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marvelstoriesepic · 1 month ago

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I Would Let the World Burn

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Non-superhero!Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You attend a public Avengers event as Bucky’s girlfriend for the first time, but things spiral from nerves to chaos in a matter of seconds. And when you’re caught in the crossfire, Bucky unleashes.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: violence; injury; PTSD elements; emotional distress; explosions; mass panic; allusions to death; protective!Bucky; nobody hurts his girl; seriously, he’s a little feral here

Author’s Note: I need protective Bucky all day and all night omg. Thank you so much, my love, for this absolutely amazing request!! I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The lights are everywhere.

Glinting off skyscraper windows and camera lenses, bouncing off metallic armor and too-white smiles.

The voices are everywhere. They swarm like bees - the press, the fans, the murmuring of people watching people.

The flash of the cameras is a strobe light stinging the back of your eyes. Reporters shout questions like bullets, flinging them past your ears and into your chest.

You feel your lungs shrinking in your ribcage as if they’ve decided you’ve seen enough. Felt enough. Been too much.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in this crowd, not in this dress, not in front of a hundred reporters and their glittering cameras. Not in the spotlight. Not on the arm of the Bucky Barnes.

You tug at the hem of your dress, fingers nervous, breath catching on a sigh you don’t release. Everyone here looks like they belong - as if they were born to walk red carpets and sip sparkling drinks under light that only blinds you. You feel like an ink smudge on a page of golden script.

It’s the first time you’re out in the public with him. The first time the press will capture who’s been speculated to be the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend.

Bucky spent the night whispering reassurances into your skin, but it seems you should have listened to his words rather than the feeling of his plump lips all over your body.

Your hand is in his, and his thumb traces slow circles against you, metal fingers warm from your skin. His other hand rests lightly on your back. He hasn’t let go of you once.

You look up at him.

And he’s already looking at you.

He looks perfect, tailored, controlled, dangerous in a way that makes people stare too long and then look away even faster.

His hair is swept back tonight, save for one defiant strand that keeps falling across his brow. You keep watching that strand as if it’s a lifeline. Like if you can count how many times it falls, maybe your nerves will shut the hell up.

You know he feels how tense you are.

He frowns, and it’s so soft it nearly breaks your heart. That Bucky Barnes can frown like that. As if you just told him you were fading into dust.

“Hey,” Bucky coos, voice soft, voice low, the world dissolving for a second into nothing but him and you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You try to nod. But you can’t lie to him. Words jam in your throat, caught somewhere between the beat of your heart and the reality of who he is and who you are not.

“I just-” you manage, but it’s a little shaky, you look around. “I feel out of place.”

Bucky tilts his head, brow still furrowed tightly. “Why?”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Try to explain how it feels to be ordinary in a sea of extraordinary. How it feels to be his, but not one of them. How terrifying it is to not have armor, or training, or anything more than love for a man who could kill with his pinky finger and kindness in his eyes just for you.

Bucky steps in close, crowding the noise out with the breadth of his body, his warmth, the familiarity of his scent - cedar and cold and something quietly him. His nose brushes yours, and it’s stupid how it grounds you.

“I’d rather be anywhere else,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I’d rather be nowhere. Just me and you. On a rooftop. Under the sheets. In the woods. I don’t care. Just not here. No noise. No cameras. No Stark in a tuxedo with a martini making bad decisions.”

You laugh, and it trembles out of you.

His smile is all softness and secret promises. His eyes are glinting. “But if I have to be here - then I'm glad it’s with you.”

The way he says it - quiet, low, as if it’s something he only ever told the wind - freezes everything inside you and sets it on fire all at once.

You blink, and the fear stutters. Collapses a little. Because it’s not you and the Avengers. It’s you and Bucky.

His lips graze your ear, then your temple, taking his time. He’s not bothered at all by the cameras flashing around you, capturing this moment, capturing the Winter Soldier going soft on his girlfriend.

You want to fall into him. You want to crawl into his chest and live there.

You let out a breath. It’s just beginning to feel okay. The world quiets just for a second.

Then it explodes.

There’s a metallic whine, a rumble like thunder swallowed by stone. The ground jerks beneath your feet as though it’s trying to shake you off. Screams tear through the air. A plume of smoke mushrooms in the sky as fire roars from the far end of the pavilion. People scatter. Glass shatters. Concrete buckles.

You don’t even have time to be shocked when Bucky already reacts.

He pushes you behind him so fast your teeth snap together. He doesn’t look back. His body shields yours, metal arm braced outward, flesh hand pressing you into his back, eyes scanning for threats.

Another explosion cracks through the sky, rips through the atmosphere like an angry god. And right after, the next explosion follows, punched through the sky like a fist made of fire.

You cough, eyes watering. There’s debris. Someone’s car door skitters across the ground like a dead insect. Tony’s suit whirs to life across the square. Natasha’s already sprinting. Sam is in the air.

Bucky is moving, dragging you behind a line of armored cars, his body is coiled with tension, his expression is deadly serious.

“Stay here!” he orders. It’s his soldier voice. Cold steel and no argument. He’s never used this voice on you before.

“Bucky-”

“Y/n, stay down,” he barks sharply, and you nearly flinch. But his tone is not filled with anger. It’s filled with fear. “Do not move until I come back for you.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might break your ribs. Your head is shaking from side to side so fast, you can’t do anything. “No- Bucky-”

He cups your face, his hands stiff, his hold almost rough. He leans in. “Stay. Here,” he growls. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.”

His eyes tell you he already is. He will be. But he doesn’t tell you.

He waits for you to nod, although he doesn’t have the time. An almost aggressive kiss is pressed to your mouth, then to your forehead, and he is gone. Thrown into chaos, lost in the smoke and fury and shouts.

You barely register the space he leaves behind. The smoke moves like a creature through the crowd, making people disappear wholly. Somewhere nearby, there’s another explosion. The screams rise again, louder.

You crouch lower, press yourself against the cold steel of the car, try to breathe through the hammer in your chest. You want to do what he said. You try to do what he said.

But the panic moves toward you.

You don’t see where it starts. Just feel it. A shove. A push. Someone collides with your hiding place, someone is behind you and suddenly you’re on the ground. White-hot pain at your side. You fall hard enough to see stars. A sharp ache slices down your shoulder where debris must have caught you. Blood runs hot and slick beneath your dress.

Disoriented, you try to push up on trembling arms but they shake too much, and everything is spinning.

You don’t see the soldier until you turn your head and there’s a flash of metal in his hand. A knife.

“Y/n!”

It’s your name. It’s Bucky’s voice. It’s not a shout. It’s a roar. As if it was ripped out of his chest. As if he’s afraid of what he’ll find when he gets to you.

From fifty yards away, across smoke and bodies and fire, he sees the blood blooming on your sleeve. Sees your fingers twitch as you try to sit up. Sees the man with the knife coming too close.

And he is barreling through the smoke like something unholy, eyes wild, teeth clenched, hands balled to fists. The light behind his eyes just snaps.

He moves as though he’s been set free. No hesitation. No fear. No softness left in him. His face is stone, is fury, is death, is Winter Soldier. His arm gleams under the flames, a ghost of his past resurrected in defense of his present.

Bucky hits the guy with bone-crushing force, enough to send teeth skittering across pavement. A scream echoes once before it’s cut off. Another blow. Another. Fist to face. Elbow to jaw. A crunch that sounds like death and rage all rolled into one. His vibranium hand wraps around the man’s throat, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes - something ancient and broken - before Bucky picks him up and slams him against a crumbling wall. Again. And again.

It’s not strategy. It’s not mercy. It’s pure rage.

Somewhere, Steve yells his name like a warning.

Bucky doesn’t stop.

“Bucky-” you croak, blood warm down your arm. You try to sit up.

In an instant, he turns back to you, easing up on his brutal hold and the soldier crumples to the ground. Bucky’s whole body is tight with adrenaline, his breath sawing in and out as though he ran through a warzone - which he kind of did. For you. His eyes find yours and shatter.

He’s at your side in half a breath.

“Baby,” he whispers, hands on your face, on your shoulder, trembling now. “No, no, no. You weren’t supposed to be- I told you to stay-”

“I tried,” you defend weakly, dizzy. “I didn’t- I’m okay. I think. Just- grazed me, maybe-”

But he’s not hearing you. Not through the panic tearing holes in his composure. His hands flutter, unsure where to land without hurting you more. His voice drops, gravelly and hushed. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Shit, I should’ve known-”

“Hey.” You grab his wrists. “Bucky.”

He stills, but he won’t meet your eyes. Your thumb brushes the inside of his wrist. “I’m okay.”

But he’s too far in his head.

He wraps you in his arms in seconds, cradles you as if you’re made of moonlight and scripture, as if you’re hallowed and half-broken and held together by threads only he can see.

His metal hand supports your back, curved protectively around your spine. His other hand is pressing your legs into his chest.

The darkening sky is still full of smoke and sirens.

Colors smear across the sky like blood in water. Reds and blues. Shouting and static. Flashing lights and fractured ground. Somewhere nearby, someone is screaming. Somewhere farther, something explodes.

But not for him anymore. He doesn’t seem to hear anything. Doesn’t seem to listen to anything other than your breathing, your pulse.

He walks fast, but carefully. Erratic feet cut through rubble, his jaw is locked so hard, his body so rigid, he surely is in pain from holding all that tension. His eyes are storm-dark and unblinking. No one stops him. Not Steve. Not Tony. Not even the medics who see the look on his face and take a cautious step back as though maybe the devil borrowed his bones tonight.

He never trusted any random medic to look you over. It has to be someone he knows.

You whisper his name.

Soft. Breathless. Almost an apology.

And he almost drops to his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps, hoarse and urgent. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You know you are. But he doesn’t.

Your fingers curl in the collar of his suit jacket. His real name - James - lives on your tongue but never quite makes it out because he’s holding you too close, and perhaps saying his name might crush him completely.

He smells like smoke and ash and steel and blood. Your temple is tucked against the curve of his neck, where his pulse thunders beneath the surface. He’s warm and shaking.

He bursts into the quinjet that brought you here like a man on fire, like a man trying to outpace grief, and he yells something sharp. He lays you down - reluctantly, tenderly, surrendering - onto a stretcher, but his hands don’t stop touching you.

He’s a storm with a purpose, and that purpose is you.

You, safe.

You, whole.

You, alive.

“Bucky,” you try to ease, blinking up at him, face pale under flickering emergency lights. “I told you, baby. It’s not that bad.” Your voice is soft. Slow.

“You were on the ground.” His voice cracks.

“I was on the ground for like two seconds-”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It stopped, baby. Okay? There’s no fresh blood.” You are close to whispering.

Bucky doesn’t seem eased, though. He sits beside you. Big body bent in half, elbows on knees, one trembling hand reaching to gently - so, so gently - brush your hair from your forehead.

And then he says it.

“I would’ve burned the whole goddamn city to get to you.” Quiet. Like a vow. Like a confession. Like faith. Like a truth, he doesn’t know how to carry anymore. “I would’ve torn down buildings with my bare hands if I didn’t see your breathing. I don’t care who saw. I don’t care what they think-” his voice breaks, his breaths spill all over his words. “I can’t be okay without you.”

You stare up at him. Your throat is tight, eyes are stinging. Because he doesn’t say things like that. Not often. Not out loud. You see it in his eyes every day, in the way he looks at you, in the way he treats you. But it’s something else entirely to hear him form those words and let his tongue roll them out.

He presses his forehead to yours. His breath ghosts over your lips. His eyes are closed. His hand cups the back of your head.

He’s holding you so close to him, as if he’s never intending to let go ever again.

