#f: cough syrup

[furbing-atrocities]

Everyone please welcome my 2 newest furbs! the 2023 is Cough Syrup (he/she/they) and the 1998 is Raul (he/they)

[silverhairsimp]

who's gonna take care of you? k. bakugou

I am sicker than sick and couldn't sleep last night so here's some bakugou fluff.

Pairing & CW: Bakugou x f!reader. Reader and Bakugou have two kids. Brief mentions of pregnancy from Mitsuki (Reader is not actually pregnant). pure, sickly sweet fluff.

Katsuki looks at the clock hanging above the kitchen sink, 7:24am. Usually you’d have been up for at least a half hour by now, maybe more. The kids have to be to school at 8:30, it’s only a 12 minute drive, but they like to get there early and play with their friends before their day of learning starts. He looks at the two of them sitting at the counter, digging into their fresh pancakes and waffles with a variety of fruits. They were similar in a lot of ways, but your daughter refuses to eat pancakes, the same goes with your son and waffles. And what kind of number one dad would The Bakugou Katsuki be if he didn’t make his brats happy?

“You two stay here and finish eating— gonna go check on your ma’,” he calls out to them before heading down the hall, only to stop with a hand on the doorframe to look back at them. “And no eatin’ spoonfuls’a syrup this time! That shi— crap’ll give you diabetes.” 

The two of them laugh at their dads empty threat, knowing they’ll at least sneak one or two spoonfuls before he gets back. 

He has an office day today, full of paperwork and unfished reports that need to be submitted by the end of the week. He’s been working overtime, which means you have too. Working overtime at your own job and taking care of the kids when he gets home too late or leaves too early for work. 

“Baby—“ he calls out when he pushes open your bedroom door. Your cheeks are flushed red, your brows are knit together, you’ve got a mound of blankets on you, yet your feet are sticking out from the bottom. “Hey, y’doing okay?” He asks as he gets closer, sitting next to your sleeping form on the bed when he reaches a hand out to cup your cheek, followed by placing the back of his hand to your forehead. “Jesus babe, you’re burnin’ up. Might be running hotter than I normally do…” 

His words are laced with concern as he heads to your shared bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with as cold of water he can get before wringing it out. For good measure, he grabs the thermometer and to confirm his suspicions.

“Open up for me, baby.” He brushes his thumb over your cheek and your eyes finally open when you bring your hand up to touch the cold cloth on your forehead. “‘Ts cold…” you mumble and he slips the thermometer underneath your tongue. “Yeah and you’re hot—“ he waits for the thermometer to finish rereading before he adds: “101.9 to be exact.” 

You try to sit up, “I’m fine…”but the pressure in your head is too much so you flop back down into the pillows. “I don’t know what year you think I was born, but I know what fine is. And you, are not fine.” 

“But the kids— they have school, you have work— I have things to do around the house.” You try to protest in between a fit of coughs, but he plants an arm against the bed, palm down at your side caging you in. “you know the hag— my mom,” he corrects when you give him the glare, “she loves taking them to school. Eijiro too. I could call either one and they’d drop ‘em off. And with work, that’s one of the perks’a bein’ your own boss.” 

He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, trying to hide the wince at how warm your skin is. Gods you must feel like shit. “Lemme call my mom—“ he steps out of the room and gently closes the door, calling in a favor to the woman who always saves his ass. 

‘Yeah, y/n sick, real sick. Need someone to drop off the beats at school. What? Morning sickness? No she’s not pregnant again. She’s sick sick. Got’a fever of almost 102. Yeah, they ate. Yes, lunches packed. Ugh— what kinda father do you think I— mmgh. Thanks ma. They’ll be ready for ya.’

He comes back in the room slight shake to his head as he thinks back to the conversation he just had with his mom. Your youngest is 6 and she’s been itching for another grand baby, but that’s too bad. She’s got two good ones to love on anyway. “Moms comin’ to pick em up in 15.” 

The two of you can hear the padding of feet running down the hall and your two replicas appear in the door frame. 

“Mommy what’s wrong? Did you catch a bug?” Your 8 year old son asks you as he pushes his hips to the bed. He may have his fathers eyes but he’s got your color hair and the sweetest personality to match. 

��Ew! Why would mommy catch a bug!! That’s so yucky!” Your daughter chimes. She’s got that ash blonde hair to match her fathers and definitely gets his personality. 

“Yeah, squirt, mama’s not feeling great so your Gramma Mitsuki is gonna take you to school.”

“Katsuki— you really shouldn’t have asked your mom to come all the way here.” 

“You say all the way here like she doesn’t live 8 minutes down the road.” He smirks at you, knowing damn well she wasn’t gonna miss the opportunity to be involved in your kids’ lives. 

“Daddy, why can’t we stay and take care of mommy like she takes care of us when we’re sick?” Your boy asks with those gorgeous ruby red eyes peering down at you. “You guys have to stay in school and get good grades. You wanna have your own agency and be the number one hero like your daddy don’t you?” You smile at the two of them and lift your hand off the bed to cup their cheeks one at a time. 

Your daughter flexes her little muscles and grits her teeth. “Yeah mommy! We’ll get strong so we can take good care of you some day!” 

Each of your kiddos leans in to place a kiss to your cheek, it’s no use trying to stop them either. They’re both stubborn, just like you and Katsuki. 

“Go get cleaned up before Gramma gets here— and don’t think I can’t smell the syrup on those sticky fingers, you little shits!” 

It’s no use trying to protest the language when you hear the fit of laughter and screams as they run back down the hall. 

Katsuki gets up to make sure they’re heading out to wash up and grab their school bags while he makes another call to the agency, letting Mina know he won’t be in. 

You’ve nearly fallen back asleep by the time he comes back with a hot bowl of homemade soup, a freshly squeezed cup of orange juice, a ginger shot and two pieces of toast. “They’re right ya know. You’re like super woman to them— and even she needs help sometimes.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and turns on the tv for some back ground noise before he grabs his computer and sits next to you in bed. 

“Katsuki. You’re gonna get sick if you stay here—“ you try to protest and he just smiles and puts the cold rag on your forehead. “Yeah… and when super man needs help; I know you’ll be there too..” He lands a fat one right on your lips and smiles. The two of you share everything together. Even the cooties…

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: FUSHIGURO

A/N: OH. MY. GOD. Anon. I love you and hate you for this request. This was…hard. I told myself I wouldn’t publish it unless it was fucking perfect (you should see the scalpels I took to each goddamn sentence before this version).

SECOND: I will square up with Gege for writing the most enigmatic, LAYERED, complex, muddled character to exist. I wanted this to be Megumi. Through and through. His darkness, his light, his reservation, his crazy, all in one. And IDK. I think I did it? This one is purely to prove to myself that I can write for characters that are hard to write for (*cough* yuta im glaring at you *cough*)

THIRD: if you do read this (I get people feel things about aged up characters etc), I implore you to listen to this. Guys. I heard this at 0200 IN THE OR during a 6 hour case and the entire concept for this came to me. Meg is sophisticated and unruly, selfless and selfish, etc. So this has some NSFW but definitely probably more on the poetic, long ends of my works.

CW: Aged up characters (20+), college AU, fluffy/raunchy/dark romance-y because LOOK at him. He takes after Gojo AND Toji. Mature, 18+

“You like it when I’m rough.”

Megumi’s melody rings crystal clear.

Low.

Precise.

An F-14 Tomcat fighter jet, flying dark. Below enemy radar.

The piano keys float beneath his tone. His long, slender, deft fingers effortlessly execute the sheet music before him. It’s his GPS system, a personal flight map.

Little Beethoven, his advanced music theory professor calls him.

Truth is, Megumi is a prolific pianist and vocalist. He can tame any note, any melody, any harmony faster than any of his Shikigami.

Speaking of…

Megumi pulls off the piano and tortured love song in an instant. Just as the grade 3 curse creeps through the open door.

The part between his right long and ring fingers is automatic. His left hand grips the web space between his right thumb and index finger.

“Demon dog.” Megumi summons.

Low. Precise. Decisive.

“Eat it, boy.”

A small, approving smile tugs on the corners of his lips. Low level curses are the nothing more than chew toys to his divine dogs. With a tiny wave of his fingers, his technique buzzes inward.

Megumi’s eyes float to the ancient analog clock on the wall.

13:50

10 more minutes until you’ll meet him for your date.

No. Not date.

Study. 10 more minutes until you’re meeting him to study.

Your thought blooms within him like wildfire. It sets his normally cool, porcelain skin ablaze.

Megumi whips his body around to face the piano. To exorcise the feeling. The keyboard has always been his outlet. His life blood. Playing, singing, musing in and out of written songs is his catharsis.

Words don’t come easy. They never have. But lyrics do.

And when he gets to ride lyrics with his voice, his runs..?

The words he can never find on his own are suddenly out there. In the atmosphere. Coating empty rooms in a mist of his thoughts, his feelings.

No certain promise that the person the words are destined for will ever catch them. Or ever walk through the room and be kissed by the remnants of his musical trail. But Megumi has said (sung, played) them. And that’s enough.

“Sorry if I come across a type of way.”

“I’ve been trying to get out of my way…”

His fingers dive into the keys. Angrily. Earnestly.

“I know it doesn’t seem like I care, but you know I care—“

“Wow Meg, you sound incredible.”

You bring him to an abrupt stop. Your voice is maple syrup trailing down Megumi’s neck, leaving goosebumps in its candied wake.

Pitch fucking perfect.

A soft, ethereal C, gliding down Heaven’s staircase. You infuse sunlight into his name, whichever way you choose to say it.

And it’s hell. It’s cruel. To have as keen hearing as he does. To listen to you sing his name and have nothing else follow.

“Fushiguro.” Megumi shoots up from his seat, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“What?”

“Fushiguro.” He repeats, eyes briefly meeting yours before settling above your head. He’s at least a head and shoulders taller.

“Nobody calls me Meg.”

You throw your head back. Feather light crescendo in your laughter. It’s pretty. Tantalizing in the way chandeliers twinkle when they capture a beam of light.

His eyes dart down to catch the feminine column of your neck. Curving into your delicate collar bones. How are your lines so seamless?

So cinematic. Like he’s watching a figure skater land a triple axel. Or a prima ballerina en pointe. It’s not fathomable.

Gorgeous.

You are gorgeous.

“I call you Meg.” You retort with a smile that liquifies all of his joints.

You double your walking speed to keep pace with Megumi’s long strides. Both of you exit the sound engineering building. Heading straight for the campus library a couple blocks away.

“Who were you—oh,” Megumi’s glacial hand along the small of your back steals your voice away.

Your eyes and feet follow his gentle push, shifting you to the other side of him.

“Walking on the wrong side.” He mutters, monotone. Matter-of-fact. Obviously.

He’s a gentleman. Of course he is going to walk on the traffic facing edge of the sidewalk.

Of course he didn’t feel the electric currents wire through his fingers to clench — suffocate — his heart.

No, he didn’t hear that punched out, falsetto gasp when his hand cradled your perfectly tapered waist.

Or notice how well you fit into his hand. How light you are under his touch that had none of his real strength behind it.

You’re made of alluring lines. Intoxicating sounds.

What would it take to coax a pretty melody out of your pouty lips?

His fingers?

They’re long. And smart. Cold. Remarkably patient. You’d like them.

He could make you love them.

Crave them. Need, whimper, whine, and cry out for them.

“So who was it?” You tether him to reality.

“Who was what?” Megumi counters, leading you to a private study room.

“The way you were singing earlier.”

Hairs along the back of his neck stand at attention. Blood runs Siberian cold. Megumi’s gaze on you is subzero.

“It had to be for someone.” You lower down into a seat in slow motion.

The sweetheart neckline of your sundress is mean. Your supple mounds tilt and ripple with every micro movement. Megumi has forgotten why he’s glaring at you.

“You sound too…pretty. It can’t be wasted on thin air.” You continue.

“She must be—“

“Let’s just get started, okay?” He sharply redirects the conversation.

And promptly shifts gear to low autopilot. He’ll speak when spoken to, answer questions intermittently. But his mind’s true coordinates are a galaxy away.

Megumi retreats to his shadow garden.

Watching you.

Drinking you in.

Savoring each detail on his tastebuds like dessert.

The pencil eraser leaves an indent on your bottom lip where you’ve been pressing too hard.

Megumi wants to roll your bottom lip under his teeth. Until it flushes rose and swells beneath his relentless pull.

His eyes fall to your bracelet, far too big for your dainty wrist.

He could hold both of your wrists in one hand above your head or behind your back for hours. Without breaking a sweat.

His other hand would take its time.

To stroke you. Pet you. Learn your sheet music. Then play your body like a harp until you’re a chorus of beautiful, soprano whimpers and moans. Begging and pleading so prettily, enticing him to give in.

But he won’t.

Not until you’re soft enough. A babbling, warm, ruined brook beneath his fingers.

Then he’ll take you, gorgeous.

Searing pain from his sharp swallow and nails digging into his thighs rip him down to the present.

Vision a little fuzzy. Head a revolving door of vulgar scenarios. A dull, demanding ache between his legs draws his eyes to his lap.

Fucking hell.

His jeans are uncomfortable. He’s stiff and needy. Not nearly enough strength in his pants to hold back his drunken arousal.

Not to the mention, the—

swarm of shadows growing at his feet?

Is his…innate domain materializing around him right now?

Megumi aggressively slices through the air at his hip level. Below the table, but you don’t miss his sudden stirring.

“Meg? You okay over—“

“Going to the bathroom.” He gruffs through a clenched jaw. Megumi places his forearm over his crotch before hurrying out of the room.

He can barely recognize the man in the mirror. Flushed to his ears. Volcanoes threatening eruption in his eyes. Api Biru. Pure, triple distilled, blue lava coursing through his veins.

Snap out of it, Fushiguro.

The splash of cold water does nothing for his internal heat. But his milky complexion returns to its effervescent state.

But then he turns a little too quickly to leave. And his painfully hard length drags along his fabric. It’s blinding.

A feeble moan tumbles out of his tight lips.

“Fuck.”

Megumi slams his eyes shut. He needs to readjust. But if he touches himself now, he might not be able to stop.

A slow, steadying breath fills his lungs.

“Just adjust, don’t…” His voice trails off. Icey fingers around his hot, angry base is enough to rip the carpet from beneath his feet.

“Oh, fuck.” Megumi mumbles through one quick pump up his shaft.

He shakes his head as if to tell himself enough. He rests his erection along his thigh before zipping up. Still painful, but tolerable.

A tornado obliterates any remaining resolve in Megumi’s mind on his walk back to you.

You are a dream.

Or a nightmare? A curse?

It doesn’t matter. He couldn’t care less.

Megumi would follow you. Deeper than the crypts of his 10 shadows. Into hell if it meant he could have you the way he wants you.

The way he craves you.

Because fuck the cost.

He’d pay anything.

You’re working on an elaborate concept diagram on the white board. On the tip of your toes. Lip curled under your teeth. And you are just irresistible.

So, he won’t resist.

“Meg! Took you a bit, you okay?”

Megumi is silent. Unblinking. Sauntering toward you.

“Megumi?”

You lower to the soles of your shoes. Neck craning to look at his face. Your eyes widen at his persistent silence. Rosy heat dusting your cheeks.

Pretty little doe, rooted in place by his wolfish glare.

Megumi takes the marker out of your hand and tosses it behind him in one swift motion.

“Hmm,” a tiny acknowledgment of his name. Just because it sounds so sweet rolling off your tongue.

Megumi corners you against the wall. Both of his hands casually in his pockets.

He watches you shift. Flicker your eyes in every direction. Fiddle with your thumbs.

His quiet.

His presence.

It flusters you. Well before he’s gotten the chance to run his hands along the lazy curve of your waist and hips.

“So…so blue.” You stammer. Your warm eyes metronome between his.

“They are.”

Megumi steps impossibly closer. His eyes drop to your chest. Dainty, nervous heaves. Up and down. Up and down.

“You are so,” you swallow thickly, dropping your gaze. “hard to read.”

Megumi snakes his large, graceful fingers into your nape. The temperature difference between your warmth and his cold startles you deeper into his grasp. Your head evanesces into his pull.

A beautiful, shocked gasp escapes you. Just as Megumi’s lips trace the shell of your ear.

“I want you.”

His breaths collide with yours, now. Heat welling deep in his groin. His cock thunders against his thigh.

“Can you read that?” Megumi rasps. Ensuring his voice vibrates down your spine.

A new sound tumbles from your lips. Like you choked on your last swallow. How pretty. You gurgling and gagging like that.

“W-want me? Megumi wh—“

“I.” Megumi nudges his thigh between your legs. His steel pipe erection digs into your dewy, hot core. He angles his leg slightly upward, inching you on the tip of your toes.

His prima ballerina, en pointe.

“Want you.” His lips ghost against yours. Free hand cups the flesh beneath your thigh. Pads of his fingers twitching to dig in.

The two of you drink in this lock-in-key fit. Megumi revels in you. Like this. At his complete mercy.

The prodigal son, born with more power than he knows what to do with.

Ten shadows. Ten Shikigami. It’s been centuries since the last head of his bloodline had power buzzing beneath his fingertips like him.

And somehow he’s never felt more powerful than this.

With you, heaven’s most precious angel, cradled in his arms. Drowning in sinful ecstasy. He brands this freeze frame into the most permanent part of his memory.

Then, he free falls off your cliff edge.

Megumi takes your lips with unfettered greed. Hunger woven into the way his tongue traces every corner of your delectable, soft mouth. His fingers push your head deeper into him. Sucking and nibbling on your warm muscle.

You shower him with airy, choppy little pants. Moans and whines so light they crescendo to fairy dust. You can’t keep up with his bruising kiss. His other hand palms your thigh, kneading little bruises into your silky smooth skin.

Marking what’s his.

“Oh my god.”

You breathe into his mouth when he lets you up for air. Megumi’s eyes dart down to the meeting point of your sex and his muscular thigh.

Did you really think he wouldn’t notice how you’re rutting your pretty little cunt against his leg like that?

Crimson high on your cheeks. You look away when he tries to catch your fucked out gaze.

“Don’t hide from me, gorgeous.” His hand traces up to your hips. You preen into his firm grip.

“Megumi.”

“Don’t stop, pretty girl.” He forcefully moves your hips in more dramatic, languid, deep rolls against his thigh. He’s not paying any mind to the pool of his precum soaking through his pants.

You bury your head in his neck. Fingernails digging pretty crescent moons into his back. You take over the pace. Undulating against him. Shameless. In complete heat.

“You feel s-so…so good.” Your lips smear against his dampened neck. Megumi responds by circling your puffy, slick bud with his fingers.

And fuck. The slurred, broken whimper that rings in his ears.

The way you hump him even more sloppily.

He could finish from that alone.

Your hand flies to your mouth. Empty huffs spilling. Whines ascending in pitch. You are close.

“Such pretty sounds, baby.”

“Megumi…meg..I-“

“Let it out.” He grips the back of your neck. Feeling dangerously close to his own nirvana. Drunk off your precious melody.

“Sing for me.”

“F-fuck, GOD.”

You bite down on his neck. Waves of pleasure crashing into you like hurricane winds. He grips your waist steady. Feeling every involuntary twitch and jerk of your doll-like frame.

Blessing or curse?

He doesn’t know.

But he will follow you to the end of his lifetime and the next.

