trying to shake off his admission.  

Mika moves before she can stop herself, grabbing his wrist. “Sam...I-”  

She’s nervous. Mika chews on her lip anxiously, looking down to avoid his intense gaze.  

“Do you need energy?” she finally asks him. Her voice is quiet, but her question screams at them both.  

She feels Sam’s body go rigid, “I’m fine.” He bites out in a hard tone. His actions defy his words as Sam doesn’t pull himself out of her light grip. 

She looks up at Sam for the first time, and really notices how tired he looks. He’s carrying his own undereye bags and he’s been training his brothers almost every day. Sam is more than at the end of his power supply. Mika didn’t know how often they needed energy, but it looked like Sam was desperately clinging onto whatever was left.  

“Sam, you look like a dead man walking.” She tells him bluntly. “Take my energy, I’m telling you it’s okay.” Mika reassures with a squeeze of his wrist.  

Sam’s losing his internal battle with his will. He scoffs at her statement and turns to look away from her.  

“I promise, it’s okay.”  

Sam’s tense shoulders finally seem to relax, and he begrudgingly looks at her. Mika sees his eyes are no longer green but rimmed in a beautiful gold. Almost dancing around his iris. She smiles in triumph.  

“Don’t look so smug,” he says moving his hand out of her grip to grab her waist and lay her down on the bed. He touches her like she’s something fragile. “You’re gonna be tired after this.”  

“Only if you do it right.” She teases him. 

“Oh? Now you’re pushing your luck.” Sam says in a low voice but before she can respond his lips have found hers, shutting her up.  

Mika feels the enthrallment working its way in her body, making her feel flushed from the inside out. She feels the warmth in the pit of her stomach. Sam’s hands leave a burning trail as they slide down to her hips. He presses her into the mattress, it’s a consistent firm pressure, almost like he’s forcing his hands to not roam her body. Mika wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Their mouths slot together easily.  

Unlike before, Mika is acutely aware of being enthralled. Mika craves more, she only wants more of Sam. She wants him all over, kissing her neck, caressing her, marking up her body with evidence of only him. She involuntarily thrusts her hips up, trying to chase any friction, a small whimper escapes her lips. She feels his grip on her hips tighten in response, keeping her still in place. A low growl registers in his chest.  

Heat flushes down her body, as a wave of desire floods her senses. Mika’s head is swimming in thoughts of Sam. Everything feels too much, too hot, just too intense. She can’t decipher if she has real feelings or if it’s just enthrallment. Her head is spinning as she realizes maybe she should have asked about how enthrallment works before just diving right into it. 

Sam shifts and leans his weight onto one arm as he props himself up. His mouth moves to sprinkle kisses along her jaw and down her neck. She doesn’t suppress the moan that comes from her, craning her neck back to expose more to him. Sam chuckles into her neck and places one more soft kiss on the hollow of her neck. 

 He pulls away to sit up, “Thanks, I’m good now.” His voice is low, like he’s the one out of breath and not her.  

She looks up at him, eyes heavy as she feels the enthrallment drop. She’s taking deep shallow breaths, feeling completely blissed out. Her head was still fuzzy from it all. 

“Uh, yeah, anytime.” She says in a daze moving to sit up.  

Sam snorts and places his hand on her head, ruffling her hair. His eyes are soft as he looks at her, “Don’t offer up something like that. I might make good on it.” He teases. 

After Sam leaves the room Mika falls back on her bed. Hands covering her burning red face as her heart beats astronomically fast. She has no idea what she’s doing.  

‘Fuck me.’ 

She should have asked how their powers work. Enthrallment is... confusing for Mika. They just seemed so human, she forgot they were demon's half the time. If it wasn’t for Damien’s never-ending mind reading, she would forget entirely.  

Which is why she shouldn’t be thinking about it at all right now. She grips the steering wheel a little tighter and tries to focus on the music playing from the radio. Mika’s driving to class, it’s Damien’s turn to escort, and she’s still replaying last night with Sam. She’s trying not to while Damien’s literally sitting next to her. There’s no privacy in her own head, and while usually that wouldn’t bug her with Damien, this is different. Mostly because she doesn’t know if she has feelings for Sam or if she just liked the lustful feeling from the enthrallment.  

Mika’s mind wanders to Sam’s firm hands pressing her into the mattress and his large body hovering over her frame. Sam was built and it wasn’t fair, he easy threw her over his shoulders, and she thinks about him manhandling her in other ways. She shakes her head trying to push the thought from her head. 

There’s a heavy sigh from Damien and she looks at him briefly, seeing him quirking a brow at her.  

“I’ve heard literally everything in your head, and it is not only overstimulating, but it feels like mind whiplash.” he says with a frown.  

She clutches the steering wheel, white knuckles, as she focuses heavily on the road. Shame flushes through her body.  

“How, how does enthrallment work?” Mika asks quickly trying to push past her embarrassment.  

Damien chuckles, and tries to cover it with a cough, “Well, it gives us your energy. Which you knew that much. As incubi we feed on sexual energy, but enthrallment doesn’t magically give you deep emotions for someone. It just lets us bend your will to ours in that moment. It also enhances the pleasure of your experience as a human. Nothing more and nothing less.”  

Mika grows quiet at Damien’s respond and mulls it over in her head.  

“So, my very confusing feelings aren’t the enthrallment?”  

“Nope. That’s all you.” Damien looks over at Mika with an amused smile. 

“You’re not being very helpful here Damien...” Mika says with a pout as she gives him an annoyed glance.  

All Damien responds with is a genuine laugh. 

[storiesdo]

Jonathan helped her into the dress, and she twirled around, giving him a peek upskirt. He nodded. “You look stunning,” he said.

“Thank you.” He led her hand in hand downstairs. “Are you hungry yet?” He asked. “I could go for some food right about now.” Her stomach grumbled in sympathy. She hadn’t eaten since early that morning.

“Sure,” Eliza said.

“I was thinking steak and pepper sauce,” said John. “It’s a little early for such a heavy meal, so maybe we should stretch it an hour, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so I’d like to eat soon. You know, I would take you to a nice restaurant, but we agreed not to go out in public.”

Eliza nodded. “Maybe some other time.” Seeding another appointment, she thought. It was somewhat cynical of her, but she felt it was entirely natural. She was only being honest. “You’re welcome to take me out, but we’d have to suspend the roleplay. But I don’t mind a nice home-cooked meal.”

Jonathan smiled. “I’m an excellent cook.”

“Maybe we could just cuddle and watch some TV to kill time,” Eliza suggested. “I love it when you stroke my hair.”

Jonathan seated himself on the coach and switched on some mindless reality show. The kind where there is no real goal, except for the contestants to back-stab each other as much as possible—when they’re not having sex, and solemnly swearing they never imagined they would be doing it on television, it just happened, because he or she’s the one. Eliza curled up beside him, and he obediently began stroking her hair. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that he was her boyfriend, a trick she used whenever a client wanted romance rather than straight sex. It wasn’t hard to see this kind, caring and wealthy bachelor as a partner in another life. Eliza had a strict policy of separating business and pleasure—it wasn’t like she were actually falling for him. But with closed eyes, she could pretend. When she lay still, she hardly even noticed the difference in her underwear, but whenever she moved, the padding pushed into her and reminded her of what a little girl she was supposed to be.

Before she knew it, she was dreaming. The imagery faded as soon as Jonathan nudged her awake, but it had been a pleasant dream. “Hey, I didn’t say you could nap,” John said.

Eliza rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t sleep much last night. I’ll be a good girl and go to sleep for bedtime, that’s a promise.”

“I think it’s time for dinner,” John said. “Would you like to continue coloring for me, or would you like to help me cook?”

She told him she wanted to cook. Eliza had had enough coloring for one day. She needed some kind of stimulation. Pleasant though it was, life as a little girl was rather boring. One downside of her more romantic appointments was that they didn’t provide the same level of excitement as a sexual session. Her clients rarely knew how to inject excitement into a date. But as soon as she’d finished that train of thought, John was over her, pinning her down on the coach, and then he was tickling her. “Eeee!” She squeaked. It was unexpected, but she didn’t protest. She tried to contort her body so he couldn’t get to her most ticklish spots, but he was devious. One fake maneuver toward her armpits, and then he was lifting up the front of her dress, and for a moment she thought he was going to stick a hand down her diaper—but then he was blowing raspberries on her stomach, and Eliza couldn’t help but laugh. When she did, she let down her defenses up top, and he started on her armpits, the most ticklish spot on her body.

“Aaaah!” She said, laughing all the while. “Stop! Stop! I’m gonna pee!” She struggled to close her legs, but then he was tickling her under her feet, and she had to open them, and almost kicked him in the nose, barely missing his glasses. “I mean it! I’m ahhhahaaa—I’m gonna pee myself!”

He let up. “Let’s get you to the bathroom before it’s too late, then,” he said.

Eliza was red-faced and panting, exhausted from the assault of tickles. Her breath was heavy, and her chest was hurting from all the laughing, but her smile was genuine. None of her clients ever got into tickle fights with her. Hell, it was even a little bit hot. She’d experimented with forced orgasms using a vibrator and a willing, non-paid partner, and tickling was similarly painful and pleasant at the same time. But she didn’t want to pee herself. Eliza wanted to prove to John that she could last until seven. A little silly, she realized. She was an adult and had never peed her pants by accident, not since she was a toddler. Big Eliza, the sex worker, had nothing to prove. But Little Eliza certainly did, after her embarrassing accident earlier.

“I don’t really need to go,” she managed, after she regained her breath. “It’s just when you tickle me, I can’t control it.”

“Well, let’s try anyway. I can’t leave the kitchen once the plates are hot and things are cooking to take you to the bathroom, now can I? Here is a potty training lesson. When you know you won’t be able to go to the potty for a while, it’s smart to go before, just in case.” He offered a hand and led her upstairs. She followed, a light rustling of her underwear probably only audible to herself.

“Okay, down she goes,” John said, lowering her pull-up, “and up she goes!” Eliza allowed herself to be hoisted up on the toilet. “See if you can make a little tinkle for me.”

She tried, but nothing came out. Eliza wasn’t normally pee shy, but something about the situation made her clam up. “I can’t,” she said.

“Maybe if I turn on the tap?” John offered. Eliza closed her eyes and listened to the stream of water splashing into the sink. Finally, a slight tinkle began. “Good girl!” John said. “Now, do you know how to wipe, Eliza?”

Of course she did. And they had agreed on no touching in that area. Eliza found herself aching for some touch down there. The whole evening had been a long series of humiliations, and that was the sort of stuff that got her going. She’d never imagined herself being into this stuff, and to be honest, she couldn’t ever see herself roleplaying a little girl for her own pleasure. But the roleplay did facilitate humiliation, and that had her loins all wet and slippery. No. It might set a bad precedent. We’ll have to renegotiate. On the other hand… She did say no unnecessary touching of privates, did she not? What if it were necessary? She did allow him to clean her in the bath and dry her off, all over her body.

“Uh… Maybe you could show me?” She bit her lip and looked him in the eye. For a brief moment, he blushed, a little flustered, but then he was back in control.

“Of course, baby,” John said. “It’s very important that you keep clean down there, so you don’t get any nasty infections. You don’t want that, do you, Eliza?”

She shook her head.

John ceremoniously grabbed a piece of toilet paper. It was four-ply, premium quality, soft as silk. Eliza considered expensive toilet paper to be literally throwing money down the toilet, so she always went for the cheap stuff. Apparently, she didn’t know what she was missing. When John wiped her down, it was like being wrapped in a blanket of good emotions. “Teehee, it tickles,” she said.

“Oh,” said John. “I don’t think little girls need to think about that.”

Eliza was a little disappointed. “There, all done,” John said, and helped her slide the diaper up her hips. “Now let’s go cook some dinner.”

They entered a kitchen decked out with all the newest in stainless steel and Swedish design. It looked like something out of an unusually upscale IKEA catalog. There was a double-door refrigerator, two hypermodern stoves with electronic displays and more dials and buttons than Eliza’s laptop. “I’m afraid little girls and hot stoves don’t go well together,” John said. “But you can ready the table. Plates are over there,” he indicated the top of a tall cabinet, “and cutlery over there.”

Eliza tried to reach the shelf, but even on the tips of her toes, she wasn’t tall enough. The kitchen was clearly designed for someone John’s size. “I can’t reach up there,” she said.

“Silly me,” John said. He grabbed some plates and glasses, and she decked out the table. Then he kept her busy grabbing ingredients and explaining every step of the cooking process, just as if she were in grade school. It wasn’t the world’s most complicated meal, and Eliza was sure she could’ve managed it on her own. But she allowed him to teach her.

The meal was delicious. Medium rare steak, pepper sauce and cooked potatoes. Anything would have been good at this stage; it was close to five and she hadn’t eaten since around nine in the morning. But John wasn’t lying when he said he was a good cook.

Eliza tried to imagine herself as a young child. She deliberately missed with her fork, allowing some sauce to spill onto her face. Once she was done eating, John playfully scolded her for being a messy eater, and wiped it all away. “We’ll have to teach you some table manner,” he said, and laughed.

With the weight of a full belly, her tiredness returned. She wasn’t sure if she could keep her promise of staying awake until bedtime. When was that, anyway?

John led them back into the living room. She curled up on the coach, and he handed her a blanket. Eliza yawned. “I’m gonna stay awake, promise,” she said, by way of apology. He sat down beside her.

“It wasn’t easy,” John said. “Telling my ex about this fetish.” He stroked her hair. It was auburn, flowing down to her chest in curlicues. “I always knew, kind of. I always enjoyed caring for my baby brother, but not in a sexual way, of course. And then when I hit my teens, I would see these cute girls, and the guys would be like, ‘Damn, I’d like to fuck her.’ Behind her back, of course. And I’d go, ‘Yeah, man, you got it.’ But inwardly I’d be thinking, ‘I’d love to take her home, kiss her forehead and tuck her in.’”

“So it isn’t sexual at all for you?” Eliza said.

Jonathan blushed.

“Don’t think I haven’t caught you looking at me that way,” Eliza said. “It’s no big deal. I’m hiring out my body, after all. Feel free to think any dirty thoughts you want, as long as you don’t act out anything we didn’t agree on.”

He resumed stroking her hair. “Oh, Eliza. I have to admit, you’re stunning. And I could see myself in bed with you, having some adult fun. But I’m perfectly happy caring for you without touching you inappropriately. The truth is, when I look at you right now, I see a child and a woman at the same time. I’m attracted to the woman as a woman to do man-and-woman stuff with, and to the child as a child to care for.”

Eliza sat up. She didn’t want to pry into his evidently difficult feelings toward his ex, but he was the one to bring it up. She was curious. “So I take it your ex didn’t take the news very well?”

“I was a stuttering mess. I think if I’d proudly stated my preferences like they were no big deal, maybe things would have gone over differently. But I acted like I was ashamed of it, and so she assumed it was shameful.”

Eliza nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her sleepiness somewhat slurring her words and dragging them out. “I find that people almost always adopt the attitude that you project to the world. Act confident, they will see you as confident. Act ashamed, they will assume you have good reason for it and pile on with the shaming.”

“Jane told me maybe she could help me get over it,” John said. “Maybe there was some other fantasy we could act out that would make me forget all about little girls and diapers and all that. She offered anal. She even hinted that a threesome might be on the horizon, she had some open-minded friends—Jane is in the porn biz, after all. But once it became clear that it wasn’t a phase and it wasn’t something that would ever go away, it became a constant source of conflict. She just couldn’t deal with the fact that I was fantasizing about her as a little girl—I mean, as an adult acting like one, not that I was jerking off to her childhood portraits or something.”