#2k drabble challenge request #2k drabble challenge #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #avengers bucky #bucky x reader angst #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky imagine #mcu bucky barnes #bucky x reader fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine

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notjustjavierpena · 1 year ago

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Swelter

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us

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oystermark · 2 months ago

Note

No goggles, Mohawk, and Viltrumite mark with a poison ivy like reader? I’ve been OBSESSED with this idea for a while. Like during the war Cecil tried to deploy reader even tho he’s a villain (kinda) and reader is on his plant throne surrounded by poison kiss/mind controlled servants like “why should I help? Let the boys have their fun, I want humanity to be wiped out too.” Basically he wants to part in ‘helping save humanity’ and just wants to sit in his greenhouse and be fawned over.

Poison Ivy M!Reader x Mark variants (no goggles & viltrumite mark)

a/n: loved this idea, just changed the reader a bit. i think them having plants that act like pets, ones that purr and have responses to their affection (petting, feeding etc.) made it a little bit more interesting (no offense to your request at all! 🫂 i genuinely loved the idea i just want to make the reader a naked, isolated plant mess that hates humanity and heroes especially because they destroy the planet faster than anyone else) also the intro got wayyy too long im sorry about that. sorry if this is dumb in general and sorry i couldnt do mohawk aghhhhhhh i had a migraine while writing this :(((

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a small smile blossomed on your face as the jasmine's you were petting gently started to purr, like a cat. adorable. a sigh leaves your lips as you let yourself get a little comfortable, the tree you're on straining itself to give you more coverage from the sun as the heat was getting to you.

you need some water, which means you have to leave your home, deep in the forest. for a little bit, but, you'll still, have to leave.

you hate that. you don't want to ve away from the only sentient beings that actually understand you, your purpose and you as a whole. you sigh, pouting like a child as the tree puts you down and long, tentacle like tree branches along with ivy trailing along your arms to soothe your nerves.

running into a human or one of those 'heroes' was slim but not zero and that made you more uneasy and angry then you'd like to admit to yourself.

as soon as you step outside of your cave -made up of trees and beautiful plants, bees buzzing and- okay stop, focus- you stop dead in your tracks.

the forest, it's heaving. and the pain slowly crawls up from your feet to your head, the sharp tinge of burning wood, desperate sounds of flowers dying, your eyes sting with tears and your hand flies to your forehead, clutching it with dear life.

"oh, good. you're already out of your man cave,"

your head snaps down as you hear cecil's voice, being a...plant person, you're well over 6 ft tall, "cecil, what is the meaning of this!? this is why i never worked for you, whatever you do whenever you do you hurt us," he interrupts you with a sharp sigh, looks at you with the most grim expression you've seen from him.

"i know, which is why i've never asked for your help before, our relationship isn't the best, i know, but (y/n)," his voice tinged with desperation, he takes a step forward, you can feel your branches and ivy stiffen with alarm. "we need your help, people, homes, animals, trees, flowers anything and everything is being destroyed at a rapid pace which we've never seen before it's a goddamn massacre out there," he then pulls up his phone and shows you an image of a boy wearing a spandex suit, "this is invincible, and there are versions of him from multiple dimensions destroying your plant life,"

he sighs and pulls the phone back as you stay silent, looking up at you with a grim expression, "every one of them except the one i showed you, is a hostile, having them alive for us to contain would be preferable but you have the order to eliminate them as well," he looks at your eyes, trying to read you as best as he can. you've always been a recluse, stating that clothes and this stupid standard of living would never go over well with you, you've killed some of his heroes and some villains for ravaging forests. right now though, you're the best shot he has. you're goddamn strong.

his shoulders drop subtly with relief as you nod sharply, "fine, but i am not doing this for you, i am doing this for us," he nods, "and that's more than enough for me, you can find-" you shush him, "i can already smell them, old man. i know where they are, the forest has eyes everywhere, now go."

he takes his leave and you growl as the pain in your head grows stronger,

you're going to kill these bastards.

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no goggles mark

he hears you shouting before he's able to have his monologue after murdering the new guardians, he doesn't even dodge, interested in your... familiar scent.

your body slams into him, blood spills from his mouth and nose from the impact of the contact with your body alone as he's slammed down onto the floor. your branches trapping him under your body and your ivy finding his throat, no mercy, no talking, and as he opens his eyes, as the fog clears his vision, he sees...

you.

"holy fuck..."

he breathes out as he coughs up blood, some of it landing on your face but no muscles twitch. "leave this planet, surrender yourself, or witness the wrath of the forest," your voice rough and low, most likely from unuse, so you did have the same powers but now...you were less mister seductive and more mister... recluse. he could work with that, he could work with whatever you give him and more. it always has been like that. the ivy around his neck gripping his neck tighter pulled him back from his thoughts with a whine leaving his bloody lips,

"fuckin' hell babe, you still look... you still... look so hot..." he feels the ivy go still, your thighs tense above him, he bites his bottom lip in satisfaction, oh he's got you huh?

he only notices that you're like, fully naked when you press your body harder against him, your hand replacing the ivy on his throat, you pull his head up a little bit and smash his head through the concrete, "seems all that brain damage has got to you, who do you think you're talking to, boy?" he groans in pleasure from both the head smash on the concrete and your nails digging into his throat and your voice just right by his ear and-

"you're fucking intoxicating,"

he links his legs around you, caging you by your hips as he grinds your body closer to his, a small gasp of offense mixed with sudden weird sensation leaving your mouth as you look at him with as much a glare you can muster,

"come on, again. do it again, show me how much i've pissed you off, make me choke on my own blood,"

his voice gets louder with every word, his eyes never leaving yours,

"make me pay for what i've done, you want to hurt me, don't you? come on! go ahead, fuck-" he gasped out as your other hand pulled on his hair, pulling his hair to the side to break the eye contact.

he's getting to you, fuck he's actually...

this is what you get when you neglect the 'person' part of a plant person for so long, it seems.

you get up, untangling his legs from you by pulling him away from your body by his neck, his eyes sparkling with unmistakable glee as his body shakes from the pain, "show me you mean it then," you whisper as you get close to his face, you feel the ghost of his lips almost touching yours and you send him flying through the wall,

he lays there for a few seconds, his dick and whole body throbbing,

"god i fucking love you,"

you growl and leap at him as he giggles and does the same,

he can't wait to take you apart.

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viltrum mark

looking at the carnage before him, he wills himself to feel something, anything for these people. anything to prove hes got some amount of humanity in him even after your death, the death that was his fault. he brought you to viltrum, he built you a room full of plants, he did his best, he really thought he did, but you couldn't take a month away from your own and you... passed away, because of the lack of, everything, you needed.

he won't make the same mistake twice, as soon as angstorm reached out to him, he had your room remade from as many plants he extracted and as many the scientists could make. he adorned your room with plants, flowers and bees and everything needed to keep you alive. because he needs you, needs you back with him, no one can stop that.

not even you.

he sighs and grabs the branch you shot at him, slamming you to the dirt. his heart pangs as he hears your struggle for breath, but he cannot relent, he has to have you under control, even for a viltrumite like him, you're strong. he pins you down by your chest, pressing his foot down, looking into your eyes, he-

fuck.

fuck. fuck. why did he do that, why did he look at those eyes that he knows disarm anything and everything he ever built up over the years, the eyes that hold the only key to his heart, he feels himself falter and you don't fail to take advantage of this, pushing him off of you with the combination of your branches and ivy, slamming him to the trees in your desperation and wincing when you feel the impact od his weight through the trees on your own body.

panting as you clutch your chest, you shake your head and look at him, he didn't even break a sweat! not even a scratch, a bloody nose, nothing.

your eyes widened as you took a wobbly step back, "what... what the hell are you?" his heart shattered and his brain rattled in his skull because of the scared but defiant look you gave him. thats not how you're supposed to look at him, you and this world's mark should be dating, you should be looking at him with all the love in the world, like you used to, not like-

like he's an abomination.

he walks closer to you and shoot your branches on him, he blocks them with ease before they even have a chance to wrap around any part of his body, "come with me," he finally spoke. your body reacted by setting off all the alarms in your head, "we'll get married, on our home planet, we'll be together again, you'll be happy i wont- i wont let you die again. never again,"

the implication that he had some part of the murder fo a version of you was more than enough for you to take a few steps back and try your luck with your own arms instead. if there is one thing about you thats never changing, its your stubborness, he notes to himself as both of you clash, hands tangled in each others as one tries to push the other over the non existent edge.

with a grunt, you root your legs down with the help of the surrounding trees, making yourself an immovable object, you feel a smirk growing on your face as he grunts, oh you're getting to him.

this was stupid, maybe, but its one less mark, less destruction for now.

or so you thought.

you feel him go weightless, your eyes widen in panic as your brain registers what he's about to do, "wait you fucking idio-" your words are cut off by your own screams of the excrutiating pain he's causing as he's ripping you apart from the dirt, from the roots that planted you there in the first place.

it feels like he's snapping your own legs, stretching them, like the branches are your own bones, you scream and tears flow from your eyes, his face is pained as your own, your screams making his head throb with guilt.

he has to do this, for your own good and his, he can't stand this pointless crusade anymore.

with a final scream from you that turns into a sob as you're finally fully snatched from the floor and up into the air, going limp in his arms as his grip tightens around your waist, your long height making it a bit awkward to hold you but he's never let things like that stop him before.

he places a kiss on your temple, cupping your face with one hand as the other is holding you up from your waist,

"you're coming with me, i dont care about anyone or anything else, not anymore."

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i do not like this.... ghahhahj im so sorry anon

#invincible #invincible x male reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible variants #invincible variants x reader #mark grayson x male reader #no goggles mark x reader #no goggles invincible #viltrum mark #viltrum mark x reader

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jarofstyles · 3 months ago

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Blossom

In which Harry is hard but Y/N is his soft place to land. People have doubts over her being able to handle the alpha, considering her cashmere and tea like demeanor, but something about it evens out.

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WC- 6.3k

Warnings- supernatural themes, wolfrry, possessive behavior, threats, obsessed tbh, soul mates, smut, biting, knotting, breeding, praise kink, worship!

—-

“My Blossom.” The alpha spoke lowly, watching as his mate approached him. Something was wrong- something was bothering her. He could smell it- and he didn’t like it. “Why are you wilted, my love?”

It was his way of asking her why she was upset. Usually, she was upbeat. Chirpy. Cooing and grinning, moving slowly with the air of comfort radiating around her. Warmth was her aura, and people tended to feel it. Even Harry’s closed off demeanor had felt it the first time he had seen her- but today, she seemed to have cooled down.

Her scent was always the first indicator that something was amiss, the sweet honey and jasmine tinged with the smoke of a candle blown out too soon. It was the most obvious alert, but he could see it very clearly. She was trying to act alright, but that precious smile didn’t reach her eyes- and it pissed him off. If it were just a documentary bothering her, having accidentally stepped on a bee, burning a batch of cookies or something he could soothe away with a few purrs, she would say so. Communication was usually never an issue with them.

She didn’t come out and say it, meaning something had pissed her off.

Something he was going to deal with.

“I’m okay, my Moon.” Stepping into his vacinity she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, hands finding his chest with another weaker smile. Like he wouldn’t see that her eyes weren’t crinkled just the tiniest bit like normal. “It is nothing of importance. I’m fine.”

Of course he didn’t buy it. Pawing at her waist, he backed her up into the counter before lifting her up on to it. His gaze was intense, searching her thoroughly as he tried to get it out of her. There were no marks or bruises on her, no sign of physical pain, so that was something- but an emotional bruise could hurt just as much, if not worse.

His hands settled on her waist possessively, pulling her closer as he towered over her seated form on the countertop. "Look at me." He growled lowly, his eyes searching hers for any sign of deceit. He could smell the lie on her, the faint scent of bitter herbs hiding beneath her usual sweet aroma. Nothing displeased him more than her pain. Emotional, physical, it irritated him more than most would consider rational- but he tried to be, for her benefit. Y/N hated making him upset at all. She did whatever she could to avoid tripping the delicate wire that was his temper. Not because he was ever aggressive with her, but he was quick to satiate his thirst for revenge. An eye for an eye. The preferred method for the mother of the pack was peace, calm, order. The complete opposite, balancing him out. This time, though, he didn’t seem too keen on letting it be brushed under the rug.