“God, Fushiguro. That was…” The lusty haze from your peak settles around you. The once shattered world, slowly pieces itself back together.

“No.” Megumi pulls you out of his neck. Dropping his lips to yours, so he can breathe the air directly from your lungs.

“Meg. You call me Meg.”

[artemis32]

Locksley

yandere Batfam x reader

yes, i do love them. yes, it is a problem. yes, i will make this my entire personality for the next two and a half months

also, necessary disclaimer, there’s a piece of dialogue in this that i took from a youtube asmr channel (bite me, they’re interesting and i’m starved of attention) - it’s jimち asmr, if you’re interested

word count - 4.8k

mbe masterlist

You wouldn’t call yourself a hero, not in any sense of the word. Likewise, you didn’t consider yourself a villain. You were something in between - you did bad things for good reasons, you did good things for bad reasons. 

Living in Gotham changed people. No matter how kind or well-intentioned, everyone ended up corrupt sooner or later. Some just fell further from grace than others. 

The people you helped would argue that you were a hero, someone who deserved recognition and respect for your actions. The people you stole from tended to disagree.

You didn’t care much about what you were. Heroes, villains… They were all the same in your eyes. They wrecked havoc and left people like you to deal with the aftermath - an ordinary citizen who had neither the means nor the aspirations to fix what they’d broken.

****

You started years ago, before you were even a teenager.

It was small things at first. Single fruits, a loaf of bread, a blanket, cough syrup. Things people wouldn’t usually notice. 

You realised pretty soon that you were good at stealing, good at getting away without people noticing. Very good.

Stealing felt justified in your young mind. You told yourself that it was okay. It was okay because you weren’t stealing for yourself. Never for yourself. Never committing a crime for personal benefit.

No, you stole to help others. You did what you could to help those that were too weak or scared to help themselves. 

In those early years, when you were still young and hopeful, you likened yourself to Robin Hood. Stealing from the rich to give to the poor.

Now, years later, the sentiment had faded. 

You still stole from the rich. You still gave everything you stole to the poor. 

Poverty in Gotham was a disease. The densely populated apartment blocks in the Narrows, where you lived, housed more people than it should have, and those people had become somewhat of a family to you. Or at least as close as you’d ever get. So you did what you could to keep them safe and alive. Stealing food to keep them fed, stealing clothes and blankets to keep them warm, stealing medicine to keep them healthy, stealing toys to keep the children hopeful.

That was your job, your purpose in life.

It made you feel as though you had a use. Seeing how people’s faces brightened, how happy they looked to see you when you bought a spare blanket or some extra food, or a toy a hopeful child had been eyeing for a while, it made you feel as though your life wasn’t completely meaningless.

Your life had a purpose. And that purpose was to help those who couldn’t help themselves. 

So you did.

And you never got caught. Not once. 

Until you did.

****

This uniform is so fucking uncomfortable. How do these people do this all day? You think, slipping your index finger beneath the buttoned collar of your shirt, tugging at it in a lacklustre attempt to catch a breath.

As much as recon was necessary, it was also an annoyance most of the time. It was times like these that you thanked the stars above that you weren’t born into a wealthy family. Stuffy galas and boring board meetings were never your thing.

The crowd of wealthy tycoons and aristocrats barely paid the waitstaff a second thought, primping and preening as they mingled amongst one another, trying to impress people who were too self centred to notice them. 

You would’ve rolled your eyes and gagged at the sight, had it not acted as the perfect cover for you. 

Stealing the name tag and uniform off of the service roster was simple enough, and sneaking in through the service entrance of the disgustingly lavish manor was a breeze. Now, as you flit through the crowd of supercilious pricks, you feel grateful for your own nondescript appearance.

Blending in with the average service worker was a blessing, one you took full advantage of as you scanned the large ballroom. There were several large windows, massive panes of glass bordered with ornately carved ebony wood frames. The doors were just as grand, two sets of double doors, and a smaller service door in the very corner of the room, all dark stained ebony to match the windows, were just as detailed and lavish.

It made you sick.

How could these people live so wastefully? How could they live so easily? Their biggest worry was keeping their faces youthful and their houses fancy. It didn’t make sense. Even now, after months, years of doing this, it still confused you - the fact that you lived such a jarringly different life, one that seemed so pathetic in comparison to the vapid crowd that surrounded you.

At the very least, it eased your conscience, and made your job easier. You felt no pity, no remorse for stealing from people like those gathered around you. Very few of them had actually worked for what they had in life. No, it was handed to them at birth. Life was funny like that. Those who work hard are left impoverished, and those who give in to gluttony and greed never have to work a day in their lives for what they have.

You discarded the now empty serving tray behind a potted plant, slipping out the large double doors and into the empty corridor beyond. The halls were silent and dark, moonlight casting large shadows over the walls.

The manor’s antiquated runner rug muffled the sound of your footsteps as you crept along the wall of the corridor, carefully taking note of each door, drawing up a mental map as you continued. 

Every corner you turned was more extravagant than the last. You could practically feel the wealth seeping out of the walls. It disgusted you. 

At least it was nice to look at.

Twenty minutes later, you’ve made it up to the East Wing, the furthest part of the manor from the ballroom. It seems to be the personal quarters of whoever the hell owns this abomination of a house. On the trek up several flights of stairs, you’d passed a collection of bedrooms, several smaller living rooms, and,to your great delight, a study. Though, ‘study’ feels like the wrong word to describe the room.

It looks more like a grotesque mix of a library and a maze, and if you were any more wet behind the ears, you might’ve been intimidated by the sheer size of it. In fact, if you’d stumbled upon a room like this a few years ago, you’d have been in awe. The value of a single item in this room would have you set for life. 

But you don’t allow yourself to be caught up in the moment, keeping steely focus as you move silently, swiftly between towering shelves. You don’t take anything. Not yet. The time for that would come later. Right now, you focus instead on gathering information. The layout of the manor, alarms, sensors, residents.

The last part was always the hardest, especially with people like the elite of Gotham city. People came and went as they pleased, and the odds of you running into someone was higher in extravagant homes like this, what with their abundance of butlers and maids. But you’d avoided them all up to this point, never once encountering anyone in more than a decade of prowling.

And this manor - the famous Wayne residence - never housed more than a dozen people on any given night. You knew the staff and groundskeepers all went home in the evening, leaving the property all but abandoned at night.

You reach the end of the room, pausing only to glance over at the large grandfather clock nestled between two shelves before you turn on your heel and stride back towards the door. You’d gotten what you came for. Now, it was time to take your leave, full mental map in tow. 

Getting out of the gala was a lot easier than getting in, and you took the time to register the smaller details of the manor. In this time, you confirmed one thing you knew for certain:

Wayne manor disgusted you in all its excessive wealth.

Bruce Wayne may have appeared as some kind of well meaning philanthropist or humanitarian, but you knew his pockets ran deep. Much of his wealth, generational and unearned, was hoarded while the rest of Gotham was left to rot in poverty. 

It was, in part, the reason that you didn’t feel bad about what you were doing. He, alongside the rest of Gotham’s elite, had done nothing to earn what they had. You were just levelling out the playing field, giving those in the Narrows a fair chance at life.

And if you had to dirty your hands to help them, then so be it.

****

The thick carpet muffles your landing, though you don’t really need it.

Over the years, you’d mastered your movements, learning how to move silently, without notice. It’d been born from necessity, rather than genuine desire. Growing up in the Narrows wasn’t good for much, but at least you learnt pretty quickly that it was easier to get by if you went unnoticed.

You gently close the window, pushing the polished wooden frame with your fingertips, wincing at the soft click of the lock. Any noise was too much.

The corridors are empty as you silently sweep through the manor, as expected. You aim for the lavish library you’d scoped out a week prior, mental checklist ready. 

Avoiding the cameras and alarms is easy enough, especially when the majority of them scoped the perimeter, rather than the interior. The lack of security, combined with the excessive luxury confirmed what you’d always thought.

Rich people were fucking dumb.

They really thought their money could protect them from everything. Well, there was one thing that no amount of money could save them from.

People like you. People with absolutely nothing to lose.

You had no family, no prized possessions, no desire or greed. And you sure as hell didn’t harbour any fear for people like them.

Eventually, you arrive in the East Wing, slowing your stride slightly. You strain your ears for any hint of movement, blending seamlessly into the shadows as you prowl the corridor. The ornately carved solid wood door opens with a silent swoosh, and you slip into the room a mere moment later.

Someone’s here.

You take note of it a moment too late, slipping between two towering shelves the instant you hear the soft murmurs of a conversation. The lighting is dim, shadows dancing across the room, sourced from the crackling fireplace at the back of the study.

Fuck.

It takes you a beat longer than usual to calm your now racing heart, and the instant you get it under control, you’re back to creeping along the shadows, hands darting out to grab at ornaments and books, shoving them silently into every pocket and gap in your suit and small backpack.

If you could, you’d have brought a bigger bag, but you needed to travel light - light enough to make a swift exit if needed. 

You manage to grab quite a few things without nearing the source of conversation, which you’ve now determined to be two men murmuring lowly near the fireplace. Relief settles heavy in your bones as you creep back towards the door, thankful for the numerous shelves hiding you from view.

Lady Luck was a fickle being, and it seemed she’d decided your time was up.

When you’re about ten steps away from the exit, senses on high alert, time seems to slow, the baroque handle dropping slowly as the door is pushed open. You’re back in the shadows before it fully opens, back pressed against the wall while you weigh your options.

The door is out of the question. There’s no way to slip out without being noticed. The window, maybe?

One glance at the tightly latched windows across the room dash that idea immediately.

Panic swirls up your spine, threatening to take over. If you got caught here, there’s no telling what would happen to you.

As you scramble to come up with a plan, the door swings open and a man steps into the room. He’s young, fresh-faced, perhaps a year or two younger than you. He’s handsome too, in the way aristocrats often were - light eyes, tanned skin, full lips. He was striking. 

And he turned to look right at you.

You’re up, on top of the nearest shelf seconds before his eyes slide towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut, sweat slicked palms pressed flat against the dusty wooden shelf underneath you.

Fuck.

He lingers for a moment, taking a step closer into the shadows, to the spot you’d stood in moments ago. 

There’s no way he knew. He couldn’t.

After several tense, painful seconds, his brow twitches and he turns on his heel, striding over to the other two men, his gait confident and swift. You let out a soft sigh, relaxing only a bit as you try to stop the nervous tremors in your hands.

Escape comes hours later, near three in the morning, when all three men eventually retire to their rooms. You couldn’t get out of that eerie, shadowed manor fast enough.

****

“You really should lock your door at night, especially in this area. You never know when some creep might think about inviting themselves in. Windows too, for that matter - or else B&E’s would just be… Well, E’s.” 

It was barely two in the morning. You’d crawled into bed, still fully clothed, less than an hour ago, exhausted from a long day of work in the hellscape that was hospitality. You hadn’t even had the energy to look over your next few potential hits, never mind take a shower or have dinner.

So it’s no surprise that you’re disoriented, thrown off guard when you wake up to a masked man leaning far too casually against your derelict old couch, slim katana resting comfortably in his hand while he twirls it around.

“Then again,” he continues, ignoring the wide eyed look you give him. You flinch back, the movement too slight to notice as he straightens and strides over to you. “You’ve made my job easier. So I should thank you.”

He stands, hovering over you, arms hanging casually at his sides beneath his cloak as he regards you. The mask he wears hides his eyes, and it feels as though you’re staring up into dark, never-ending pits rather than eyes.

“Hm. You look different than what I expected. Younger. How old are you?”

If you weren’t so terrified, you might’ve laughed. Here, in your cramped, dingy bedsit, stood someone who appeared more demon than man, and he was presumptuous enough to critique your appearance. Worse still is the fact that you might’ve answered him, had he not swiftly changed topics.

“It doesn’t matter. A criminal is a criminal. Blackgate has a cell with your name on it.”

The train rumbles by and shakes the thin walls of your apartment, casting an eerie half glow bright enough to just barely light up your apartment.

Your blood runs cold.

Robin.

You’re moving before he has time to register what’s happening, tossing your worn knit blanket at his head as you leap from your bed, the small single’s frame groaning beneath you at the abrupt movement. You’re across the room when he recovers, hand on the doorknob. Seconds later, a vaguely bird-shaped dagger embeds itself into the doorframe right beside your hand.

“Don’t move.”

For once, despite the alarm bells blaring in your head, you listen. You fight against your instincts and the burning in your limbs as he approaches, closer and closer with every taunting step until he’s right in front of you, another stupid bird-shaped dagger nicking the soft underside of your jaw.

“You’re coming with me. Peacefully.”

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his tone. It’s so condescending, as if he thinks he’s talking to a child. If this was anyone else, you might’ve fought back, but of the list of people you avoided, the Gotham vigilantes associated with Batman were top of the list. 

They were so irritatingly self-righteous, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d view you as a scum of the earth criminal, should they ever catch you. It was part of the reason you’d avoided them so religiously, and you’d done a great job of it up until this point. The only question on your mind right now, though, was-

“How?”

Robin tilts his head, mouth flat. “How what?”

You lift your chin a bit more as he raises his dagger, softly piercing the skin, as if in a warning.

“How did you find me?”

If you could see his eyes, you were sure they’d hold an incredulous look, as if to ask ‘are you stupid?’. But you weren’t. Not like this. You weren’t sloppy. And you sure as hell didn’t step on toes when you stole, especially not enough to gain the attention of a run of the mill vigilante. There was no reason for him to be standing here, in your apartment, all but pinning you to the door.

“How did you find me?” you insist, pushing forward despite the slight sting against your jaw. “What did you see?”

He sets his jaw, tilting his head down as he speaks through clenched teeth. 

“Stealing from Bruce Wayne of all people was a dumb move.”

Your blood chills in your veins.

So someone did see me then… That man. That boy. Fuck.

“It was especially dumb to stick around for four hours afterwards.”

At that moment, you weigh your options. 

If you go with him peacefully, all but turn yourself in, Blackgate would be the least of your worries. You stole from Bruce Wayne.

Wronging such an influential man would have its own set of unique consequences, and it wasn’t yourself you were worried about. Anyone you’d helped in the process would be incriminated. All those innocent people, the women and children, the elderly people who lived around you… 

No. You couldn’t go with him. 

Prison was one thing. Endangering those you swore to help was another entirely.

With your mind made up, everything else is easy.

You grab the wrought iron coat rack beside the door and swing it upwards, aiming for his head without a second thought. The moment he releases you and shoves you back, you’re out the door, sprinting down several flights of stairs.

Too slow. Faster. Move faster.

You hear him behind you, footsteps ringing out like a death knell. 

He wants you to hear him. You know he does. A vigilante like that, someone as skilled as him - you wouldn’t hear him unless he wanted you too.

Honestly, you were quite proud of yourself. You’d made it further than you’d expected. The uneven gravel stings against your bare feet as you sprint through the side alley, aiming for the main street.

It was pointless. You knew it was. Even if you could make it that far, it wouldn’t amount to anything. No one would help you. No one could help you.

Regardless, you still feel disappointed when he grabs you by the collar of your thin, old sleepshirt, yanking you back. The exit to the alley, a mere two metres away, seems to mock you.

In that moment, you think about what you’d done. You truly think, and realise that you didn’t regret a single thing. You didn’t care about what happened to you. Everything you’d taken had helped so many people, far more than it would have helped Bruce Wayne, gathering dust in his old study. 

Everyone had been so happy, so relieved at how much you’d managed to help them. The amount you’d received for the stolen goods had been enough to care for everyone in your building ten times over. 

So no, you didn’t regret your decision.

This time, Robin doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries, gripping the back of your neck tightly and knocking you out a moment later.

****

“Who is she?”

“Her name is-”

“I know what her damn name is. I mean, who is she?”

Tim pauses, eyeing Damian with a strange expression, clearing his throat and continuing after throwing a perplexed glance at Bruce.

“...well, uh, she lives in the Narrows, has for more than a decade. She went to Gotham public high school and received her high school diploma, with no further education. She’s… pretty unremarkable, to be honest. Works in a shitty diner in the East End, earns less than minimum wage...” he trails off for a moment and shrugs. “There’s not much else to say.”

Damian clenches his jaw, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Her address. What is it?”

Again, Tim throws Bruce a glance, sharper this time, choosing his words wisely.

“I… don’t think that’s necessary information. It’s not a big deal, she only took a few things. And it doesn’t seem like she kept any of it. Actually, I’m kind of impressed–”

He’s cut off in an instant, Damian’s glare sharp and filled with rage.

“It does matter. She stole from us. She–” 

The green-eyed youth sucks in a sharp breath, dropping his arms to his side, flexing his hands.

“...she was right there. She was inside the manor, ten steps away from me, and I didn’t fucking notice. It took us two weeks to notice she’d been here at all!”

His words are like venom, belying the real reason he’s so worked up, and Bruce watches him with a blank expression, stepping forward after he’s calmed down slightly, placing a heavy palm on his shoulder.

“I understand your frustrations, but you can’t allow them to cloud your judgement. Don’t allow your emotions to rule your actions. While I agree we should find her, I don’t think we need to be as… extreme as you’re suggesting. She’s just a civilian - albeit a very… efficient one. Take some time, calm down, and we’ll discuss what to do from there, okay?”

Damian shrugs the hand off his shoulder, stalking out of the Batcave with a few short, clipped words thrown over his shoulder.

“Yes, Father. Of course.”

****

A very frazzled looking man is the first thing you see when you come to, temple aching terribly where the angered Robin had decked you hours earlier. Presently, the man hovering over you sighs when he sees your eyes open, though it doesn’t seem to be a sound of relief. His mouth tugs down at the corners, brows pinching together.

“Don’t.”

He presses a palm to your shoulder, keeping you flat on your back when you try to sit up. His tone is stern, flat, accentuated by the dark bags under his eyes. His shoulders sag and he loosens his hold, fingers flexing against your shoulder.

“Just… stay there. Don’t move.”

The words seem more like a plea than a demand, but you listen regardless. Even if you wanted to move, the pain rippling through your skull makes you too dizzy to sit up, let alone stand.

“...do you remember anything?” he murmurs, bright blue eyes roaming your face worriedly.

Licking your dry, cracked lips, you avoid his gaze. Would it be better to lie, you wonder? Would he know? You had a feeling he might. And you had a feeling that somehow, being honest just this once would help you a lot more than lying ever could. 

You swallow thickly, glancing back at him before answering. 

“Yes.”

He rolls his eyes, head lolling forward as he mutters.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Before he can ask you another question, before you can say anything else, there’s a flurry of movement at the entrance to the room, several people storming in. The racket makes your head throb, and you feel faint and woozy as you lean back against the admittedly plump pillows.

You wonder distantly why you weren’t in a prison cell or a hospital. If you’d been in a better headspace and perhaps not concussed, you might’ve been concerned, but it was effort enough to focus on staying conscious at the moment.

“No, Damian! I have had enough! You explicitly went against my instructions– You kidnapped a civilian!”

Chancing a small peek at the arguing duo, you catch sight of little more than two blob-like shapes, the taller of the two yelling animatedly while the shorter stands stoically, staring off to the side, towards–

Towards you.

“She’s awake.”

That has the taller man falling silent for a moment. He sighs heavily, murmuring. 

“We’ll discuss this later. For now, I have to deal with your mess.”