“I’m sorry,” said Eliza.

“But she led me to you,” Jonathan said. “Jane told me you might be open to something like this.”

“I’m all yours, until tomorrow morning.”

Suddenly, his hand was under her skirt. He pushed against the dry padding of her crotch, but then he withdrew his hand as quickly as he put it up there. “Just checking,” he said. “Don’t want you leaking on the couch.”

Eliza wiggled free of him. “I’m a big girl and I don’t need this thing,” she said, lifting her skirt to indicate the diaper. The bottom of her breasts peaked out, giving him a nice little underboob look. “I told you, I’m gonna keep dry until seven.”

“We’re almost there, kitten. Just tell me if you need to go potty.”

They sat in silence for a while on the coach. Again, Eliza’s eyes drooped, and she had to fight for them to stay open. “Hey, could you make some coffee or something? I’m almost falling asleep here,” Eliza said.

“I would, but not so close to bedtime. I don’t want my baby all hyper when she’s supposed to go to sleep.”

Eliza sank back into the couch.

“I can tell you’re bored. We’re supposed to have fun! Don’t you forget that. Little girls are allowed to be fussy if they’re understimulated. Not too fussy, of course, or I’ll have to take them over the knee,” John added. “Look, it’s almost seven o’clock. Come with me to the bathroom. If your pull-up is still dry, we can forget about your accident earlier”—a blush, at that—“and go back to panties. Come with me.”

Eliza stayed where she was. She felt as if she’d eaten a pot brownie, and now she was couchlocked. If only she had some sleep the night before. She’d been worried about finances. Her landlord had hiked up the rent, and if John had decided to cancel on her for some reason, she’d have been shit out of luck. She saw now that she needn’t have worried. His fee alone would cover a month’s rent and more, but she couldn’t have known that he wouldn’t back out. A few of her clients had done that. The idea of hiring a prostitute sounded appealing, but when it came to it, they didn’t have it in them. Society at large still frowns upon the practice, no matter how consensual it is. What she did was technically illegal, although her operation was luxurious and professional enough that, in practice, she was largely safe from law enforcement. But some of her clients, like John, were upper class with a reputation to protect. Some were so worried about being blackmailed, they demanded video footage of her conducting the transaction, themselves conveniently off screen, in order to have some dirt on her. Eliza refused such requests, of course. But no matter the validity of her concerns, they’d kept her up at night, and now she didn’t want to do anything but close her eyes and drift into sleep.

John picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. He was surprisingly strong for his lanky build. Then again, she was petite. John set her down in front of the toilet. “Okay, Eliza. Moment of truth. Did you have an accident, or are you still dry?”

“Still dry,” Eliza said, although her gaze was on the floor.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I check?” He asked.

Eliza lifted her dress in response. John slipped a finger into the side of her diaper, although his fingers never strayed toward her pussy. “Almost completely dry,” He said.

“I was turned on for a bit,” Eliza said. “That doesn’t count.”

“I suppose not,” John said. “Okay. Do you want panties for the rest of the night?”

Eliza nodded. John disappeared for a moment, although he stopped in the doorway to assure her he wasn’t leaving her alone for more than a minute, as if she were a child with separation anxiety.

Once he was back, he made her try to pee in the toilet again. This time, she managed a little trickle without the aid of a running tap. Then he slipped on her panties, and a little bit of her adulthood was restored. The used diaper went in a separate trash can, she noted. John really was prepared for everything.

Eliza’s eyes were drooping. “John, please, I really need that coffee if I’m going to stay awake,” she said. “Pretty please? Just a little cup.”

“No,” he said plainly. “And I don’t want to hear any more about it. Stop nagging.”

Eliza stopped and resisted his attempt to lead her onwards. “Please,” she said again. “I’m so tired. Don’t you want me to stay awake and play with you?”

“Enough,” John said.

She tried one last time. “Please?”

John turned around. His demeanor had changed. His size advantage had made him feel like a big, strong protector, but now it felt like a threat. Eliza took a step back. His face was red, his mouth contorted into a frown. “Enough is enough. You will go stand in the corner for twenty minutes, and if I hear as much as a peep from you, you’re going over the knee. Is that clear?”

Eliza gave an uncertain nod. She had awakened the beast. Eliza hadn’t seen this side of John before. One part of her was terrified; the other, secretly excited. He was finally warming up to the role of the Dominant in their scene. “But what if I need to go to the bathroom?” Eliza asked. “May I speak then?”

“You just went,” he said curtly. “You can hold it for twenty minutes. You were so eager to prove that you belong in panties, so here’s your chance. Come to think of it, I don’t want you to get dehydrated. I’ll bring you a bottle of water, and I expect you to finish it by the time your timeout’s up.”

Time passed glacially in the corner. She stared at the off-white wall and tried to distract herself with happy thoughts, occasionally taking a sip of water. It was no use. Her punishment was boredom, and she deserved it. Little Eliza had pushed it too far. Although her eyes drooped, standing up kept her awake. She attempted to sit down, thinking perhaps she could sneak in a powernap while John wasn’t watching, but he told her to stand up immediately.

Eliza was frustrated, tired, and now her stomach was starting to hurt, too. What do babies do when they’re sick and tired and want to get their will? They cry. Eliza wasn’t much of an actor—well, that wasn’t true. She was very good at inhabiting the roles her clients wanted her to play, but that was the extent of her abilities. Eliza couldn’t cry on command. But right now, she felt very much the fussy baby, and focusing on her tired and frustrated state made her all the more upset. Once she added in the mental image of her true love dumping her—that was long ago, before she stopped believing there was one and only one person out there for her—she managed a little sniffle, and soon tears were rolling down her cheeks. Quickly, John was beside her.

“Baby, don’t cry. What is it?” He said. His tone had changed from stern to paternal concern.

“I’m tired. My tummy hurts. I don’t want to stand in this stupid corner anymore,” she said, between sniffles. All of which was true. That part wasn’t an act.

John looked her over. She was standing there in a juvenile summer dress, the one he had put her in after she peed in her first outfit of the day (second, really, since he had removed the one she came in). She had puffy eyes and drying tears down her cheeks. The sight of her so miserable seemed to break through his defenses. John squatted down beside her and gave her a hug. “Now, now, don’t cry, sweet child. I think you’ve learned your lesson about disobeying me. Haven’t you, kitten?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Eliza said.

[rin-itoshi]

mc’s departure | obey me

summary: how the brothers would react to MC returning to the human world after a year in the devildom

contains: fluff , angst , ?!!!!&;@;&:idk

♯ LUCIFER

he’s the one to see you off, reminding you of the many things he had taught you so that you’d never forget.

his pride is much too large to admit that he will miss you to death and that he loves you dearly.

after you’re gone, he’s gone for hours at a time, holed up in his room with as much as work as he can take on.

he overworks himself with the intention of getting rid of the heavy emotion on his heart.

everything reminds you of him, even the paper clip on his desk that you had once found under his bed.

he gets easily irritable, feeling rather empty now that you’ve gone and left him alone in this now quiet house.

barely leaves his room, only works.

never cries but gets quite emotional when he finds a belonging you left behind.

♯ MAMMON

he cried every single night up until your departure but never showed you that side of him once

after you left, he cried non-stop, not caring if he looked like a cry baby in front of his brother’s who watched him with pitiful eyes.

once his eyes dried up, he soon never returned home as he partied all day and night.

he forced himself to attend parties after parties in order to forget about you.

it never works because everything reminds him of you.

sometimes he sits in his car and just stares into space, wondering what you’re doing now that you’re back on earth.

literally cannot stand the mention of you or your name or he may break down.

pretends to be okay but can’t go a day without getting upset about your absence.

money soon becomes pointless when he realizes no amount of cash will bring you back to the house of lamentation.

♯ LEVIATHAN

curled up in his bath tub and cried himself to sleep.

stopped leaving his room in general, continuously playing games all day and night.

couldn’t look at his ruri-chan figures because they somehow reminded him of you and how much you used to admire them with him.

every inch of his room has your touch on it and it makes his heart ache painfully.

struggles to attend online school but manages to make it through the day by zoning out in class.

claims he doesn’t care about a normie like you but genuinely misses you

sends you messages, forgetting you can no longer contact him without your D.D.D

writes about how much he misses you on his blog fully aware you’ll never see it.

♯ SATAN

reading. that’s all he does.

he hides in his room and reads every single book he has stacked up along his room, even rereading them if he finished everything.

uses books to get his mind off of you—or more so the lack of you.

will sometimes get excited about a stray cat he sees but stops himself when he realizes he can’t tell you because you aren’t here.

gets angry. a lot.

the smallest things set him off and he can longer feign a smile when he hears your name or anything related to you.

he misses you so much that he wants to tear out his hair and rip apart all these book page by page.

his room is in shambles and he can’t seem to think straight anymore.

♯ ASMODEUS

loses his interest in everything.

forgets his skin care routine and lets himself go without caring about it.

forces himself to go to parties and tries to sleep with someone to feel better but when it fails, he stops sleeping around in general.

like mammon, he doesn’t come home often to avoid seeing the house he had lived in with you happily.

cannot forget about you no matter what he does, and that frustrates him the most.

wishes he had done something to stop you or at least slept beside you one last time.

neglects himself for a while.

♯ BEELZEBUB

poor bby isn’t hungry for once.

can’t seem to eat now that you’re not sitting beside him, giggling about something he had said.

spends a lot of his time doing weight training and exercising to get his mind off of you.

misses all the meals you used to make on the nights you were in charge of cooking.

sometimes forgets you’re not around whenever he’s about to go downstairs to eat dinner.

clings to belphie in hopes to fill the gap in his heart.

accidentally broke down your room door in an angry fit when your absence finally set in.

♯ BELPHEGOR

either he sleeps even more or somehow gets less sleep.

no matter what, he feels sluggish and blank.

locks himself in the attic, almost as if he was never released in the first place.

even though he hated humans, your absence affected him the most after he had grown to love you as a human.

nearly went demon mode on diavolo when he found out that you were being sent back to the human world.

partially wishes he never met you but cherishes his memories with you too much to ever wish for that wholeheartedly.

sleeps in your bed often to hold onto your lingering scent that was fading quickly.

complains to beel that you were nothing but a stupid human who turns their backs on demons like them, but he never means anything he says.

“Why is it so quiet in here?” Diavolo asks as he opens the front door of the House of Lamentation with Barbatos at his side. The man’s golden eyes scanned the entry hall, noticing how it was so eerily dark and quiet that it almost felt like something out of a horror movie. It felt like no one had lived here in over two thousand years. “Hello?”

Upon receiving message from Diavolo, everyone had exited their rooms for the first time in a while, looking like they were dragged through the mud. The state they were in made Diavolo jump with surprise, shocked to find that even Lucifer looked like he was ill. “What happened to you guys?!”

“What is it that you need, Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer asked as he ran a hand through his hair to compose himself a bit in front of the red haired man. “If is nothing important, may I kindly ask you to leave and return another time?”

Diavolo sighed, shaking his head lightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what’s up with you guys, but I brought everyone’s favorite person along with me so sing your praises now!”

Mammon huffed, “If ya’ talking about that butler of yours, ain’t nobody care right now! We got bigger things to worry about!”

Barbatos simply smiled, taking no offense to the sly insult thrown his way.

Diavolo cocked a brow in confusion. “What? Of course not! It’s-“

The person stepped out from behind Diavolo, catching the attention of every single male in the room. The seven brother’s choked, staring at the one person they had longed for these past few days.

“[y/n]!” They shouted in unison, practically flying down the stairs to get to you. Mammon was the first to reach you, wrapping his arms around your entire body as he tackled you to the floor. The other brother’s climbed on top of you two, hugging you so tightly that you feared this would be where you’d die. “You’re back!”

Diavolo chuckled boisterously. “This is amusing! You lot are acting like you didn’t know they’d return today!” His laugh came to an abrupt stop when he saw the flat expressions coming from each and every brother. “Oh- Did I not inform you?”

“Obviously you didn’t.” Belphegor scoffed with a roll of the eyes, burying his face in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent. “[y/n]...”

“Ya can’t ever leave again! I’ll seriously get angry at ya if this happens again! Ya either go to the human world with me or ya don’t go at all!” Mammon snapped, cupping your cheeks while getting dangerously close to your face to yell at you.

“I’ll severely punish you if you ever leave this manor without giving me a heads up as to where you’re off to. You’re not just an exchange student anymore. You’re special.” Lucifer explained, a panicked glint in his tired eyes as he reached out to pat your head gently with his gloved hand.

Satan sighed, pressing his forehead against your back. “If you leave again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control my emotions, so don’t leave.”

The avatar of lust whined loudly, “my beautiful self can’t handle a life without you! Don’t ever go anywhere without me again!” He clutched onto her waist tightly.

“Don’t... Don’t go anywhere.” Leviathan said with a sad frown on his lips as he held your hand, bringing it up to rest against his cheek. “It’s so empty without you.”

“Let’s eat dinner together, [y/n].” Beel suggested, his voice full of emotions as he drooled at the thought of dinner with you.

A million emotions ran through your veins as you sat there, basking in the warmth of their touch. It was overwhelming to receive so much love all at once but it was amazing.

A smile slowly crept onto your lips as you leaned into their touch, enjoying the way they clung to you as if you’d disappear any moment now. “I missed you guys, too.”

“What a lovely reunion!” Diavolo exclaimed happily, snapping a view blurry photos on his D.D.D to send to the group chat later.

After the heartfelt moment, they quickly disappeared upstairs to fix up their appearance before rushing downstairs to the kitchen where you stood. They clung to you like bugs to a light, hounding you about your sudden departure, only to find out that you had gone up there with Diavolo and Barbatos to help the man experience human world activities he had never gotten to try before. Diavolo was sure he had told them that but seeing as they were genuinely distressed, he assumed the message never reached.

Even though they were beyond pissed with Diavolo and his carelessness, they were just glad you were back. Them being here with you really was their idea of a perfect life.

a/n: UH YEA K GOODNIGHT

[kimnjss]

For the Namjoon Drabbles, can I request a Plot Twist drabble? Slice of domesticity between the couple? Im curious how things are with them now.

“are you just gonna sit there and watch?” the annoyance is heavy in your tone, earning a hearty laugh from your twin, sat with his legs crossed on the couch. he grins as he speaks, long strands of hair shaking as he nods his head. “i’ve never even seen you pick up a broom. i’m witnessing history.” he says through a laugh.

he’s not wrong. cleaning wasn’t exactly something you did regularly, there had always been people for that. the same thing went with cooking so it must’ve been a culture shock to him seeing frantically moving around the kitchen getting dinner together. and his smirk is immediate when he realizes you’ve made one of joon’s favorite meals. rushing to get the house clean before while it cools, he’ll be here any minute.

but that stop the scoff you’re letting out at his words, shooting daggers in his direction. “shut up. when are you leaving?” judging from how comfortable he’s made himself, you can only imagine he has no intention of leaving. “soon.” he says, almost uninterested. “i’m meeting ti-lee in a bit. what time does joon get back?” he’s reaching over to pick at a piece of meat, shoving it into his mouth before you can chastise him for it.