"Who upset you?" His tone left no room for argument, his alpha voice rumbling slightly as he demanded answers. The slightly sharp tone was paired with the sweet stroke over her cheek, trying to sooth any sting the tone may have. Harry didn’t want her to feel like he was upset with her, but not knowing what upset the love of his life was infuriating.

“I am alright, Alpha.” She whispered, cupping his face in her hands. “It is simply the wind bringing in the weeds. Soon it will blow over.” Her fingertips scratched slightly over his stubble, letting out a soft little sigh for him. Her sweet, stubborn man. The leader of the pack had to be, and he was born for it- but it was hard to calm the fires he was impulsive to start when it came to her. “I was made aware that some members of our pack simply do not understand our dynamic, my Moon. And that is alright.” It did upset her, though. He could smell that and she knew it, but she also knew his temper. Harry usually was a fair alpha to his pack despite his temper, especially since she had mated with him, and she didn’t want him losing his head over something so trivial.

"Blossom..." He caught her wrist gently but firmly, bringing her hand down from his face to press a kiss against her palm. Her sweet touches only partially distracted him from the rising storm inside. The wolf pressed against his mind, insisting they protect their mate from the unseen threats, pacing like he was locked in a cage. Always a fighter, it had still taken Harry by surprise how bloodthirsty he could become when it came to Y/N.

"You think I won't gut every creature who looked at you wrong today?" The words were a dark whisper against her skin, the alpha tone heavier. Enough to make her let out an almost silent whine as she squirmed just a bit, giving him a look. “No, none of that.” Tapping against her chin, he searched her eyes. “You come in looking wilted and sad. Who has taken your time in the sun, sweet one?” Nudging her nose with his own, he knew it was a dirty play to make her fess up, but she responded to his sweetness. “Hm? Just let me know what was said.”

“Harry.” She sighed, letting her eyes close. “It truly is trivial. I promise. I had just…” Swallowing the lump that had materialized in her throat, she leaned into him and let their forehead press together. The closeness usually helped. “People have been talking… questioning me today, actually. About if I think I will be able to handle you at your worst.” She started off slow, running her hands down his shoulders. Trying to keep him calm, feeling his body tense up as she spoke. His hackles were raised.

“Some of the warriors, they were speaking to me in the great hall. They were warning me of how you are during times of war. In battle. About how you almost went feral, and they said that I seem very… soft.” It didn’t offend her that they thought she was soft because she was. Y/N took pride in it. But softness didn’t equate to being weak. “They had said in passing they had expected you to mate with a fierce warrior. Someone with more bite, who could keep up with you. I suppose it upset me because I am not that. I’ve never wanted to be. I know my strengths, but.. Hearing that some of our pack think we are not well matched? It displeases the soul connection.” To her wolf. It had angered her, and Y/N hated feeling angry. The inky black feeling swirling through her body was not a common one she felt and it was one she wanted to rid herself of.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he processed her words, his grip tightening slightly on her hips. The audacity of any of the pack to question their bond, to doubt the strength of his gentle mate... Considering the kindess she showed every day? The meals she planned, the baskets she had started to put together for families expecting pups? Did they really not know how badly his nerves needed some calm, some sweetness? Y/N was his match in every sense of the word. The goddess wouldn’t have paired them together if that wasn’t the case. Hearing the surely censored version from her -because she was still being a pack mother and protecting them-, it set his blood aflame with barely contained fury. The disrespect. The disgusting lack of gratitude. It was unfathomable.

"Listen to me very carefully, Blossom." His voice was velvet over steel, each word precisely enunciated while trying to keep it softer for her sake. "Our connection goes far beyond mere strength or fierceness of a warrior. Your fierceness lies in putting up with me.” He tried to soften his tone with a joke but it didn’t really work. The anger was festering and he wanted to know who exactly said it. Most of all, he wanted her to never let those words bother her because none of them knew what he needed. Only she would ever have the slightest clue of what he would need.

“You are my anchor in every storm, my light in the darkest of nights. The only reason I have not set out to find who it is that is spreading this disgusting lie, this delusion that anyone but you would ever be remotely capable of knowing my needs, is because you soothe me. Like your teas do for you, your presence does for my entire being. Wolf and all.” Needing the skin contact, he slipped his hand under her top, feeling the warmth of her back. “Do you see? You understand how I just calmed, just by touching your bare skin?” His voice dropped to a rasp, shaking his head. “They will never know what I need. You, my mate from the stars, are the only thing I will ever need.”

Y/N let out a sigh in response, relaxing a little as he spoke his truth to her. Not once did she doubt that he thought these things, not once did she doubt her connection to him- but it had hurt to hear people think she wasn’t the correct woman for him. That they thought he could do better. Some of it was from obvious jealousy, considering some of the very wolves saying the things were warriors themselves, but it still did not feel good. The alpha female would be the first to admit she was sensitive, she always had been- but it also bothered her to know they doubted their alpha’s bond.

She could see why they’d be jealous. Harry was powerful in every sense of the word. He was handsome, intelligent, strong, able to lead effortlessly. There was nothing about him that would turn off a wolf looking for a mate to protect them and provide the best life- but he was hers. Y/N owned his heart.

His heart ached as he felt her relax against him, her warmth that he adored so much seeping into his hand. He hated that she had to hear such nonsense, hated that it hurt her- lies. Pure and utter shit lies that had him feeling the flames of anger flicking back to his stomach. "I swear to the moon and back, Blossom, no one knows me like you do. You see things in me that I don't even see myself.” His mate would never be able to truly know how much it had shocked him from their first meeting until now, how she could read him. How she knew what he needed at all times, even if he tried to deny it of himself.

“And as for needing someone stronger, fiercer... that is complete shit. They have no idea what you do for me. How you uplift me, keep me strong on your own terms. They don't understand that your gentle strength is the very thing that keeps me grounded."

Harry's voice dropped to a whisper, his breath ghosting over her ear as he pulled her impossibly closer. "You are the shield that guards my feral nature from emerging and becoming everyone’s problem. You saved me from losing myself. You, my love, are the soft melody that soothes the savage beast within me." His instincts urged him to protect her, to hunt down those who dared speak ill of his mate- the mother of the pack, no less. Yet, he held back, knowing she needed gentleness, not brutality. It would be dealt with, no doubt, but she would be put above that. That’s the way it would always remain. "Anyone can battle, but only you can give me peace. Only you can quiet the storm inside me."

As he whispered those words into her ear, he felt her melt into him, her smaller frame pressing against his built one like a puzzle piece. Her scent seemed to wrap around him, sweet honey and jasmine filling his senses- calming the beast within him further. Her breathing hitched slightly, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she nuzzled into his neck, seeking out comfort and reassurance that only he could offer her.

The sound of her soft whimper was music to his ears, the gentle vibrations traveling through his chest as he held her close. He responded with a purr of his own, stroking her back soothingly. His scarred hand rubbed the bare skin with comforting circles as he pressed kisses to her hair. "Hush, my love... my gentle soul. None of that matters. What matters is you and I, our bond, our love. Nothing and no one can ever change that." His voice was a warm blanket, wrapping around her and keeping the chill of doubt at bay.

Harry could feel her frame shaking slightly, not from cold but from the emotional turmoil she had endured today trying to release itself. It infuriated him that anyone had made his angel of a mate feel this way, but he focused on soothing her instead of hunting down the culprits immediately. If this had been before she had worked her magic on him, any other true problem, he would have snapped. Attacked. But his priorities had shifted. "Blossom..." He murmured, his voice low and rumbling, "Look at me, please."

Slowly, she lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as they met his gaze. The sight of her grief pierced his heart like a dagger, his instincts yet again screaming at him to eliminate whatever had caused her distress. But he swallowed his fury, choosing instead to drink in the beauty of her vulnerable expression. "There she is," he whispered, thumb gently wiping away a stray tear that dared to trickle down her soft cheek. "My fierce, tender flower."

He pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her jawline, and finally her lips- each one a silent promise of his unwavering love and protection. His touch was worship, as if he were praising every contour of her face with his lips. Perhaps he was. It’s what an angelic being like her deserved. Too fucking sweet for the likes of the beasts that tried to steal that sweetness from her. It belonged to him. She belonged to him as he belonged to her, and that was going to be made very clear. Between each kiss, he murmured soothing words against her skin, peppering his own affection in the ways he knew how. How she’d taught him. "You're perfect. Made of the stars. Brave. Mine. Always mine." His hands cradled her face, his calloused thumbs caressing her smooth skin in a soothing rhythm.

He loved her with a power that had previously been unknown to him- and now that he was more than familiar with it? The people who had made her question it were going to find out.

——

When Harry walked into the training ground, they knew immediately. It was a change in the air, like the birds stilling in the trees. Nature knew he was angry. With his broad shoulders back and his expression like stone, it was hard to miss. The harsh lines of his face were accentuated by his jaw ticking slightly. His eyes were dark, almost black, his entire body language screamed "danger". He was silent, deadly, and someone was in for it. No one spoke as he entered, the wolves freezing mid-training. They knew that look.

Each step echoed off of the trees deliberately, measured, as he approached the front of the training grounds. His presence was a storm front, cold and heavy enough that the other wolves began to shift nervously. He didn't need to bark orders, didn't need to raise his voice. The pure menace rolling off him in waves was more than enough. "Who was speaking about my mate?" His voice was quiet in volume, but it cut through the air like a blade.

The group exchanged uneasy looks. None wanted to be the one to answer. They had seen Harry lose his shit before, but never like this. Never so controlled. So dangerously still. It was silent for a while, looks nervously thrown to one another. They knew what he was talking about, but no one wanted to speak out. Not when he looked that angry. It took a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before one of the bravest, or perhaps dumbest, Grace, stepped forward slightly. "Alpha?" She tested the waters carefully. "We were- it was just chatting shit. Teasing. You know how it goes." She tried to laugh it off, but it fell flat. Nothing about this was a joking matter. Multiple people winced at her attempt to try and be casual with the Alpha, but there was nothing they could do.

The forest seemed to echo the unnatural silence as Harry's eyes snapped to her. "So you think she's not good enough?" His voice was deadly soft, head tilting slightly. "You think you have the right to question her worth? To question our bond?" He took a step closer to Grace, towering over her. Not just in physical presence, but in power. His eyes flashed with a primal fury that made her take a step back. "She's the heart of this pack. The very air that we breathe. And you dare to speak ill of her?" His voice rose, reverbing through the trees. "I should rip out your throat for even thinking such things, let alone trying to speak them out loud. Cut out your tongue. I thought you would be able to put pathetic jealousy to the side and embrace having a pack mother, but I overestimated some of you." The other wolves shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in the ground. They knew he was correct. His anger wasn’t misplaced. No alpha took well to their mates being threatened.

"I should line you up and demand the names of anyone whose goal was to make my mate upset. Make you suffer the same amount of days as the tears I’ve cleansed her face of. It’s what anyone deserved after disrespecting not only the pack mother, but the alpha himself. Any disrespect on her is a disrespect to me.” His snarl was deep as he watched them flinch. It pleased him, in a sick way. They should be scared to upset her.

“I think you all have gotten a bit too comfortable with her kindness. I am not as kind as her. I have a penchant for revenge and you all know how I handle that in this pack. I should kill you all for trying to place doubt on my soul tie.” He said after a long moment, his snarling voice returning to that deadly calm. "But I won't. Because she asked me not to. My mate is kind, forgiving. Things I am not. She thinks you're misguided, not malicious."