With that, he turns and strides over to you, placing his hand on the shoulder of the young man at your bedside, a silent dismissal. He remains standing while the other two leave, staring down at you expressionlessly.

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

…I’m so dead.

You jolt up, wincing at the pounding in your head as you blurt out.

“Mr Wayne, I–” 

He holds up a palm, silencing you.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

There’s a pause, one in which he looks down at you before sitting down with a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“I don’t care that you stole from me. Usually, I'd just file a police report and go about my day, but my son… Well, you upset him.”

He leans back in his seat, unbuttoning his blazer.

“You see, he’s a prideful boy. It’s never caused problems before, at least, not like this. I mean, involving a civilian, that is. But you seem to have struck a nerve. He’s holding quite a bit of animosity towards you.”

Bruce leans forward again, elbows resting on his thighs as he regards you with a critical eye.

“And I’ll admit, you caught me too, to a degree. You broke into my home without my notice. You were right under my nose.” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, as if the very idea of you evading him was impossible. “It’s impressive, I won’t deny it.”

A strange flutter fills your chest, something that feels oddly akin to pride. Bruce Wayne of all people was complimenting you. Or, at least, it felt like a compliment. 

“Why is he so upset?” 

You regret the question the instant it leaves your mouth. His gaze, which had been slowly warming up, turns cold and flat at that.

“...because you slipped right by him. Do you understand what a feat that is? How much you’ve wounded his pride? For you, an untrained young woman from the slums of Gotham to have fooled him, a trained assassin. Robin. You understand, don’t you? He took it as a very personal offence.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Was this some kind of twisted punishment for stealing? Did this man, Bruce Wayne, really expect you to believe that his son, the sweetheart of Gotham’s high society, was the Robin? And an assassin to boot?

He huffs a silent laugh, brows raising as he regards the expression on your face.

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s shocking. Damian Wayne, Robin? You’ll get used to it.”

Your hands are shaking now, sweaty and white knuckled as you clutch the bedsheets, and you feel your blood pressure rising. If you weren’t careful, you’d pass out soon. Swallowing thickly, you ask the question urgently gnawing at the forefront of your mind.

“If he’s Robin, then…?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. He was handsome, in an older gentleman kind of way - tall, strong, sturdy build. Even the wrinkles and lines marring his face looked attractive. No wonder women fell over themselves in an attempt to catch his attention.

“Yes. You catch on quickly, don’t you? Well, that’s to be expected from Gotham’s own do-good Robin Hood, I suppose. Yes, I am Batman.”

A choked noise dies out in your chest. 

Of course I’d steal from Batman. Of everyone in Gotham, this is who I choose? God, why is my luck so shitty?

His admission sows a seed of unease in the pit of your stomach, and your eyes dart around the room for the first time since you’d arrived. It was large, larger than what you were used to, though the only furniture was the bed, a vanity, and a small couch near the window. The window that was locked tight, covered with solid iron burglar bars. Bars you had the sinking feeling were put there to keep you in.

You turn to him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

He stands, posture straight and assertive as he eyes you callously. “Because, unfortunately, your actions, and my son’s impulsive decision have both pushed me to make a decision I have no choice in. It means that, until we decide what to do with you, you won’t be allowed to leave–”

Evidently, his admittance to essentially abducting you is what sends your blood pressure through the roof. You pass out before he finishes his sentence, praying with the last of your fading consciousness that this was all some twisted nightmare.

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

2/2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.7k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dubious consent. Smut - M/M/F. Forced breeding and kink (but we're soft). Medical inaccuracies. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Misery inspired. Horror-ish. Whump. Caretaking. Imprisonment/kidnapping. Forced comfort. Addiction. Feelings of fear, panic, anxiety, hopelessness. Simon calls the shots.

It’s snowing.

The forest floor is covered in thick, white cotton, heavier than cement. It sticks to your clothes, your knees, soaking you to the bone. You slog through the snow; the forest grows longer. Taller. Trunks of trees enclosing you in a cold grave, a cage. 

You have to try. You have to. 

The moon illuminates your path, a swath of silver light refracting through weeping frozen branches, their backs bowed with the heft of the snow, cracking and shivering under their burdens. 

They’ll snap eventually. They’ll break. 

Just like you. 

Wolves howl in the distance. It makes no difference; how close they are. You can’t take much more, newly healed leg already spent, lungs heaving for what little air there is in this elevation. 

They circle. Blood-soaked maws snap at you, herd you closer and closer to the start, to where it all began, to where it continues to begin, again and again. 

The house. 

Your knees find ground. 

You’d rather die now. Freeze in the snow. Or… 

A jaw snaps. You hold out your hands. For freedom. For peace. 

The last thing you see is the flash of pearlescent canine, ripping into your flesh.

“Shhh, jus’ a nightmare.” Simon’s thumb works across your brow, concern shining on his face in the dim lighting. You shiver, even in a room like a sauna.

“Did- did I wake you?” He shakes his head. Of course, you didn’t. He’s always awake. He’s always watching. 

“Close your eyes.” He tucks you close, blazing heat from his massive, pillowy chest bleeding into your back, your ribcage expanding slowly. It’s rhythm, sick, twisted rhythm, syncing you together, your breathing evening out, steadying in his hold. He reaches for Johnny, who’s curled on his side, and strokes through some long, loved pieces of mohawk. Lips muss your hair. “Sleep, little dove.”

The floorboards in the hallway creak.

They talk to you, whisper about comings and goings, each spot singing a specific frequency just so, hitting the right pitch at the right time, a chorus of shifting weight echoed by hackneyed groaning.

The creaking is didactic in nature. It exists to teach you something, to plainly expose the things you should have been paying attention to all along: footsteps in the morning, in the evening, shuffles versus steps. Schedules, routines, things you didn’t pay close enough attention to, things you didn’t care enough to notice, all laid out very carefully in front of you. The weeping wood of the floor practically begged you to notice, but you were too distracted by the never-ending reminders of your agony, and the cups of tea that made you woozy. You were too busy craning your neck to catch a glimpse of the outside world beyond the window, too preoccupied with trying to stand on your own without vomiting all over the floor (again) to catch what the hallway was trying to say.

If you had listened, you would have stood a chance.

“Alright, here we go.” Johnny murmurs, an arm under your knees, another around your back. When he rises, cradling you into his chest like a child, you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, desperate to tamp down the whimper that breaks free. “I know, I know. Almost there.” He soothes, lowering you to the couch where the pillows are all placed in very specific positions. One of the goes under your calf, another your knee, and they line the sides of your ribs for your arm to rest elevated, comfortably. He cups your cheek, warm thumb gently moving across your skin, sweet, molasses thick affection, like the cough syrup you used to swallow when you were young. “Do ye want some tea?” Yes. God yes, a thousand times yes. Yes, you want the tea. Yes, you want to fall into the bleak darkness of drugged sleep, the vat of unconscious swallowing you whole every time. You want the buzz of numbness, the shadow of an orphic, endless pit. You want to slink away from everything, from them, from whatever this is, from what’s happened to you.

“Yeah, I-“

“Johnny.” Simon says his name softly from the kitchen. “Let’s wait a bit on the tea.” His brow furrows, light venetian blue eyes tracking across your face. They catch the light just so, sparkling downward, sea foam, sea glass and ocean spray, all mixed together into kaleidoscopes spiraling outward from his pupils, and when he frowns, you swear they darken.

“She’s in pain.” He protests, straightening to full height. There’s something happening above your head, something he concedes to with a sigh, shoulders relaxing, a regretful glance cast your way. “I’ll get ye some naproxen, dove.” He promises with a kiss, and then you’re alone in the living room, unable to move, snuggled against the worn leather couch.

Your leg is in a cast. Paper and glue, you think, makeshift at best, and they both remind you of it all the time, how it’s not medical grade, how you can’t attempt to walk on it, how the bone is incredibly fragile, and will be, for a while. It’s in worse shape than your arm, which at least has a black brace on it, covered from elbow to wrist, immobilized with a dull ache, a pain consistently throbbing, but doesn’t make you cry. Not the way your leg does. Your leg screams with agony, still, pins and needles and buzz saws in your bones, a haunting torment keeping you awake at night, making you second guess your desire to live.

The tea helps though. The tea makes everything less, makes the pain round, instead of sharp, makes the fear feel farther away, instead of right on the tip of your tongue, like a monster on your doorstep.

Simon says your name, broad shoulders stationed in front of the fireplace, glass of water in one hand, two pills in another.

“Do you want to sit up?” You blink at him, and he kneels before you can answer, perching right next to your shoulders. “Open.” You give the pills a dubious glare, unsure, lips zipped tight. It could be the naproxen, but it could be something else.

After all, the tea is not just tea.

He sighs in the same exasperated sentiment, and then his thumb and forefinger are grasping your cheeks, cold shiver erupting down your spine at the contact, and he pushes your mouth ajar. “Don’t be like this, sweet girl. Thought you were going to be good today?” He’s referencing something you remember vaguely, a discussion from last night in the dark, a promise you made when the world was coated in sap and too far warm, sticky like the sweat clinging to your neck-

“Ye dinnae need to cry, little dove. Don’ we take such good care of ye?” Johnny cooed, eager. “Ye just need tae be good for us, and we’ll do everything else.” He was holding you tight, too tight against his skin, heat radiating from him like the sun. 

“I don’t understand.” You moaned, unable to move or twist away, trapped in the cage of his arms, Simon sitting prim on the edge of the bed, one hand on your hip. 

“You will, in time. By spring, we hope.” Simon told you, dark sympathy in his eyes, words stretching into a mixed-up sentence jumping around in your mind. By… spring? What does that mean? Johnny’s hands roamed over your skin beneath the blankets, stroking across your breast to delicately pinch at your nipple, before dipping further south, slipping into your folds without warning. 

“Ah!” You gasped, tense, frozen beneath his touch. 

“Shhh.” Simon pats your hip. “Let Johnny put you to sleep, dove. You’ll feel better after a rest.” Johnny’s fingers stuffed in your pussy, thumb dancing across your clit, would lull you into tea addled sleep, and warring emotions swirled in your head. Your desire for this, your acceptance of this, is sick. 

You’re sick. 

You think of the snow. The reflection on the floor in this room, crystallized shimmer on the ceiling. The sun has been out, and you’re dying, wilting, from not feeling it on your face. 

“Tomorrow.” You croak, and Johnny pauses. “Tomorrow can I… can I go outside?” 

“Will you be good?” Simon’s thumb rubs at a spot on the corner of your mouth, and you nod. 

“Yes… I- fuck.” Johnny’s breath hitches, and your walls clench up tight, squeezing. Small explosions of light dance across your eyes, pain mixed with pleasure, peaks and valleys rolling through your muscles. “Fuck.” A big, scorching hand spreads across your lower belly, just beneath your navel, and pushes. 

You come immediately. It’s overwhelming to keep yourself relaxed, to prevent the spike of pain from your injuries, but an orgasm dulls everything else, and you cry with its intensity. 

You’re sick. 

You don’t miss the way Simon’s hand lingers, how his eyes don’t leave that spot, how Johnny’s hand covers his, and they hold there, lost in their own world for a second. 

“If you’re good, sweet girl. We’ll take you outside.” He whispers, arranging limbs and waists and feet to his liking. 

You fall asleep dreaming of a blizzard.

The pills go down so easily.

And you suppose they help. For a while, anyway.

Enough time for Johnny to get you set up on the porch, zipped up in their clothes and propped up on a loveseat rocker.

You wonder if they sit out here in the spring. In the summer. Do they drink their tea and eat their biscuits and watch over their domain like kings? It’s so American, so southern, to envision, and you almost laugh at the idea of either of them swapping their black bitterness for something iced and sweet enough to rot the teeth right out of their head.

“Dove? Can ye look towards me?” Johnny sits half on his knee across from you, on another outdoor, plastic chair. He’s got his sketchbook and pencil in hand, excitement brimming from eyes to lips, like a child. Full of wistful bright light, the sun itself.

Simon’s sun, it would seem. 

You’ve noticed it, how Simon is the earth, but Johnny is the sun. The whole world, revolving around one ball of light, one eager, wild Scot, a star, the only, in Simon’s sky.

He draws you with efficiency. Moving and directing you just so, not daring to jostle you or cause you discomfort, but still ensuring he gets the best light. The barely-there dew drops of dawn. The glisten of a million frozen crystals at your back.  

He handles you like glass. He stares at you like you’re a doll, a fragile one, like you had when you were a girl.

In the quiet moments, which are many, you catch them staring at you. If they’ve brought you down to the living room, they lurk in the kitchen, murmuring to one another in voices too low for you to catch. If you’re in the bedroom, they curl around you like wolf pups, pawing and petting until you’re asleep.

You don’t understand.

They won’t even talk about it with you now. How you came to be here, how they’re insistent you’ll have to stay until spring, when the pass opens.

Their words are a sickness, infecting you, spreading through your system until they’ve touched every piece, inside and out.

It’s madness. The kind of madness that pushed you to the brink already, made you feel like you’re losing touch with reality, with yourself. The kind of insanity that nearly got you killed.

You test the weight. Just barely, just enough that it screams under the pressure. 

If you could make it to the door. 

If you could make it down the hall. 

If you could get out. 

You grit your teeth. 

The house has been silent for hours. No creaking floorboards. No heavy footsteps. You close your eyes, hold your breath, listening one last time. 

They must not be here. 

They go out, every once and a while. Bring things back. You’re not sure where, or how. 

You shuffle a step, dragging your foot. It’s more a hop, but you use the bed to offset the inevitable thump of your body weight, managing to make it to the end, fingers deathly tight on the wrought iron. 

You can do it. You can. 

It’s only three, four hops at most to the door. On one leg, in a weakened state, it’s harder than you thought, but when your fingers lay on the door handle, the release of relief in your chest is overwhelming. 

Yes! Yes. You can do it. Just- 

The knob does not turn. You pull, applying more force, trying to jiggle it, see if maybe it’s stubborn or just old. This cabin is certainly old. Even though it’s been hollowed out anew inside, the bones are ones of a hunting cabin. A long-forgotten place, now housing horrors anew. 

You twist and tug again. Every time it doesn’t budge, you try a little harder, each metallic scrap and jangle louder than fireworks. 

You tug and you fiddle. You close your eyes and push down the rising panic.

The truth comes rushing over you all at once. 

It’s locked. It’s always locked. That’s why Simon ensures it’s shut completely, each time they come and go. 

They never intended to take you home. They never are going to give you your phone, or theirs, they’re never going to get you back over the pass. 

You’re locked in here. With them. 

The tugging becomes something else, something wired and frenetic, until you’re jerking the door handle with all your might, shaking the frame, screaming. The motion destabilizes you, and your lack of strength does you no favors. 

Before you can self-correct, you stumble. You fall, instinct forcing your bad leg down, and when you try to catch yourself, you howl so loud you think the mountain shakes. 

Your head smacks the frame of the bed on your way down, and then… as always now, everything is dark. 

The first time you open your eyes after, Simon is seated in the chair. The same one he was in when they brought you here, severe and terrifying. The room is spinning, and you’re just as nauseous as the first day you laid eyes on him.

“I- I’m sorry.” You croak, but he only shakes his head, rising from his seat without even giving you a second look. 

For a fleeting moment, the indifference stings. 

“You’ll wear that,” he motions to your foot from the end of the bed, the good one, and you peek down to see a metal shackle clamped around your ankle. “until you can be trusted again.” 

Johnny crawls into bed with you at night. He cries, hot tears on his cheeks, and coos over the leg with the break in it, and then over the shackle. 

“I told him, ye dinnae mean to be bad.” His fingers shake as he traces your cheek. “Ye just cannae help it. It’s not yer fault, I know dove. Ye dinnae know any better. We have to teach you.” 

“Johnny-“ Please. Let me go. Help me. 

They all die in your throat when he presses his wet face to your neck like a dog, rutting his hard cock into your hip.“Ye’ll be right as rain by spring, I told him. Gon’ be such a good mum for the bairn, I know ye will.” 

The world fades away. The silence suffocates, and you pray to die. 

You cry the rest of the night, even when he shucks your pants down and licks your pussy until you’re coming on his tongue. You cry until he falls asleep, and Simon returns, settling in his seat, watching you both. 

“How do ye feel about chicken soup tonight?” Johnny draws you back to him, sweet boy smile on his face, and your stomach clenches involuntarily.

Stupid handsome Scot. 

You’re sick. 

“That’s fine.”

“But do ye like it?” He’s so eager, back straightening with interest, really trying to learn, trying to figure out what you like and dislike, what will earn him your good graces, and what won’t.

You shrug. “Sure, it’s… it’s good.” A thought occurs to you. “Where do you get the chicken?”

“We’ve got ‘em in the barn. Can’t roam in the winter but we keep ‘em warm in there. Along with some ducks. A goat.”

“Farm animals?” “Aye. How else we supposed to make sure you’re healthy?” He waggles his eyebrows. You try not to grimace. “Si slaughters ‘em fresh. Everything tastes better that way.” A soft light shines in his eyes, a wolf’s instinct, and the shudder trembling down your spine makes your hands shake. “Ye cold?” He clocks it immediately, as he he does with every other single thing.

When he gathers you into his arms to bring you inside, tucking you back into the couch, you don’t even argue. You just sit there. Like a doll. Theirs.

Night is the easiest. It’s simple, to give in to your body, let them take over, take control of the parts that have long betrayed you. You close your eyes as they touch you, kiss you, make you come.

You even enjoy it. 

That’s the worst part. You like it, when there are hands and fingers and tongues all over your body, like you’re being worshipped, like you’re some sort of god.

You like it, when Johnny gets overexcited and Simon settles him, guides him with a hand on his cock to your entrance, whispering slow in his ear, encouraging him to take his time. You like it, when Johnny’s pulse flutters under his jaw, when Simon holds you steady, when they get lost in each other, in you- you can almost pretend it’s not real, it's some fantasy, from a book, something dark and delicious-

Not your reality.

Tonight, Simon holds you in his lap on the edge of the bed, broken leg lying flat, his elbow crooked under your good knee and wrenched upwards, nearly pressing against your chest. The angle is intense, and Johnny grunts, muscles flexing with every thrust,

“Ah- fuck.” You moan and twitch, locked inside a cage, a confinement, the arms of your captors… your saviors. Simon swirls the pad of a finger over your clit, mouth open on your cheek, teeth nipping over your skin. You clench, Johnny cursing, some bitten off dialect you’re not familiar with, Simon’s voice dripping with smirk.

“Good girl, squeeze our boy, jus’ like that.” He does it on purpose, the talking. Knows how it makes you gush, long ago figured out the way to make your pussy clamp down around whatever he’s got worked inside you, his cock, Johnny’s, fingers, tongues.

Together, you’re an orchestra. Johnny is the strings, the violin, the viola, a cello. He plucks so perfectly, a harmonious blend of beauty spills from his bow, rising in the air until the audience is on their feet. His music trembles. It quivers and cries, like the wail of grief.

Your grief.

You’re the piano. An entire world, nestled in one instrument, but you play off tune, broken and sharp, pitch all a mess- you don’t even belong here.

Simon is the maestro. He directs each note, each melodious ring exactly as he wants it, working the music up to a brilliant crescendo, and it comes crashing like the force of a wave breaking onto sand. He conducts you, Johnny, the day, and night. He orchestrates the flow, lyrical give and take evolving in the house, your captor status slipping farther and farther away each night you take them into your body.