“soon. which is why-“ the sound of the door opening cuts you off and it’s embarrassing the way your heart reacts. joon takes his time at the door, pulling his shoes off and slipping on his house shoes before he’s fully stepping in. wheels of his suitcase rolling against the hardwood and you can’t believe it’s been two whole weeks since you’ve seen him last. and the way his face lights up as he enters the kitchen, lets you know he’s thinking the same. “baby!” you’re letting out a loud squeal, dropping the towel that you’re holding to rush over to him.

he’s quick to pull you into his embrace, accepting the dozen kisses you plant all over his cheeks. his laughter vibrates your chest, strong arms wrapping around your waist. “i missed you too.” he’s saying through a short laugh. he doesn’t hesitate to accept the wet kiss you’re placing on his lips, hands lifting to grip at your waist. his lips taste sweet, a lot like the lip balm you had lost a few days before he left.

with your mouth slotted against his, you’re barely able to speak clearly. but excitement bubbles in your chest and you can’t keep the words from flowing. “i cooked your favorite… and cleaned! hoseok is leaving. i figured you want to eat first… then maybe take a bath? i missed you so much.” you’ve planned out the entire evening and joon finds that adorable, but something in your muffled words stick out to him. and he’s quick to pull back from your lips to peak over your shoulder, cheeks darkening at the sight of your brother sat at the table. watching.

“oh. don’t let me stop you,” he says once he realizes eyes are on him, but is quick to straighten up after catching the glare you’re sending his way. “i’m gonna head out…” he says with a chuckle, standing from his spot and passing the both of you - “welcome back, buddy.” he says before he’s leaving, the sound of the door slamming filling the room. and bringing your attention back up to your man. “are you hungry? should i fix you a plate?”

he’s not at all used to your dotting and it has him thinking maybe he should go on business trips more often. though, he’d miss you too much. you look so pretty bouncing around the kitchen, his shorts bunched up at your waist to keep them from falling and a tiny tank top to show off the new jewelry hanging from your belly button. yeah, three weeks away from you was insane. his hand lands comfortably on your back as you set his food in front of him, tilting his head up toward you with puckered lips. you’re pressing yours against his instantly.

seeing you like this had him ready to head to the nearest jewelry store with every intention of getting down on one knee. with time, though. right now, he’s more concerned with pulling you onto his lap. cheek resting against your back as you take it upon yourself to cut his pork into bite size pieces, babbling on about everything that’s happened to you while he was gone. mostly about work and he loves to hear it, loves that you’ve been happy - despite the fact that you’ve missed him.

you don’t notice the loving look in his eye until you’re turning toward him with a forkful of food, cheeks darkening when you see the hearts he’s sending to you. “what?” you say through a giggle. joon’s smiling big, head shaking as he tightens his grip around your waist. “nothing. i just love you.” your heart flutters as if it’s the first time he’s ever said it, though he doesn’t say it often. more interested in showing you. your lips lift in a soft smile as his wrap around the fork. humming at the taste with a grin, so you have to lean down to press another lips. “and i love you.” you say and you mean it.

[harryspet]

caged bird | s.rogers, p.parker & b.barnes

[Warnings] dark!steve rogers x reader, dark!peter parker x reader, dark!bucky barnes x reader, polyamory, prison au, noncon/dubcon sex, this plot scenario is very unrealistic but oh well,  reader makes a deal so she can survive, hella manipulation, dominants/submissive, oral sex (male recieving), hella angst, shower sex, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: this is like a really f’d up situation so enjoy :):):) i also wrote this over the span of two weeks so i’m sorry if the pacing is weird and (also x2) this is nowhere near canon

In which you have to make a deal with three devils in order to survive in The Cage.

word count: 4.8k

main masterlist

Your eyelids were heavy though the bright light outside the bus was forcing you awake. Your limbs shackled to the seat, it reminded you that you had lost your freedom so quickly and that you’d probably never have a good night of sleep ever again, “How long?” Your mouth was dry, the heat from the wasteland you were driving through crept through the window. 

“Twenty minutes, princess,” Officer Rumlow looked you over for the millionth time like you were fresh meat ready for the slaughter. His perceptions weren’t far off and that’s what scared you the most. You weren’t cut out for a place like the Cage. 

A week ago you thought this place was fictional, a nightmare tale that was used to scare the new employees. It was still a nightmare but you were now living in it. You thought your heart might explode out of your chest as the facility finally came into view. Five stories of complete concrete surrounded by two, hundred-foot fences and surrounded by a barren wasteland. 

You were the only one on the bus. The Cage rarely received new inmates due to the nature of crimes that the prison was built for. Vigilantes and government traitors. Many used to consider them heroes but they were unregulated and dangerous. That's how they ended up here and, your boss, Alexander Pierce had sold you out to save himself.

“When … W-When am I going to get my phone call?” You asked as the bus entered the gates of the prison, finally stopping at the processing center. 

Rumlow chuckled, walking over to unchain your shackles from the floor of the bus, “Who are you going to call, princess? Mommy and Daddy?” He grabbed you roughly by your upper arm, pulling you out of your seat and dragging you down the steps of the bus. 

You refused to accept that you had been erased. Your parents probably thought you were only missing, not that you had been wrongly accused of betraying the government and had been thrown into the most dangerous prison in the country. 

“They can’t do this,” You winced as your arm stung, “No trial. No jury. T-This is illegal!”

Rumlow ignored you, and you had to pick up your pace in order to not fall down. Your eyes wandered around, the sun nearly blinding you and stinging your skin at the same time. You noticed in the distance a group of male inmates standing behind a wired fence, wearing the same navy jumpsuit as you, and even from far away, you could see cold and hungry glances. 

You thought you were lucky for a minute since you were a woman but then you remembered what kind of women probably lived here. As you were brought inside, past several guards, through metal detectors and pat-downs. 

When you got to the body cavity search, you expected to part way with Rumlow. Standing in a small, cold room, Rumlow stood in the doorway with his hands casually in the pockets of his pants, “Undress, inmate,” Your eyes widened and you quickly crossed your arms, “Slowly, if you don’t mind.”

“I-I do mind,” You said quickly, “I’m supposed to have a female officer-”

“You don’t get those kinds of privileges in the Cage. We don’t separate inmates by gender,” You shook your head as your eyebrows began to furrow. 

“That’s insane-”

“Undress, inmate,” He said more sternly this time, “Or would you like me to do it for you? You’re lucky I don’t make you put on a show for the rest of the guards.”

You shook your head again, tears starting to form in your tired eyes, “Please don’t-” You tried to plead with him but, as you did, you watched him reach for his baton, “Okay, okay!”

Rumlow smiled a wicked smile, “Good. Bend over and cough, inmate. Let me see that cute, little ass of yours.”

+

When you finally got to see a female officer, she was escorting you to your cell. In your hands, you held the rest of your life which included one more set of clothes, bedding, and a toothbrush. You had to eat what the prison provided and you could only earn extra commissary from working. Hela tried to explain everything to you but you were only latching onto every other world. 

You walked along a slim passageway which had cells to the right and a metal railing to the left. There were three floors of cells and they seemed to go all the way around in a circle. Passed the railing and in the middle of the dome was where it seemed most of the inmates were gathered. 

The shouting, laughing, and fighting echoed through the dome and you couldn’t help but think those calls were for you. You could barely carry your bag of things and walk straight without stumbling. If they couldn’t send your weakness from your appearance then they’d surely sniff it out soon. 

“This can’t be allowed,” You whispered to Officer Hela, though her dark hair mixed with the look of death in her eyes didn’t scream “empathy” to you, “There has to be some sort of rule-”

She stopped in front of an empty, six by eight-foot cell which told you that this would be your new home, “You can sit in solitary if you like,” She spoke coldly, “Your meals get brought to you and you don’t have to deal with the animals in here but there’s no time outside. It’s easy to lose track of the days and forget which voices are real and which ones are inside your head. If you prefer to go insane before you die then I’d recommend that route.”

There wasn’t much of a choice to make and you found your feet moving before your brain could register. You stepped inside the cell, setting down your things on the bottom bunk, “A girl like you is going to need to latch onto a group, pledge your allegiance, and do not let them question your loyalty. They live by a different code here and following it is life or death, do you understand?”

You slowly nodded as you listened and part of you was grateful that she wasn’t completely cold, “T-Thank you-”

She scoffed, “Such a precious little thing … I give you a week,” With that, she turned on her heel and you felt hopeless once again, “I’ll escort you to dinner-”

You shook your head, “I’m not hungry.” You were actually starving but you could not yet face the beast. 

She only shrugged and pulled the door closed. The light above you flickered and you stared back down at your bunk. You were holding back your tears as you tried to make up your bed. Staring at the flimsy mattress material only made you more depressed so you decided just to lay down. Facing the wall, your tired eyes roamed over what was scribbled on the walls. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. is evil. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. is corrupt. 

You hated that the words initially sent a wave of anger through you. You hated that you still felt loyal to that group of monsters. You were a low level worker with good standing and they had just sent you to die?

With your face tucked into your arm, you cried yourself to sleep. 

+

The next day you had no choice but to face your fears. You couldn’t go any longer without food and, in a place like this, you needed to keep your energy up. Before the sun was even out, you heard the mechanical click of the cell door. Your favorite officer, Rumlow, made sure to stop by your cell during roll call. 

“So you decided on general population,” He popped the gum he was chewing, looking you over, “I’m sad to hear it, I was gonna visit you every day in solitary but I guess we’ll get some alone time soon enough.”

You scowled at him and a shiver went through you as he continued pass your cell. You were now grateful that you had chosen general population. 

That feeling didn’t last as inmates started moving from their cells down to breakfast. You stayed back, waiting to slip out of your cell when the crowd had passed. You lingered in the back of the line but no one seemed to notice you until you were in the kitchen line. The first reaction was a quiet murmur that went through the group of (mostly) men at the sight of you. 

You didn’t quite match anyone's stature, not even the women. At least they looked like they could take care of themselves. You were sure that your face probably had dark circles and sunken in features. You looked down when you felt someone's eyes on you and you cringed at every word whispered about you. 

“If I could just get my hands on her …”

“I wonder what a little girl like that could’ve done to get in here.”

“I’d be real gentle with her …” “I wouldn’t … I’d make her scream …”

“Move along,” Hela barked at the inmates in the line. You tried to tune them out as a staff member handed you your tray of food. A stale piece of toast, plastic-looking eggs, peaches, and what looked like could be oatmeal. 

It was when you turned away that you felt a pinch on your bottom. You turned around quickly only to find yourself staring at a chest rather than a face. As you looked up, a man with long, dark black hair stared down at you, “Aren’t you adorable?”

“I said move along, inmates,” You looked towards Hela for some sort of help but didn’t receive any. 

When you looked back again, the man had disappeared. You shook it off, figuring that was the least of what you were about to experience today. As you stepped out into the middle of the dome, you remembered the advice that Hela had managed to give you. 

There were cliques formed at each circular, metal table and you looked each one over as you walked past them. Again, people stared and said vile things but you spotted a table where two women were sitting. They were much older than you but the look you got from them was not maternal in the least. 

“Can I… sit here?” You knew the answer based on their thin-lipped scowls. 

You weren’t like any of them … you were fragile. Besides that, you used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and the organization was responsible for locking half of these people away. You kept walking, eventually finding an empty table to sit at. 

All you could think about now was eating. You picked at your tray with your plastic fork, and with each bite of the food you cringed. The toast was also completely rock hard, “It helps if you dip it in water,” Your head snapped up as you felt a shadow over you before someone took a seat beside you. 

You weren’t expecting someone so young and you certainly weren’t expecting a friendly smile. You stared at the handsome man with your mouth agape. You hadn’t realized what he meant until you looked back down at the bread in your hands, “Oh … I doubt anything would make this edible-”

He ran his hand through his light brown hair, before reaching into the pocket of his jumpsuit. On the table in front of you, he placed a twinkie. The entire room seemed to go quiet for a moment and you realized that everyone was watching the two of you. 

“I can’t accept this …”

“Of course you can, it’s no big deal,” His brown eyes pierced into yours as he shrugged, “I’m Peter.”

The sugary, process food was calling your name but you still weren’t sure what his deal was, “T-Thank you,” Not wanting to come off rude, you accepted it, unknowingly beginning to seal your fate, “I’m … I’m-”

“Y/N Y/LN,” He finished for you which left your eyes wide with shock, “You’re already famous. The guards like to gossip and it’s rare we get new inmates so people get curious.”

“Oh,” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. 

“Don’t worry, some people in here care about your charges, how you got here, but not me,” He tried to reassure you, a smile tugging at his lips, “S.H.I.E.L.D. screwed us all and I don’t think there’s a point in playing who’s the better bad guy.”

You looked around. Now that you knew that people knew your charges and your history, you were starting to feel unsettled. The only thing keeping you grounded was him reassuring you that he didn’t care, “How long-” Your voice came out in a whisper, “How long have you been here?”

Peter took a breath as he thought for a moment, “Few years. Now I kinda forget that I was a normal teenager when this all started.”

Years. And he was a teenager when they brought him here? Did they have no limits to their cruelty?

“God,” You breathed out, overwhelmed, “I don’t think I can … do this-”

Peter reached out, placing a calm hand on your arm, “Hey, hey, you have to survive here. Whether you were meant to be here or not, you have to live like this is your reality. Looking like you’re about to vomit is not a good look to everyone else. I saw Loki over there … he’s an asshole touching you like that  but it’s because he’s already sniffed you out.”

You nodded, trying to stay calm, “But I don’t know how to look … to look less weak.”

“For one, you’re going to have to start eating more and building some muscle,” You could tell by his grip on your arm that he was quite strong, “And the next time someone disrespects you, you have to stand up for yourself. You also can’t just bark like a little chihuahua. Maybe you could pick someone out, someone that you could win in a fight against.”

As Peter started to scan the room, you immediately started shaking your hand, “I can’t just attack someone,” You whisper-shouted, your eyes wide with worry. 

Peter chuckled, “Not with that attitude. Maybe you could go for Heather over there,” He eyed a woman who was practically elderly, “She has a cane so even you could probably overpower though I’ve seen here use the thing as a weapon a few times-”

“Peter,” You spoke sharply, “There has to be another way.”

Peter looked into your eyes and you lost hope for a moment until he seemed to perk up, “I have some friends, we kind of run together in this place, looking out for each other,” Peter explained and you listened intently, hoping for a means of survival that didn’t require attacking an old lady, “I could probably convince them to start looking out for you too. But it won’t be easy, we take loyalty very seriously here, and it wouldn’t be without a cost to you.”

“What sort of cost?”

Peter shrugged, “Could be lots of things. They serve plums on Friday and Bucky loves those so maybe you’d show your support to the group by giving him yours. Something like that,” You followed Peter’s finger as he pointed two men out, one with dark hair and the other with light. Both were built like bodybuilders, “Steve’s a respected leader here and maybe you could help run messages for him.” 

You nodded, “T-That sounds fair,” You paused for a moment as the men eyed you, “And for the twinkie? What do you want?”

“Now you’re starting to get it,” Peter grinned, “Eat it and that means you accept our claim. You’re one of us.”

“Can’t I have time to think about it?” 

Peter seemed to hesitate for the first time, “I’m sure you won’t get a better offer,” Your face fell, “But sure. I’d be quick about it though. Those big, doe eyes aren’t going to work on everybody.”

+

The dark-haired one was following you. Loki, Peter called him, hadn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you parted ways with Peter yesterday. He and his greek god, blonde friend were now walking behind you as you made your way through the halls. They were pushing mop buckets, evidently taking a break from their cleaning duty. 

You had gotten lost trying to find the hospital wing and now you were paying the consequences. 

“Little bird … caged and unprotected,” He taunted you and your heartbeat quickened as you tried to keep from looking back,  “Not even the guards want to save her. Poor thing.”

“It seems she’s in need of protecting, brother.”

“Protecting? If I got my hands on her, the last thing I’d think of is being gentle-”

You turned into the first room you passed, expecting to find somewhere to hide but you only seemed to encounter more people. It was the TV room, a staticy old television airing a baseball game was hanging in the corner of the room, and a bunch of men were sitting at different tables. 