He looked out at the group, his gaze icy and unforgiving. "But let me make one thing clear. If I ever hear such talk again, if I ever sense even a hint of disrespect towards my mate, the matriarch of this god damn pack? There will be consequences." He paused, letting his words sink in. There was no denying that Harry would make good on his word. He always did.

Harry took one last glance around the circle of startled wolves, ensuring his message had sunk in thoroughly. His stance remained rigid, hands clenched at his sides as he battled the lingering urge to discipline physically, let out the anger. But for his mate's sake, he restrained himself. She was asleep in their bed with swollen eyes, and that simply wouldn’t do. Getting back to her was the priority. "Understood?" He growled, awaiting their confirmation with barely concealed impatience. The weight of his gaze pressed down on them, demanding verbal acknowledgment of the unspoken rules he'd just laid out.

The chorus of “Yes, Alpha.” Wasn’t good enough for his wolf- but it would do for now.

——

As Harry slipped back into their shared room, he moved with a practiced quiet, not wanting to disturb his sleeping mate. The soft moonlight filtering through the closed sheer curtains illuminated her peaceful form, curled up beneath the blankets like a little lump. Her body was turned away from the door, one of his pillows between her arms as she snoozed- most likely to get his scent close. He shouldn’t have had to leave her at all so she had the scent from the source, but it had been a necessary sacrifice.

Quickly shedding his clothes, the fabric rustled softly in the still room as he kicked it to the side. The laundry basket would have to wait for tomorrow. With no shame of his nudity he carefully climbed into bed beside her, slipping under the blankets to share his body heat with her. He inched closer, his larger frame spooning around her smaller one as he placed a few kisses to her bare shoulder.

Rubbing his nose into the crook of her neck, the man took a deep inhale of the purest source of her. The familiar sweet scent of honey and jasmine soothed his frayed nerves, undoing some of the tension that had his bones creaking. There was no cure like the feeling of the one person in the world that was hand plucked by the goddess herself. Nothing could compare. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest as his hand rested over her soft stomach. Even in sleep, she let out a content sigh and wiggled back against him, seeking out his warmth. His hardness pressed against her backside, but he ignored it for now. This moment was about comfort, not lust.

“Where were you?” Well… with her not as asleep as he thought, he let out a hum as he inhaled her scent again. Y/N was sleepy, sure, but her hands rested over his own rubbing over the backs of them, over his knuckles and fingers.

"Training grounds." He murmured lowly, exhaustion in his voice. He knew she was checking his hands for bruises, for cuts, his knuckles for any splits. She always did that when he was gone too long. He loved that she worried about him, that she checked his body for damage- but he had promised not to lose his temper and torture anyone in her name tonight. He had made good on that promise- even when it was extremely hard. "Why are y’up?" He called softly. "Are you alright?"

“I’m alright, my Moon.” She nodded, leaning back into him. “I just can not manage to sleep well when you aren’t in the bed with me. Especially when I don’t know wherever it is you’ve run off to. Sneaky”

"Mmhmm." He hummed skeptically, pulling her into him. He knew she wasn't sleeping well without him, but he had to handle it soon or he would go crazy letting he anger fester. "M’sorry, my petal. I had to make sure they knew you were to be respected. That is all." He asked, his voice low as he felt her fingers splaying over his knuckles again, searching for any signs of injury as she was given the other one.

"Stop worrying about my hands, love." He murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple as he interlaced his fingers with hers deliberately, halting her inspection. "They're fine. I kept my word, didn't fight anyone." He reiterated softly, squeezing her hand gently to reassure her. His breath tickled her ear as he nestled closer, feeling himself settle a little bit. This was the meaning of life, he was pretty positive. To be laid up in bed with the love of his life. To protect her and keep her happy. All of those things felt like the best thing to do.

She let out a content sigh, her body melting into his as she squeezed their intertwined fingers. The relief was palpable, her shoulders sagging slightly as the tension drained from her muscles. "Thank you, Harry." She whispered, her voice thick with both the interrupted sleep and multitude of emotions. "I know it's hard for you to hold back, especially when it comes to protecting me. But... thank you for keeping your promise."

"For you? Anything." The Alpha mumbled into her hair. The way she trusted him, even when he was clearly wound up... it meant everything. "Go back to sleep, beautiful Blossom." He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Need your sleep." But he didn't move away yet.

Unable to ignore the hardness pressing insistently against her ass cheeks, Y/N squirmed, grinding back against him. Sleep was not on her mind now that he had come back. The breathy little moan that escaped her lips betrayed her body's awakening desires, even if her mind was still fuzzy with sleep. Harry growled softly into her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he stiffened further against her. "Sleeping beauty," he murmured huskily, "don't wiggle your perfect little ass like that unless you want me to do something about it."

She needed the sleep, sure, but if she tempted him… Harry would give her what she needed. What she deserved. His body was hers in whatever way she needed it. The erection was a natural reaction to being so close to her own naked body, but he knew that if she continued he would have little time before he lost restraint and pushed into her plush little cunt.

He waited for her response. Would she go back to sleep like an angel? Or would she grind against him again, seeking out friction? His body was tense, his length throbbing against her backside. If she gave one little hitch of her hips, he would spread those lush thighs apart and slip inside. He was an Alpha, he had a lot of repressed feelings from today and he hasn’t been able to completely release them yet. He was already hanging by a thread. The fact she was naked and his body was wrapped around her wasn't helping any bit of self control he had.

As she remained still for a few moments, he let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest. But then, without warning, she gave a subtle shift of her hips, rubbing her ass against his cock- and what was left of Harry's control snapped like a twig. He groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he pushed her thighs apart and notched his head against her entrance. "Fuck, baby..." He hissed, feeling how sweet and sticky she was. Her cunt was always perfect but he especially appreciated it today. Slick, like she had been waiting for this exact thing. Always waiting for his cock. “S’good. Good little pussy…” The words were slurred against her throat, holding her still as he pushed the thick tip further into her.

Her lips parted in a silent gasp as he entered her, back arching slightly from the sudden- but welcomed- intrusion. Though they'd made love countless times, the sheer size of him never failed to take her breath away. One of her hands went for his wrist, nails digging in as she anchored herself. A whimper escaped her, muffled against the pillow as he buried himself deeper. The feeling of him inside of her was more satisfying than anything else she had experienced- Having her mate so close to her was a dream. She felt her inner walls flutter around him, welcoming him home.

Her reaction spurred him on, his hips starting to move in a slow, deep rhythm. Each thrust was measured, designed to make her feel as good as possible. It was all instinct at this point, knowing exactly how she liked it because they were designed in the stars to compliment each other. His forehead pressed against her shoulder, breath coming in short pants as he focused on the feeling of her wrapped around snugly him. "So fucking tight." He groaned, his fingers flexing on her soft skin. "Missed this. Missed you. Missed being inside my girl..." It didn’t matter if he had fucked her awake this morning, it was never enough. “So good.” His voice was ragged, filled with hints of that primal need that had been clawing at him all day long.

"Sweetest flower..." The Alpha breathed against her ear, thrusting slower but deeper. Each careful push hitting that spot inside her that made her mewl. His free hand slid down to toy with her clit, knowing exactly how sensitive she was there, feeling her tighten up around him as he found the swollen little thing. Her slick coated both his cock and fingers, the sound of their fucking filling the quiet room. "Feel how perfectly you take me? You were made just for me..." His teeth nipped at her neck, holding her in place while he continued to worship her body. “This pussy was made t’take this cock all the way in.”

"Harry..." She panted, her voice going up an octave. He knew that voice. Knew that she was getting there. Knew that she was loving how he filled her up. Her inner muscles tightened around his length, sucking him deeper.

"Mmhmm?" He hummed, his fingers swirling around her clit faster. He knew her body better than she knew herself sometimes. Like how she liked to be touched. Like how she liked to be kissed. Like how she liked to be stretched around him. He could hear it in her voice every single time, the slight hitching, the way she was panting his name. He knew she was begging without actually begging.

"You need something, petal?" He growled, his fingers pausing their swirling motion. "You need me deeper? Harder? More?" He flexed his hips experimentally, pushing a little deeper inside her. "You need me to mark you up again?" He licked over the side her neck, inhaling her scent deeply as it got thicker, sweeter with the arousal she leaked all over him.

The reaction was obvious to him as she clenched up around his cock, letting out a keening little whine. She wanted to be marked up, to be bitten again. Nothing would compare to the bond mark she had, but she loved the snap of pain. More marks and bruises on her to show how well loved and fucked she was. Just because she was sensitive and sweet didn’t mean she wasn’t just as jealous and possessive as her mate.

Harry's response was immediate, his teeth sinking into the tender skin of her neck. He held her in place with his arm wrapped around her waist, his other hand gripping her hip as he fucked her harder, deeper. The bite was hard enough to leave a mark, his canines piercing her skin as he claimed her once more. "Mine. My perfect Blossom… All I ever need." The growl of his voice vibrated against her neck, hot breath panting against her. "Always mine." He sucked at the mark, his tongue soothing the bite before he bit her again, this time on the other side of her neck.

"F-Fuck..." She whimpered, the sharp stings of his bites making her clench around his cock with such intensity that he could barely hold himself back. She melted into him completely, one hand reaching up to grip his hair, nails digging into his scalp, pulling him closer. "Harry- I love you." The words were panted out as her hips moved with his rhythm, meeting each thrust desperately.

"Love you too, baby. So much." He kissed the marks, his hips snapping forward and back at a bruising pace. "Gonna fill you up, mark you inside and out." His fingers found her clit again, pinching and rolling the sensitive nub as he fucked her towards her building orgasm. "Cum f’me, Blossom. Squeeze my dick with that sweet little cunt. Show me who it belongs to." The order was low and commanding, his teeth nipping at her earlobe.

The sound of their flesh meeting filled the room along with her breathy moans and his gravelly growls. Every stroke of his cock felt like heaven, stretching and filling her completely. It was the way it was supposed to be, having him keep her full. His tongue grazed her new marks occasionally, sending jolts of pleasure and pain through her body.

His movements became more insistent, his cock swelling slightly. "Need your tight little pussy to milk me." His hand moved from her clit down to rub against the sensitive spot where they joined, feeling where his cock was stretching her open, where his knot had begun to slowly swell. "Need me to breed you deep and keep you filled?" His voice was raw with desire, knowing exactly what she craved. It’s precisely what she always wanted. His girl always wanted it, craved it just as much as he did.

"Mhm." She pushed back against him, taking him deeper. "Your knot, Harry..." She whined softly, spreading her thighs wider for him. "Want it inside me..." Her hips rolled back to meet his thrusts, her hole fluttering around him already. "Fill me up." She loved his knot. Loved how it stretched her out, how it locked them together, kept him as deep as he could get. It was possessive and dirty and she really, really loved it. “Harry-“ She moaned softly. “Want to be full of you. Please?”

"Fuck, my heart..." He groaned, his knot swelling larger as he fucked her with growing desperation. "Gonna lock you up with my knot. Give you what y’want." His voice was strained, words slipping off his tongue as he had no filter when he was inside of her. "Gonna make you cum on my dick, milk my knot. I'll keep you full of me all night. S’what you deserve." The thought of it was too much, his control snapping as he felt her slicked up pussy starting to convulse around him.

His knot swelled, thick and ready to take her as it pressed against her tight hole. Holding himself there for a moment, he savored the feeling of her, of her cunt trying to milk him for all he was worth- but he didn’t want to hold it from her any longer. With a grunt, he pushed forward, his knot seating itself inside her with a soft pop. He was trapped, locked inside her, unable to pull out even if he wanted to. And he never wanted to. He wanted to stay buried inside her, keeping her full and satisfied as he got to stay warm.

As his knot sealed them together, Y/N's orgasm crashed over her, her pussy clamping down around him like a vice as she let out a high pitched whine. "Fuck yes, cum on me. Give it all to me, my love." Harry groaned, grinding into her. He could feel her pulsing around him as he emptied himself deep inside her, marking her as thoroughly as possible. Each twitch of his cock sent another spurt of his seed flooding her, his hips making shallow grinding motions, ensuring every last drop stayed buried within her.