He knows you like it. Knows he’s in the lead, knows they’re winning-

And he doesn’t let up.

“Harder.” He coaches, and Johnny obliges, mouth open in bliss, eyes nearly rolled backwards. His fingers clamp down on your hip, too close, and you hiss in fear, the preparation of pain.

Simon snarls, yanking it away, holding to him tight before discarding it in exchange for the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Johnny pants. “Sorry, dove.” You want to tell him to fuck off, to tell him you hate them, you hate them both, but you're only able to give them a high pitched moan of pleasure. “I’m gon’ come.” He grunts, and Simon yanks him forward, lips smashing together, tongue snaking messily between teeth.

For too long, the three of you hold fast. Johnny’s reckless, furious thrusts shove you backwards, over and over again. “Pull out.” Simon commands, flat palm on his chest. “Do not, Johnny.” He pushes him away from you like a dog, shoving him backwards with a firm forearm, a piece of rebar turned flesh.

He comes all over your belly, splashing thick white splatter across the mound of your cunt, up past your navel, choking on gasps of breath as Simon heaps praise onto the two of you.

Later, after they’ve bathed you, given you another orgasm, and all are almost tucked in, you whisper in the flickering fire light.

“Can I… can I have some tea?” Simon starts. It’s small, barely visible, but you feel it, in your bones. The echo of him in the room.

He holds your head between two palms, and you wonder if he’ll crush your skull. Decide it was all too much trouble. You’re too sick, feeble in your mind, too weak to survive.

“To sleep?” He asks softly, eyes darting over your shoulder for a split second, heavy with worry.

“Please?” There’s something in his eyes you don’t understand, a whirling mist of hell and desperation, and then it clears, and he motions a go ahead to Johnny.

“Alright, dove.”

The tea settles you into silence. With it, you can exist. You can survive.

It numbs you from the inside out, and as time passes, you feel no pain. You’re tangled in a dark web, a viscous manner of thing weighing you down from all angles. You feel nothing, and days turn to weeks, weeks to a month. Soon, the world is thawing. Snow melt turns to river and mud, greenery fighting for its chance to sprout and survive. Your leg is healing.

Spring comes. 

The day you roast a chicken is the day your life ends, for good.

It’s domestic, the act. An olive branch to Simon, who’s angry with you, again. Who’s frustrated, took himself outside to chop wood.

Johnny mopes inside the house.

“I hate it when the two of ye fight.”

“Well, if he wasn’t such a stubborn asshole.” You hold the wooden spoon like a wand before returning it to the cast iron, swirling it around in the mess of butter and onion. “Then there wouldn’t be an issue.” You swallow the sting of his earlier refusal. The quick rejection of your request.

All you wanted was to go on a walk. It’s a beautiful day. 

Why must the leash be so tight? 

“He’ll be happy ye’re cookin’ again.” Johnny grins wide, pretty face beaming over the counter, and you sigh.

Maybe. 

You’re watching out the window when Johnny approaches him in the yard. You can’t make out anything their saying, but the body language paints enough of a picture.

Johnny is rigid, angry.

Simon is calm, placating.

Words are exchanged, brows shifting with sympathy, sweetness.

Johnny erupts with glee. He shines like the sun, and Simon smiles, a real, true smile.

They’re beautiful.

And you’re sick. 

The three of you tangle together in the dark. It’s a sailor’s knot, thrice over, difficult to understand which piece is which, where one begins and the other ends.

Simon’s anger is long melted. A glacier, gone leaving only a gash in the rock behind.

It’s this gash, this quiet undercurrent, keeping you focused on the wrong thing, pliable in bed until you realize Johnny is murmuring something in your ear, two arms banded around your waist from where you lay on your back, atop his chest.

“We cannae wait,” His hand strokes over your belly with reverence. The words cut through the thick, heady haze, and you try to twist to look at him. “watch ye get big with our bairn, goin’ be such a good mum.”

“Wh-what?” you choke, tensing. They try to settle you, sweet words and mouths everywhere, but you cannot get away from the fear.

From them.

“You- ahh.” You’re on fire, a finger rubbing your clit, Simon’s width between your thighs. He spears you open on his cock, unrelenting, making you keen and cry, face wet with tears.

“Waited long enough,” He grunts. “Been wastin’ it for months.” He steals your whimpers, swallows them, takes them inside like you take him, like you’ll take him-

“- until you swell. Until you’re heavy, dove, round with us.”

Until you’re forever theirs.

It’s a snarled promise. A prayer. Your eyes find the ceiling, fire flickering in shadow across old texture, and you breathe.

He shoves your knees towards your chest, Johnny still lock tight around your ribs, tongue in the shell of your ear.

“Need to be still, cannae lose a single drop." His palm is searing beneath your navel, and he's practically singing, vibrating. “We love ye so much.”

They’re conducting Beethoven. Ode to Joy.

You’re playing Bach. Come, Sweet Death.

Simon comes in you for the first time, and you come too, clenching down around his cock as he praises you, holding onto him like you can’t let go. Like your body knows. Like you’re craving it.

“Good girl.” He croons, spooning whatever slips free back inside, shoving it deep, wet lips on your own. “Gotta keep me in, dove… jus’ like that, there you go.” You throb, squeezing again, pulsing for him. For the words.

You’re sick. 

When they switch positions, and Johnny smiles at you over your knees, his canines shine nearly red in the fire light. Two predators, one prey. 

Your heart cannot help but flutter.

Sick. 

Eight months prior: 

The bar is packed. Summer music festival, the banners say. The park is thriving, alive with melody, musical acts rotating on and off the stage, children running amuck with candies and balloons, families relaxing in lawn chairs.

An Americana tradition. 

They sat there themselves, for a while. Watching. Burning desire growing hot under his collar every time he saw a mum and her bairn, a small, precious thing cradled close to a chest, an overexcited five-year-old having a catch with his Da.

Eventually, they retreated to the darkness, hiding away in the one bar in town, it’s small windows and dim light practically a calling card.

And what they found inside, well... 

“Hey, what can I get you?” You’re perfect. Sweet and soft, like a dove. Kind faced; kind spoken. You make Johnny’s cock twitch just looking at you, and he pictures you on your back, legs spread wide, exposed for them to feast on. To fill. He can’t wait to taste you, hold you, kiss you, have all his firsts with you.

Will you fight them? Will you squirm? No, you'll be good. You'll be so good for them, their perfect, sweet girl. He knows it. 

How did they get so lucky?

Simon tucks his ballcap lower.

“Sorry, there are a million people in here!” You half shout over the raucous noise. “You’ll have to speak up!”

“Just two beers.” His yank accent needs work, but it does fine when there’s one hundred other faces next to his. A sea of forgettable memories.

Just as intended.

Your fingers brush his when you deposit two drafts on the bar top, shooting off a total, and for a lingering second, he stares at you.

Simon caresses the back of his neck, thumb circling a loving touch into his skin.

A warning. A reminder.

Can’t make ourselves stand out. Cannot be remembered. 

Johnny peeks at the name tag pinned above your breast, and files it away. Files everything away as they finish their pints, how you scrutinize the crowd, how you’re constantly working, looking for things to do, cleaning. Taking care of everything. The people at the bar, your coworkers.

His heart overflows with love. With warmth, and when they take their leave, he can’t help but look back one more, catching a glimpse of your profile, singing a silent goodbye.

See you soon, dove. 

[purple-babygirl]

don't call me daddy V

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word count: 4,660

Summary : In a world where littles are openly themselves, they volunteer to help and be helped by willing caregivers. In spite of himself, Bucky finds himself stuck with one and to keep the nagging away, he has to learn how to be around her with everything that that entails.

Warnings: crying, age regression, fluff, a little angst

A/N: i would like to give credits for this part and its idea to🦊nonnie because without her ask there might've not been a fifth part to this story. Having said that, i'm thinking this should be the last part of the story because i am out of scenario your girl is empty. but anyway, please enjoy this one and have a tight hug xx💜💜

~

When they arrived back at her house, she was asleep in the passenger's seat.

Bucky didn’t want to wake her up. He knew she barely got any sleep last night because of the mean cough she was suffering from and so he carefully carried her inside without a word.

His heart kept speeding up every time he would remember what she called him after taking her shot as he slipped her feet out of her shoes and socks and tucked her in her bed.

He frankly had no idea what he would do if she was to wake up little and if he was ready to be a good daddy to her. What if he messed up again? He seemed to be a pro at that.

Luckily, when she woke up later that night, she was her big self again and didn’t seem to have any recollection of calling Bucky daddy, or if she did, she didn’t mention it.

Bucky gave her her cough syrup and the rest of the meds, helping her go back to sleep as he presumed his place on the floor by her bed.

In a way he couldn’t explain, even her coughs were more comfort than the silence at his house, and definitely more comfort than his nightmares.

It was 12 days of little sleep, a lot of crying, meds, movies and sleepovers until she was fully cured again, and even though Bucky hated that she was sick, those seemed to have been some of the best days he’s ever gotten to live since he’s come back to himself.

He got to laugh with someone, care for someone, comfort someone and enjoy the company of someone. And not just anyone; it was her.

But something was missing still.

Bucky wanted her to call him daddy. More than anything and from the bottom of his heart, he wanted to deserve that name, that role.

What Bucky had noticed in the days he’d stayed at her place was that she had no family pictures at all.

She had framed pictures of friends, of herself, of Corgi, but none of family members.

It didn’t come as a surprise because she’d mentioned it to him before, and he just knew that if he wanted to be her caregiver, her daddy, Bucky had to prove to her that he was nothing like those who’d hurt her. He had to prove himself worthy of taking care of her; set himself apart from them.

And to do that, he had to know more.

“I see no family pictures anywhere,” Bucky spoke as he helped her plant the new tulips she had in place.

“Yeah, we’re not close.” She shrugged, hand stuttering just the tiniest bit in their movements.

“Can I ask why?”

She sighed, “why?”

“I’m trying to learn from the mistakes of others.”

She laughed, “really?”

“Really.”

Oh, this wasn’t a joke?

“You know you don’t have to do that anymore, right?” She couldn’t understand why he would want to try again when the report was handed and he was let off the hook.

“I want to. I really want to.” Bucky wished his gloved hands weren’t muddy as they were so he could touch her face.

He found himself craving physical contact around her more often than not.

“You finally believe in the power of the program?” She teased, keeping her focus on the flowers she was rooting.

“No, I couldn’t care less about the institution and its programs.”

“Not even Mrs. Morrison?” She joked again.

“I’m serious, doll.”

“Why then?” She dropped the bulbs, deciding to face Bucky.

“I want it because it’s you I’ll be daddy to.”

“They never loved me for who I was.” She answered his previous question and Bucky felt a pang at his chest.

He had made her feel the same way.

He remained silent, not wanting to interrupt her in fear that she might stop.

“I always had to be a certain way, say certain things, act a certain way. Do what we say and then we’ll see if we can love you.”

Bucky might’ve been speechless, but his eyes spoke a million words, begging hers for forgiveness for his ignorant mistakes.

“That’s why it hurt so much when you showed me you didn’t accept the little version of me.”

“I’m so sorry-”

She shook her head, stopping him.

“I’ve been rejected for too long, Bucky, too many times. It took me a good while to finally believe that I was worth loving despite my quirks, ugly parts and possible mistakes. Took too long to teach myself that it didn’t matter if I cried all the time, was too clingy or too talkative; I was still lovable.” She pointed to her chest as she finished her words.

Bucky took his gloves off, pulling her in for a hug, unable to stop himself anymore. He had no words, only anger and remorse raging inside his chest.

“It takes you a while to unlearn stuff you’ve been taught your whole life by the people who were supposed to love you the most.” She whispered into his shirt.

“Doll, I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered back.

“It’s okay.” She looked up at him, “I appreciate you, Bucky, I really do, but I don’t think I’m ready to lose everything I’ve built inside me if you decide in the middle of it that you weren’t fully ready to take on such a responsibility. I forgive you. I promise. But I don’t trust you enough to give up full control of myself and my life to you again. I’m sorry.” She pulled away from the hug, giving Bucky the option to walk away.

“Don’t be. I understand.” He remained in place.

“Are you gonna disappear now?” She wondered with a sad smile.

“No, you’re not getting rid of me so easily.” Bucky returned the smile, putting his gloves back on.

She smiled gratefully, “I don’t wanna lose you either. You’re such a great friend. And I owe you forever for taking care of me those past few days.”

“What if I prove myself to you though?” Bucky asked, dipping a tulip bulb in the soil.

“What?” She tilted her head in confusion.

“What if I show you how serious I am about this and prove myself worthy of you?”

“Bucky, you don’t have to do that. I know you have a life, responsibilities-”

“I want to do it. There’s nothing more important to me right now than this. And you.”

“If you’re doing this just because you can’t accept that you failed the program-”

“I swear on my ma’s soul, I want to do this. Because of you, doll. For you and with you.”

The words died on her tongue as she watched his sincere eyes implore hers.

“Would you give me a chance to prove myself to you? Please?”

“Okay, Bucky.” She swallowed, “one chance.”

“That’s all I need.” Bucky smiled.

She was not sick anymore and he didn’t have a reason to stick around. He also didn’t want to push her on the matter of regressing, so, respectful of her boundaries, he left.

~

After their conversation in the garden, Bucky had to go home.

His heart was heavy when he entered his empty apartment to nothing and no one. Being alone in here wasn’t something he enjoyed anymore.

It has been 2 days of intense research that Bucky has conducted on age regression and partners in little space when she texted him that night.

“Mr. Barnes, can you please come over?”

He wasn’t particularly happy about the fact that he was Mr. Barnes again, but he certainly was happy that she thought to text him when little. This was an improvement and it counted to Bucky.

“Will be right there, doll.” He texted back, running to his motorcycle.

~

Bucky took in a deep breath before knocking at her door, ready to prove himself a suitable daddy.

She opened with teary eyes, making Bucky’s heart sink.

“What’s wrong, doll?” Bucky asked as he stepped inside.

“I can’t open the pickle jar and now my hands hurt,” she cried, showing him the insides of her palms and how red they were from trying so hard to twist the cap on the glass jar.

She was indeed a little worried that Bucky might find this stupid, that he might yell at her or get upset because she was crying over something minimal in his eyes.

But that wasn’t the case at all. The man was just thankful that she was alright.

“Oh, doll,” Bucky sighed in relief, glad that she wasn’t actually hurt.

Until he remembered that this was a big deal to her. Her hands hurt and she was frustrated because the cap wouldn’t budge.

Moments like these definitely required a daddy.

“I thought Mr. Barnes could help,” she sniffled, her hand wiping under her nose, “metal arm.” She touched his gloved hand.

Bucky chuckled, taking the pickle jar out of her hand, “what if I can do it without the metal arm? What would you give me in return?”

“The biggest pickle?” She offered, wiping her tears away from her eyes, her crying stopping at once.

Bucky laughed at her innocence, “no, I want something else, doll.”

She tilted her head expectantly.

What could Mr. Barnes possibly want? Did he want the whole jar? Would he at least leave her one pickle? She was craving pickles-

“I want you to start calling me Bucky again. No more Mr. Barnes. Can you do that for me, doll?”

Oh, that was something she could do.

“Only if you can open the jar with your not metal hand,” she challenged, her little mind amazed by the idea because look at her hand! It had red marks all over when she tried opening that jar.

“You got it,” Bucky said, easily twisting the cap on the jar open, making her mouth open with it.

“Woah,” she whispered as Bucky handed her the jar with a laugh.

“You’re welcome, doll.” He smiled, watching her chew on a crunchy pickle.

“Thank you, Bucky.” She smiled back, offering him a big pickle.

Bucky’s nerves tingled, knowing he was one step closer to her and his desired title.

~

Moving forward, Bucky learned to distinguish between her big self and little self through texts.

Her little self would always talk about him and herself in third person.

Plus, her big self always needed help with bigger things like needing Bucky to fix her sink or look at her car, knowing he might burn down the city if she went back to asking Adam for help with those things.

Her little self, on the other hand, would need help with the lighter things, the sweeter things. She would call asking for help with Corgi, something too high on a shelf or even just wanting Bucky’s company.

Tonight was one of those nights.

It was thundering more than usual and Bucky had wanted to go and be with her, but he didn’t want to invade her privacy.

But then she called and her scared voice saying his name had Bucky moving even before she uttered the words.

He was proud that she now knew that he was just only one call away; that he would come running whenever she needed. She could finally count on him to be there for her and he couldn’t be more contented.

He knew that consistency was important in relationships, especially one where she was little.

“Hey, doll, it’s okay. It’s just a little thunder,” Bucky cooed, rubbing her back as she let him inside.

“I’m not scared anymore now that Bucky is here.” She smiled, her breathing visibly slowing down.

“Well, I’m staying the night so you have nothing to worry about,” he chuckled, following her to the bedroom.

“Bucky covered his motorcycle?” she asked, worried his vehicle would get ruined.

“Leave that for now, we’ll hose it down together tomorrow when it’s sunny.”

“Corgi loves the hose,” she spoke out the first thought that came to her mind and Bucky loved it, laughing heartily at her comment.

The dog’s ears perked at the sound of his name, jumping at Bucky’s feet as soon as he entered the bedroom, waiting for his share of pets.

He bent down to give the dog some love when he heard her sigh.

“Corgi loves Bucky too.” She smiled shyly, internally wishing her name was Corgi.

“Bucky loves Corgi right back,” Bucky whispered, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

She only smiled bigger, running to her bed and getting under the covers.

When Bucky got down to sleep on the floor that night, however, she slipped off her bed and right next to him.

“Doll, the floor is too cold for you. Sleep on your bed, come on.” Bucky sat up, wanting to help her up on the bed again but she wouldn’t move.

“Wanna be next to Bucky,” she said with a pout.

“But-”

“I know Bucky can’t sleep on beds. It’s okay. Doll will sleep here,” she told him, squeezing Wolfie in her arms.

Bucky’s heart fluttered and it made his mind light up with an idea only a true daddy would have.

“Do you wanna build a fort?” He suggested and her face instantly beamed with a smile as she nodded.

Of course she did!

That night as Bucky gathered all of her soft blankets to make her a floor mattress inside a fort full of fluffy pillows, he knew he was smitten.

This girl had him head over heels for her and there was nothing in the world that he wouldn’t do just to see her smile.

“Can Bucky please tell me a story?”

“Sure, doll. Do you have any books I can read to you from?”

“I have books that big me likes but I don’t want those.”

“What would you like then?”

“I want a story that is Bucky’s. Tell me a story you didn’t tell anyone at the institution.”

Oh, she was jealous. The thought made Bucky smile as he pulled the covers up to her neck to make sure she was warm down on the floor.

“Okay, you ready?” Bucky asked, dimming the lights in her room.

She made herself comfortable under the covers, big eyes watching Bucky’s handsome grin as the cozy atmosphere he’s created comforted her through the storm, “ready.”

“Once upon a time, there was a small idiot who picked up fights with boys much bigger than himself. His name was Steve…”

Bucky fell asleep with his hand stroking her hair, watching her soft breaths leave her chest that night without abruptly waking up in the middle of it for the first time in forever.

~

Bucky didn’t know what it was like to be her, but he was going to do his best to put himself in her shoes like she’d previously tried.

She deserved to be fully and entirely understood.

He witnessed a glimpse of her feelings towards the concept of family a couple of times when they would watch movies like The Lion King or Lilo and Stitch.