They all turned their heads to you as you interrupted and you immediately recognized the two men from Peter’s loyal “group”. Bucky and Steve. Your heart was out of your chest at the point and you found yourself whispering a “sorry” before turning back towards the door. Loki and his brother, however, were waiting patiently. 

Loki leaned in the doorway, eyeing you like you were fresh meat. 

“Is this jackass bothering you, hon?” Your eyes wide with fear, you quickly realized that it wasn’t Loki taunting you. The dark-haired man’s, you remembered Peter calling him Bucky, voice boomed through the room.

You froze.

“Don’t you have toilets to scrub, Laufeyson?” The light hair man with a thick beard spoke, and by the look on his face you could tell he was a man of power. Not so much power-hungry but someone that demanded respect and often received it. 

Loki scoffed, looking over you again, “As far as I know, this one is free territory.”

“Well, this room is my territory and guess where she happens to be standing,” Loki’s jaw clenched at Steve’s words. 

“C’mere, hon,” Bucky spoke to you, signaling to cross the room. She hesitated but only for a moment as you realized your choices were Peter’s friends or letting Loki, have you. You crossed the room cautiously towards them, everyone now looking at you. You paused awkwardly in front of the table but a small yelp left your lip as Bucky grabbed you by the arm, spinning you into his lap. 

“See,” Steve said as you uncomfortably tried your best not to squirm, “Don’t touch things that aren’t yours, Laufeyson.”

You felt a hand clench your thigh and cringed.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

As soon as Loki stormed away, you stood up, brushing whatever wrinkles had formed in your jumpsuit. Amused, Bucky smiled at you, “You could at least thank us,” Bucky leaned forward and you tried not to scowl. 

“Thank you,” You whispered. 

“Good girl,” Bucky smirked. 

“Lang, get Y/N a chair,” Steve ordered another man in the room. He was quick to obey the command and, even though you were in a new place, you felt you’d been transported into an entirely new planet. 

“You don’t have to-”

“Sit,” Steve said as the chair was placed beside you, “You can leave when you give us an answer to the offer Peter mentioned yesterday.”

You had thought long and hard about Peter’s offer and decided last night that you wanted to reject it. It wasn’t until now that you realized your decision was a mistake. There was no telling when you’d be getting out of this place, Peter had been here for years, and it seemed you were already a target. 

You’d even heard a rumor that the guards placed bets on how long you’d survive in here. 

“Yes …” You nodded your head, “That’s my answer.”

Steve's lips pulled into a small grin as he eyed his friend across the table, “Good choice, doll.”

+

A week later and you were still alive and relatively untouched. Bucky was quite handsy but Peter reminded you that it was just protocol. Everyone had to know that you were a part of their group and that, if you were harmed, they’d have to deal with Steve and his minions. 

Like Peter said, there were quite a few sacrifices you had to make. Your new job in the kitchen allowed you to provide the group with all the food they wanted and when you weren’t working, you were running errands for Steve. You got an idea of all the inmate leaders and how they functioned as a society. 

Steve seemed to be at the very top and you realized the possible consequences of crossing someone like him. Still, you felt more pampered than like you were a part of some elaborate prison gang. Most of your wishes were theirs to grant. 

They let you watch whatever you wanted in the TV room. Bucky always called you pet names that you were starting to grow fond of. Steve had some pull with the guards so Rumlow was never around to bother you anymore. Peter even found you a set of paints to occupy your time in your cell. As long as you followed them around like their cute little puppy, they were quite nice to you. 

“C’mon, run a lap with me. You gotta build your strength,” Peter asked you, his face sweaty and shining under the baking sun. He was shirtless, the shirtsleeves of his uniform wrapped around his waist, and his magnificent physique was on display just like Steve and Bucky’s. During rec time in the courtyard, you’d become accustomed to standing by the fence and watching them lift weights. 

“I’m good, thanks,” You smiled awkwardly, “I get tired just from watching you guys.”

“Peter’s right,” Steve let out a breath as he dropped his hundred-pound dumbbell.

“I just …” Your voice trailed off as Steve eyed you with his strong gaze. You knew that what he said goes but you were growing nervous, “I don’t want to get sweaty.”

“You’re serious?” Bucky chimed in, a curious look on his face. 

“Is that like a girl thing I don’t know about?” Peter flashed you an amused look and your cheeks began to heat with embarrassment. 

“Y/N?” Steve could see that you were hiding something.

You crossed your arms, sighing, “I just don’t want to have to shower, okay?”

“You haven’t showered since you’ve been here?” Peter asked incredulously. 

“I have!” You quickly defended yourself, “I mean, I’ve just been using the sink in my cell.”

“I see what this is about,” Bucky had a knowing look on his face, “Dollface is scared of the communal showers.”

Peter’s mouth formed the shape of an “o” as he realized what was going on. You still felt so embarrassed. It was yet another thing that made you seem totally defenseless. 

“Is that true?” Steve asked and you were beginning to feel overwhelmed by their concerned gazes, “Why didn’t you tell us? Next time, one of us will keep watch for you. No one’s gonna bother you.”

Maybe it was the isolation or the fact that your life would never be the same again. Maybe it was the fact that you’d never see your family again or that you cried yourself to sleep every night. That might be the reason you felt that they genuinely cared for you and why you wanted to fully embrace the comfort that they were providing. 

Maybe that was why you wanted to belong to them. 

+

For the first time, you were reminded of your old life. You weren’t sure how long you’d lost yourself under the water, letting time get away from you, as the warm water cascaded along your skin. The showers had a sorry excuse for water pressure and, despite the creepiness of the beige tiles and flickering light above, when you closed your eyes you were in paradise. 

“All clean, beautiful?” Bucky’s voice brought you out of your trance. Suddenly you were back in the square room with showerheads lining each wall. You wiped the water from your eyes before turning off the water. 

“Y-Yes, I’m almost done!” You shouted back, grabbing your towel from off the hook. You pressed it to your face, drying your skin. You were quite grateful that they’d taken the extra steps to make you feel protected, “Bucky-”

As you turned around, that feeling of gratitude quickly turned to something resembling fear. He was supposed to wait for you outside the bathroom and yet, there he was, only three feet away from you. 

“What are you-”

He looked over you hungrily and you pressed your towel closer to your body, “You have no idea how long it's been since I’ve been with a beautiful woman like you … Steve too. And Peter, he’s just learning the ropes.”

You took a step back, towards the wall, and as you did you caught a glimpse behind Bucky’s towering figure. Both Steve and Peter were here, stalking closer. 

“You said you’d protect me…” Your voice cracked, your hands beginning to shake. 

“We will,” Steve spoke, determined, “No one else but us will touch you.”

“Nothing in here is without a cost, Y/N,” Peter seemed a bit solemn like his current life was not what he wanted it to be but he was just as hungry, if not more, as Bucky. 

Bucky grabbed you then, his eyes impatient, and you wrestled for your towel for only a moment before he easily snatched it away from you. A helpless squeal left your mouth as he grabbed you by the arm with one hand and placed his other hand between your legs. He grabbed your thigh tightly and as his hand moved further up, you found yourself paralyzed. 

“Good girl. You’re going to take all of us,” Bucky spoke quietly, shushing you, his grip growing tighter and tighter. Before you knew it, all three of them were surrounding you, their curious hands wandering over your wet skin. Grabbing your breast, your thighs, turning your face to bite at your neck. 

“Get on your knees,” Steve grunted against your ear, growing impatient like his friend. 

When you didn’t move, Peter was the one to push you down onto the cold floor. You hiccuped, trying not to hyperventilate as they overwhelmed you from each side. As they all started to pull down their clothes, you made one final attempt at trying to crawl away. 

Steve grabbed you by your throat, making your efforts futile, pushing your face towards his crotch. You felt it, hard and throbbing against your cheek, “Open up, don’t make this hard, doll,” Through the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky stroking his own length, waiting patiently for his turn. 

Steve grabbed you by your hair next, pressing your closed lips against his tip. He forced himself in your mouth, “There you go,” Steve grunted, pushing himself deeper, “Move that tongue around.”

Steve Rogers could make your life a living hell in the Cage. Was this really the price you had to pay in order to survive here? You couldn’t imagine it being any worse than this but Steve could make that possible. That’s why you started to swirl your tongue like he said, deciding that their orgasms would end your pain. 

Bucky was much rougher than Steve, pinching your nose closed and enjoying watching your eyes widen and water. He practically touched the back of your throat and still commanded you to stroke Peter and Steve’s cocks with your hands while you took him in your mouth. Somehow, you managed. 

Peter was much more gentle and you were grateful for that. His hands rested softly on the back of your head, guiding your mouth slowly up and down his length, “God, this is awesome,” He cursed, his head tilting back as he enjoyed the stimulation. When he finally finished, his warmth filled your mouth and before you could spit or catch your breath, Bucky grabbed you again. 

He came so far down your throat that you were forced to swallow it but, unlike him, Steve took his time, “This little mouth. Is ours. Every single hole. Is ours. No one else, do you understand?” With each sentence, he thrust hard until he filled your mouth. You leaned over, coughing as you felt the stinging of your sore throat. 

You were about to collapse onto the dirty cold floor when gentle arms lifted you up into a broad chest. You found yourself not fighting, only pressing your face into Bucky’s chest as you began to sob. 

Steve didn’t have to say anything more. You understand your new position and there wasn’t anyone else there to save you from that fate. 

That night you learned there was a change to your cell assignment. You’d sleep in Steve’s arms, a little bird that was safe and protected in it’s cage. 

+

hope you enjoyed!! i’m posting this instead of sleeping because I have class in this morning :) 

[baecvlt]

Stalker Nagito Komaeda x Milf!Reader

this was requested via my twitter:

“Hey! i’ve seen your works and I’m in love. Can I request smut where a stalker Nagito Komaeda becomes obsessed with a milf reader who moves into the neighborhood who’s like a dom in bed and ya know just large bust and taller than him. Thank youuu🤍”

a/n: ofc. but I have my own idea of a dom which i’ll use involving certain things (heed warnings)

warnings: he is so obviously a virgin in this, degradation, slight masochism, asphyxiation, spit, also Nagito calls the reader mommy (side note: nagito is in his early 20s in this, he lives alone. age of reader isn’t specified BUT I say she’s in her late 20s/early 30s)

• • •

It was a bright day...which Nagito despised. It was summer. He hated the sun, hated the mosquitoes, and the unnecessary humidity. It was days like these he wishes he was back at his university dorm. The A/C, the tall tree covering his window and blocking the sun...it was perfect. Hell, he didn’t even hate classes. Yet, he couldn’t live in the dorms forever. When it came time to buy a home, he stupidly did so in fall, moved in during the winter.

Well, no shit the home seemed perfect then. It wasn’t fucking summer. His A/C decided to break, his windows has a great view of the sun, and most of his friends were out of town (all except Hajime, but Hajime is fucking boring and a bummer). Nagito sat on his couch, watching reruns of old tv shows. He took a sip from his nearby glass (cold water), suddenly hearing sounds of what appeared to be a loading van. He looked outside his window.

A moving van?

Right, that one old man who lived there passed away. Freak accident, by the way. Oh well, may he rest in peace. Meanwhile, Nagito was being himself and trying to see who it was. Pretty much, the dude was being nosy. He saw another car pull up. That must’ve been the family’s car. Out jumped 3 kids, what appeared to be 2 girls and 1 boy. An adult stepped out. Nagito decided he’d get a better look at the situation. He put on his shirt, black jeans, and his green hood.

He was “going for a walk”.

Without being noticed, he made his way to the other side of the street. It was a woman, she was taking boxes out of the truck. The minute Nagito saw her it was if he was stricken by Cupid’s arrow. She was tall and beautiful. Her skin complimented her hair and her legs, he couldn’t take his eyes off them. Her breasts...he needed to stop—

“Hi!”

She was in front of him, a warm and inviting smile on her face. “H-Hi,” he muttered. She didn’t hear him well, so it helped that he waved. “I’m new in the neighborhood. We just moved in,” she added, putting the box down. She stuck her hand out, going for a handshake. He shook her hand, her warm hand against his cold ones. Why are his hands always cold? “I see,” he responded, getting his shit together,“I’m Nagito Komaeda. I live across the street”. She introduced herself and complimented his house.

“What a lovely home. I hope the neighborhood is just as lovely”

“It should be. It’s pretty quiet. There’s not many families here. Say, can I help you pack?”

“You’re too sweet! I’d really appreciate it”

He helped take all the boxes in her home, helping load a couch too, and help with other large objects. They finished in 9 hours, taking a majority of the day. “Thanks for helping out, Nagito”. She made a lemonade, handing him a glass.

“Don’t mention it! Also, thank you”

One of the kids ran in the living room where they sat on the couch. He gasped when he saw Nagito. “Mommy! That man looks dead!!!”. Nagito smiled, but his mom was not amused. “Michael! Apologize..”. The kid kept smiling and said,“Sorry!”. He ran to another room. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered. Nagito shook his head.

“Hey, I’m rather malnourished”

“Ha. On an unrelated topic, are you hungry? I could make us something”

“Oh, I shouldn’t linger any longer. I wouldn’t want to disturb your husband”

She laughed. “I know you mean no harm, but I’m not married,” she added. “Oh,” Nagito muttered,“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean it in any way”. She shook her head and reassured him it was fine. “Sit, Nagito,” she pulled out a chair,“I’m not letting you refuse having dinner with us. Especially since you were such help”. She rubbed his back before heading back into the kitchen to begin cooking.

She made him a bowl of pasta, adding chicken on the side. Nagito was quite happy. He hadn’t eaten a good meal in so long. Her kids didn’t eat at the table, but on the counter. Meanwhile, she ate with Nagito. Just as Nagito thought he couldn’t grow fonder of her, he did just that. All she did was let him talk about himself.

“Jesus, I’m sorry about your parents? How are you keeping yourself afloat with university and expenses?”

“Academic scholarships”

“Wow, you’re such a smart boy”

The way she phrased it made him flustered. “Thank you for the meal, ma’am,” he muttered,“I haven’t eaten like this in who knows how long”. She smiled tenderly, picking up his empty plate. “Seconds?”. He shook his head.

“No, thank you. I’m already so full”

“I’m glad. You know, there’s always a meal for you in store if you can do me a favor”

“What’s that?”

“My oldest daughter has her final test this week. You think you can help her study? I’ll make you a nice, warm meal every time you come over”

Nagito thought about it. He would also have time around her. Plus, she wasn’t a bad cook. “Of course, I look forward to it,” he told her. “Lovely”. He got up and excused himself to go home. “It was nice having you over, Nagito,” she said softly. He could tell she was getting sleepy. When people are tired, Nagito has noticed that their tone is rather sheepish. She walked him to the door, ruffling his hair playfully and he blushed. “Goodnight, neighbor”.

“Goodnight, you”

Before he left, she stopped him and handed him a paper: (xxx) xxx-xxxx ♡

“Call me when you get home so I have your number saved. Then, I can call you when my daughter, Vanessa, needs help. Take care, okay?”

He nodded.

She closed the door, his thoughts racing on his way home. He picked up some things about her, things she didn’t even tell him. He went home and opened a notebook, writing all of it down. He called her and she answered, her voice as sweet as when he left (only sleepier). “Hello?”. His breath was heavy without realizing it as he spoke. “H-Hey, you told me to call you,” he breathed,“It’s Nagito...Komaeda”

“Oh, hey, angel! I’m not interrupting anything am I?”

“What? No, it’s all good— why’d you think so?”