"Gods, you're the most beautiful thing to walk this plane of existence." He murmured, his lips finding her shoulder as his hips moved slowly, working them through it. "Look at you taking everything I give you...The most incredible woman alive. You are what I live for." Petting her hair back softly, his voice dropping lower as he felt her body relax around his knot. "Best I've ever had. You ruin me. I never want anything else."

She let out a soft little mewl, feeling the pulses of him emptying every drop in her. Intimacy like this was something she had never even fathomed, but it was everything needed. "Harry. My love." His name was like a purr, her body languid and happy. "You make me feel incredible. Always so sweet." Her voice was dreamy as she sunk into his embrace. "You know how to make me feel loved..." He made love to her body and her mind each and every time. I was impossible to not feel the adoration pouring off of him. "You always protect me. You are the best Alpha.” Turning her head, she met his eyes. “Kiss me, please.”

A soft, adoring smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he shifted slightly to catch her lips in a tender kiss. One hand remained possessively on her hip while the other caressed her face. "How could I not protect my perfect mate? My everything?" He murmured against her lips before deepening the kiss, showing her exactly how much she meant. If he could figure out a way to hang the stars in an order she found pleasing, he would do so. He would rearrange the hours in a day if he had the power. Never in his life had he found a motivator like she had become for him. He would change the entire world just to see the ghost of a smile on her perfect lips. He would move mountains, shift tectonic plates, and rewrite the laws of physics if it meant seeing her happy. "You are my reason, Blossom." He whispered against her lips, his voice filled with an overwhelming amount of love and devotion. "My reason for breathing, for living, for being. You own all of my love.”

#jarofstyles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #alpha harry #alpha!harry #werewolf harry styles #werewolf!harry #harry styles one shots #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #Harry fluff #Harry angst

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wendichester · 4 months ago

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hi! I was thinking if you could write something kinda angst??? where reader have been acting kinda strange and having those little moments where she looks sick, and then she tells dean she's pregnant ! how you think he is going to take it?

Or maybe secret baby ! dean and reader see eachother again after a little bit more than a yer and she's with a pretty baby that looks like him !

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ not ready yet,

summary. you've been keeping your pregnancy from dean and he doesn't take it well.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 681

notes. i do feel like his initial response would be flight--too scared that he'd turn out like john, that we'd mess you and the baby up. though he would eventually get his head straight and come running back, wanting to do this with you. thanks for the request, love! 🩷

Dean Winchester knows when something’s wrong.

You’ve been acting off for weeks now—ducking out of conversations, getting quiet when Sam asks how you’re doing, disappearing to the bathroom for longer than usual. And the worst part? You won’t tell him what’s going on. It’s eating him alive.

So, when you sit him down in the motel room with that look—wide-eyed and scared, your fingers twisted together like you’re holding yourself together—it feels like a punch in the gut before you’ve even said a word.

“Alright,” Dean says, leaning back against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, his jaw tight. “What’s going on? You’ve been weird for weeks.”

You flinch at his tone, but you don’t blame him. He’s been patient, and you’ve been distant. Still, his frustration only makes the knot in your stomach tighten.

“I need to tell you something,” you start, your voice shaky.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dean snaps, and immediately regrets it when he sees the way your shoulders tense. He softens, exhaling through his nose. “Sorry. Just... talk to me, alright?”

You take a deep breath, trying to find the words, but they feel stuck. Heavy. Impossible.

“I’m pregnant.”

It comes out barely above a whisper, but it feels deafening in the silence that follows.

Dean blinks at you, his expression blank for a moment. And then he laughs—short, sharp, bitter. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” you say, your voice trembling. “I’m serious, Dean.”

He stares at you like you’ve just told him the world’s ending. “You’re serious,” he repeats, more to himself than to you. He rubs a hand down his face, pacing a few steps before stopping and turning back to you. “How the hell did this happen?”

You bristle at his tone. “You want me to explain the birds and the bees, Dean? Because I thought you had that part figured out.”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, his voice rising. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this a joke.”

“I’m not joking!” you snap back, standing up now, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I planned this? Because I didn’t. I didn’t ask for this, Dean.”

“And you think I did?” Dean fires back, his voice breaking. “We’re hunters, for God’s sake! We don’t get white picket fences and diaper changes. This isn’t our life!”

“I know that!” you shout, tears stinging your eyes. “But it’s happening, Dean. Whether you want it or not, it’s happening.”

The room falls into a tense, suffocating silence. Dean looks away, his hands on his hips, his head tilted back like he’s trying to find some kind of answer on the ceiling.

“I can’t do this,” he finally says, his voice barely audible.

The words hit you like a slap, and your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

“I can’t...” Dean shakes his head, his voice rough. “I’m not... I’m not built for this. I’ll screw it up. I’ll screw you up. I can’t—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, your voice breaking. “Just stop. If you don’t want to do this, fine. But don’t stand there and act like you’re protecting me by walking away. You’re just running, Dean. Like you always do.”

His head snaps back to you, hurt flashing in his eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is this,” you say, tears spilling over now. “But I don’t get to run. I don’t get to walk away from this. So, if you can’t handle it, just say that and go.”

Dean stares at you, his jaw working like he’s trying to say something, but nothing comes out. Finally, he shakes his head and storms out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

The silence he leaves behind feels heavier than any words he could’ve said.

You sink back onto the bed, your hands trembling as you press them to your stomach. You’re not sure if you’re more angry or heartbroken, but it doesn’t matter. All you know is that you’re doing this alone.

⋆˚࿔ read part 2

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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headedoutleft · 2 months ago

Text

i think the cat put it there tbh, i can think of no other explanation!! he’s a little rambunctious hunter, so i can see him thinking a scorpion is fun to play with, but it’s especially funny that he just dropped it in his litter box and trapped it there

there was a scorpion in the cat’s litter box in the garage this morning

#luckily we don’t have any scorpions that are super dangerous #but it would probably feel like a bee or wasp sting #he seems fine so i don’t think it got him!#.txt

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wosospacegirl · 1 month ago

Text

And they were roommates... and so much more - (Final)

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate, Kyra, is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: (+18) SMUT: Strap (Y/n giving), oral (receiving), welcome parties, Y/n stepping back onto the pitch after months away, and hard launches — because they’re just roommates, right?

Word count: 7.2k

a/n: Thank you so much to everyone who stuck around. This was my first big fic, and I appreciate every single person who read it and followed the story of these two <3

Masterlist, and you can read Part 1 here

Y/n got better at walking with each passing day.

Her gait still carried the ghost of a limp, small, uneven steps that showed up when she was tired or when the weather turned a little colder.

But most days now, she walked with confidence. She could carry her own bag again, haul groceries without cursing, and even do some light leg workouts in the gym.

The brace was gone, and with it, a layer of hesitation.

So when Kyra asked–gently, without pressure–if she wanted to go watch Arsenal’s next home game, Y/n had surprised both of them.

“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go.”

It wasn’t like she hadn’t missed it.

The smell of the pitch, the sound of the crowd, the way the stadium lit up when Leah went in for a crunching tackle or Lotte’s passes cut the midfield open like a knife.

But Y/n had made a promise to herself early on in her recovery: She wouldn’t set foot in a stadium until she could walk properly. If she couldn’t play, she didn’t want to be near the pitch.

But now? Now it was different.

She was allowed to run a little, although her leg still ached sometimes, especially at night. But she was upright. She was strong. And when she walked into the Emirates—hand brushing against Kyra’s, foot steady under her—she felt something shift in her chest.

This time, it didn’t sting to be there.

It felt good. It felt right.

The team spotted her immediately, even from across the pitch. There were waves, grins, and someone, probably Beth, shouted, “Oi, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence!”

Y/n rolled her eyes and flipped her off playfully, but the smile stayed on her face.

She sat in the front row of the family area, alongside the family members of some of the girls. She was wrapped in an Arsenal scarf some fan had tossed at her, and for the first time in months, she didn’t feel like an outsider looking in.

She felt like part of it again. Even if she wasn't playing yet, she still felt like a Gunner.

The media area buzzed before kickoff, reporters and cameras clustered like bees, especially because it was a big game for Arsenal and the first time Y/n appeared in a game since her injury, almost seven months ago.

Y/n had done this a hundred times before, but this time it felt different. She wasn’t here to play—just to support. Still, Arsenal's comms team had asked if she would do a short pre-game interview. Get the fans hyped. Reassure everyone she was doing okay, since she pretty much disappeared for a long period of time.

They joked that Y/n should do a “Proof of life”, which Y/n agreed to.

The journalist smiled as she stepped up, mic ready. “Y/n, it’s been a while! Good to see you back at the stadium.”

Y/n nodded, casual but warm. “Yeah, it’s good to be back. It’s been a long few months.”

“How’s recovery going?”

“It was rough for a while, not gonna lie,” she said, scratching at the back of her neck. “But I’ve had a lot of support from the club, the team, and friends. I’m doing well now. Walking better, even starting some leg work at the gym.”

“That’s great to hear,” the journalist said, then leaned in slightly, tone suddenly more curious. “We’ve also noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with one of your teammates... Kyra Cooney-Cross?”

Y/n blinked once, then twice, eyebrows twitching. “Oh…yeah,” she said, letting out a laugh that came out a little too awkward. “She’s… a great teammate.”

The interviewer smirked like they knew exactly what they were doing. “Just a teammate?”

Y/n shrugged, playing it cool. “We live together. She’s been helping a lot during recovery. That’s all.”

Hours later, after the final whistle had blown and the crowd began to thin, the same journalist stood in front of Kyra.

She had sweat still clinging to her forehead as she stood in front of a different camera crew. Her cheeks were flushed from the game, her energy still buzzing.

“Big win tonight. The midfield looked sharp—you, Little and Walti were everywhere.”

Kyra grinned, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, we’ve been working hard. Felt good.”

“And there’s been some talk lately, your teammate Y/n was here today. Good to see her walking again.”

The smile on Kyra’s face softened immediately, her voice dropping into something tender without missing a beat.

“Yeah. My girlfriend’s getting better every day. She’s worked so hard. I’m proud of her.”

The interviewer blinked—definitely not expecting that level of clarity, especially after Y/n’s “we’re roommates” deflection earlier.

Kyra had spotted Y/n in the crowd during warmups, scarf bundled around her neck, legs curled up like always earlier that day. Her heart had swelled a bit. Watching her walk into the stadium again had meant more than she could say.

So when the reporter mentioned Y/n, she didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.

Kyra didn’t care. Let them blink. Let them tweet it.

She meant every word.

That night, back at home, Y/n was curled up on the couch in sweatpants and a hoodie, Footy asleep in her lap. She had the post-match broadcast playing in the background while Kyra moved around the kitchen.

She wasn’t even paying full attention—until she heard her own name.

“Yeah. My girlfriend’s getting better every day.” Kyra said on the TV.

Y/n blinked. Sat up.

“What the hell?” she mumbled, turning the volume up.

Kyra peeked in from the kitchen, holding a bag of popcorn. “What?”

Y/n turned toward her, eyes wide. “You—did you say girlfriend on live TV?”

Kyra set the popcorn down, looking entirely unbothered. “You called me your teammate.”

Y/n spluttered. “I wasn’t lying! I was being subtle. We’re not out-out—we’re still lowkey, remember?”

Kyra put her hands on her hips. “I met your mum last week. We have a cat together. You stole my hoodies, and we sleep in the same bed every night.”

Y/n crossed her arms. “Okay, but you didn’t have to broadcast it.”

Kyra grinned and flopped onto the sofa beside her. “Too late. The world knows now.”

Footy let out a dramatic sigh, which somehow made it worse.

Y/n groaned again and let her head fall back against the couch. “I can’t believe I said teammate. I sounded like such a liar.”