She didn’t seem to be affected by the death of Mufasa even though he knew her to be a very sensitive little. She was sad for Simba, of course, but not for Mufasa’s demise. Similarly with Lilo and Stitch, she didn’t care much about the concept of the family.

There was an actual barrier separating her from experiencing any positive feelings that came with the idea of family. Because she had none to associate with hers.

With some more research, Bucky managed to find a few animated movies that didn’t seem to revolve around the idea of family love and how family was everything and whatnot.

One of those movies was The Willoughbys. The movie depicted how neglecting some parents can be and that 2 people loving each other and getting married didn’t necessarily mean they would love their children too.

It was a very unique movie and Bucky was actually happy they could make such movies nowadays.

When the song I Choose You started playing in the movie, Bucky felt her small hand squeezing into a fist.

He silently wrapped his hand around hers, offering quiet comfort and support.

“Bucky chooses you, doll. Wholeheartedly.” Bucky reassured, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

He looked down to see tears in her innocent eyes as she showed her feelings for the first time during one of their movie nights.

“Bucky chooses me?” she croaked, lip trembling as she cried.

“I choose Bucky, too.” She pulled him down by one cheek to leave a kiss on the other.

Bucky froze.

It was the first time she’s kissed him since he applied that cream on her burnt hand back at his house. She did it on her own, too.

“And I choose Corgi,” she said, running her fingers through the hair of the puppy sleeping soundly on her lap.

“That’s right, and Corgi chooses you. Family doesn’t have to be the ones you were born with, doll,” Bucky told her as he wiped her tears away, “you can choose the family you want for yourself”.

“Thank you, Bucky.” She hugged him tight, afraid he might not be real and that this moment is all made up.

“You’re welcome, doll.” Bucky kissed the side of her head as they pulled away.

“Can I choose Adam, too?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper as she gauged Bucky’s reaction.

She could actually hear his chest rumble with a low “argh” before he nodded despite himself, making her giggle.

“Don’t worry. I only have one Bucky.” She reassured, slinging her arm around Bucky’s metal one.

One daddy, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t. She was still scared.

~

Bucky knew that she needed her own independent time alone sometimes even when little, and he would allow her just that, texting throughout the day just to make sure she was okay, reminding her to drink water and take care of herself.

But there was one particularly hard weekend when she felt real down about some of her plants dying as the storm took them out of the ground.

When she opened the door she was clearly disheveled, hair all messy and looking like it hadn’t been brushed all week.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky spoke gently as he closed the door behind him.

She quickly ran into his arms, needing the comfort more than anything, “my plants are dead and Corgi peed on my new carpet and my hair doesn’t smell like shampoo anymore and I’m-”

Damn. She was spiraling. She just slipped out of his hug and on the floor. Oh no.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here now and I got you, okay?” Bucky tried his best to reassure her, getting on his knees before her to look into her eyes.

“Okay,” she hiccupped, nodding even though she wasn’t fully convinced.

“What happened to the plants?” Bucky wanted to handle her concerns one at a time.

“My apple trees were pulled out of place because of the storm,” she started sobbing again as she remembered what had happened to her hard word.

“Okay, okay, tell you what, I’ll put them back in place, okay?”

“Really?” She sniffed.

“Really.” Bucky smiled kindly.

“Okay.” She nodded, trying to control her breathing.

“And we’ll throw the new carpet in the washing machine, and keep Corgi in his playpen with pee pads,” Bucky gave her the steps of how the day was going to go, leading her by the hand to where Corgi was.

“Okay.” She nodded again, her tears ceasing.

“And while the carpet is being washed, I’ll help you wash your hair. Does that sound okay?” Bucky asked her permission, wanting to make sure she was completely comfortable.

“Yes.” She was finally smiling again as well.

“Okay, let’s get you in here,” Bucky told the puppy before placing him inside his playpen.

He spread a few sheets on which the dog could pee if needed before collecting the affected mat.

“Let’s take this to the washing machine,” Bucky voiced his movements, wanting to put her at ease as he kept her hand in his and walked with her to the bathroom.

“In you go.” Bucky threw the rug inside the washing machine along with some detergent.

“Now what do we do?” He asked her, wanting to keep her out of her head.

“Wash doll’s hair?” She asked with half a smile.

“That’s right, get in there.” Bucky tilted his head towards the bathtub with a smile.

~

And for some reason, it was different this time. He didn’t feel all weird seeing her naked. Maybe it was because he knew her better this time and was familiar with her in more ways than one that such intimacy didn’t startle him.

He wasn’t sure, but Bucky wasn’t complaining, only grateful as she closed her sweet eyes and trusted him to wash her hair for her.

“Alright, show me how it’s done,” Bucky encouraged, instructing her to whip her hair to the front so he could wrap the towel around it.

She did as told with a giggle, dangling her hair before her and letting Bucky wrap it up the best he could.

“Off to the couch.” Bucky chuckled as he watched her skip in her cashmere bathrobe to her couch.

Later after Bucky has brushed her hair for her, he helped her get dressed and they went outside together to replant the fallen apple saplings the wind had knocked down just like he'd promised.

The smile on her face was new and unmatched as she watched Bucky handle her plants with care.

“Thank you, Bucky.” She hugged him close, hardly wanting to let go as they stood in the middle of her garden.

Bucky was now rooted in her heart just like the plants in her garden were in their soil.

She didn’t think she could be away from him anymore. She didn’t want to be away from him anymore.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” she whispered timidly as they started walking back to the house.

“What do you want on your piz- what did you say?” Bucky stopped in his tracks.

“I’m hungry.” She bit her lip and looked away quickly, hesitant now that his eyes were on her.

“Before that, doll.” Bucky brought her eyes back to his by her chin.

“D-daddy?”

Bucky smiled a smile that reached his eyes as they lit up with gratitude. He couldn’t believe he was finally hearing that word.

“Daddy’s thinking pizza, doll. Sound okay?”

Her face glowed up with her own smile as she witnessed Bucky, with full commitment, refer to himself as daddy.

She nodded, knowing this was going to be the most delicious pizza she was ever going to eat.

~

“What is daddy thinking?” She asked when she noticed his eyes on her, slipping a loose strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear.

“Just thinking about all the things you make me feel, doll.” He smiled, turning his face to kiss her hand before it left his face.

Her face started heating up as she retracted her hand, tingles spreading all over her, “things like what?”

“You make me feel like there’s still good in this world. Like I’m worth patience and kindness and maybe even… love,” Bucky voiced his feelings, eyes dreamy as they watched her pretend to be focused on organizing her stuffies’ seats on the floor.

“You are, daddy,” she replied sincerely, hurting inside that Bucky might doubt this even a little.

“I can’t believe I was so horrible to you, doll.” Bucky’s sigh came out hot from his chest, holding so much regret.

“That’s in the past, daddy. Doll doesn’t think about it no more.” She smiled, her littler hand covering his own lovingly before giving a soothing squeeze.

“You’re just perfect, aren’t you?” Bucky held her hand up and gave the back of it a noisy kiss.

She laughed, face heating up more at the sweet attention, “no body’s perfect, remember?”

Bucky tried to continue laughing with her but he was still kicking himself for what he did to her during her visit to his house.

“How did you even tolerate me back then, doll? I was the worst.” Bucky covered his face with his hands as he threw his head back, laying on his back on the floor full of shame.

“That’s not true. You just misunderstood me and that happens!” She was quick to defend him, refusing the idea that he would even criticize himself, “daddy is the best.”

“I know, but it still gave me no right to treat you the way I did.” Bucky’s eyes teared up at the memories of his very mean words and actions, “I made you cry a lot.” He struggled to forgive himself for that one.

“Daddy, I forgave you, I swear,” she promised, her hands cradling his full cheeks.

She felt like her heart might stop from sadness if Bucky was to cry right now.

“I’m really sorry. I’m really really sorry, doll.” Bucky’s eyes were sincere, holding so much emotion in them that she felt her own begin to fill up with tears.

“Daddy, you don’t need to apologize no more,” she whispered, doing her best to hold back tears.

“You have made me the luckiest man on earth by accepting me as your caregiver, your daddy, and you’ve taught me so much, doll.” Bucky actually started crying, a lot of held-inside feelings coming out at once.

“Daddy.” Her thumb wiped under his eyes gently as she felt her own tears roll down, “don’t say stuff like that”.

“But I need to. Because you did. You taught me unconditional love and acceptance. You taught me what it means to live again. Doll, your patience with my terribleness has taught me that maybe I’m not a hopeless case after all, and that this shell of a man with a metal arm might be capable of things he thought have been wiped from his memory long ago.”

“Daddy, please stop crying,” she sobbed, pressing her forehead to his chin as her attempts at wiping his tears away have proven to be futile.

“I love you so much, doll. I love you with every old bit of me and if you’ll have me…”

“Daddy?” she raised her head, eyes on Bucky’s face, trying to read his expression.

Could Bucky really be asking what she thought he was asking?

“Doll, I want you to be my baby for more than just a few days. Would you give me that honor? Would you let me be your daddy for real?”

“Daddy, are you sure?” she nervously bit her lip.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything before.” Bucky promised.

She nodded frantically, afraid the offer might disappear if she took too long to respond, “yes.”

“Thank you, doll.” Bucky breathed as he pulled her to him, strong arms engulfing her in a protective hug.

“Daddy will not regret it later?” her eyes watched him, a small hint of doubt still tainting her trust.

“Do you like the moon, doll?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head, not understanding the relation between her question and Bucky’s answer.

“You know how our sky only has one moon?”

She nodded.

“My heart is just like that. It can only have one doll no matter how much time passes.”

“Oh.” She sniffled, trying to hold the tears in.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky gave her hair a long kiss.

“I love you, daddy.” She kissed his chest, her arms tightening their hold around him as best as she could, never wanting to be away from him again.

And she wasn’t going to be. Bucky was an idiot who let her go once; never again was he going to make that mistake.

He was blessed with her now and he was going to spend every day of his life proving he was worthy of this blessing.

~

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[mistydeyes]

AAAAA I HAVE AN IDEA OKAY can u pls do ghost with a veterinarian reader? Bonus points if she’s also a dog trainer that trained task force 141’s K-9 unit for them so all of the dogs love her and she gets scary dog privileges

thank you for requesting anon! loved researching the role of a veterinarian in the forces :) hope you enjoy reading!

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summary: Simon is the definition of providing "scary dog privileges" and he's happy to be dating the Army's veterinarian who has a soft spot for him and dogs.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!vet/dog trainer!Reader

warnings: swearing, mention of wounds/violence

a/n: omg did you know in pharmacy school we actually learn how to prepare and counsel pet owners! in one of my classes, i learned how to compound a cough syrup for a cat and an analgesic fur cream for a dog :)

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Your pleasant dreams were rudely interrupted by the obnoxious blare of your alarm. Rubbing your tired eyes, you groggily turned over. Despite your boyfriend being on a regimented schedule, you could never relate. “God you need to teach me your ways, Simon,” you said into your pillow, almost as if he was in the room. But as you got out of bed, you faced the disappointment that he was still on deployment. As you dressed for the day and fastened your hair into a bun, you tried to go over your agenda. The morning was filled with vet clinic planning and clinical meetings. You cringed at the thought. It was honestly the worst part of your day. After lunch, you had two patients to follow up with after some shrapnel wounds gained on the field. Just two German Shepherds who were always well obedient for you. You knew they’d be getting some treats today. Finally, your day ended with a combat fitness test. You had perfected this over the years and knew the handlers and canines were up to the challenge.

The morning had gone by slowly. You sipped your coffee as you exchanged ideas with the supply department and pharmacy. They were preparing for a month-long deployment and along with human patients, the pharmacy took care of the working dogs. After three hours of revising, you finally had a full plan and med list. You could feel your phone buzz but as you saw the examination room with a returning patient file on the door, you decided to look at it later. You took your time to examine the dog's coat and checked on the progress of her stitches. “She’s healing perfectly, private,” you smiled at her handler as you gave the canine a treat. She nodded before leading the dog out of the room. Just as you were about to check your phone, you ran into your other patient for the day. Hopefully it isn't something important, you thought to yourself as you gave a similar examination. With the final few sentences, you finished your charting for the day. You sighed contently but soon groaned at the gentle sound of your watch beeping. You closed your office door before running off to your final assignment for the day.

“Alright we’re done with combat PT for the week,” you commanded as your regiment of soldiers and canines relaxed. After two hours of running through the course and showing the basics of taking down an enemy, you felt like they were satisfactory for the time. This was one of your better commands and the dogs had performed beautifully. They would be ready in a matter of weeks, right on schedule. “Be sure to give your companions a treat before you return them home,” you said and the group dispersed. You stretched your tired limbs as you saw them walk back to base. “Just another day in the Veterinary Corps,” you sighed. You loved your job but you realized after a few years that it was more of a balance between training the working animals and their handlers along with the clinical side. You were in the middle of a 15-week-long session to prepare the dogs for the field and the handlers were giving you a headache.

You shielded your eyes from the fluorescent light as you entered the base. “Long day, Captain?” one of your techs asked and you nodded. “Only eight more weeks until I get my evenings back,” you smiled as you walked over to the office space. “I got a question for you,” he continued, smiling at you. “A few of us are going off base and–“ Before he could finish, he stopped in the middle of his sentence. His gaze turned down the hallway as you heard heavy footsteps approach. “Lieutenant Riley,” he said officially and you turned to see Simon approaching. You smiled at him as you heard your tech quickly wish you a goodnight. “You’d think he saw a ghost,” you joked as he walked up to you. Despite his balaclava, his eyes crinkled with a smile. He shrugged and you avoided the urge to reach up and kiss his cheek. “You don’t answer your phone,” he observed and you remembered the text from earlier. “Sorry, long day,” you said sheepishly and he nodded as if you provided a satisfactory response.

“Didn’t realize you were back so soon,” you said and returned his smile. “Me either,” he replied, “found out this morning.” That must have been him this morning. You muttered an apology and he waved a hand passively. “Anyways, I got a surprise for you,” he said, a hint of cheer in his voice. You raised an eyebrow curiously. “You? You have a surprise for me?” you said in disbelief, “Must be a special day.” Simon shook his head at your antics, letting out a chuckle. He motioned for you to follow him and you walked in step. You made casual conversation about your current group in training and the good visits from some of your patients. “You still give them treats after?” he asked, shooting a glance at you. “Still do,” you said cheerfully “not much has changed in 3 months, Simon.” “You spoil them,” he joked back, rubbing a hand along his sore jaw. Must’ve been one hell of a mission, you thought. You continued chatting until you heard the familiar padding of footprints on the base floor.

“Is that who I think it is?” you said excitedly and soon your favorite partner came running towards you. The handler, also a close friend, tried to wrangle him but Riley slipped out of his grasp. In a flash of tan and black fur, Riley rubbed his head against your leg. “Riles! You’ve gotten so big,” you cooed as you brushed through his coat. Despite being named Riley out of his litter, you loved the almost human-like nickname. You petted him affectionately, bending down to greet your longtime friend. “Heel, Riley,” Ghost commanded and Riley sat down obediently. “Oh stop it, Lieutenant,” you responded, hitting Simon’s thigh and encouraging Riley to come back into your embrace. As you showered Riley in love and belly rubs, you heard Simon tell the handler that he would make sure you returned Riley at the end of the night. The private nodded and continued to his own quarters.

“You have enough puppy time?” Simon joked and you shot a look at him. “It’s never enough with Riles over here,” you said happily, continuing to pet him. “Riley did a great job on the field, Price was impressed,” he complimented and you couldn’t help but beam at his words. “Well Price should know I train the best of the best,” you remarked as you looked back down at the wagging dog, “and he is one of the best.” After another fifteen of you playing around and Simon getting in some pets of his own, it was time to bring Riley to the kennel. He looked tired but happy as you walked through the base. You held the unlatched leash in your hand as Riley obediently walked in between you and Simon. “Always such a good boy,” you hummed as both you and Simon brushed his fur.

When you reached the kennel, you quietly opened Riley’s cage to not wake the other animals. He turned around a few times, trying to find the most comfortable position. “If you come by tomorrow, Laswell is considering bringing Riley and Apollo on our next mission,” Simon offered, putting a hand on your shoulder as Riley laid down to rest. You waved to her before you checked all of the dogs were returned and happy. “I’d like that,” you smiled into his touch as you walked out, “Do you know how long you’ll be gone this time?” “Probably 6 weeks max if we get the job done,” he said gruffly, averting his eyes from you. Even after years of familiarity, Simon always hesitated to talk about the job. You nodded and closed the kennel for the evening. It was quiet as you walked back to your quarters.

“I won’t be leaving for another week,” he spoke up, voice echoing in the empty hallway. You turned to him with a smirk on your face. “Oh really?” you questioned, putting a hand on his cheek. His eyes flashed around but you laughed as it was late and the coast was most certainly clear. “I would enjoy some company, would you?” you flirted. Simon grunted but you were prepared to draw this out of him. “Hmm, what was that Lieutenant Riley?” you teased before he coughed out a sheepish “yes.” You teasingly beckoned him to follow you. He let out a dry laugh before following at your heels, just like a loyal companion.

[slutforgarlogan]

Needy | Peter Maximoff x F!Reader

Summary: Based off this request. you're trying to do your homework but Peters being needy

Warnings: Oral (m!recieving), orgasm denial, peters a whiny pathetic man (i think thats it?)

A/N: this is a tad rushed i am so tired i went to bed at 4am and im running on a bottle of cough syrup (im ill), 2 large pizzas, a cookie and a can of fanta. Also decided to get mean on him at the end and deeping it i could never

You are sat at your desk in your room, working on your college homework, scared of falling behind. You've finally managed to get into the groove of things, understanding what the homework actually is, leaning on your desk a bit to concentrate.

And thats when you hear your bedroom window open. You roll your eyes, already knowing who it is, he's the only person who ever comes in through your window despite the fact you've told him countless times he is allowed to just use the door. You swivel around in your chair, facing the silver haired boy. "What"

He quirks an eyebrow, sounding amused "Lovely to see you too babe"

A small smile breaks on your face as you look at your idiot boyfriend, and take on a much lighter and playful tone than before. "What do you want Peter"

He gives you a look, a look that you know all too well and you roll your eyes once again. "I'm doing work Quickie, you can wait," you turn back round in your chair, going back to your homework.

He groans loudly and flops onto your bed in a starfish pose, ever the dramatic. You chuckle a little and speak to him, not turning round. "I've got cake snacks in the drawer on my bedside table, just eat those and shut up" You always kept the drawer on your bedside table full of twinkies. Because Peter was always in your room, and he liked them. You hear him open the drawer, and you smile, finally being able to work.

Though it didn't last long, not only did he devour the entire contents of the drawer, but he had now decided to go for a different route to get your attention, since groaning and whining like a toddler didnt play out in his favour. He was off your bed and stood to your side in a silver blur. Now leaning forward slightly and rocking back and fourth on his heels impatiently, with his hands holding each other behind his back.

"watcha doin"

"work"

"what work"

You just need him to shut up for 20 minutes.

"college work"

He doesnt say anything for a second, still rocking around on his heels next to you, heaven forbid he stay still and quiet.

"can i have a kiss" your lips curl up into a small smile, rolling your eyes lovingly. You turn your chair slightly to face him, pulling him down and giving him a short but sweet kiss. You can still taste the cake snacks on him.