“You sound like you need to catch your breath, but anyway, thanks for calling me. I’ve saved your number now”

“Oh, great! Well, if that’s all, I’ll let you go to bed now”

“It was. Goodnight, Nagito”

“G-Goodnight”

He hung up, flustered more than ever as he continued to jot down his thoughts on paper. The next day, he woke up at 6am to wait in his car. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. At around 7:41am, his front neighbor and kids headed for their car. Nagito, who had taken a light nap in the driver’s seat, was awoken by the car starting. He waited for the car to drive away just slightly past his house to start his own car, slowly tailing behind her.

He dropped her kids off at the nearby elementary. She got off, kissed them on their forehead (all minus the eldest, who walked swiftly through the gates). Seeing how she cared for them made Nagito feel bad, but all he did was brush that feeling off. Next, he followed her through her daily. As he did, his notes from last night echoed through his mind, adding new detail.

“She works at an office not everyday She doesn’t have allergies but is sensitive to dust Red seems to be her favorite color but always in a darker shade Her daughter is around 10 years old She isn’t vegan but enjoys almond milk Maybe has an issues with abandonment but I can’t assume that either She buys many apples but not the same amount of bananas at the store so maybe she only eats the bananas—”

Just more to add to his notebook.

He got home before she did, writing down what he had learned. His phone rang about an hour later of him getting home. He picked it up,“Hello?”. “Nagito, hi!”. It was her. He started having a mini-panic attack, because why would she be calling him? “H-Hey, how are you?”

“I’m doing alright. I was wondering if you could come over and tutor Vanessa”

Oh, thank god.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be down there right now”

“Great. See you then!”

He was relieved, heading to her home happily. He knocked on the door. When she opened it, she did so with the same warm smile as yesterday. “Thank you for coming over,” she said,“She’s in her room”. Nagito nodded, freezing when she grabbed his hand and took him to the room. Her touch was so soft, noted. They got to the room, where a girl was reading a book on a desk. “Nessa?”. The girl turned around.

“Nagito is going to be here for a few hours to help you out with homework and studying. He’s really smart, so pay attention and be respectful”

“Okay, mom”

She nodded, squeezing Nagito’s shoulder before leaving. Nagito approached the girl, she took her things out. Before he could speak, she stopped him. “Please don’t call me ‘Nessa’,” she whispered,“It’s bad enough my mom does, but not you, Please”.

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on referring to you at all”

“Bastard”

“Nessa”

“I guess I walked right into that one”

Nagito laughed, grabbing a chair and sitting next to her. Her work wasn’t what he expected. Is this what they’re teaching kids now? He could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen this type of stuff until he hit middle school. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t do, but damn. All in all, tutoring went well. Vanessa actually learned something today. “Good job!,” he said. “Thank you,” she smiled and hugged him,“I felt so stupid”.

“Hey, its okay not to understand things”

Her mom walked in. “Dinner’s ready”. Vanessa got up and went to the kitchen. “How’d it go?,” she asked Nagito. “Went well, she gets the math now,” he answered. She smiled, thanking him for his help and asking him to join them for dinner. He’d be foolish not to, so he accepted the invite.

Fish tacos were served tonight with rice and beans, another lemonade made. It was different than anything Nagito had ever had, but that doesn’t equate to bad. He actually enjoyed the meal. The kids sat at the main table today, much more respectful than yesterday. “Michael how was school?”. He put a thumbs up, getting back to eating. “And Adrianna?”. She looked up from her meal and shrugged. “What’s wrong?”.

“I’m tired, but class was okay”

“Oh, okay. When you’re done, just take a quick shower and get to bed”

“Thanks”

Nagito thought it was endearing. Seeing how understanding and loving she was, it was refreshing. The kids all eventually left, Nagito finishing his meal. “Did you like it?”. He looked at her, nodding. “Great! Seconds?”.

“Full again. I don’t usually eat, but your food is always so good”

“Oh, you’re just saying things...”

“No, really! Thank you”

He said his goodbyes to the family, walking back home. It was as if he was falling for this woman more and more everyday. He went to sleep, this time dreaming of her. He never dreams, but this time he dreamt she was on her knees for him. Then, nothing else. It was as if his dream teased him.

The next morning, he woke up to some knocking on the door. He looked at the time. 8:23am. He put on a pair of jeans and his shirt, walking to his door. He opened it and there she stood, wearing a black dress and red heels. He assumed she had work and needed a favor before going. “Good morning,” he said.

“Were you following me yesterday?”

Shit.

“I, uh...,” he didn’t know what to answer. He was indeed following her yesterday. He also liked her, so if he straight up said that he was to following her, it’d ruin things. His face was glowing a shade of pink to a slight red as he thought of the right answer. He was still stumbling over his words. “I think it’s kinda cute,” she added. The fuck? “Huh?”. She pushed him inside the house, closing and locking the door behind him. “When a boy follows someone around, it’s because he wants something,” she added, but her tone was so sultry,“Well, Nagito—”. She pushed him onto the couch, leaning in front of him with her hands on his chest.

“—What do you want?”

None of what was happening felt real. Nagito couldn’t find the words to express what exactly he wanted. This was the first time he’d ever been in a situation like this, it wasn’t a bad one either. He began to panic when she straddled him. “Could it be that you wanted me?,” she asked. He frantically nodded and she laughed as she locked her lips with his. He gasped against her lips, kissing back. She slowly trailed her kisses down to his neck, cupping his jaw while grinding on his lap. Nagito moaned, his shaky hands grabbing her ass. She grabbed his hands and put them away from her. “It’s cute that you’re getting this carried away”.

“I’m sorry”

“No time to apologize. Get on your knees for mommy”

Nagito was about to lose his mind when she said that, but he obeyed. Her presence was domineering as he stood on his knees against his carpeted floor. She spread her legs, noticing Nagito desperately trying to get a look. Her red heel stopped him, stepping on his head lightly. “Am I teasing you?,” she asked,“It’s okay to be honest”.

“Y-You are, but its okay. I want to be teased by you”

“You’re adorable,” she took her heel off his head,“Let’s go to your room”.

He practically ran to his bed. He sat and waited patiently. She entered the room, heading to his bed. She began to take off his shirt, admiring his frame. She then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. He kicked them off and sat down. She sat next to him. “Give me your hands”. She held them, frowning slightly. “Boo, they’re so cold,” she teased,“I’ll warm them up for you”. Carefully, she grabbed his left hand, putting his middle and ring finger in her mouth. She licked to his fingertips, leaving him tense and speechless. She stopped and smiled at him.

“This is your first time, isn’t it?”

He nodded shyly. “Don’t be shy,” she said,“I’m going to guide you, but I’m also going to have my fun”. He gulped, nodded. She stood up and removed her dress. She wore a lacy black bra and panties. She brought his hands to her breasts, allowing him to fondle them. They were huge in his hands. “You like them, baby?”. “Y-Yes,” he muttered,“Can you, uh, take....the bra off?”. He was ashamed when asking, he felt desperate. She smiled and nodded, unhooking it and allowing the bra to fall to the ground. He gasped at the sight of her tits, grabbing them. She straddled him.

“Do you know what to do with them?”

He nodded, rubbing one and sucking the other. She moaned sweetly, grinding on his lap. He popped his mouth off them. That was when she took the opportunity to knock him onto the bed. She began to make out with him, shoving his tongue down her throat. They lay sideways. Her hand was on his neck, slightly choking him. He couldn’t resist but try to grind on her lap. She laughed. “Look at you,” she mocked,“Humping my leg like a desperate little puppy”. She didn’t let him speak, sitting up and pushing him back down. “I’m going to give you what you want,” she whispered in his ear,“Take your cock out”.

He was nervous as he did, hands shaky. She blushed a bit at his size. “It’s so big,” she said, straddling him,“I’m going to have my way with it”. “Please, do what you want to me,” he begged,“Abuse me, please”. She didn’t speak, sinking down on it. Nagito gasped, she was extremely wet. She began to bring her hips up and land straight down on it, repeatedly. She put her hands around his throat, now being rougher. Nagito gasped for air, grabbing her hands.

That was a mistake.

“Hands down,” she ordered, striking him across the face. “Sorr-”. He was slapped once again. “Only speak when you’re spoken to”. He nodded as his stomach began to cave in. His cock twitched each time she slapped him, making her moan. She leaned forward, capturing his earlobe between her teeth. He winced, his hands tangling in the sheets. He felt as though his entire body was blushing.

“You’re so sensitive there”

She teased him, kissing the skin and nibbling. His hips involuntarily snapped upward, making her whine. “You’re so desperate, baby,” she laughed,“it’s so cute”. He could feel her warmth running along his cock. He bit into his hand, trying to stop himself from cumming inside her. It worked, but she didn’t like him doing that. She grabbed his hands and kissed them.

“Don’t hurt yourself, put them right here”

She placed them on her boobs. He watched them bounce up and down, grabbing them gently. His rather large hands seemed small on her tits. He was extremely flushed. He took them off her and placed them on her hips. “Open your mouth”. He lay back more and did as he was told. She leaned forward, grabbing his jaw again as she spit into it and kissed him. He moaned when she did, his urges getting the best to him and thrusting upward. He hit her cervix every time, causing her to produce the sweetest and sluttiest of moans. Her walls tightened around him and now he was whining. “Are you gonna cum, honeybun?,” she asked.

“Y-Yes..”

“Where do you wanna cum?”

“I wanna cum...everywhere. I want it. I want it so bad. I wanna cum inside and on your tits, on your ass, y-your face..mouth. Please let me cum, mommy”

She motivated him, riding him harder. “Come on, Nagito,” she whispered,“Cum for mommy. Cum all the way inside her”. He lost his mind after that, groaning as he shot his load(s) inside her. He was still inside her as he tried catching his breath. She rubbed his chest, shushing him. “Good boy, you did so well,” she cooed,“Such a good boy.” He was covering his face, embarrassed and still hard. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?,” she asked. He shook his head, thinking,“Not rough enough”. He whined when she got off, revealing he was still erect. She noticed.

“You wanna go again, baby? Kids don’t leave school till 2:30. We have time for an extra fuck”

“C-Can I?”

“Yes, dummy”

She let Nagito choose how to fuck her. He wanted missionary, mostly because he craved intimacy and she did not disappoint. She kissed and praised him, telling him he was good. She held onto him the whole time and cuddled him afterwards. Nagito felt so special, he felt loved. “I can come over when I don’t have work,” she said,“Would you like that?”.

“I’d love that actually”

“You make me happy, Nagito. I could stay here and cuddle all day”

“I feel so lucky”

He yawned, looking at the clock. “Its 10,” he told her. She nuzzled his chest, humming. “Mmmm, let’s take a small nap,” she whispered,“Okay?”. “Okay”. He kissed the top of her head and held her to him, slowly joining her in slumber.

[loversandantiheroes]

Okay my whiskey fantasy. It’s a holiday, anniversary, I dunno. But he comes home. You’re in lingerie, teddy, the garter belt, the thigh high tights (I am having an absolute brain fart and can not remember the name), the high heels. you’re cooking him dinner in it. Somethin real texas for dinner. He wants to immediately fuck yiu, BUT NO he has to WAIT bc its dinner time and you worked hard. He’s waiting, and he’s watching you, you’re bending over at the stove, all that. Dinner is served, you —-

You lounge on the table to eat like a decadent and gorgeous pain in the ass, so he can see you’re whole body while he eats, forced to be patient. You’re being an absolute menace. He’s running his mouth the whole time OBVIOUSLY. Then he fucking wrecks you

No Candles Necessary

As I am a bonafide yeehonk foole (and I have the t-shirt to prove it), I could hardly resist this idea. Nonny, I hope like hell I did you proud.💗

Shameless Whiskey/F!Reader smut (18+ and yes that means you), 5.3k+ words (they just wouldn’t shut up), mildly beta’d and lightly edited.

Warnings: established relationship, unsafe food preparation practices, light foodplay (it only goes in appropriate places I swear), egregious dirty talk, improper use of a dining table, Switch!Whiskey returns, Switch!Reader by extension, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, PIV sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I fictionalize), cream pie (bc I’m lazy quite frankly), actual pie (peach!), a little soft schmoop in between the smut just because I can.

Permatag: @missredherring​ @dovesnroses​ @astroboots​ @magpierhymes​ @alienprincesspoop​ @aasimarr​ @maythxthirstbxwithyou​ @recklesswit​

Pedro Permatag: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ (sorry bab, more yeehonk) @corvueros​ @thirstworldproblemss​ @littleferal​ @krissology​ @frannyzooey​ @forallthstarsinthesky​ @princess76179​ @keeper0fthestars​ @venusandromedadjarin​

Cooking your boyfriend a birthday dinner in lingerie is probably not the best idea you've ever had. The man isn’t even home yet to witness the trouble you’ve gone to, still wrapping up a day’s work at HQ after closing out another mission. So you didn’t jump right into cooking in your frillies. No, you did the bulk of the work in sweats and a t-shirt, only stopping to change once you were down to the last stretch and the steaks had come off to rest. You've got sense enough at least to put on an apron, not wanting to risk getting hot grease on the delicate fabric or the vast amounts of bare skin the thing doesn't cover, and while you've already donned the garter belt and stockings you've left your heels up against the island counter so you can slip them on quickly when you hear the door. Still you can't quite help but feel less sexy and more silly as you stand there carving up a pair of garlic butter basted steaks while your forehead prickles with sweat and your ass, covered by neither the teddy or the apron, feels ice cold.

The things I do for love of a goddamn cowboy, you think with a shake of your head. Your whole plan is honestly on the high end of ridiculous. But then Jack is a ridiculous man, and he always seems to drag you headlong into absurdity with him. Some days it's his only saving grace - the boyish playfulness that tempers his arrogance into something charming rather than infuriating. It seems only right to be a little ridiculous for the occasion.

Once the carving’s done you give yourself a second to go over the spread and make sure everything's ready to go. It's early yet, but you're expecting to hear Jack's key in the front door any minute. He's made no mention of returning home early, of course, but he is every bit the sort that would try to surprise you on his birthday, and you’ve developed an uncanny ability to anticipate his moves ahead of time.

As it turns out, you have just enough time to slip on your heels before you hear the front door open and Jack calls out your name. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction - you do love being right when it comes to this sort of thing - and slip into your heels.

“In here, baby,” you call back, stepping out to lean against the door frame.

“Somethin’ smells like heaven,” Jack says, rounding the corner into the dining room. He stops dead when he gets a look at you, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s hung his hat at the door, his hair already flopping over in a revolt against the slicked-back way he styles it in the morning, his suit jacket still on and buttoned. “Looks like it, too,” he finishes, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “I feel overdressed all of a sudden.”

You can’t help but answer that grin. “Happy birthday, cowboy,” you tell him, beckoning him over.

He all but rushes across the room to slide up against you, hands curling around your hips and playing with the tie to the apron. “Sure as hell is now,” he mutters. His palms slide down, cupping your ass to pull you in close. You bite back a hiss at the warmth, and he gives a low approving hum at the expanse of cool, bare skin. “Looks like I don’t even need to unwrap my present.”

“Patience,” you insist, pushing his shoulders back and grazing your lips over the tip of his nose as you evade the kiss he tries to pull you into. “No dessert until after dinner.”

“Dinner can wait-”

“No it cannot. I did not just spend the afternoon trying to keep hot butter off my tits so you could get impatient and let your supper get cold.” He traces a finger across your cleavage as you talk, tugging at the top of the apron to get a better look at the skin underneath. You feel the quip coming before he even opens his mouth, so you take the opportunity to give him a little push and show him just what he’s in for tonight. You bring up your hand, fingers curling under his wrist, turning his hand away and using it to pull him flush to you, the line of your thigh landing against the covered denim crotch of his jeans with just enough force to make him jolt.