Kyra, perched beside her with one knee tucked under her, just smirked and tilted her head. “Mmm. Do you kiss your teammates, too?”

Y/n opened her mouth, about to respond—then promptly shut it when Kyra leaned in and kissed her neck, slowly, right below her jaw.

Kyra’s voice was teasing, close and smug as ever. “Because if you do, I think we need to have a very serious conversation about that.”

Y/n stiffened for a second, trying so hard not to react, but her ears flushed bright pink.

“You’re so annoying,” she muttered, but her voice wavered.

Kyra kissed her neck again, grinning. “Teammates, huh?”

“Okay, okay,” Y/n muttered, swatting at her weakly but making no move to escape. “Fine. Girlfriend. You’re my girlfriend. Happy now?”

Kyra nuzzled into her neck. “Very.”

Footy meowed loudly from the end of the sofa like he was sick of the PDA.

Y/n huffed a laugh. “Even the cat thinks you’re too smug.”

Kyra just smiled into her skin, arms wrapping around her waist. “Let him judge. I got upgraded from teammate to girlfriend, apparently, I’m winning.”

Y/n chuckled, her fingers brushing through Kyra’s hair, a light shiver running through her at the soft contact. As much as she loved the quiet, hidden moments between them, something about this felt... different.More real.

She had spent so much time protecting the space they shared, but a part of her wanted to shout it from the rooftops, to stop pretending like it was a secret. She had no problem being open with her feelings, but it had always been easier to keep things between them private, just a few stolen moments.

Yet now, after Kyra’s comment, Y/n found herself thinking maybe it was time to share a little more.

It started with a casual post.

At least, that’s what Y/n claimed as she lounged on the couch, scrolling through her camera roll with one leg draped over Kyra’s lap.

“I’m gonna post a pic of us,” she announced, not looking up from her phone.

Kyra, sitting cross-legged and playing with the string on Y/n’s hoodie, tilted her head. “Okaaay,” she said slowly. “Like… us us? Or ‘look at us, the best of teammates’ us?”

“Us like... us. Normal us,” Y/n mumbled.

“Are you putting a lot of heart emojis?”

“No.”

“Your loss.” Kyra shrugged, smirking.

The picture wasn’t even new.

They’d gone out for lunch after a long morning—Kyra training, Y/n doing rehab and sneaking in extra leg presses when no one was watching.

The photo had been taken outside a small café. Kyra had her sunglasses perched low on her nose like she was trying to go incognito, despite the fact she kept grinning like a smug little shit.

Y/n took the photo because it was funny: her pretending to roll her eyes, Kyra leaning in way too close, looking like she was about to whisper something stupid in her ear. It was domestic. Cute

“So you’re posting it now?” Kyra asked, eyes still glued to the string, now wrapping it around her fingers.

“Yup,” Y/n said, typing out the caption with a smirk.

She hit share.

Caption: tough training, harder launch😵‍💫 shoutout to the best teammate ever 💪 @kyracooneycross

Sarcastic? Obviously. A little baiting? Sure. She thought she was being subtle.

Kyra did not.

A beat of silence.

Kyra’s fingers moved way too fast. Y/n narrowed her eyes. “What are you—”

Kyra turned her phone around, showing her comment.

Kyra commented: teammates ❤️ great workout last night btw, very productive 🔥

Y/n stared at her phone.

She stared at the comment. Then at Kyra. Then back to the phone. “Kyra.”

Kyra was so pleased with herself.

“What?” she said, all innocent as she leaned in and kissed Y/n on the cheek. “Just giving credit where credit’s due. You were very focused.”

Y/n groaned. Loudly.

“Girl. You can’t just—now everyone thinks we…” She gestured vaguely, like the chaos of the comments would explain itself.

Kyra shrugged, entirely too smug. “We do.”

“That is not the point!”

Kyra just grinned, walking over and stealing Y/n’s phone. “Relax. I’ll comment on something wholesome next time. Like... ‘great midfield chemistry.’”

Y/n just stared at her deadpan, she didn’t even need to say anything

Kyra’s smirk only deepened. She leaned in, kissing Y/n on the nose, her voice going soft and affectionate. “Chill.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but her lips curled upward despite herself. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to be mad,” she said, finally leaning back and sinking into the couch.

Kyra, sensing the perfect opportunity, perched on the arm of the couch. “I can help you relax, you know.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced up from her phone, the corner of her lips twitching in a knowing smirk.

"You know what would help me relax?"

Kyra’s gaze shifted, eyes flashing with curiosity. "What?" she asked, voice light but with a hint of intrigue.

Y/n didn’t hesitate for a second.

The words came out with an ease that matched the teasing glint in her eyes. “You. On your knees. Now”

Kyra’s breath hitched, her eyebrows rising in surprise. She blinked, then smirked, not expecting that kind of direct response from Y/n. Her playful demeanour flickered for a moment, a silent question in her gaze, but she didn’t back down.

"Well, that’s... a pretty bold request," Kyra said, leaning in slightly, her voice lowered to a sultry hum. She was used to Y/n’s wit, but this was a different game. “What makes you think I’ll just listen?”

Y/n leaned back into the couch, eyes never leaving Kyra’s.

"Because, Kyra, you know exactly how much I like you... following directions," she teased, letting her words hang in the air, heavy with the unspoken challenge.

Kyra’s lips quivered, a glint of amusement and something more mischievous in her eyes.

“You think I’m just going to drop everything and do whatever you want? You’re not the boss of me,” she shot back, but there was no denying the heat rising in her expression.

Y/n’s grin grew. "Well, in this moment, maybe I am," she murmured, voice dipping with a touch of teasing dominance. She let her fingers trail slowly down her phone, her gaze shifting back to Kyra.

Kyra hesitated for just a second, her smirk never fading, but her body was already betraying her. She couldn’t help but feel that familiar pull toward Y/n. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way she said them, the way she carried herself, daring Kyra to take control... or let go.

"Fine," Kyra said, voice low, her breath catching slightly. "If that’s what you want."

Y/n didn’t move right away. She watched Kyra with a lazy kind of hunger.

The air between them thickened.

Kyra stood in front of her now, waiting. Her hands rested loosely at her sides, but her posture wasn’t casual. She was poised, like she was waiting for something.

A cue. A touch. A command.

Y/n tilted her head, her smile slow and deliberate. “You want a reminder?”

Kyra’s breath caught again, but she nodded, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

Y/n set her phone aside without looking, the motion fluid and deliberate. Then she leaned forward, just enough for her fingers to graze the hem of Kyra’s shirt.

“Come here,” she said softly.

Kyra stepped closer, and that was all it took. Y/n’s hands slid beneath the fabric, warm palms gliding up her sides. Not rushed. Just enough pressure to make Kyra exhale sharply.

“You act so smug,” Y/n murmured, voice low and teasing as she trailed her fingers upward, “but you love this. Don’t you?”

Kyra didn’t answer—not with words. Her hands found Y/n’s shoulders, then her jaw, her grip gentle but anchoring. Her gaze flicked down to Y/n’s mouth and stayed there, her breath shallow now.

Y/n leaned in, lips brushing Kyra’s neck—not kissing, just close enough to feel the heat of her pulse.

“You love it when I tell you what to do,” she whispered, the words barely audible. “When I make it easy for you to stop thinking.”

“You’re so cocky,” Kyra murmured.

“And you’re stalling,” Y/n replied.

There was a beat of loaded silence.

Then Kyra sank to her knees.

Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just smooth, controlled movement as she knelt between Y/n’s legs and rested her hands on her thighs, looking up with a gaze that was equal parts reverent and defiant.

Y/n’s breath stuttered—just for a second.

Kyra leaned forward, resting her cheek against Y/n’s inner thigh, eyes closed like she was soaking in the heat between them. The reverence in her touch was quiet but unmistakable.

Y/n's hand found Kyra's hair, fingers tangling gently. “Good girl,” she murmured, the words slipping out like a reward.

And that was the last thing either of them said for a while.

Kyra moved with quiet purpose, sliding Y/n’s pants down with careful fingers, never breaking the electric thread between them. Y/n watched her through half-lidded eyes, gaze heavy with hunger—but it was still her in control.

“I want you to take your time,” she said, voice steady, almost calm as her thumb brushed softly across Kyra’s cheek. “Slow. No rushing. Understand?”

Kyra’s eyes flicked up, wide and obedient. She nodded once.

“Good,” Y/n whispered. “Go on.”

She shifted slightly, spreading her legs in invitation, showing her cunt to Kyra. Kyra's lips parted in a small, reverent smile before she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss where Y/n was warm and waiting. Then another, lower. Then one to the inside of her thigh, featherlight and patient.

She wasn’t teasing, just attentive. Present. Devoted.

Y/n let her head fall back with a sigh, her fingers threading deeper into Kyra’s hair. “Just like that,” she breathed, voice already beginning to blur at the edges.

Kyra found the rhythm quickly, steady and unhurried, every motion deliberate. She moved like she had all the time in the world, like nothing else existed except Y/n and the sound of her quiet, growing need.

Y/n tried to stay composed, she always did, but Kyra had a way of unravelling her slowly, with precision. It wasn’t just pleasure—it was surrender, wrapped in control. A power exchange spoken in silence.

And Kyra, still on her knees, didn’t dare speed up.

Not until Y/n told her to.

Double dates with Leah and Alessia became a regular thing, with the four of them laughing over dinner or walking through the park with Footy tagging along.

Double dates were great, but they only lasted for a few hours, because, of course, Leah and Y/n were at each other's throats if they spent too much time together.

It was a perfect Saturday morning–no training, no matches, just a relaxing run with the team. The four of them jogged through the park, Footy bounding ahead, his little legs working overtime to keep up with the humans.

The sun was shining, and the weather was just cool enough to make the run enjoyable, not a chore.

Kyra and Alessia were chatting easily, running side by side, while Leah and Y/n kept a slightly more competitive pace, naturally drifting apart just enough that their mutual need to one-up each other wasn’t so obvious.

At first, it was just casual—just a run, no competition.

But then Leah picked up her pace a little. Nothing crazy—just a little faster. And Y/n, of course, felt the challenge flicker to life in her chest.

“You picking up the pace?” Y/n asked casually, doing her best to keep it cool, even though her legs itched to go faster.

Leah shot her a side-eye, keeping her breathing steady. “I’m just running my own race,” she said, her voice smooth, but the little smirk tugging at her lips said otherwise.

Y/n huffed, her competitive streak rising to the surface. “Uh-huh. I see how it is.”

Not wanting to let Leah outpace her without any sort of retaliation, Y/n subtly picked up her speed too, like it was no big deal, as if she wasn’t already trying to prove something.

She glanced sideways at Leah, her pace matching now.

Kyra and Alessia, who had been casually talking behind them, exchanged a look. Alessia raised an eyebrow, her pace slowing ever so slightly to keep an eye on the two competitors ahead.

Kyra, clearly recognising the signs, sighed dramatically. “Here we go again,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Yep,” Alessia said, voice tinged with amusement. “Every time. It’s a miracle they haven’t collapsed yet.”

Y/n and Leah kept it casual, but it was clear they were both pushing it a little more than necessary. Neither one wanted to be the first to admit they were secretly trying to outdo the other.

Leah shot a quick glance at Y/n, her breath steady. “What’s wrong, Y/n? Are you still in the race?”

“I’m just taking my time,” Y/n shot back, voice tight, but she started lengthening her strides just enough to keep up.

A moment of silence, and then Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. “Leah, stop! You know I can’t run faster than this!”

Leah, far too smug for Y/n’s liking, glanced over.

“Oh, really?” She grinned, pushing her pace a little more. “So it means I’m the winner then.”

“Stop bullying me and my injury,” Y/n snapped, her voice louder than intended.

Kyra and Alessia both cracked up at the same time, as Y/n and Leah’s little competition reached full throttle.