When you pull away to go back to your work, Peter decides to lean down behind you and kiss your neck, sucking on it and leaving little marks. Your breath hitches, which doesnt go unnoticed by him, but you keep your composure, trying to ignore it and do your work.

He wraps his arms round you from behind where your sat, and he teases his fingers at your waistband. "Quickie i swear to god"

He pouts a little "please"

You roll your eyes, groaning and turning around in your seat, hands moving to his trousers to unbuckle his belt. He keeps his eyes trained on you now, pupils blown wide and eyes pleading.

You unbutton his trousers and pull them down to pool at his ankles. He steps out of them and you swap places, he's now sat in your desk chair, and you're in front of it, knelt down on the floor with his dick in your hand.

You bring your thumb to his tip, running your hand over the slit and spreading his precum around the head of his cock. He whimpers, bucking up into your hand "Please"

You pump his dick a couple of times, before leaning down to take the tip in your mouth, sucking on it like a lollipop and eliciting a string of moans and whines from the boy beneath you.

You take him fully in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head, as your hands work at the base and you look up at him through your lashes, relishing in how needy he is.

He involuntarily thrusts his hips up, pathetically whining and moaning, even more turned on by the eye contact you're making with him.

When you feel his dick start to twitch in your mouth, you pull off him. He whines loudly at the loss of contact, searching your eyes desperately. "no no no please"

"you can finish when i finish my work"

[alwaysmicado]

What you need

2.9k | 18+ NSFW | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 4

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, facesitting, unprotected p in v, creampie, pet names, Joel is the little spoon Summary: Joel is sick and your pussy's the best medicine. A/N: This one’s just cute! 🤍 After the next two parts or so, we’ll start to get into it for real. Fucking around is fun, but it doesn’t last forever, does it…

pt. 1 ・ pt. 2 ・ pt. 3 ・ series masterlist ・ AO3

You: How was the client? Joel: I stayed home, not feeling too well You: You need anything? Joel: Just you ;) You: I’ll be there in 30. Stay in bed! Joel: No no babe, it’s okay Missed Call Missed Call Missed Call Joel: You’re unbelievable

“Oh, come on,” you groan and lift the measuring cup towards Joel’s lips. “Why are you such a stubborn baby, huh? Just drink the fuck-”

You stop yourself when you see him raise an eyebrow, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his pale lips. He’s sitting in bed, his back supported by pillows, his head leaning against the wooden headboard panel.

Propping Joel up comfortably like this was a struggle in and of itself since this grown, successful man only sleeps with one, worn-out pillow he’s probably had since before you were born, so you also had to get two plumper ones from his couch to provide enough support for his poor back. What is it with him and refusing comfort? 

At least now you know what to get him for his birthday in September…

“Hmm, you love it,” he teases and puts his hand on your waist to pinch you lightly. 

“I would love it if you stopped fighting me and just took the damn NyQuil,” you counter and search his eyes. They’re heavy-lidded and glassy, revealing the exhaustion Joel’s been trying to fight all day.

You sigh and softly brush a strand of sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. He’s running a fever and the cool, damp washcloth you put on his forehead to alleviate at least some of his evident discomfort only did so much. 

At this point, you really just need him to listen to you for once, take the damn medicine and, most importantly, lie down and give his body the rest it so desperately needs.

You look at the collection of bottles on the nightstand next to him and shake your head. Since you didn’t know what his symptoms were before you came, you stopped at a pharmacy on your way over and bought everything : DayQuil, NyQuil, a bottle of cough syrup, peppermint tea, a bunch of pain meds, Epsom salts with eucalyptus and essential oils, fresh produce to make a smoothie - hell, even a thermometer because you weren’t sure if he has one.

The only thing missing is the patient’s cooperation. 

“I appreciate your care, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, reaching for your hand to pepper your palm with soft kisses, “but I really don’t need any of that. I’m just a bit under the weather, that’s all.” 

“You’d rather die than admit you’re sick, huh,” you state with a tilted head and raised eyebrows. 

“Now that’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it,” he murmurs and nibbles on your arm. 

“Says the grown man who gagged from the tiniest sip of green smoothie,” you scoff. 

“Yeah, well, that shit was disgusting,” he chuckles, pulling you closer by your waist so you’re straddling his lap. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

“You have a fever, Joel,” you sigh and cup his cheeks. “I’m worried, okay?” 

“About little old me?” He smiles and squeezes your hips. 

“Yeah,” you lean in to press soft kisses to his cheek. “And I need you to let me help you, so tell me what-”

“Sit on my face.” 

“Huh?” You sit back up and look into his eyes in surprise.  

“Take your slutty little pants off and sit on my face,” he repeats with a cocked eyebrow. 

“How is that-” 

“I’ll take the meds if you do,” he interrupts with a smirk, his eye crinkles giving away his genuine amusement at this genius suggestion.

You sigh deeply and look at the ceiling. How is this guy real? “And a whole smoothie,” you murmur as you get up. 

You push your shorts down together with your panties, let them fall to the floor, then climb back onto the bed to straddle Joel’s lap without the covers separating you this time. He looks at you hungrily, the fever completely forgotten as he sees and feels your naked cunt and thighs.

“Mmm, that’s it, baby,” he groans softly, his big hands on you immediately, gripping your ass and moving you up and down the length of his hardening cock. “Look at the mess you’re already making on me,” he murmurs, turned on by the wetness you’re spreading over his gray sweatpants. 

“You get off on caring for me, hm?” He taunts with a smug grin. 

“Oh, shut up,” you roll your eyes and capture his lips in a bruising kiss. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, as close as he possibly can, kissing you greedily. You writhe and wriggle on his lap, moaning into his mouth, your hands tangled in his hair.

He breaks the kiss to nibble and bite at the soft skin of your neck, leaving marks behind. You’re letting it slide this time, enjoying the tantalizing sensation of slight pain mixed with the soft touch of his lips and facial hair that’s causing your pussy to clench around nothing. 

You’re just going to have to wear a silk scarf or something to work.

“God, I wanna taste you so bad, baby,” Joel moans into the crook of your neck, his eyes closed. You bite your lip and hum as the friction of your movements on Joel’s pants stimulates your clit perfectly.

“You gonna be good if I let you?” You purr into his ear with a roll of your hips, eliciting a soft whimper from him. 

“You come all over my face, angel, and I’ll do whatever you want,” he whispers, his fingers digging into your sides. 

“Alright, baby,” you coo and lift your weight off his lap. “Lie down for me.”

Joel scoots down and lays his head on the pillows, looking at you intently with big eyes. You position yourself over his face, hold on to the bed’s headboard panel and lower your hips carefully. 

“Look so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles before hooking his arms over your thighs and pulling you further down. His warm breath and facial hair tickle you as he kisses your lips softly, then drags his nose through your wet folds, inhaling your mesmerizing scent and nudging your swollen clit before repeating the movement. 

You throw your head back and moan softly as he slides his tongue between your folds, lapping at your dripping hole and pushing in ever so slightly before circling your clit. Your fingers tangle in his dark curls as the vibrations of his deep groans intensify every movement of his lips and tongue.

“Fuck, you taste divine like always,” Joel breathes as he dips his tongue into your wet heat to lap up as much of you as he can. You look down and clench around his tongue when you see his blown pupils and frenzied look. His mouth moves at a relentless pace, making you squirm and tug on his curls harder. You’re so close already. 

When your moans get louder and Joel feels you grinding your pussy on his face harder to chase your imminent high, he can’t resist biting the marks already adorning your skin. 

“Ow, fuck!” You cry out in surprise at the sudden pain shooting through you. You hadn’t even noticed the purple bruises on your inner thighs when you showered and got dressed today.

Maybe it should concern you that your body hasn’t been without bruises for a few months now. But it doesn’t, if you’re being honest with yourself. You just weren’t planning on showing someone else’s marks off to Joel this time. You really weren’t. 

“Fun night?” Joel asks with a smirk before sucking on your swollen clit hard, keeping you in place with his hands splayed over your ass.

“Can’t complain,” you bite back back, or at least try to, since your voice devolves into a soft whine at Joel’s harsh treatment of your sensitive bundle of nerves. The deliciously painful feeling is almost enough to send you over the edge. 

“Oh fuck, that’s it,” you moan as he starts lapping at your dripping hole again, his nose rubbing against your clit with every stroke. “Feels so good, baby.” 

Joel groans with each lick to your puffy folds and throbbing clit, hooking his arms over your legs again and digging his fingers into your skin. “Please, Joel,” you whine, tugging on his hair harder. 

“Use my face, angel,” he pants breathlessly, completely drunk on your pussy. You’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen or tasted. “Take what you need from me.” 

He's bucking his hips, trying to get as much friction from his pants as possible, precum leaking out of this cock steadily. 

“I’m– oh fuck –I’m gonna come,” you moan, sliding your drenched pussy over Joel’s tongue and nose frantically. He hums blissfully, holding on to your thighs and watching your face as you arch your back and fall apart with a strangled moan. 

You come on his tongue, your hips stuttering and your whole body trembling from the intense orgasm. Joel groans as he eagerly drinks your cum and slowly licks you clean when he feels you come down again. You yelp and your hips jolt at the overstimulation when he sucks your pulsating clit into his mouth, savoring your taste. 

You lift your hips and look down at him, your chest heaving and a satisfied smile playing on your lips when you see his jaw and facial hair dripping with a mix of his saliva and your cum. He looks gorgeous like this. 

You swing your leg over Joel’s chest and lie down beside him. He turns to face you and gently traces your thigh with his warm hand, still breathing heavily. You scoot closer, so you’re flush with his body and place your bent leg between his. 

“Kiss me, Joel,” you purr as you nudge his wet nose with yours and caress his cheek with your palm. He gives you a smile before leaning in and capturing your swollen lips with his. You part your lips and allow his tongue to slip inside, feeding you your own cum. He grabs your ass to pull you closer against him, your bodies pressed together heatedly, both breathing heavily as you feel the thud of your combined heartbeat. Joel groans into your mouth softly as he rubs his throbbing cock against your hip, his hand traveling along your waist to your belly. You thrust your hips so your pussy rubs against his thigh on the bed, more than ready to come again. 

“So perfect,” Joel murmurs against your lips as he slides his hand under your shirt and palms your breast. He tweaks your hard nipple, eliciting a soft moan from you. He furrows his brow and looks into your eyes intently, his pupils even bigger than before. Every fiber of his fevered body is aching for you, to be close to you, to become one with you, to be yours.

You see something shift in his face, but can’t put your finger on what it is, so you don't say anything. 

“Can I fuck you?” He mumbles into your neck where he’s kissing and biting at you sloppily, his hand still massaging your breast and his cock screaming for release. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You breathe, your need for Joel to be alright still trumping your primal need to get off. You're an animal, not an asshole. 

“I’m more than okay, darlin’,” he reassures you with a tired smile.

“And you’re not gonna die on me halfway through?” 

“Don’t care,” he murmurs and takes your hand to press it against his erection. You rub up and down his length slowly as he slides his hand between your legs. You groan when he circles your sensitive clit a few times before sliding two of his fingers into your warm cunt. He pumps them in and out a few times before adding a third, the heel of his palm putting delicious pressure on your clit. 

“You want me to ride you, baby?” You pant, feeling your second orgasm build already. 

“Can we-,” Joel breathes, his cock throbbing, “can we just stay like this?”

“Of course,” you nod and help him pull down his sweatpants. He pulls his fingers out of you and wets his cock with your slick before removing his pants fully. “C’mere,” you coo as you draw him close to you and drape your leg over his hip. He strokes his length a few times before nudging your entrance with his pulsating tip and sliding in in one smooth thrust. He wraps his arm around you, splaying his hand on your back under your shirt, moaning into your hair when he bottoms out.

“Oh shit, you feel too good, baby,” he groans and holds on to your ass cheek to pull you toward him in unison with his frantic thrusts. “I– fuck –I ain’t gonna last long,” he pants. “You want me to fill you up?”

“Yeah,” you nod with a needy moan, your brow furrowed. Joel’s cock is hitting your g-spot repeatedly, causing the muscles in your thighs and lower belly to tense and your climax to approach rapidly. 

“Tell me, baby,” he breathes, his cock massaging your inner walls with every snap of his hips. 

“I-I want you to come inside me, Joel,” you whine, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, please fill me up.” 

He can feel your walls tightening around him and your whole body tensing, so he tilts your head up by gripping the nape of your neck. “Look at me, baby,” he breathes and grinds his pelvis against your clit. It only takes a few more of his thrusts for the tension in your belly to snap with an intensity you’re never able to achieve on your own. Or with anyone else for that matter.

You come with his name on your lips, your walls spasming and contracting around his cock as you ride out your orgasm. Seeing and hearing and feeling you in such a state of ecstasy due to his touch pushes him over the edge, emptying himself deep inside of you with a breathless groan. He stays buried inside you as his cock pulses and your pussy swallows every last drop of his warm cum. 

You stay like that for a minute, limbs intertwined, skin hot and sweaty, breathing heavily, hearts pounding, looking at each other curiously. You slowly trace Joel’s eye crinkles with your fingertips, then gently run your fingers along his perfect nose before moving further down to gently touch the bare spot on his jaw where his facial hair never grows.

“What’re you doing,” he chuckles, drawing shapes on your ass and thigh with his fingertips. 

“Nothing,” you lie with a warm smile. “Just looking at the man who most definitely just gave me all of his germs and will most definitely come and clean my apartment when I’m lying in bed with a fever."

Joel rolls his eyes in mock offense and you giggle. “Told you to stay away when you showed up here,” he murmurs and slaps your ass playfully.     

“Oh, Joel,” you sigh, “you’ve come inside me so many times that our DNA is probably the same at this point.” You kiss his forehead. “I don’t care about a few germs if I get to ride your face and hear your cute little whimpers when you almost come in your pants like a teenager.”

Joel's cheeks flush with a mix of fever and embarrassment as he catches the hint of a grin on your face. “Stop it,” he grumbles, the corner of his lips twitching involuntarily. “You’re mean.” 

“And you’re impossible,” you chuckle, your hand reaching out gently to stroke his forehead and tousled hair in a soothing gesture. His eyelids flutter at your touch and a faint sigh escapes him, a small surrender to the tenderness you’re offering.

— “Thank you, darlin’,” Joel murmurs before setting down the glass on the nightstand and laying his head on the pillow mountain you’ve built for him. “I’m just gonna lie down for a bit.” 

“Alright, baby” you coo, walking over to your bag to retrieve your phone, then sitting on the bed beside him. You play a game for a few minutes, relaxing and monitoring Joel’s rhythmic breathing. He’s lying on his belly, his head turned away from you, his left knee pulled toward his chest. It’s the same exact pose you sleep in. 

In another life you might fall asleep like this together every night, two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly, completing each other. You smile softly at the thought and reach out to stroke his back. 

“All your fault,” Joel grumbles into the pillows.

“Huh?” You ask, startled and confused. You thought he was fast asleep. 

“Haven’t seen you in over a week,” he mumbles. “Bad for my system.” 

You chuckle and plant a soft kiss on his temple. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Won’t happen again.”

“Just stay for a while,” he murmurs, his voice a mere whisper. You linger for a few seconds, studying his profile, before lying down behind him. He instinctively turns from his belly onto his side, so you can drape your arm over him.  

“You can sleep now, baby,” you whisper as you nestle against his back, molding your body to his contours, your warm breath ghosting the nape of his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

---

Thank you for reading! 🤍

part 3 || part 5 || series masterlist

[furbing-atrocities]

Hi, I'm Leviathan

Im Leviathan, but u can call me Levi, or Lev, or honestly any variation of Leviathan! My pronouns r they/he/it, i'm 18, and I'm a libramasculine, ambiamorous, omnioriented demisexual grayromantic.

Tags: #tech stuff, #commissions and #f: [furby name]

I drew the header, and I will *try* to update it every time I get a new furb! [<- very very behind]

My main blog is @ace-up-your-sleeve , my plushie blog is @beanie-buddy-boy , my alterhumanity blog is @fish-forcibly-removed-from-water, and my regression blog is @dreamy-puppy-xo

secret draw box

DNI: TERFs, transmeds, racists, exclusionists or queerphobes of any kind, etc.

furby bios (w some pics) under the cut

Loup

he/they

non-working

gay (mlm) trans demiboy!

scene 

an absolute angel

hyper from all of the monster he drinks

pinterest board

Ziggontorath (aka Ziggy)

he/they/xe/weird/eye

working w/ a voice glitch

xenogender user!!!

masc agender, dreameyegender, eyeclusterin, weirdcorian, and kidcorestalgic!

aroace and in a qpr w Fax Machine

pinterest board

Sistine Chapel

she/her

fully working

soft girl lesbian

likes art and sapphic poetry

shy and blush-y

once you get to know her tho, she is very goofy!!

pinterest board

Casimir

he/him

working but mute

loves flowers smmmm 

loups bf

yes he gives loup flowers

bi af

uses <3 too much

pinterest board

TUP

Tremendous Unanimous Pickles

any pronouns

working + has a voice glitch!!!

once screamed bc i took her batteries out

even ppl who hate furbies think hes adorable

pinterest board

Kioko

she/her

works but gears r rlly loud (thanks Jetta 🙄)

very curious about everything 

likes coloring and eating bugs

Tup is like an older brother

Ziggy and Piccolo are her dads <3

Flanagan Shithead

he/him

kinda looks like balls with a face and pubes 

feral as fuck + will bite you

Cyborg Piccolo Fax Machine

he/him

untested and missing his batter cover :(

transmasc and in a qpr with Ziggy <3

physically disabled + had a prosthetic leg

dancing queen young and sweet only 17

major dad energy. need to get this man a hawaiian shirt stat

Nyx

she/her

fully working and goofy as all hell

soon to be customized <3

rlly bubbly and energetic

Allergic Reaction aka "Reo"

he/him

fully functioning

so pissy

like he is just so angry for no reason!!!!

Cheesecake

she/they

nonfunctional

butch lesbian

punk asf

doing your mom dating Sistine Chapel <3

raspberry swirl custom (based on the prototype)

Cough Syrup

he/she/they

unironically one of my favs tbh

her singing makes me rlly happy

i rlly like playing with their hair

he rocks french braids

Raul

he/they

shy lil fella

my gf got him for me for my bday <3

he has my fav voice of all my '98s

someone said that he and cough syrup kiss a lil sometimes in the comments of their intro post???

to me thats like saying 2 newborn babies are "dating" bc they r next to each other

Gilbert

he/him

gay and the colors of the mlm flag <3

literally just a little guy

gifted to me by someone in my server 🫶

Bubblegum

she/her

a 9/11 baby

a custom for my gf <3

Chevel Philodendron Silly Goose

he/she/they/it

"Choose Goose*

omnigay boygirl silly swag <333

had the biggest glow up ever

Pancake Robomachine

they/it

nonbinary silly :3

first complete reskinning ive done :3

named by my little cousin

Angel Dust/Anthony

he/him

gay

makes 7 sex jokes a minute

based on the Hazbin Hotel character

[wraithdance]

Stray Dogs | GHOAP x Reader

Synopsis: You never had a problem with strays, but you should have been wary of the rabid dogs begging to be leashed.