“Be a good boy, Jack,” you say against his open, breathless mouth, “or you won’t get any dessert at all.”

Whiskey pouts, but his eyes have that dark glint that says he knows he’s in for trouble and he is just as pleased as punch about it. “You mean to torture a man on his birthday, honeybee?”

The smirk you give him makes his heartbeat kick up a little faster - you can feel the quickening of it in the pulse point against your fingertips. “Absolutely.” You stretch up enough for one brief, warm kiss and then step back, jerking your chin towards the dining table where there’s already two glasses of wine poured at the ready. “Sit. I’ll bring out dinner.”

He nods, tongue rolling slowly against his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”

His gaze is a heavy weight on your body as you walk away, raking down across so much exposed skin. You hear him groan at the sight, low and appreciative. He’s always been fond of seeing you wrapped up in lingerie, even more fond of tearing up the expensive scraps just to get you bare for him. You’d chided him about it the first time - the bodysuit he’d ripped clean in half from gusset to tit hadn’t been cheap, even though that little display had thrilled you far more than you’d ever want to admit - but he always replaced what he ruined without fail.

When you come back, divested of the apron with plates in hand, Whiskey is sitting just as instructed, elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He tracks every move you make, every sway of your hips, a playful smile hiding the effort of his restraint as you set his dinner in front of him. He barely spares the food a glance when you elect to forego your own chair and simply hop up onto the table, setting your plate near his and dragging over your glass of wine.

“You’ve outdone yourself, honeybee,” Whiskey rumbles, sliding a hand up your knee to your thigh, and he could not be talking less about the food.

You only smile, taking an unhurried sip. “Somehow I thought you’d prefer this to a new tie. How old are you now, anyway?” you tease.

“Sweet sixteen,” he says dryly, hiking an eyebrow while he squeezes your thigh for your cheek.

You chuckle. “Uh-huh, and I’m Mother Theresa.” You lean in, spearing a slice of steak on his plate with your fork and holding it out for him. “Now, I worked very hard on this, and I am going to be very disappointed if you try to skip dinner on me just ‘cause you can’t quit eyeballing your dessert. Open.”

He tips you a wink before dutifully opening his mouth, letting you feed him. The soft, indulgent moan that leaves him as his eyes slip closed is too subdued to be anything but real. “Honeybee that is gorgeous. My compliments to the chef.” 

“The chef is glad to hear it.” You swipe your thumb over his lip, collecting the sheen of juice and garlicky butter and bringing it to your own mouth, delicately sucking it off. “Could’ve used a bit more rosemary.”

Whiskey shakes his head. “Mm-mm. This is perfection on a plate, baby. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The smile that earns him is genuine, and you bend to give him a quick kiss. He presses it, just a little, a swipe of his tongue that you open for just enough to nip at before pulling away. “Eat.” You gesture meaningfully at his plate.

All told, there isn’t actually much on it. Steak, roasted new potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. You’ve only served up maybe half of what you’d usually set in front of him for dinner, opting for more reserved portions. It’s a favor to you both - his patience wouldn’t last through a full meal without the need for physical restraints. There’s more in the kitchen, of course, and an actual pie for dessert if you happen to get that far. You’re both bound to be hungry again after.

Whiskey tucks in, fork in his left hand while his right stays comfortably curled around your thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher until he’s playing with the lacy top of your stocking. You give him a warning tilt of your head, your own fork poised halfway to your mouth. All you get in return is those plaintive, innocent puppy dog eyes of his, but his hand doesn’t advance further.

All in all you’re rather proud of his restraint, at least until one spear of asparagus manages to drip hollandaise down onto your cleavage. Suddenly that quietly repressed hunger cracks and he’s surging up towards you, mouth half-open and tongue peaking out, ready to clean you up.

But that won’t do. Not yet. Your reflexes might not be as good as his, but they’re nothing to balk at, either. You brace yourself back on one hand, leaning away and planting one of your high heels against his shoulder to shove him back into his seat. The look on his face is priceless; mouth agape and pupils blown. 

Slowly you shake your head. “You know better, Jack.”

His eyes track up the inside of your thigh to the crotch of your bodysuit - or rather, the lack thereof - and the split strips of lace that don’t cover your mound, but frame it prettily for him. “Fuck, honeybee,” he mutters breathlessly. 

Dinner and a show was always the plan. So you take your time, dipping your finger and swiping up the stripe of creamy yellow and holding it out to him. Whiskey stares you down as he takes the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucks dutifully, his tongue plush and soft and working against the pad of your finger the same way he worries it over your clit. A rush of heat rockets through you, leaving your belly warm and a sweet tingle tripping down your spine in its wake.

Biting your lip hard to rein in the impulse to just slide into his lap, you drag your finger out of his mouth. It’s what he wants; to make you break first, to make you lose at your own game. And where’s the fun in that?

“It is your birthday, so I’m going to cut you a little bit of slack, but if you can’t mind your manners and do as you’re fucking told, you’re gonna get a lot worse than a birthday spanking, pretty boy. Now, I told you: no dessert until you finish your dinner.” There’s precious little left on his plate; a few scraps of steak, a couple potatoes, one lone spear of asparagus. You stab this last with your fork and hold it out to him. “Last chance, baby. You open your mouth for me and be a good boy, and you can have me any way you want.”

Whiskey looks dazed; seething and starved and love-struck all at once. You don’t even need to look down to know he’s hard. But he hesitates just for a moment, whether it’s deliberate or accidental you’re not really sure - sometimes the man just really wants to be punished - but in that space you see his body jerk, hunching slightly as his abdominal muscles contract involuntarily. You follow the movement with your eyes and sure enough, there he is. Full mast and straining hard against thick denim.

Smiling sweetly, you wave the fork at him. “Your choice, Jack.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, and the roughshod timbre of his voice says it’d be a fine way to go.

Whiskey opens his mouth and takes what you give him.

You’re slow about it. Careful. Admonishing him when he tries to chew a little too quickly. Whiskey stares you down with eyes like coal seconds away from ignition. He holds your gaze while you slip another bite of food into his mouth, then lets his eyes slip down until they fix firmly on your half-exposed and already glistening cunt, and you know the moment you give him an inch he’s going to wreck the hell out of you for this.

When the last bite passes his lips he curls his hand around your ankle, squeezing. Always pushing his luck, this man of yours. You set his plate aside, glancing away like it’s no effort at all as he very methodically wipes his mouth with his napkin.

“Now can I have my dessert?” Impatience roughens the low gravel of his voice into something dangerously sharp.

You smile, leaning back on one hand. “There’s peach pie in the kitchen.”

He presses forward, left hand sliding big and warm up the inside of your thigh. The motion presses the leg you’ve used to pin him to his chair back until your knee is nearly flush with your chest, opening you up wider, the rush of air between your legs now shockingly cold against the wetness that had gathered there.

“Woman, the only pie I want a piece of is the one sitting right in front of me.”

The stretch along the back of your thigh burns, so you shift, hooking your leg over his shoulder instead. “I haven’t finished my dinner yet,” you protest cooly, reaching down to snag a strip of steak off your still half-full plate and popping it into your mouth.

Whiskey’s hands slip higher, and this time you don’t stop him, too busy sucking the buttery juices off your fingers. When the very very tips of his fingers brush the spread lace at the crux of your thighs he freezes, waiting for the rebuke, for fingers around his neck or your other heel to plant square in his chest. You consider it, sure; it’s certainly not a prospect without its merits. A man that enjoys being under your thumb is satisfying in a way that few things in life ever fully measure up to.

But honestly, you’ve worked hard enough tonight. Time to let him put in a little effort.

A tilt of your head and a curl of your foot against his shoulder is permission enough; slipping off the leash by way of a gesture, and the low smolder in his eyes blooms to a full burn. Whiskey stands to his full height, looming close enough for you to feel the heat bake off him as he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons the cuffs on his dress shirt, rolling them up with a few quick turns of his wrists.

“Can’t let my girl go hungry now,” he hums in a voice like burnt molasses. “Lemme give you a hand there, honeybee.”

Smirking, Whiskey wraps an arm around you, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as you wriggle against solid heat of his body. His left hand wanders out of sight on the table as his lips meet yours, teasing your mouth open with the barest brush of his tongue, while his right hand trails warm and slow around your side and down and down to cup your mound.

It’s hard to believe you ever felt cold. You’re burning up now, skin flushed hot as his mouth grazes yours and breathes out: “Open up for me.”

And just like magic, you do. No input needed on your behalf; your mouth simply drops open and your legs shift wider in accommodation for him. There’s a clink of silverware and then he’s waving a fork at you, a strip of steak speared on the end. Whiskey’s eyes glitter as he pushes it into your waiting mouth. Each bite he feeds you is accompanied by a teasing dip of his fingers into your core, feeding you with his left hand while he touches you with his right. Your slickened folds part smooth and easy as he pushes his fingers inside you, a welcome but all too brief intrusion, before they trail up again to stroke at your clit. Again and again you rock your hips up, trying to encourage him to slip into you deeper, to give you a taste of the fullness and pressure of his cock, but every time his touch retreats.

You whine; a strange mix of frustration and pleasure. “Tease.”

“Takes one to know one,” he coos, the hand between your legs working faster. Heat builds quickly under his fingertips, a friction far more appetizing than anything else you’ve set on the table tonight. “You made the rules, honeybee. No dessert until after you finish supper. You do want your dessert, don’t you?”

He brings the next bite up, holds it tantalizingly close. You stretch out and he draws it back, and suddenly his fingers are rubbing a firm, determined circle on your clit. Your whole body jolts, gasping air with a pitiful little whine. There’s nothing but mischief on his face as he watches you, tongue sweeping against his bottom lip. He slows his fingers, brings the fork down again, closer this time. The food brushes your bottom lip before he pulls it away, fingers quickening again.

“Jesus,” you all but squeak. “Jack, don’t be mean.”

Whiskey gives you a considering hum, leaning forward to suck the sheen of butter off your bottom lip. “Oh darlin’ I would never,” he insists, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss that’s tender enough to be very nearly sincere if it weren’t for the fact that the motion of his hand never slows. A sweet, bright heat begins to build under his fingertips. “How could I be mean to my girl when she worked so hard for me, hm? I’m just paying that back in kind is all. You wanna come on my fingers, baby, you can do that all you like. I’ll make you come ‘til those pretty little legs can’t do much more than shimmy. You know I can. But you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ else until you clean your plate like a good girl.”

“H-ha-ah, fuck-how much more?”

He grins devilishly. “Just this last bite.”

“Oh you f-fucking jackass!”

Whiskey laughs. “Guilty as charged. Open up, baby, take what I got for you.”

He pushes the last bite past your lips and immediately delves his fingers into your warm and waiting cunt. The breath shudders out of you, fingers digging into the tablecloth as you try to hang onto enough composure to remember to chew and swallow. He’s slow for a moment, pumping and curling his fingers gently while he watches you eat. There’s a clink of silverware as he discards the fork and puts his arm around you, pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Good girl,” he murmurs sweetly.

Mouth empty now, you nudge your nose against his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Jack-”

And then his grip becomes determined. The fingers inside you flex, the heel of his hand pressing hard against your clit and all you can do is cry out against the soft skin of his neck and hang on for dear life while he works you up and over the edge with shocking speed.

Trembling, you lock your legs around him as you come down, dragging his collar aside to bite lazily into the place where his neck and shoulder meet.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rutting up against the back of his hand between your legs. “How do you want me, honeybee?”

That earns him a breathless laugh, goosebumps raising along his neck. “It’s your birthday, Jack. What do you want?”

Whiskey’s eyes drop to your mouth and he makes a considering sound, pulling back to suck you delicately off his fingers. “I think I want your mouth. And then I think I want to fuck you right here on this table until that divinely sweet little pussy wrings me fucking dry. Sound good to you, honeybee?”

“That can be arranged.” His eyelids flutter as you reach down to his zipper, not even bothering with his belt before you reach inside his jeans and the button fly of his boxers to tug his cock free, cupping your fingers to draw his balls out, too.

You move to stand and he shakes his head, caging you in. “No. Not on your knees, baby. On the table. I wanna see you all spread out for me. My pretty little present.”

He helps you. Sweeps your hair back as you lie flat on the dining table, scooting back to let your head hang just a bit. It’s not exactly comfortable. The edge of the table digs into your neck a bit, and the way the blood rushes to your head is not entirely pleasant either. But you watch Whiskey pace around you to take his place in front of your waiting mouth, cock bobbing and just barely beginning to leak for you, and you feel a gorgeous rush of heat at the sight.

Whiskey slides his palm up your stomach to cup one barely-covered breast. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, squeezing. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Jack.”

“I know, darlin’, I know. But my God you’re a picture.” He cups your cheek, absently brushes the corner of your mouth with his thumb before sliding his hand back to give your head a little support. “Open up for me, angel.”

And once again, you open up for what he gives you. The angle makes it strange, the topography of Jack’s body less familiar as he slips into your mouth, your tongue dragging wet and slow over foreign terrain. The taste of him, hot skin and the tang of bitter salt, that you know well enough. You close your eyes at it, bring your hands up to his hips to tug him slowly forward and listen to the way he moans.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, breathless and a little awe-struck. “Jesus fucking Christ. You spoil me, baby. Sweet as fucking honey, my god.”

A light touch against your breast makes you shiver, goosebumps raising as it draws lightly over your skin. A single fingertip, sliding the lace of the bodysuit aside to bare your breasts to the chill of the room and the warmth of Whiskey’s hands.

He mutters sweet things as he begins to move; sweet, tender, unconscionably filthy things. All the things you do to him. Do for him. The rocking of his hips is gentle at first, feeding you his cock inch by cautious inch. When he hits the back of your throat he pulls back on reflex, but the light scrape of your teeth and the sudden tightness of your grip on the plush meat of his ass sends him forward again. The angle eases the motion, and you relax into the pressure as he pushes in and in and...oh.

You feel the resistance at the back of your throat give gently; strange, but not uncomfortable. Above you, Whiskey lets out a pained groan.

“Shit. Oh shit yes, honeybee. Take it. Ohhh s-shit. Take all of it. Every goddamn inch. Fuck.”

And then his hips are flush with your mouth, the soft skin of his balls pressed up against your nose. Panting, he wraps a hand around the stretched column of your throat, swearing breathlessly. He moves, a small, careful thrust, and you can feel the tremor that ripples through him at the feeling.

“Just a little more baby,” he mumbles, pulling back until just the head of his cock rests within the warmth of your mouth. You suckle at it, working it eagerly with your lips and tongue while you breathe raggedly through your nose. Your hips jut up into thin air on their own accord, just as eager for him as your mouth is.

“I got you, honeybee.” The hand at your neck slips down, skimming over skin and lace until he finds your clit. The first touch jolts you, your cry stifled on his cock as you shudder up against him. “Good girl. I got you, baby. Jack’s got you. Keep going. Just a little more. Just a little more and then I’ll fill you right on up. Fuck my sweet girl’s brains right out of her head. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever fuckin seen, baby, holy fuck.”

You moan something against him - pleasure, acquiescence, god only knows - but the sound of it is lost as his cock slides steadily back into your mouth. The pressure in your head is distracting, tears prickling your eyes when he pushes in deep, but the stroking of his fingers and the feel of him in your mouth, sliding hard and slick and effortlessly down your throat is far more consuming than the discomfort.