“Y/n, you’re literally sprinting right now,” Kyra called out, clearly entertained. “You’re gonna overwork yourself.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Y/n grumbled, trying to act like she wasn’t out of breath. “It’s just that Leah is being a pain in my ass.”

Leah’s smug smile was starting to look like a challenge.

“Come on, you know you’ve got this,” she teased, completely ignoring how much faster she was running now.

“Oh my god,” Y/n muttered under her breath. “Leah, I swear, one of these days, you’re gonna—”

“Let’s just call it a tie, yeah?” Alessia shouted, clearly trying to defuse the competition before it turned into something more.

Kyra smirked. “Right, a tie, sure.”

Y/n shot her a look, still panting. “No, seriously. Leah, stop being that person.”

Leah laughed, pulling back a little, clearly satisfied with how much she’d gotten under Y/n’s skin. “Fine, fine. But I’m definitely faster.”

Y/n just glared, out of breath but secretly pleased that she’d pushed herself that hard. “Whatever,” she muttered. “I would win against an injured person, too.”

Kyra grinned, wrapping an arm around Y/n’s shoulders. “Yeah, you two are definitely a disaster when it comes to casual runs.”

They continued the run, with Footy racing ahead and the group falling into an easier pace, but everyone knew that the next time they ran together,

Leah and Y/n were going to push each other to the brink again.

It had been seven long months since the injury—the day Y/n had collapsed on the pitch, her world turned upside down with the snap of a ligament.

The road to recovery had been gruelling, filled with endless hours of rehab, frustration, and moments where it seemed like progress would never come. But today was different.

Today was her final test.

For weeks, she had been working toward this moment, each session with her physiotherapist building on the last.

Every stretch, every strengthening exercise, had been a step toward getting back to where she belonged. But this... this was the real test.

Running on the pitch, feeling the familiar burn in her legs, hearing the echo of her footsteps against the turf—it was the moment that would determine if all her hard work had paid off.

Her physiotherapist stood beside her, giving one last quick check. His hand was firm on her knee as he moved it through its range of motion, nodding in approval.

"Everything looks good. You’re cleared for the test," he said, his voice filled with the calm confidence that had kept her grounded through every tough moment.

Y/n’s heart rate picked up a little, but she forced herself to breathe through the nerves. She was ready. She had to be.

It wasn’t the first time Y/n had run since her injury—she’d been clocking laps on the treadmill and across the firm, rubberised track in the gym for weeks.

But the pitch was different.

The turf gave underfoot, the grass fibres bending before springing back, and every stride demanded a little more from her leg and knee. Today’s test wasn’t about speed or endurance—it was one simple question: Could she run on grass without pain?

If she could complete three full laps around the pitch, then she’d prove she was match-ready. No lingering twinges during the run, no ache settling in afterwards. Only then would the physiotherapist sign off, and Renée would slot her back into the lineup.

Y/n stood at the edge of the pitch, heart thumping as she eyed the first yard line. Kyra hovered beside her—equal parts excited and nervous—while Leah leaned casually against the railing, offering a steadying nod.

“Whenever you’re ready,” her physiotherapist said, voice calm but expectant.

“I think I’m ready,” Y/n said, her voice steady but laced with the smallest bit of nervousness.

"Go, Y/n," Kyra called out, her voice breaking through the tension in the air. "You’ve got this!"

Y/n inhaled deeply, planting her feet on the grass. It felt real in a way the gym or the park never did—alive and shifting beneath her. She flexed her toes, centred herself, then launched forward.

The first stride was tentative. A bit shaky, but as her body remembered the rhythm, she found herself gaining momentum.

Her legs moved fluidly, muscles working in harmony as she surged forward.

And then she did, she was running--just like she did before the injury.

The wind rushed past her, and the sound of her footsteps pounding on the turf was like music in her ears. The familiar burn in her lungs, the familiar stretch of her muscles—it felt so right.

Y/n grinned, her heart racing with the exhilaration of running again. The pitch, the one she had once taken for granted, felt like a second home.

From the sidelines, Kyra was cheering, her hands cupped around her mouth. “That’s my girl!” she shouted, her voice full of pride.

Leah’s smile softened as she watched, her eyes filled with quiet admiration. “Look at you,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Knew you’d get here.”

Y/n pushed herself harder, her body still shaking off the remnants of weakness, but every stride felt like victory.

She could feel it in her bones, that sense of triumph, that this was what she had been fighting for.

She finished her lap, her breath coming in heavy but steady gasps, a wide smile plastered on her face. She had done it. She was back.

The moment she stopped, Kyra rushed over, wrapping her arms around Y/n in an enthusiastic hug. “I knew you could do it!” she said, her voice breathless from all the cheering.

Y/n laughed, feeling lighter than she had in months. “It felt good.”

Leah approached, too, clapping her on the back with a grin. “Welcome back, Y/n. I knew you wouldn’t let this beat you.”

Y/n stood there, surrounded by the people who had never stopped believing in her, a sense of pride swelling in her chest. It had been a long, hard road, but she was back. And with each step forward, she would only keep getting stronger.

Later that evening, after they’d all celebrated Y/n’s milestone with dinner and a few laughs, Kyra couldn’t resist.

She snapped a photo of Y/n standing on the pitch, beaming like she’d just conquered the world.

Y/n was still catching her breath, the rush of running still fresh on her face, but Kyra caught her in that perfect moment—triumphant, joyful, and finally feeling free again.

She didn’t think twice before posting it on her Instagram.

Caption: Pretty view today.

Y/n stood by the door, already dressed in her Arsenal tracksuit, boots slung over her shoulder, bag packed and zipped. She adjusted the strap absently, checking her phone for the time. They weren’t late, not even close. But Kyra was pacing.

“Okay, wait—did you pack your tape?” Kyra asked, hovering beside her, holding a water bottle and looking more nervous than Y/n herself.

“Yes,” Y/n sighed, amused.

“Your shin guards?”

“Yes, Kyra.”

“Boots?”

Y/n raised both eyebrows and turned slightly to show them dangling right there on her shoulder. “Yes, babe. They’re right here. Where they always go.”

Kyra gave a tiny nod like she was making mental checkmarks. “Snacks?”

Y/n narrowed her eyes, lips twitching. “I am not five.”

Kyra wasn’t fazed. “A protein bar is literally essential. What if you get hungry before warm-up?”

Y/n groaned. “Kyra. Please. It’s not my first game ever. I know how to pack a damn bag. I’ve done this before, remember?”

Kyra crossed her arms, frowning playfully. "It’s your first game back. That’s different."

"Yeah, but it’s not like I forgot how to play football during my injury," Y/n teased, reaching to gently tug on Kyra’s sleeve. "You’re acting like I’m about to leave for my first day of school."

“You kind of are,” Kyra mumbled, eyes softening. “Just let me be annoying. I’ve been waiting eight months to see you walk onto that pitch again.”

Y/n’s teasing melted at that, her smirk turning into something quieter.

She stepped in close, pressing a quick kiss to Kyra’s cheek. “Fine. But if you try to put a snack in my bag while I’m not looking, I will throw it at you from the bench.”

“No promises,” Kyra said with a grin, finally opening the door for her. “Let’s go make a stadium cry.”

The Emirates locker room smelled like fresh eucalyptus and nerves.

The usual pre-match buzz was already starting to hum in the air—music playing, boots thudding, teammates chatting and tying their laces—but when Y/n stepped in, everything paused.

“She’s back!” Alessia was the first to yell, arms thrown in the air.

Y/n blinked. “What—”

Then the rest of the girls chimed in, clapping and cheering as if she’d just scored a hat-trick instead of, you know, arriving five minutes early for warm-up.

In the middle of it all sat a tiny cake on the bench, badly decorated with red and white icing. It said:

“Welcome Back, Hop-Along 💪⚽️”

Leah’s handwriting, for sure.

“Oh my god,” Y/n mumbled, face already heating up.

Vic and Laia were smiling.

Leah threw an arm around Y/n’s shoulder like a proud older sister. “Knew she’d get all weird about it, I told you guys.”

“I’m not—shut up, Leah.” Y/n squirmed, but she was already smiling, a little red in the cheeks. “Thanks, guys. I mean it. This is… dumb. But nice. Really nice.”

Alessia gave her a dramatic hug, squeezing way too hard. Beth was the second in line for the hug. Lotte was already taking a photo of the cake like it was going to go in the team group chat.

Slowly, everyone drifted back into their normal pre-match routine.

Y/n just stood there for a second, cake in hand, still a little pink.

Then there was Kyra, slipping behind her, pressing a hand to her lower back and murmuring, “See? Everyone missed you.”

Y/n didn’t say anything at first. She just turned and buried her face in the crook of Kyra’s neck, arms curling awkwardly around her even with the cake still in her grip.

Kyra held her, warm and steady, chin resting on Y/n’s hair. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Y/n mumbled into her shoulder. “Just… It’s a lot. But good.”

Kyra smiled at her. “You gonna cry?”

Y/n pulled back just enough to glare at her. “No.”

“You sure?”

Y/n shoved her lightly. “You’re so annoying.”

Kyra just grinned, grabbing the little cake from her hand. “Yeah, but now I get the first bite.”

There were fifteen minutes left on the clock. Arsenal was up 3-1. The crowd was buzzing, the sun was low and golden, and the win was just within reach.

Renée turned toward the bench and called her name. “Y/n. Warm up.”

Y/n blinked. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Renee was already nodding, like it was obvious. “You deserve this. Go on.”

She grabbed her bib and jogged down the sideline, heart hammering against her ribs like she was about to start her debut all over again.

Lotte was closest to her. She gave her a solid pat on the back. “Go show them.”

Laia flashed a grin. “Don’t fall.”

Rosa leaned in and whispered, “You’re gonna be great.”

It wasn’t flashy or dramatic. Just quiet belief. Just her teammates making her feel like this was normal. Like she belonged out there again.

When the fourth official held up the board, the stadium noise shifted. A ripple. A lift.

#14

She stepped to the touchline. Renée pressed a hand between her shoulder blades, firm and calm. “Just enjoy it, okay?”

She nodded, barely breathing, and then the sub was made.

As she jogged onto the pitch, she caught Leah’s eyes across the backline—Leah gave her a knowing smile, a little proud tilt of her head.

Katie clapped her on the shoulder. Caitlin grinned at her like she’d just made her day. And further up the field, Kyra—

Kyra was practically bouncing in place, both thumbs up, grinning like an idiot. She mouthed something that looked suspiciously like “hot girl return.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the way her lips twitched.

The crowd started to clap–first a few, then a wave of applause, rippling through the lower stands. She didn’t know where to look. Her face burned. Her lungs squeezed.

But her legs felt good.

Her lungs worked.

She was back.

She ran her first sprint. She tracked a pass. Nothing spectacular, just solid, simple movement.

The ball came, she trapped it, and passed it cleanly.

The stadium roared again. Not because it was special, but because it was her. Because she was doing it.

Back on the pitch.

And as the final whistle blew, she couldn’t stop smiling.

Arms were thrown around shoulders.

Shirts tugged. High fives slapped.

The girls poured onto the pitch, and suddenly Y/n was surrounded–Leah wrapping her in a bear hug, Katie hugging her from behind, Kim right by her side, Alessia pulling her in and squealing like they’d just won a trophy.

“You did it!” Lotte yelled over the noise, gripping both her shoulders.

“I didn’t fall,” Y/n said, breathless and a little dazed, “so that’s something.”

Vic shoved a bottle of water into her hands. Walti beamed at her. Everyone touched her shoulders, arms, and back–– like grounding her in the moment, like making sure she felt it.

And she did. She really did.

But then, once the wave passed and her teammates drifted back toward the tunnel, she turned—and Kyra was still there, waiting.

Arms crossed, one brow raised, pretending to be aloof. Like she hadn’t been watching the entire thing, heart thudding like it was her comeback game.