Note: F!Reader, No phys. description but reader has background story, no y/n use, Reader is LGBTQ (Bi/Pan) w/ Avoidant attachment issues. Content warning: Mature | avoidant attachment traits, mentions of slight self harming behavior, sexually explicit content, mentions of p in v sex, description of ptsd episode, brief mention of animal death plz skip the last sentence if that may be a trigger.

Chapter two: Soap won’t go home

[4:57 AM]

You were not ‘blissfully slumbering in no time’.

Instead you were having another panic attack in a bathroom.

It would be a consolation that this time you’re at home, but you know for a fact that the Scot you let come over for a quick screw is outside the door waiting. The thought brings more hot angry tears down your cheeks as another bout of trembling makes your teeth chatter violently. 

Johnny knocks on the door again. “Hen, are ye okay?”

You hope he feels your glare burning through the plywood separating you both. It’s so tempting to shriek ‘what the fuck do you think?’, maybe it would even be cathartic.

You wish you could say it. Mean and cruel in return for the simple kindness of asking after your rightness in the world. But the same something that always sits on your chest when you think about doing what you really want constricts you like a Boa.

Swallowing the bitter angry words like thick cough syrup you bite out a shaky, “I’m fine.” 

You know he doesn’t believe you, you can hear his weight shift on the creaky tile in front of the door that you never got around to fixing.

“Bonnie, can ye open the door, just want to check on ye.”

You turn on the tap to the bathtub instead to drown him out. Shoving your hands under the scalding hot water, attempting to focus on trying to get the freezing chill out of your limbs. 

Everything had been going so well. 

Johnny fucked like a dog. A dirty disgusting dog that wouldn’t take his tongue or cock out of your body long enough for you to think much less breathe. He’d had no issue with letting you dominate, had enthusiastically agreed after sloppily and relentlessly coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you with his tongue and fingers. 

There was a point you thought you might have died a little, as the time between him pressing an exploratory tongue into your asshole before licking up to your clit with harsh pulls, evaporated.

You’d suddenly come back to reality to him pumping two, then three fingers into your sex and tapping on the bundle of nerves inside your body in a come hither motion.

Johnny had worn a self satisfied, shit eating grin on his face when he’d finally come up for air. His jaw and throat slick with your fluids. He’d been anything but subtle about how much it turned him on to see you fucked out and barely functioning.

It’d hurt your ego more than just a little bit. You’d prided yourself on being the one to leave your partners in utter bliss.

It was the least you could do for being a no good, emotionally destitute that only hurt them in the end.

With the intent to redeem yourself you had pushed him to the floor none too lightly, dropping to your knees and diving for his swollen cock. He’d tried to pull your hair and rut into your throat before you bit the skin at his hip and snarled threats at him. It only made the bastard harder.

You’d swallowed him deep, humming around the saliva and solid length of him, satisfied with the roar he lets out in his release.

It took him less than ten minutes to get hard again. He’d pouted at the box of condoms you’d thrown at him but had been pleased when you rolled the latex on his reddened shaft with your mouth.

That’s how you found yourself boneless on top of his body as he pressed long, steady strokes into your cunt. You’d ridden him for as long as you could before the burn in your knees and thighs became too much. Johnny cooed sticky sweet things in your ears with his arms wrapped tight around you like a vice.

“Aye hen are ye tired? Let Johnny make it better, just open for me, I’ll make it better, promise, look at ye, pretty thing I’ve got ya.” Every other word enunciated with an upward thrust.

“Aye I gotcha, yer doing good hen.” He’d panted in your ear with a rasp.

The combination of him hitting the spot deep inside of you like a game of ring the bell and the crooning affirmations, had been too much. To your horror your eyes had prickled with tears. You’d bitten the inside of your lips raw, desperately trying to muffle the broken sobs that clawed up your throat, pushing back against his chest fighting for space. 

Johnny had held you tighter, one palm against your back and the other tight around your neck as he worked you both through a pitiful orgasm that had you seeing stars. Until he’d flipped you over, pinning you into a mating press. 

You’d hyperventilated until you blacked out.

You’re scowling at the way your skin puckers beneath the rushing water. You’re still numb. The trauma therapist at the psych hospital was full of it, distress tolerance didn't actually do shit for distress.

The bathroom lock jiggles and you’re whipping your head to the opening door in panic as it swings open. 

Johnny’s blue eyes are remorseful but that quickly turns to horror. You jerk your arm out from under the water and try to hide it behind your side but Johnny is faster. He’s across the floor in less than two wide strides and forcing your arm from behind you despite your jerking.

“What are ye doing? Hen, look at your arm!”

“I was checking the temperature, I’m fine.” He gives you a look of disbelief and grunts something unintelligible under his breath. He ignores your protests and shuts off the water, freezing you with a warning look when you lift your hand to stop him. 

In the sudden quiet he searches your face, you glower. 

“Come here.”

He doesn’t wait for you to decide to be cooperative, he’s maneuvering his hands around you, one on the back of your neck and the other beneath your chin. Johnny sinks to the bathroom floor to his knees and presses his forehead against yours. 

“Breathe for me, ye can do it bonnie, deep breaths.”

He’s too close. His breath fans across your face, the sensation shocking a sob out of you.  You’re stiffening with panic at the sudden flood of feeling racing down your spine. 

“I’m fine, I just need you to back up-” 

Johnny thumbs his finger across your jaw in slow swiping movements. 

“Breathe. I’m nae asking.”

Fuck.

You take stuttering breaths, he counts each one telling you to hold on the exhale.

In. Out. Good lass, I’ve got ye.

He’s lying to you. But you do what he asks anyway.

Johnny lets you pull back only when the trembling stops. His watchful eyes are bright. Soft. It makes your stomach churn.

“I’m good.” you whisper “You don’t have to stay.” 

He gets the double meaning you're only marginally trying to cover up. Instead of offense he’s smirking and there’s a layered glint in his eyes, like you’ve challenged him.

“Are ye tryin’ to get rid of me?”

Yes!

“No,” Standing from the lip of the tub, you try to side-step his large form. He watches you like a hawk, observing your awkward inch towards the door into the darkened hallway.  “I just have an early morning, so I should get some rest, I’m sorry.”

Letting out a humorless laugh he rolls his shoulders back, ambling to his feet. He keeps an eye on your skittish retreat, taking a step for every one of your own until he’s in the doorway, lifting his arms to hold on to the frame. 

It’s the first time you notice he’s still bare ass naked. 

Tan skin and darkened hair coat the expanse of his body along with various scarring. You’re staring at the small circular puckered skin on his thigh when his cock twitches where it hangs. 

Johnny’s wolfish grin makes an appearance at your grimace.

“Aye, he’s a bit tuckered out as well, hen.” The Scot reaches for you, rubbing his hands down your arms, tucking his thumb beneath his stolen shirt, “We should get some sleep, yeah?”

No, not yeah. He really needed to get the fuck out.

You stiffen in his hold, panic rising in your chest rapidly and he notices. Johnny pulls back to look at you, guiding your chin back to face him when you try to duck your face. He tells you to breathe deep, you hate that you follow his instructions again.

“Ye won’t even know I’m here, promise. C’mon hen, I’ll make ye some tea.”

You’re quietly watching him from your seat at the island. He’s too comfortable in your small kitchen, yawning while he waits for the ancient kettle to heat up.

His thick arms are crossed against his chest and his head nods off as he falls asleep while standing. He’d had the decency to retrieve his boxers when you’d protested about his dick hanging around your food stuff.

You pick at the hangnail on your index finger until it bleeds.

“Why did you defend me?”

Johnny blinks, confusedly coming back from his half sleep. “What’s that, Bonnie?” 

“Tonight,” you say slowly, “why did you fight that guy at the bar? It was because of me right?”

Johnny is quiet. You’d suspect he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open but he cracks his neck after a beat.

“Cause you look like ye needed defending. Didnae like his gommy mug eith’r.”

That causes you to shift in the stool. Johnny takes the kettle off of the stove eye and pours the water over the expired green tea packet he’d found hidden in the depths of your cupboards. When he places down the cat mug Duckie had gotten you for your birthday in front of you, you hesitantly speak.  

“What do you mean by that? That I needed defending?”

Johnny looks like he’s weighing his options before he answers. Furrowed brow and dark lashes partially obscure his electric eyes but don’t dampen the intensity of his gaze. When he concludes some kind of internal war he leans his elbow on the counter in front of you and boxes you in. His eyes tighten at the corners when you lean as far back in the chair as you can. 

“Never been one to walk by when a bonnie lass is in trouble and you looked like ye were on the way to makin’ trouble. Had this look in yer eyes.”

You pretend to not know what he’s talking about. “So if you thought I was ugly you’d have let him maul me?”

His laugh is too boisterous for the early morning, it echoes in the small kitchen. It sends warmth down to your toes to hear it. “Nae I’d ‘ave still hit him, hen. Drink yer tea for Johnny yea?”  

He makes sure you finish every drop, rolling his eyes when you dump enough sugar to rot your teeth. He says something about you being like a stubborn friend of his but refuses to elaborate.

It’s a quarter past six by the time he argues you down about letting him stay with you. His wide form swallows up half the mattress and he still pulls you to him like it’s not enough. Your skin prickles where his touches, the synapses in your brain telling you to distance yourself as fast as you can. Johnny’s hold is tight, he redirects your form back into his every time you try to slip away, so you give up.

You have restless dreams of your grandfather’s rooster, Spirit.  The sound of the bird's neck snapping as corporeal and audible as Johnny’s snores against your neck.

A/N: plz I beg, don't ask me when the next update will be. I am insane in a way that is concerning to the DSM-5 and this takes a lot of my own personal experience and years of therapy to write lmao. Gonna up the rating in the upcoming chapters and start diving into the juicy shit so warning in advance.

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[wriothesleysgf]

𖹭 ࣪ 𓈒 ⊹ cough syrup — wriothesley ₊ ◌ ۪ ࣪

ᝰ .ᐟ ꩜ fortress of meropide gets intense cold spells, but everything is bearable when you have a loving man to keep you warm. ⟢ [ f ! reader , sfw . ]

fall always came with a shift towards colder weather. the leaves began to brown and the sweet tunes of fontaine's songbirds were carried by gentle gales. then winter snuck up ever so unsuspectingly; divination experts and meteorologists alike began to predict snowfall, and the court's streets became bustling with those preparing for the upcoming holidays. you, however, were rarely privy to any of this.

such an infatuation with the lord of meropide meant that you spent a significant portion of your year in the ocean's depths. although you'd initially been terrified of the deep sea and what unknowns lurked there, wriothesley quelled your fears and managed to enlighten you as to the true beauty of life down here. whether it was watching the jellyfish float about or cheering on up and coming fighters in the pankration ring, the man truly managed to make you feel at home all the way down here.

the one thing that you'd never managed to get used to, however, was the damn cold. sure, you'd experienced the same transformation in weather when you were living in the overworld, but such a change was more intense down here. wriothesley was accustomed to it after all of his years in the fortress so it took him a second to realize why you opted to stay bundled up in the warm sheets of the bed that you shared.

"doll, is everything okay?" he asked, looking over at you as he picked out his shirt for the day— it would surprise some how many greyscale button ups he owned.

"mhm," you hummed, not wanting to worry the man before he headed off to deal with the necessary duties for the day. however, once he heard the small sneezes coming from you, he noticed what was most likely going on.

"you cold, baby?" he cooes, finding your small nod adorable. you were buried in the sheets at this point, with only your eyes peeking over the top of your pile of blankets.

wriothesley wasted not a moment in striding back over to you. he lifted the blankets and came directly to you, wrapping his large arms around your figure and pulling you into his broad chest. though many assume those with cryo visions tend to run on the chillier side, wriothesley's size and stature had him radiating a fair amount of heat at all times.

"you're freezing," he comments.

"'s so cold down here... i thought i'd get used to it but... clearly not."

he chuckles softly, walking back towards the bed. he shrugs off his coat and removes his boots before sitting down next to you. "come here, love," he pats his thighs.

you oblige, crawling into his lap. of course, the pile of blankets come with you. wriothesley finds it absolutely adorable. he fawned over you, ensuring that the blankets were positioned to perform at peak efficiency. he did debate running ti the infirmary to see if sigewinne had any hot water bottles that he could borrow, but couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone for a second.

"bless you, doll," he cooes as you sneeze once again. wriothesley reaches over to his waistcoat, retrieving a small hankerchief from his pocket. to be honest, it was rare that he needed to use it himself, rather keeping the object on him at all times should you ever require it. "why don't you try to sleep, sweetheart? i'm not going anywhere,"

"but what about-" you tried to protest, knowing he most likely has work that he needs to tend to.

however, before you could even finish, he cuts you off in one of the most caring tones that only few were privy to. "you're always my priority, princess. everything else can wait; i guess that's a perk of being the warden," he chuckles softly.

you decide to not protest, curling into wriothesley's lap and resting your head on him. it was quite easy to doze off with the combination of his hand against your hair and the lullaby of his heartbeat.

© kentofairy — please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my posts. this includes posting to wattpad / tiktok or other platforms.

[yellowbunnydreams]

Do you need some Vitamin D? (Incubus! William x Oblivious! F! Reader) [Part 8]

~This chapter is for anybody on their period, I'm sorry, it sucks~

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Want more or something different? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@ruh--roh-raggy @xp-doggy @redbunny03 @marigold-petalz @seviliet @astinkerofarat @iamnotwiddle @imtiredshow

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI. Fluff, age gap (Reader 20's - William Afton 40's(?)), teratophilia, meet-cute, punny pick-up lines, scenes of working out, minor porn-logic, ditzy! reader, could be classed as bimbo! reader?, size-difference, flirting, monster-lover, sexual innuendos, Monster! AU, mention of reader being on their period - blood - period products

A knock on the door startled you out of a deep sleep, wondering for a moment where you were as you mumbled something unintelligible and cracked open your eyes to see what was happening. William's greying head popped around the door as it opened, giving you a warm smile that made your chest flutter slightly, his hair messy like he'd just gotten out of bed too, you could make out the faint spice of his cologne which made you feel comforted as you wrapped yourself up in the duvet more.

William had to smile as he looked at you, hair messy, half-asleep and curled up in the sheets which had clearly been messed up with your tossing and turning during the night. He'd come in to offer you breakfast, or brunch rather, as he knew that it was approaching afternoon and had taken the liberty of phoning himself in so that he could spend more time with his precious little bunny.

"Good barely morning, bunny." He chuckled, making you groan and rub at your eyes with the heel of your palm. Watching you sitting up and feeling a little disappointed that you weren't wearing the pyjamas that he'd brought you. His nose twitched as he took a deep breath in, brow furrowing as his silvery eyes darted around.

"Do you smell that?" He asked, making you pause as you sniffed instinctually too, shrugging your shoulders as you felt sluggish in the morning.

"I don't smell anything. Don't you start, my landlord was weird enough yesterday." Watching his eyes snap back to you as you made the comment, his brow furrowing further and a frown developing.

"What? What's this about your landlord?"

"Oh, I have a new landlord, he's...a bit weird. He said I smelt weird yesterday too, but he got really close. I think he's maybe just a bit eccentric."

William was glad that the door hid most of his bulky frame as he felt his foot thumping unhappily against the floor, the thought of Dave being so close to you and daring to even attempt to get close enough to make him growl lowly. Luckily, you didn't seem to notice it as he turned the growl into a cough, pretending like he was clearing his throat as he gave you a reassuring smile when you looked up concerned.

"Oh bunny, I wouldn't think on it too much, but please let me know if they give you any more trouble, and I'll come by to sort them out, okay?" Waiting for your sleepy confirmation before he stepped in, nose still twitching as he tried to place on what smelt different in your room. Gently placing his rough hand on your hair and stroking it softly, making you groan and William's chest tighten at the sound. Feeling his pulse racing. "I'm going to make French toast, you want some? I even got the maple syrup this time."

"Go on then, spoil me." You teased, feeling your cheeks heating up as you wondered what it would be like if you could just summon the courage up to stand up and kiss your boss, but knowing yourself well, you were half-convinced that you would accidentally sucker-punch William in the face with your head.

"Oh I plan to. Come down when you're ready and I'll make sure everything's set out."

You watched his broad back leave the room, realising that he was wearing another tight t-shirt that showed off his dad-bod whilst still showing off how strong he was. Part of you wondered whether the coarse hair along his arms matched what might be on his chest, and if that was only because of his hidden nature.

Standing up, you wobbled slightly as it suddenly felt like your lower stomach had dropped. Looking back at the white linen on the bed instinctually. Face paling as you spotted blood against them. Hand moving to the back of your pants and feeling a panicked bile rising in your throat as your body seemed to realise what was happening and hit you with the starting dull ache that punctuated your cramps.

"Fuck."

Waddling yourself to the bathroom, you had the sense to grab the nearest set of pyjamas, feeling yourself wincing as you realised that they were the nice ones that William had gotten you before deciding against it and picking up some sweatpants and a t-shirt from the pile of laundry on the landing, only vaguely registering that they belonged to William.

You cleaned yourself up as best as you could, feeling flustered and embarrassed that you hadn't even considered that you could get your period whilst staying with William, your heart pounding as you folded up toilet-paper and placed it in your underwear before heading downstairs. Your cheeks flushed as you weren't looking forwards to asking William to give you a lift to the store to pick some bits up.

William Afton choked on his coffee when he turned to see you coming down the stairs.

You were wearing his grey sweatpants, which drowned you with how long and baggy they were in comparison to your much smaller frame. And one of his t-shirts to boot, seeing it slipping off of one shoulder and revealing smooth skin that made him swallow hard and angle himself against the counter so that you wouldn't see how hard he was.

"Wow...umm...hello?" He found himself speechless, trying to swallow down the urge to go over and kiss you then and there. His nose twitching rapidly as he seemed to bounce slightly in place, his foot tapping nervously.

"I um...I figure out it's probably me that smells weird." You mumbled, cheeks heating up as William frowned. Taking the chance to make his way over to you and gently stroke your upper arms with his large, rough hands. Making sure to stand behind you to hide his arousal at the sight of you in his clothes as he leaned in and gently began to sniff you. Making you laugh even as your pulse became frantic with how close he was to your own hormonal body.

"You seem to be right, you smell different. It's not bad! Please don't think that bunny....But are you hurt, you smell..metallic?" He sniffed again, concern lacing his gravelling voice as he continued to gently stroke and touch your arms. Wanting to be close to you, to show his affection.

"I uh...I've started...that time..."

"Time?"

"You know...."

"Bunny, you can say 'period', you know? It's not a dirty word, or a dirty thing. Only boys are scared of a normal bodily function." William chuckled as he could tell you were clearly uncomfortable, but wanting to make you feel more comfortable as he raised a greying eyebrow at you. "And I'm certainly not a boy. I'm a man."

"Technically you're an Incubunny." Watching his expression contort with confusion before he laughed loudly, making you smile as he gave you a gentle squeeze and tapped his forehead against the side of your head in a way that made you practically melt despite it being such a simple gesture.

"Come on, miss technicality, your breakfast is going to get cold. But I'll take you to the store to get whatever you need, okay? And don't worry, we can throw anything in the wash that needs it, and you can keep wearing my clothes if they're comfy for you?"

"Thanks William."

"You're more than welcome, bunny." Tapping your head again with his before he stood up, he felt better for being closer to you. Swallowing softly as he thought about what he would be able to do to help you and make you more comfortable.