He rocks into you. Fucks into you. Moans and gasping praises falling thick and fast from his lips as he moves. You don’t need to feel the way his balls draw up tight to know how close he is, how tight he’s riding the line between what he wants to do and what his body wants to do. You’re lost in it all the same; his pleasure and the fraying thread of his restraint. Your own pleasure, building quick and low and locking down the muscles in your thighs until they tremble. You float in it, overwhelmed and dizzy, until, very suddenly, you break.

Whiskey curses, pulling back to listen to you cry out, to let you curl up and clutch at him as he pants above you, muttering broken, desperate please of: “yes god yes honeybee all of it, gimme all of it, every last bit.”

You’re a wreck in the aftermath; pliant and limp, face teary and slick with spit and precome. He draws you up, wiping your face with a clean napkin before pulling you into a kiss that steals away whatever remained of your breath. He gathers you up, turns you until you can wrap your still-tingling limbs around him. Nudges his hips against yours, his wet cock dragging against slick skin and fragile lace.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, trailing soft kisses over your face.

You have to clear your throat before you can respond, the sound of it harsh and ragged like an engine turning over. “Y-yeah. Yeah I’m good. Dizzy, but good.”

“You ain’t the only one, honeybee. Almost didn’t make it in time. Wanted to fill up that pretty mouth so bad. You just about did me in.”

He laughs and you join him, breathing ragged joy into each other’s lungs.

“Still want me to fuck you?” The question should be coarse, but somehow isn’t. Not with his sweat-slick forehead pressed to yours and his lips ghosting kisses against your mouth with every breath.

“So sweet,” you mutter, combing your hands through his hair.

“LIke hell,” he scoffs, holding you tight to his chest. “I ain’t and you know it.”

“You are to me,” you insist, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He smiles, softens everywhere but that place that throbs with impatient heat against you. “Now fuck me, pretty boy.”

A flash of a grin is the only warning you get before he’s hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the table. “Yes ma’am,” he says obligingly, planting a hand between your breasts to push you back against the table as he lines himself up, sliding into you with one smooth, achingly deep stroke. 

You moan, knees drawing up as his hips meet yours and he fills the space inside you that’s been aching for him all day. Whiskey lets out a groaning sigh, leaning into you like he wants to bury himself whole inside you. He hoists one of your legs up against his chest, nuzzles the inside of your knee while he tries to find his breath again. The length of him inside you is rigid as steel and blindingly hot, still so close to his own end that he has to wait, worrying his teeth over your skin, until the urge to just rut against you like an animal until he comes finally passes.

And when it does, when he opens his eyes at last, he looks down at you with a dazed, hungry smile. He presses a kiss to the tip of his finger and brings it down to your lips.

“Love you, honeybee.”

Heavy-lidded and so wonderfully full, you kiss his finger and arch your back. “Love you, too, cowboy.”

And that’s the last intelligent thing you manage to say. Finally - finally! - Whiskey fucks you, each pounding swing of his hips making the china rattle like nervous teeth. Your arms strike out, curling and flailing, trying to find something to grab onto as he fucks you. The heel of your hand strikes one of the wine glasses and sends it tumbling to the floor where it shatters. The breath leaves your body in tiny bursts with each impact; little monosyllabic cries punctuating each one.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” Whiskey murmurs. He cups your breasts, thumbing the pebbled sharpness of your nipples before his hands slide lower, finding the deep notch of the bodysuit between them. “Wrapped up so pretty for me.”

The lace tears away like it’s nothing, a clean rip down the center. Oh well. He’ll buy you another.

Whiskey folds over you, pulling you down closer so he can get an arm under your back, his hand grasping the back of your neck and pulling you up to meet his mouth. He’s still wearing his tie, the drape of fabric laying cool against your chest. Blessedly he’s not wearing his usual belt buckle. Foresight or oversight you’re not quite sure, but you’re grateful all the same as he grinds into you, a press of cold metal and leather against your belly.

He’s not going to last long, but it hardly matters. You’re too worked up, two orgasms down already, cunt so swollen and sensitive it’s hardly an effort to get you there again. But the feeling of him inside you turns that bright burn into something lower, deeper. Something that makes your muscles lock and tremble, straining up against him and gasping into his mouth.

“Jaaaack,” you whine, arms locked around his neck.

“Yes, baby,” he groans, voice quivering with every thrust. “Fuck yes I’m right there too, c’mon. Come with me, honeybee, come with me.”

His rhythm falters, grinding deeper and deeper, and all that strained tension in your body snaps like a rubberband. You sob, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, twisting and jerking as you come apart under him.

All Whiskey can do is growl as you bear down on him, gritting a litany of “yes, yes, fuck yes, god yes, that’s my girl that’s my girl that’s my fucking girl.” And then he’s gone, too, driving into you with a sudden jolt and crying out against the side of your neck as he comes.

You’re holding him too tight, clutching him to you as you both lie there, panting and shuddering, a spreading stain of red wine pooling next to your head.

“Jesus,” he whispers, tries to shift up to find your mouth, but even that amount of drag on his oversensitive cock is enough to make him hiss and jerk. “Fuck.”

“Mm-hm,” you agreed dumbly.

Whiskey lets out a growling hum, smoothing your hair. “You good, honeybee?”

You trail kisses up to his ear, still breathless. “What do you think?”

He wheezes a laugh. “I think I gotta replace a lot more than your frillies this time.” The laugh turns giddy, and Whiskey presses his forehead against your temple. “And I think I’m hungry.”

“Pie in the kitchen,” you mumble, too drowsy to do much more than nuzzle into the damp tangle of Whiskey’s hair.

“What kind?”

“Peach.”

He hums, smiling drowsily. “My favorite.”

You give a slow nod. “I know. Happy birthday, Jack.”

He kisses you, slow and sweet. “Best I ever had,” he murmurs.

[capesandshapes]

Didn't You Know? (Post Reveal/Pre Relationship)

Summary:

Marinette is sick and realizes that Adrien has a secret to tell her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The music was loud.

Far too loud.

But she knew at the same time that she was drunk, far too drunk; so that might have played a part in it. Adrien sitting at the bar with girls surrounding him—draped on his shoulders and with hands on his knees— might have also played a part in it. Because she’s tired, and sick, and lonely; and he’s there like he always is, waiting to take her home, waiting to take care of her because he feels like it’s his duty.

Because he’s Chat Noir and she’s Ladybug, and he promised one day however many years ago that he would always take care of her. Now she has to live with that. Now she has to live with wanting him, but still not fucking saying it.

And just when her night seems like it can’t get worse, some guy dumps a pint of whiskey on the front of her dress and makes to clean it up, his napkin at the ready to blot it like this totally isn’t some pre-planned thing—

“Oof,” a familiar voice says beside her, placing his sweatshirt around her shoulders before she can even protest and pushing the hands away before the man can try to ‘help’. “Thank you for that, but she’s already taken care of, I think I’m gonna take her home.”

And immediately the guy, some big burly man likely in his thirties, is flinging accusations and acting like he knows everything. “And who are you to do that?” Like he wasn’t just trying to do something awful.

“I’m her husband,” Adrien says, flashing a black and green ring while throwing a cheeky smile over his shoulder as he pulled the two edges of his sweatshirt a little bit closer around her. “Happily married,” he mutters, his eyes softening as they landed on hers and he saw her pull the sweatshirt on to really sell the statement. He leaned forward to zip it up, throwing the man another smile, this one verging on a warning as he placed his hand on Marinette’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize,” the man began, blinking as Adrien made to herd her away.

“It’s fine,” Adrien said, his arm around her shoulders and his eyes staying firmly on her. “She’s going home.” In a stage whisper, he added, “you’re sick, aren’t you sweetheart?”

Which was only half because of the other man and half because she actually was sick, and he wanted an answer.

She had been wondering how long she could keep it from him that night, how long she could last dancing with Alya and accepting only water. Now that he knew who she was, Adrien had a way of seeing through all of her other disguises too. Like her telling herself that she wasn’t sick and trying to act like she wasn’t sick.

Even though a small part of her was afraid she might have caught the flu or been suffering from some sign of overwork…

“I’m going to get your coat,” he said, guiding her near the door.

“Are you also going to go and tell more people that we’re married?” She asked wearily, swaying on her feet.

He laughed, leaving a small kiss on her forehead that almost made her cross her eyes. “I tell everyone I’m married; it keeps them from hitting on me and technically I am…” He raised his hand, waggling his eyebrows at her, “married to the job,” he joked. “I’m taken in more ways than one.”

She wished she didn’t laugh, if only because it encouraged that type of thing. As his friend, she shouldn’t have been happy that he was sitting in clubs with his miraculous on his ring finger, turning away girls who could have been something to him. As his friend, she shouldn’t have raised the sleeve of his sweatshirt to her nose as he walked away, smelling the soft cologne that he’s taken to wearing instead of the Agreste branded stuff.

She really sucked at this whole being his friend thing. More so now than ever.

He reappeared with her jacket, her housekeys in his hand. He didn’t, of course, make any moves to replace the sweatshirt around her shoulders, just another addition to the list of many things that would always make her wonder about where she actually stood with him.

Alya always insisted that he liked her and was just waiting for the right time to say anything, but two years had passed since they’d revealed their identities and Marinette had started to doubt that. If it was more than a childhood crush, he would have told her by now.

Then again, she thought as she watched him wait for their taxi, she hadn’t told him.

***********************************

Adrien unlocked her door and hauled her stuff inside, Marinette following closely behind. He reached around her once she was safely inside, closing the door and locking it.

“I’ll stay on the couch tonight in case you need anything,” he informed her. Adrien was often overbearing when she was sick, a trait that he’d picked up from her once she learned that no one was really around to care for him when the boy was sick. It almost became tradition for the man to sleep in her living room whenever she was ill, another reason why she didn’t want him to know.

It was almost painful how much he cared.

That was the problem with the two of them, someday he would get a girlfriend or she would have another boyfriend, and they would tell him how weird this was, that he cared way too much for the young woman and she cared too far beyond reason for him as well. Then it would end.

She didn’t want it to end.

She wanted a thousand different things in her life, like to start her own fashion line and see the world, but she didn’t want Adrien to leave her.

She was in love with Chat Noir. How long? She couldn’t tell you. Before the reveal, probably. Before she knew that he shared those green eyes with the other guy who made her chest feel heavy and her breathing weak.

“You should shower,” Adrien said. “Are you hungry? We didn’t go out to eat this time.”

“I had a microwave meal.”

“You didn’t eat then,” Adrien proclaimed, marching into her kitchen. Ever since he learned how to cook one summer at Nino’s grandparents, he was a storm in the kitchen. He made food for her whenever he could, always watching her closely for her reaction to that first bite. It reminded her of her father in a way, that excitement to watch her experience new things and know that he was responsible.

She sighed, lumbering into the kitchen on exhausted legs and wrapping her arms around his back, burying her face into it and murmuring her thanks. “I love you,” she mumbled, such a common phrase from her that it always just slipped out.

“I love you too,” he stated, his hands wrapping around hers and giving a reassuring squeeze. “You can put on a new one of my sweatshirts when you get out of the shower,” he said, because eventually she had started a whole collection of them without thinking about it.

She nodded, bending over to remove her high heels before traveling further into the apartment. He was already at her feet by the time she’d managed to overcome dizziness and bend over, beginning the process of unbuckling her heels and tossing them aside.

She blinked at him, feeling his soft blond hair brush against her leg and immediately giving into the urge to touch it. Her hand wove through the back of his hair and he pressed a small kiss to her leg as he finished the last shoe, tossing them aside. “There,” he said, smiling up at her.

She really hoped he thought she was red from the fever.

Freed from her shoes, she felt the world blink in and out as she stumbled to her bathroom, turning the shower on cold to combat her fever despite her body’s pleas not to. She practically fell into the shower and she knew that he heard, rushing to the door as quick as possible. “I’m fine,” she called before he could so much as knock, blinking at the mixture of shampoos and soaps before her. When would she finally make room for Adrien to have his own shelf? She shook her head, tempted as always to see if there was some magic in his fifty-dollar shampoo, but settling for her strawberry-scented one instead. Adrien had teased her the last time she’d used anything on his recommendation.

Finally clean, she emerged from the bathroom, walking the short distance in her towel before ending up in her room. “It’s almost done,” Adrien said from the kitchen as she pulled on a pair of joggers and one of his old sweatshirts, pulling her hair into a sad attempt of a bun.

Deeming herself close enough to presentable, she moved back into the kitchen, steadying herself on the wall when he noticed her and his face broke into a smile.

“You didn’t have any chicken stock, so I made leek soup,” he said, gesturing to the bowls, one for her, one for him.

She nodded, grabbing the bowl and moving to the living room, scooting too close into his side when he settled on the couch beside her, flicking on the tv. He threw on the show they’d been watching recently, a bad soap opera about werewolves that had the sets falling apart around them. She let out the softest yawn when the theme music began, sinking further and further into him until he finally finished his food, placing his arm around her.

“When is she finally going to realize that he’s in love with her,” she grumbled. “I mean, they’re dating, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien said, pulling the empty bowl from her lap and pulling her on top of him, the two laying together as the show continued to play. His eyebrows furrowed, concern for the characters showing on his face, “I mean, she has stuff at his place and everything.”

That didn’t mean anything, Marinette had things at Adrien’s place. She had more than one drawer, a whole closet even. “I mean, he said he’s in love with her, right?”

“Yeah,” Adrien agreed. “And they go practically everywhere together, people invite them as a couple.”

“And he sends her all these texts every day of things that she’s into!” Marinette complained. “I don’t know much about love, but that seems like it’s part of it.”

“Mhm,” Adrien agreed, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Thank you for the recipes the other day, by the way.”

“No problem—” she began, and then stopped, her eyes sliding over to him. He still watched the tv with the same expression, not even giving what he’d done a second thought.

“I think he’s finally about to say it,” Adrien stated with a frown. “It’s taken long enough.”

But Marinette couldn’t focus on the show at all. All she could do was stare at him. “You almost kissed me,” she marveled.

He cast her a questioning look, looking over at her just slightly before turning back to the tv. “Do you want me to fully kiss you, or?”

Marinette straightened, using her forearms to jerk back from him, her eyes wide.

He blinked, turning around to look at her, his eyebrows furrowed. “Marinette?”

“You kissed me,” she repeated, deciding at the corner was good enough and reaching to touch her mouth with her hand almost absentmindedly, tumbling against his chest in the process.

“Yes?” He said, peeling her off him to look him in the eyes. “I mean, that’s what people do when they’re dating—”

Her mouth fell open.

“Marinette..?”

“We’re dating?!” She yelled, her eyes wild.

He immediately flattened against the couch, looking almost as shocked at the statement as she was. “Marinette, I have stuff at your apartment, you have stuff at mine. I cook for you, we have shows. We watched all of Naruto together. You tell me you love me every day, and I say it back.”

“But that’s—We—” She floundered, almost falling off the couch.

Adrien’s hand caught her. “Marinette, be careful, you have a fever—”

“How long?” She asked, slumping into his hand. “We haven’t even kissed—”

“To be fair, we have kissed plenty of times before and I just assumed—”

“How. Long.” She repeated, and she could see the pure terror grow in his eyes.

“Two weeks?” He said, quickly explaining, “I mean, I sent you that long text about how much I liked you and you sent me back that you would be lucky to be my girlfriend, any girl would—”

She gasped, almost falling backward this time before his hands plastered themselves to the small of her back, the young man sitting up beneath her.

“Marinette?!”

“You’re my boyfriend,” she said loudly. “Oh my god, you’re my boyfriend.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He frowned.

“But you tell people that you’re married—”

“As a private joke,” he corrected. “I also tell people that I’m taken, not as a joke.” His hands pulled back from her, his voice almost unsure as he asked, “do you not want to be?”

“Of course, I want to be,” she squeaked. “I mean, that’s like asking someone if they want to be rich, or have a room full of puppies, or cure cancer—”

The corner of his mouth rose in a smirk.

“It’s just that I didn’t know,” she finished. “I haven’t even kissed you. And now I’m sick and I have this boyfriend here to take care of me, and he’s going to sleep on the couch…” Marinette struggled to list everything else wrong.

Adrien didn’t give her a chance.

No, instead he grabbed the side of her face and pulled her down, pressing his lips against hers in a firm, inarguable kiss.

“Well, I don’t have to sleep on the couch…” he said as he pulled away.

[chiwhorei]

brown, leather straps

pairing: l. ackerman x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

genre: a lil angsty, smut, 18+ minors dni

warnings: oral (f. receiving), spitting, bondage sksksksk

a/n: day six in levi brain rot hell. nothing is real and there is no escape. thank you to @messwriting for letting me scream in your dms at 7am and helping me flesh out some soft levi feels sksksksksk. @pleasantanathema said us two together is a scary little duo and i wholeheartedly agree.

hymn: desire - slowed by hucci, and do it for me by rosenfeld okay listen to it again sksksks

your hand raps lightly against a familiar door, knuckles scraping in contemplation against the wood.

this wouldn’t be the first time tired feet drug you down the hall and in front of the captain’s bedroom, not by a long shot. the night air whirls around you, nipping against any bare skin it could reach. you pull the wool cloak farther around your form for reprieve.

levi pulls the door open with a huff, turning back around without much acknowledgement. you watch as he he sits at the edge of his bed, he looks every bit as exhausted and battered as he did when you saw him return just a few hours ago. his eyes are downcast and heavy, the grey color reflecting every body he must have seen fall. they hang off of his shoulders and press against his spine in piles of limbs. the horrors of war are inescapable, you know that as well as anyone.

you also know there’s no amount of words that could be used as salve for the things he saw today, there’s barely bandages big enough to cover the long diagonal wound across his front.

“it looks worse than it is, don’t worry about me.” levi can feel your worried eyes against his bare chest, they follow the paths upwards to meet his face. you waste no time fussing over his injuries, there’s nothing more to be done for bruises and cuts against the pale skin.

his head hangs in his hands, you walk up to stand in front of him, bouncing on your heels as nerves take place in your heart. levi doesn't look up to you yet, still marose and curled in on his own body. he hears the small thud of fabric against the floor directly in front of him, his eyes flick forward slightly to catch the pile of green framing your ankles. you’ve piqued his curiosity now.

hungry eyes move up your almost naked skin. the only remnants of modesty lay in brown leather around your hips and thighs. the straps twirl like vines around your waist meeting finally to clasp right above your breasts. you’re ensnared in a trap of your own creation, prey captured and presented on a silver platter. levi’s mouth waters at the meal before him, canines aching in his mouth, itching to tear into you.

you’re pulled forward by the buckles on either hip to stand in between a stong pair of knees. there are usually very few words shared between the two of you, opting to spend the secret evenings putting mouths and tongues to better uses. tonight feels different. instead of clashing teeth and snarling, your fingertips trace against the captain’s hairline. two sets of fingers dig into the skin below your ass, but the grip feels more like a centering of soul.

you climb onto his lap, either knee pressing into the sharply made bed below you. levi wanders over your body, rubbing against planes of skin and fat that are well-known to his touch. your body reacts as it always does, arching into his exploration. his fingerprints paint your skin, covering every expanse while your lips attach at his pulse. you kiss lightly against his heartbeat, following along outlined trails to reach his collarbone.

levi is lost in your touch, each kiss chipping away at the horrors of reality beyond the wood of his bedroom door. he falls back into the mattress at your soft push, staring up at the outline of your body as the moon casts a spotlight from the window. your presence drips onto him like syrup, calming a broken man with seemingly little effort. he reaches out for you, catching on the leather across your chest and pulling you down. you meet his eyes again for a moment, you watch the storms that cloud him.

“you have no idea what you do to me.” his words shake down the column of your spine, poking at questions neither of you would voice out loud. you don’t answer him, instead you continue a soft assault against his marred skin. every jagged scar is touched by your lips as if trying to heal them. the silvered skin remains, but warmth blooms against the tissue.

levi returns with new wounds that will turn to scars against his beautiful skin, but he always returns. while scanning across the new additions to his collection, you feel the clumping of tears in your eyes.

“you’re going to ride past that gate for the last time one day, aren’t you?” your whimpers knock against him, he feels your soft sobs dripping onto his chest before you can stop yourself.

levi is stiff under you. the right answer seems non-existent, because you didn’t actually ask him a question.

he could tell you that he would crawl back from whatever hell awaits him, break every finger as he drags himself back up from the earth’s crust to lie in bed next to you— but no words seem strong enough.

he’ll have to show you instead.

you’re flipped over in the next moment, back cradled by one of his arms. his gaze on you is nothing short of primal, a wounded animal presented it’s first meal in days.

he’ll take you like sacrament. he’ll eat you alive.

you watch as levi sits back to regard you, his eyes warm at the sight before him. you’re wrapped like a present in the chestnut straps. he leans down to meet your lips again, his thumb pressing into your chin as he parts.

“open up.” your jaw falls slack at his command, you look up to him in anticipation. Jet hair frames his face from above you, slightly tousled. one hand rests above your head while the other is busy keeping your lips parted with a soft grip. you watch his mouth scrunch and a string of spit fall downwards towards your awaiting mouth. you lull your tongue out, always taking what he has to give you.

“good girl,” are the last words you hear before levi snakes down your body. every inch of leather and metal is followed with wet lips venturing downwards. levi reaches your aching cunt, already sheened with slick. he blows lightly against you to marvel at your reaction. you’re so pliant under your captain, completely submissive to his trek against your body.

the first union of his tongue to the perimeter of your lips is feather-light and disastrous.

you cry out in a cracked plea, the night’s circumstances being emotionally raw in so many ways. your body is hyper-sensitive and throbbing. when two fingers hover over your hole and press in without warning, the moan ripped from your throat at his contact is loud and unintentional.

just as quickly as two fingers press into you and curl against the anterior, spongy pad of your walls, they are ripped from you to find a home shoved into your mouth.

“no talking with your mouth full, it’s not polite.” his teasing spreads across your hot cheeks. his fingers press against your tongue, saliva pooling in their wake and escaping to run in small trails across your cheeks. levi snaps back up to you again, capturing you in his stare while his tongue pokes out from those pouty, downturned lips.

his hands grab onto the straps nestled against your thighs, bringing your pussy to him to lave a flat stripe against the weeping skin. you’re taste is intoxicating, tart and heady. he moves his mouth against you with vigor, purposely collecting pools of slick and spit to coat his face.

you squirm in his hold, the contact overbearing, but the cool leather in his grip keeps you in place against his frantic mouth. with every long lick over your pussy, he reaches the apex to suck against your clit. the pace is set, messy and wet. his mouth works your body like it has done so many times before, in the secret reprieve of a captain's quarters.

his tongue traces against your sensitive bundle of nerves, coiling a live wire in your stomach and pulling against it tightly. he releases your puffy clit with a squelching pop right as you feel the taste of your orgasm at the back of your throat. the feeling retreats and levi looms over you again, he barely gives you a moment to catch your breath before the taste of your own arousal is spat into your mouth. he wipes his slick covered face with the back of his hand, grinning down at you.

neither of you will waste words on the resounding, catotonic pull between your two bodies. there’s no point in whispered confessionals when tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

tonight, levi will pull every high from your twitching body that he steals from you. he’ll bring you to the edge and pull you back into his orbit. it’s been a long day, full of terrors beyond his control.

it will be an even longer night.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[beyondspaceandstars]

Soup & Cuddles

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: N/A, just fluff Summary: Bucky had a particularly rough mission but you’re there to welcome him home with a nice warm meal and comforting arms. A/N: ooof weird ending I’m sorry I sometimes don’t know how to end stuff lmao please forgive me but besides that i think this is cute, simple, and sweet so please enjoy <3

Masterlist

You’d been with Bucky long enough to know what came with welcoming him home from a mission.

For starters, whatever time his estimated arrival was was always off by at least a couple of hours (he like to put up an optimistic front for you, you had realized quickly) so you were always prepared for very late nights. Secondly, he would usually be dead tired but insist on hearing about what you did while he was gone. Thirdly, he could be touchy, unable to even lift a finger from you once he got in the door. And finally, he’d simply be hungry.

This night started like any other waiting for Bucky to come home from a mission. Early that morning he alerted you he would be home around midnight which basically translated to early morning hours. You started cooking some food for him around midnight as you waited.

You settled on vegetable soup as it not only warmed the soul but also could be reheated easily. What could you say? You favored practical recipes.

You prepped and seasoned the vegetables nicely, leaving them to wait patiently in the pot. You added in the vegetable stock along with water and a dash of more seasoning just to give it that little extra something. As it began bubbling away, you placed a lid on it, letting the broth reduce and flavors combine.

Once the soup was completed, you left it sitting on the back burner, simmering to keep warm for when Bucky arrived home. You sat on your kitchen island counter, flipping through a magazine when the door finally opened. You smiled, your head quickly turning to greet your man but everything around you seemed to stop when you noticed the state he was in.

Physically, he was just fine. There was no blood you could see, only just the outlines of bruises, but everything else about him… From his stance to his eyes… He didn’t seem okay.

It wasn’t new for Bucky to sometimes came back in unpleasant moods. That, you felt, was totally expected with such a demanding job but something about this time was different. He looked defeated, almost like everything was kicked out of him all over again.

Your heart dropped but you tried not to show it, keeping up some cheeriness in your voice. "Hi, honey," you said, sending him a small smile.

"Hi, doll," His words were weak.

Redirecting your attention to the stove, you hopped down and grabbed a bowl. Motioning towards the pot, you said, "I made you some vegetable soup if you’re hungry."

Bucky shook his head, "Maybe in the morning."

Soup? In the morning? Was… Was he even listening to you?

Stunned, you stood there, just holding the bowl and spoon meant for him. You watched him place some stuff on the counter and then head into the living room, totally bypassing you without a second glance.

Despite turning down the food, you still filled a bowl for him, adding some toast with butter to the side for dipping. You grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and headed into the living room.

Bucky was sitting on the couch, mindlessly watching late-night TV shows. He wasn’t reacting to anything on the television, just staring off into space. He barely even register you had entered the room until you placed the soup and water directly in front of him on the coffee table.

"Doll, really," he insisted, "I don’t want anything."

You shrugged, taking a seat next to him on the couch, and said, "Well, it’s there in case you change your mind."

Silence fell over the room as Bucky turned to you, his heavy eyes met yours. He looked tired in the worst way. You bit your lip, debating if you should press him to talk about it. He’d always been hesitant to talk about, well, anything. You tried your best to respect that but this was getting to you.

Cautiously, you placed your hand over Bucky’s, intertwining your fingers. It was a small thing but he accepted it.

"Do you want to talk about anything?" You asked, your voice just hovering above a whisper. Bucky took his eyes off you, opting to look down at your connected hands. You took the opportunity to lightly run your fingers through his hair. He slightly leaned into the touch, giving you a bit of hope.

"First off, we lost some people," he simply replied, his grip on your hand suddenly getting stronger.

"What- On the team?" You asked frantically. Bucky quickly shook his head.

"No," he said. You let out a sigh of relief. "But then there were some issues with the civilians."

He acted like that was that but something in your gut could feel there was more to it. He was being so vague it was weirding you out. Bucky, on the other hand, didn’t seem concerned about his words as he disconnected your hands and finally reached for the soup bowl. He drank some broth, turning back to the television.

"Bucky," you said slowly, "is that it?"

He looked down at the soup, this time eating a spoonful of vegetables. Once he had finished his bite, there was a pause. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it as if contemplating on answering. You watched him intensely, pulling your hands to your lap, waiting.

"Kids," he mumbled as his gaze focused on his dinner, stirring the spoon idly. "We saw some kids and I… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them. I don’t know if they’re okay or not."

Your jaw dropped slightly. You brought your hand gently to his bicep. He tensed under your touch. "Oh, honey…"

You didn’t know what to say. What- What could you say? Everything on missions could be rough but the image of a child caught in problems they didn’t cause? And possibly paying for it? You couldn’t even imagine the weight of it all.

Bucky sighed, leaning forward, forcing your touch to drop, as he placed his food back on the coffee table. He took a couple of bites of the bread before leaning back, still not looking at you.

"You know, missions can be bad on their own," he mumbled. "But being reminded children are affected…"

He said so little but so much all at once. All you could do was nod, trying to ease his mind. You couldn’t pretend to even know how he was feeling. You certainly had never been in his position before. You just had to be there listen when he was ready to speak and welcome him into your arms to let him know you’re there.

When Bucky felt you wrap your arms around him, he pulled back from his empty staring to look down at you. Normally, when emotions were this strong he’d opt to be alone. And, in fact, he almost did just that earlier. His original plan was to walk right into the bedroom once he got home and bury it all.

But he knew that wouldn’t be a possibility. You were too good. You were there all sweet and radiant, waiting for him with a hot meal. He just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t turn you away no matter how much he tried. Stuff got a lot better faster when he had someone willing to comfort him.

Effortlessly, he picked you up and placed you on his lap. His arms were tight around your waist. You rested your head in the crook of his neck while his forehead met your shoulder.

You two stayed like that for a bit, just holding one another, trying to offer support any way you could. You still were at a loss for words but Bucky didn’t seem to mind. He probably wasn’t looking for a response anyway. He knew you each led two completely different lives and, sure, there was some beauty in that. There was something about coming back to one another after a full day of work and errands, ready to share stories from your day. But there were always bad sides to it, too. While you didn’t exactly have the horror stories Bucky could have, you knew he’d always listen to your problems, as you were present to listen to his.

After a moment, you felt you couldn’t keep the silence going. Gently pushing away, Bucky lifted his head from your shoulder and you faced one another again.

"I’m sorry," you said, running your thumb over his damp cheek, collecting tears.

"I love you, doll," Bucky mumbled, leaning forward to place a quick peck on your lips. "Thank you."

"I- I didn’t really do-,"

He shook his head, "You do so much for me. You listen to me, you comfort me, you make me the greatest bowls of soup ever… You do too much. Thank you."

You chuckled, your heart melting at his words. With the best smile you could muster under the circumstance, you placed a proper kiss on Bucky’s lips which he happily returned. His grip got tighter, trying to pull your bodies together. You pressed your hands against his chest, putting distance between you two. There were a lot of emotions running through you two.

"You should get some sleep," you said and tried getting off his lap. His arms wouldn’t budge. You sighed, "Bucky, honey, come on."

Shaking his head, he said, "Let’s watch a movie or something, okay? I… I don’t want to sleep yet."

You nodded, "Alright, we can do that but I would like some soup first. And maybe then cuddles."

Bucky chuckled, removing his arms from your waist. You stood and raced to the kitchen, grabbing your own bowl of soup and bread.

"Soup and cuddles?" He asked, watching you from the living room. Maybe he could spend all night like this. Watching you was enough to keep him happy.

"Soup and cuddles," you confirmed, making your way back into the living room. You placed your food on the coffee table and sat on the couch where Bucky had his arm extended, waiting for your body to curl up into his.

His hold on you was fairly strong as if needing a reminder of your presence but you didn’t say anything. It felt good to be wrapped in your man’s arms. And felt even better to be his safe spot. Your heart fluttered at the realization, making you slide closer.

Bucky certainly didn’t object.