And how the hell he was going to keep you away from your apartment and Dave for long enough for you to pass into the next phase of your cycle.

"William, did you have to buy everything? I could have paid you know."

"I also know what we pay you lot per shift, no way was I letting you pay for it."

"It's tampons, not gold bars, Incubnny."

"And I got you treats! What kind of man would I be if I made you buy your own treats?" William scoffed and rolled his eyes as you opened the door for him and allowed him to place down the grocery bags onto his kitchen counter. The opened box of tampons on top of one as he insisted on you not having to wait to get back to his house to clean up and make yourself comfortable, placing them to one side as he kicked his shoes off and began sorting through things in the bags.

He had to admit, he might have gone slightly overboard with it all.

William had spent a good while interrogating you before he left the car about what your favourite things were, he had to admit that the cashier had looked at him like he was mad when he turned up with a basket filled with junk food, chocolate and painkillers. It had taken everything in him not to growl, but now that you were back together in his home, he felt much more relaxed.

"Do you want to shower, bunny? I'll put something on the TV for us." He raised an eyebrow, watching you nod and head upstairs, feeling a little disappointment that you would no longer be in his clothes, but also partly grateful as he wasn't sure his heart could take much more of you being so teasingly perfect for him and yet so unobtainable.

You certainly felt better for the shower, groaning as the hot water hit your skin. William had offered to cook lunch for you on the drive back too, which you thought was really sweet. Deciding to try out the shower-set that the incubus has gotten you and realising with a smile that it smelt like pecan pie and salted caramel, thinking about how he must of subconsciously picked it since he'd already said that pecan pie was his favourite dessert. Unaware that the man had deliberately chosen it as you made sure to coat yourself in the sweet smelling lotion once you were out of the shower and pulling on the pyjamas he had gotten you. A little large, but the little bunnies over the pants and the white tank-top where cute, blushing as you thought about asking if he could let you feel more of his fluffiness whilst you were feeling your cramps coming on, making you groan and rub your face.

You knew that you were all over the place. Your cramps were ramping up and you felt your face contorting slightly as you tried to compensate for them when you carefully walked down the stairs.

William was downstairs and waiting for you, his silvery eyes widening slightly as he caught sight of you before clearing his throat and blushing slightly under his greying stubble. Chewing his lip as he held out a cold can of soda and a packet of painkillers.

"I thought these might help, they're supposed to be a combination one so they help with neural pain and muscle pain. It sounded good." You smiled at how sweet he was, internally sighing as you wished he would see the way you looked up at him adoringly. But you popped out the recommended dose and swallowed them down with a mouthful of drink. "I've also put on cartoons for you. I didn't know whether you wanted to set yourself up on the couch? I'll order pizza tonight." Smiling warmly down at you as you smiled up at him in return.

"Thanks William. You know, if I was speaking to any girl and they described what you did, I'd tell them to marry that man." Hoping that the horrendous blush on your cheeks as you could finally think clearly now that the placebo was kicking in before the actual pills. William chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Not sure I'm marriage material, bunny, just doing my best to make sure that my cute little bunny is comfortable despite nature's unfortunate insistence in making it difficult."

"Hey...Can I ask a favour?" A nervous tint to your voice as he tipped his head curiously to one side. William smiled gently, making his eyes crinkle slightly.

"Of course."

"Can...Can I hug you again...either as ...." You gestured vaguely to his body and wondered how you were going to phrase it in a way that didn't sound derogatory to William as a person. But he simply laughed and wrapped his arms around you, resting his head ontop of yours and closing his eyes, humming softly as he stroked your back. Slowly feeling himself filling out as he held onto you, allowing you to feel his already broad chest filling out as your head began to sink into soft fluff rather than pliable dad-bod muscle.

"Oh I get it, you want just one thing now you know, and it's too cute to resist telling you 'no'." Chuckling in that deep, gravelly voice as you managed to wiggle and pop your head up so your chin rested on his chest. Seeing the lapine face, complete with squished nose, fur, precariously perched glasses and ears practically meeting they were so close together at the tips. Smiling broadly as you wrapped your arms around him.

William picked you up easily, making you yelp as he carefully manoeuvred you with him bulk onto the couch and laid himself down onto his side. Holding you against his chest with your back pressed to his chest as his nose twitched happily, gently resting his head on you and nuzzling into your hair as the TV flickered with pictures of 'Freddy and Friends' show, the volume low as he placed one large paw-hand onto your lower stomach. Making it flutter uncertainly for a moment before you realised how warm he was and relaxing into it, he was like your own heating pad against your hurting back and cramping stomach.

"Thank you William."

"You're welcome, little bunny. It feels nice to be able to relax around you. You don't mind whichever form I'm in."

"That's because you're handsome either way."

"Sweet talker."

"I'm telling the truth!"

"Sure you are, and I'm actually the Easter Bunny." He chuckled, making you laugh as you smacked his arm, feeling the incubus pout above your head.

"I happen to think you'd make a brilliant Easter Bunny."

"Oh yes, the claws and teeth are especially reassuring to children." Hugging you tighter against his body and keeping his head ontop of yours, wishing the moment would never end as he tried to think of more ways to flirt with you. To convince you that he would love you and take care of you if you let him.

And you didn't want the moment to end either. And wished the stubborn incubus would notice your attempts to declare your feelings towards him. Monster or not.

[st-danger]

"Close," Aeon hisses out, and Swiss releases him immediately, laughing at the way Aeon flops back onto the bed, giving up supporting himself on his elbows, chest heaving while he brushes floppy hair off a sweaty forehead. He's in a similar state, worked up and way too sensitive.

"Unholy shit," Aeon breathes, sounding delighted and fucked-out, trying to steady the rise and fall of his chest. "How many are we at now?"

Swiss doesn't know. Too many times, and they're both far too high to remember the count. Their little game of how bad they can make it for each other relies on two things: one, the shared love of an exquisite, particular sort of misery, and two, how much or Mountain's greenhouse stash they can get away with pilfering.

It's something the others don't have the patience for. Not the way they do, at least. They're over the top with it. Unnecessary. It's delicious.

Just for fun, because Swiss loves having fun and why not, he reaches for Aeon's cock, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and gets a few fingertips on the shaft before Aeon smacks his hand away, a stoned giggle bubbling up from his throat.

"Oh don't you dare," he warns. "Don't even look at it right now."

"Break time," Swiss nods, and rolls over to his nightstand, groping for the next joint. He already feels as though his body is moving through heavy syrup against a wicked current. His own erection, just starting to flag without any stimulation, rubs against the bed and reignites the heat settled low.

He lights the joint, and grabs the old coffee mug turned makeshift ashtray. Beside him, Aeon lays spread on his back, legs wide apart, cock lying heavy and blushing in the cut of his hip. His eyes are glassy and heavy lidded, lips red from the biting and slopping kissing.

"It's gonna take ages to go down," he admits, the corner of his mouth pulling back in a stupid smile, revealing a row of charmingly crooked teeth. Swiss takes a long, indulgent inhale, holds it, and without asking, leans in. Gets his full lips right against Aeon's and breathes out. Their noses bump, and Swiss is achingly aware of every nerve in his body, how bad the want is now.

He really has no idea how many times it's been, how many times they've brought each other close just to back off entirely. The breaks have gotten longer and longer, because they're so needy for it, so sensitive, that Aeon barely has to wiggle a fingertip underneath Swiss’s head before it's throbbing and pearling at the tip again. They've been at it for a while, that's what he knows. They'll be at it for a while longer, too. Until they've worked each other up where even they, with their endless well of patience, are ready to tear their hair out in frustration.

Aeon hums when Swiss pulls away. He can't open his eyes.

"You're so high," Swiss notes, adoring.

"Uh huh," Aeon smiles, reaching blindly with a hand for any bit of Swiss he can land on. He ends up pressing a palm to his chest, giving an absent pinch to the hair he finds there to make Swiss startle. "And I want more."

"Bet you do," Swiss says, and has to fight the urge to stroke himself. Looking at Aeon, seeing how sticky his own cock is- his self control is really something else. He can allow himself a little pat on the back for it.

"Swiss," Aeon mumbles, bringing his hands to his own chest, his nipples. Rubbing. His dick twitches against his stomach.

"Yeah?" Swiss asks, feeling woozy through the drugs and the scene he's looking at.

"Feed it to me," Aeon insists.

Swiss watches in slow motion how his narrow chest rises and falls when he places the joint to his lips. Exhales just as steady.

"Fuck, s'good," he slurs, tongue too thick in his mouth. He won't stop plucking at his nipples and Swiss has to shut his eyes when he takes his hit. Coughs a bit, taps the ash into the mug. "Gonna be all fucked up."

"You already are," Swiss says, kindly placing the joint against Aeon's mouth once more.

"You know, I keep," Aeon tries, and then starts laughing. "I keep forgetting where I am." He abandons his chest to rub at his eyes and Swiss can't help but laugh, too. He takes one final hit, a huge lung full, and has a terrible idea.

"You wanna cum?" he asks.

"Mm. Yes 'n no," Aeon says reasonably. He tries peeling his eyes open, a hand reaching for Swiss’s thigh. Ticklish fingers ghosting over the muscle.

"Finish it," Swiss says, holding up the rest of the joint, which is an awfully large amount left, for a ghoul as stoned as Aeon already is. Aeon's brow raises. "You can cum when it's gone."

Aeon pauses, considering.

"That's way too much for me," Aeon says, taking the joint and hitting it. Swiss hands him the mug. He sighs his exhale, and squirms. "S'gonna be too much, Swiss." He blinks stupidly up at him, meeting Swiss’s dopey grin with his own. "Gonna be all fucked up and helpless," he adds, wiggling his eyebrows. The thought is terribly enticing. He doesn't point out the obvious, that Aeon is already to that point.

He waits until Aeon's let his eyes fall shut yet again with the next drag before brushing the back of his hand up the shaft. Aeon chokes, and his cock flexes hard, bobbing up and hitting his belly.

"Oh," Aeon gasps, back arching before he can think about it. "Oh, yeah," he says, frowning and nodding. Swiss repeats and Aeon sucks on the joint, pain and pleasure carving into his features in equal measure. Swiss feels himself slip a little more offline as the hits he'd taken begin their slow creep into the folds of his brain. Mouth a little drier, if somehow that's possible. Balls aching more. He hurts in the best way.

"Fuck," Aeon says, sounding a little hysterical. He sounds happy, and unhinged. Swiss curls thick fingers around him, groaning when he feels Aeon's dick flex in his grip. "Dunno how long I can hold it in."

"Finish the joint," Swiss says sweetly. "Get all fucked up for daddy-"

Aeon howls with laughter.

"Daddy?" he bites out. Swiss grins, unrepentant.

"Finish the joint," he repeats, "and daddy'll make you cum."

Aeon collects himself, knuckles a few tears from his eyes, ashes into the mug much later than he should have. Setting the sheets on fire would be a real downer at the best of times.

"Okay, I'm goin'," Aeon says, and continues to smoke, pushing his hips up rudely unto Swiss’s hand. Looking progressively more and more lost. "What time is it?"

Swiss glances at the clock.

"We've been here two hours," Swiss says, a little stunned.

"No shit," Aeon says, and stubs the rest of the joint out inside the mug. "Well. Does daddy wanna make me squirt yet?"

"You wanna?"

"Yes and no," Aeon repeats and Swiss is grabbing the mug from him before he drops it. Sets it heavy onto the side table, and collapses alongside Aeon, who paws at his chest. He's far gone. Squirming and writhing all on his own. Swiss wants to hold him, choke him. Kiss him breathless and fold him in half. Pull a handful of his floppy hair and get him to whine. Swiss relents, leans forward and catches Aeon's mouth against his own. It's grossly uncoordinated and wet, licking at each other more than kissing, really. While he's distracted, he doesn't notice Aeon sneaking a hand to Swiss’s balls, cupping them. Swiss groans, and then Aeon's tickling the head with clumsy fingers.

"I'll kiss it after you make me cum," Aeon promises, lips brushing Swiss’s while he speaks.

"You can hardly kiss me now," Swiss says.

"Then I'll hold m'mouth open, you can fuck it," he suggests. Doesn't miss a beat. Swiss stares. Aeon holds his gaze steady for a moment, and then the corners of his eyes are wrinkling when he lets out another stoned giggle. "That what daddy wants?"

Swiss begins jerking him off in earnest, and Aeon cries out and clutches at the sheets.

Privately, Swiss considers if he can get away with ruining Aeon's orgasm.

That's something daddy wants.

[weirdosinthestereo]

At Home Barista (Jake Seresin x F!Reader)

Author's note: Hello again! This is just a short story I thought would be cute. Gotta give all of Glen’s characters some love right? Here's a fluffy Jake Seresin drabble.

Warnings: None! Just fluff!

Jake was nervous as he set up everything. He hoped he had gotten everything she needed. “Calm down, she's going to love it!” Rooster said as he put ice in a cooler. They were celebrating your birthday today. It was the first one since you and Jake had gotten together a year ago. In that time, Jake had noticed just how much you loved coffee. Espresso, drip coffee, instant coffee, all of it! Jake had also watched you scrolling TikTok trying to find the best home espresso machine for months. Using people's opinions and videos to make a decision. Jake took matters into his own hands by buying you the machine you had been eyeing, the Breville Barista Express. The rest of the Dagger squad helped Jake get the rest of the pieces by buying something he had assigned to them. Now, Jake stood in front of the small coffee nook he had made in your shared kitchen. He had set up all your syrups, sauces, and other nick nacks in this dedicated area. It was perfect. Now, they just had to wait for you to get home.

“Hangman! Bring the burgers out here and quit rearranging that thing!” Coyote calls from the backyard. Jake huffs through nose and grabs the marinated burgers from the fridge.

While Coyote and Bob cooked, the rest of the group had some drinks and enjoyed the setting sun. “Who knew that Hangman of all people would be nervous about the gift he got his girl?” Phoenix jokes as she notices Jake constantly checking his phone to see if you're home. “This is serious! This is one of her favorite hobbies.. or obsession? Whichever makes more sense.” Jake jumps up, nearly spilling his beer when he hears a car door shut. “She's here!” He calls while running for the front door. The rest of your small group of friends huddle in the kitchen while they wait for you to come in.

“Jake? I thought we were getting together tomorrow?” You ask as he opens the front door. Jake smiles as he watches you come up the stairs. “Well, today is your actual birthday. We wanted to celebrate today!” Jake said as he got behind you and covered your eyes. “Jake Seresin! What have you done?” You asked playfully as you smiled and let Jake lead you around. Jake smirked as he led you to the kitchen, “Me? You know I'm the perfect little angel.”

Rooster scoffs at Jake's words, but smiles as he covers it with a cough when Jake glared at him. “Surprise!!” Everyone yells when Jake has you standing in front of the coffee nook. You stared shocked for a moment and then realized what they had all done. “Jake? Is this..? It is! You bought me that espresso machine I wanted?!” You asked excitedly as you looked at everything. Jake smirks as he nods, “Sure did baby girl. Everyone else bought other pieces to complete your little barista station. Now, you can practice all those recipes you've been looking at online.”

You turn and look at Jake with eyes full of love. Jake smiles cockily and opens his arms for you. He knew that look and laughed as you jumped on him and hugged him tightly. “Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you! I love it so much!” Jake couldn't help the small chuckles he let out as you pepper his face with kisses. You jump down and then hug everyone else on the Dagger squad for your gifts. Thanking them multiple times. You felt like they were your chosen family and it made your heart swell that they cared so much for you.

“Alright! Let's eat!” Jake said as he ushered everyone to the dining room where they had made a small buffet to make the burgers and hotdogs.

-_-_-Two Days Later-_-_-

“You okay there Hangman??” Bob asks as he watches Jake excitedly do his work. Jake had been rushing around all day and sporadically doing things.

“Yes!! Yes yes yes. I'm great! Never better! Hey! Don't mess up my clean floor!” Jake yells as he sees a rookie going to walk where he had just cleaned. Jake then decided the best course of action was to chase them down.

“He said he had a quad shot latte this morning and he usually doesn't drink a lot of coffee. Y/N has been feeding him coffee ever since the party to see if she is making it right.” Rooster explains with a shake of his head.

“He's not even assigned to clean the floors…” Bob says, confused as he watched Jake irritably clean the floor again where the rookie had been walking.

[mggsv]

HOW THEY COOK YOU BREAKFAST ♡

ft. Gojo, Toji x fem reader

warnings : smut, mentions of sex, food play, oral (f receiving), squirting

+ Dividers | not proof read!

GOJO loved cooking you breakfast. It wasn’t the joy on your face seeing that he beat you to it- no, it was the flustered expression of you fresh out of the bed in the morning, staring at him in the baby pink apron with the word Daddy written in a deep red. That’s not what got you, though, it’s what was underneath. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

“Rise and shine!” He had said excitedly. The smell of your favorite waking you up. You barely peeled your eyes away from the outline of his cock poking through the thick material over to the french toast that had your stomach growling. “I hope someone brushed their teeth this morning.” He turned away from you. It made you cough out a small giggle. You watch his perfect little ass move.

“Sato..what are you doing babe?” You giggle some more watching him wiggle his butt. “What are you laughing at~ Is it as tasty as it looks babydoll?” He coos. Gojo turns back to you, that shitty smirk on his lips as he watches you dip your finger in the syrup and suck it. “It’s delicious baby.” He hums and leans over the counter.

“I spent a good while making it~” He leans in to capture you in a kiss, the syrupy taste dancing around your mouths. You could tell he’s been tasting it, too. “S’perfect..” you mumble into the kiss. You lean up at the feel of his hand creeping up your neck. You didn’t hesitate to grab his bare ass, earning a chuckle from him. “Why you slutting around, huh?” You grumble.

“Wellll let me tell you a little story.” Gojo’s lips move down to your chin. “I woke up this morning to the most beautiful view. I couldn’t help myself! That beautiful little pussy of yours on full display with Daddy’s seed spilling out from last night~”

You moan, feeling his teeth graze against your neck. “I couldn’t help myself. And since you were sleeping, Daddy had to spill his seed elsewhere..” Gojo dips his finger in the syrup again. You open your mouth wide, tongue out. “Eat up babydoll~”

TOJI gives you breakfast in bed. It’s an off day for the both of you, and to make things better, it’s raining. You loved nothing more than a rainy morning in your apartment with your boyfriend. Especially when he made you breakfast, literally.

“S’fuckin good mama.” He groans into the heat of your folds. You whimper softly, hand in his hair while you chewed on the homemade waffle. You may back into the softness of your shared bed, large pillows supporting your back, cover wrapped up with your legs. And between them was Toji’s face lapping at your sensitive clit. “That’s my girl..” He growls, his face sinking deeper into your heat. “s’wet mama.”

Your eyes flutter shut, hips rolling as Toji’s hand came up to grip your hip. His shirt that you wore rolled up to your stomach. “M’gonna cum Toji...” You whine. Your hips rocked against his tongue. You drop the waffle on the floor as you moaned loudly, eyes squeezing and toes curling. Your body froze up as he continued to eat you through your orgasm.

“Ahh- ah fuck- I can’t..shit s..top.” your legs tremble, gasping at the wash over your body. You gush over Toji’s tongue, earning a satisfied hum from him. He lifts his head, smirking down at your body. Reaching for the tray on the bedside table, he grabs one of your waffles, biting into it.

“You gonna let these go to waste?”