Y/n took a step toward her. Kyra didn’t move.

“Took you long enough,” Kyra said, voice soft but teasing. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, already stepping into her. “You were literally waiting. You let everyone else go first.”

“Yeah, well,” Kyra’s arms uncrossed as she pulled her in, wrapping her up tight, “I wanted a good hug.”

Y/n exhaled against her shoulder, the last little bit of tension melting.

Kyra smiled, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “See? Told you your bone was steady.”

Y/n groaned. “That’s not even–”

“Shh. Moment of victory. Let me be romantic.”

Once they got to their house, Kyra was all over her.

Kyra stepped closer, brushing a hand through Y/n’s hair and then tracing her jaw gently. “You were perfect.”

Y/n felt her breath hitch at the compliment, but before she could respond, Kyra leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips.

The kiss was slow, sweet, and lingering, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Kyra pulled back just enough to study Y/n’s face.

“You’re really feeling it, huh?” she asked, her lips curling into a smirk.

Y/n chuckled, feeling her pulse quicken. “Yeah, I’m feeling it. But, there’s something else I’ve been thinking about, too.”

“Oh?” Kyra’s eyes darkened with interest. “What’s that?”

Y/n met her gaze, the playful edge to her voice making it clear she wasn’t done teasing.

“Well, now that I’m fully healed, I was thinking… I would really like to use a strap tonight.”

Kyra’s breath caught, and her smirk deepened. “Is that so?” she said, her voice dropping lower, more seductive. “You’ve been thinking about it, huh?”

Y/n nodded, her eyes flashing with desire. “I have. And I want to show you how well I’ve healed.” Her voice was thick with anticipation, the words trailing off as she stepped closer to Kyra.

Kyra swallowed, trying to keep her composure, but Y/n could see the way her pulse quickened.

“You know what, babe?” Kyra said, pulling her in by the waist. “You’ve been so damn good to me. I think it’s time you get what you deserve.”

Without another word, Kyra led her toward the bedroom, their steps slow but urgent. Y/n could feel the heat between them, the tension and chemistry they had both been craving for so long.

Tonight was about release, about letting go of everything that had built up over the past few months.

When they reached the bed, Kyra turned to face Y/n, her hands finding the hem of her shirt, lifting it off slowly, teasing, knowing just how much it would make Y/n ache with anticipation.

“Ready?” Kyra asked, her voice low and seductive, the smirk never leaving her face.

Y/n looked her dead in the eyes, the fire between them undeniable. “Ready.”

Y/n sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the strap that lay beside her, feeling the weight of the moment.

The air between them was thick with anticipation, every inch of her skin tingling with the need to finally feel in control. She had spent so much time relying on others—on Kyra, on her recovery—but now? Now it was her turn.

Kyra stood before her, eyes dark and steady as she watched Y/n. The playful smirk was gone, replaced with a raw, vulnerable desire that matched Y/n’s own.

“You know what I want,” Y/n said, her voice husky with need, her hands gently running over the strap. It felt solid beneath her fingers, and for the first time, she didn’t hesitate.

Kyra nodded, swallowing hard. “I do,” she murmured, her voice thick with a mixture of excitement and trust.

Y/n met her eyes, her fingers wrapping around the strap as she slid it into place. There was no rush. Not tonight.

She had waited, healed, and now it was time to claim what was hers. Her body felt powerful, stronger than it had in months.

She wanted Kyra to feel the same way, to know just how much she was wanted, loved, and desired.

Kyra took a step back, clearly trying to maintain her composure, but Y/n could see the way her breath caught as she adjusted herself, the tension in her body making her even more tempting.

With deliberate slowness, Y/n moved, crawling forward on the bed. She could feel Kyra’s gaze following her every move, the intensity between them building with each second.

When she finally reached Kyra, their faces inches apart, she leaned in, her lips brushing against Kyra’s in a slow, teasing kiss.

“You’re mine,” Y/n whispered softly, her breath hot against Kyra’s skin.

Kyra moaned quietly, the sound a mix of surrender and hunger. “Take me,” she whispered back, her voice laced with desire.

Without another word, Y/n guided Kyra down onto the bed, settling between her legs. She moved slowly, her hands gliding down Kyra’s sides, touching and exploring, making sure every inch of her was claimed, her finger worked slowly on Kyra’s cunt, making sure she was ready.

The tension between them was electric, their bodies perfectly in sync as Y/n slowly positioned herself, the strap a steady reminder of the power she held right now.

Kyra gasped as Y/n slowly pushed forward, feeling her pussy. It wasn’t just the physical act--it was the connection. The way their bodies intertwined, the way their trust deepened with every inch, every movement.

Y/n’s hands gripped Kyra’s thighs, her pace slow but deliberate at first, giving shallow thrust into Kyra’s cunt.

“You’re incredible,” Y/n whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she watched Kyra’s face, her eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open in pleasure. “You feel so good around me, baby.”

Kyra’s hands slid up Y/n’s back, nails lightly digging into her skin as she urged her on. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice breaking with need. “More, please?

Y/n grinned, her pace quickening just slightly, bringing them both to the edge of something deeper, something more.

The more she trusted the more the strap would rub against her clit, creating the perfect friction.

She could feel the way Kyra’s body responded to her touch, the way every movement between them felt like a dance they’d been rehearsing for months.

The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies, the rush of desire, and the soft whispers of their shared passion.

Y/n held on tight, guiding Kyra through every sensation, every push, every moment of control and surrender. Her hips were fast against Kyra now, she leant over to kiss her as she saw the girl was close.

With a few more trust, Kyra came undone, cuming while Y/n kissed her desperately. In less than a minute, Y/n also found her released.

They collapsed into each other’s arms, breathless, content, and more connected than ever before.

Y/n smiled softly, brushing a hand through Kyra’s hair. “You’re perfect,” she whispered.

Kyra, still catching her breath, smiled back, eyes glinting with affection and love. “So are you,” she said, her voice a little raspy, confused.

As the two of them lay there, the air still thick with the aftermath of their passion, Y/n raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile.

She tilted her head, eyeing the strap still between them. “Hmm, wait a second,” she said. “I didn’t ask—have you... used this before?”

Kyra, still catching her breath, let out a small, exasperated laugh. “I mean, of course I’ve used it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a nun, Y/n.”

Y/n smirked, her hands tracing circles on Kyra’s chest.

“Just checking.” She trailed off, her gaze lingering on Kyra’s flushed face, the teasing glint never leaving her eyes.

Kyra sighed, shaking her head with a grin. “Yes, okay, I’ve used it. But just receiving. Don’t act like you’re the only one with experience here.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m just getting started.” She leaned in, lips brushing Kyra’s ear. “If you want to use it, I’m more than happy to oblige, baby.”

Kyra’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Of course you are,” she teased, rolling her eyes playfully. “Sex maniac.”

Y/n laughed, lifting her head and staring down at Kyra with a smirk. “You’re the one who promised all the sex in the world, remember?” She grinned as she watched Kyra’s face flush even deeper.

“How many times are you going to bring that up?” Kyra chuckled, rolling her eyes as her hands found Y/n’s hips as she pulled her back down.

“As many times as it takes until you really know I mean it.” Y/n teased.

Y/n smirked, “Well, in that case... we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Hours later, as Kyra drifted off beside her, tangled in sheets and soft breaths, Y/n lay awake for just a moment longer.

Her body still ached from the day, not the injury, not anymore. Just the ache of use, of effort, of something real.

She was back. Not just on the pitch. In her life. In her skin. And finally, she was ready to move forward.

Fully, fearlessly, with Kyra by her side.

a/n: 8 months of recovery, 86k words of pining, 1 hard launch. Lots of sex. Worth it. Roommates? Nah. Wifed up

#woso x reader #woso fanfic #kyra cooney cross fanfic #kyra cooney cross smut #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross #and they were roommates

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marvelstoriesepic · 1 month ago

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Even When It Hurts to Hope

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Chronically ill!Reader

Summary: After yet another devastating medical appointment leaves you drained and spiraling, Bucky is there and shows you that you don’t have to face this alone.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: chronic illness themes; emotional distress; crying; medical gaslighting; ableism (via doctors); implications of long-term suffering and fatigue; comfort

Author’s Note: This request is from a lovely anon!! I really hope this brings you some softness and healing, and that it feels like a hug on the days you need it most. I did mention chronic illness themes to make it more personal for you, but I do not wish to trigger you in any kind. Hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The hallway buzzes like a hive of fluorescent bees. White walls. White noise. White lies folded in lab coats.

Your limbs don’t belong to you. Your feet are distant. You feel like you’re swimming through honey, like someone filled your bones with cement and told you to smile through it.

You can feel your soul fraying like the sleeves of your oldest shirt, the one you wore in High school when you thought maybe one day it would get better. It’s not getting better.

The doctor’s voice still echoes in your head like a bullet ricocheting against bone.

“Try harder.”

Ten years. Then years and that’s all she had to say. As if you’ve been twiddling your thumbs. As if survival had been optional. As if your pain didn’t cost you friendships, years, entire versions of yourself you’ll never meet again.

You step out of the examination room with your fists clenched and your teeth grinding against the scream you won’t let out. Your body feels too loud. Your heart is a fault line. You want to disappear.

“Hey.”

His voice is quiet. But it splits the storm inside you like light through a crack in the door.

You look up.

Bucky is on his feet already, as if he’s been counting down the seconds for you. As if he could feel you falling apart behind that door.

And when he sees your face - your red-rimmed eyes, the tremble in your jaw, the shattered dignity - you don’t have to say anything. He knows.

You can see it in his eyes. They’re made of storm clouds too full for this world. There’s this kind of anger that’s boiling and dangerous, the kind that burns slow and insistent, like molten steel behind ice.

He looks like he wants to wrap you in his arms right here, but you feel the tears in a perfect line across your waterline, each one holding hands, begging to let go. You press your fingers into your own palms as if pain might keep you grounded.

Bucky steps closer, doesn’t touch you yet. He waits. Always waits for you to come to him.

But you don’t. Not yet. Because you know you would crumble right here on the empty and cold floor.

So he says, “Let’s get out of here,” with a voice so soft, with a voice so understanding.

You don’t say a word. You just walk.

And he follows.

You walk in silence through the parking lot.

The world is pressing in. The sun is too bright. The air is too sharp. You think you might shatter if someone looks at you wrong.

He opens the car door for you without a word.

You sit. You try to breathe. You stare at the dashboard, eyes unfocused.

Bucky slides in beside you, starts the engine, but doesn’t drive.

You don’t look at him. You look out the window and hate that your eyes sting.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You don’t know why. Maybe because you feel pathetic. Maybe because you let someone break you again. Maybe because you dragged him into it.

Bucky turns the engine off.

“I’m not,” he says, almost lowly, but gentle. “And you shouldn’t be either, sweetheart. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

You glance at him. He’s staring at the steering wheel like it’s the doctor’s face. And he wasn’t even there to hear what she said.

The car is too small for this moment. Your chest is too full of feelings you don’t want to let out just yet. So you just reach for him, and he doesn’t wait. He leans across the center console and pulls you into his arms. You melt into him as if you were meant to be there, as if he’s the cure to all the things the world can’t fix.

“Take me home?” you ask, voice barely audible.

“Yours or mine?” he murmurs into your hair.

“Yours, please?” you breathe out. Because you only ever feel at home when surrounded by him.

He presses a kiss the the crown of your head and starts driving.

You don’t remember much of the drive. All you remember is that Bucky took your hand in his and traced circles over your skin with his thumb.

You remember the way he walked you into his apartment as if you were glass and he was gravity.

Now you’re curled up on the couch, legs drawn in, a blanket over your shoulders. Bucky gently brings you a cup of tea, made exactly how you like it. He always remembers the smallest things.

He hasn’t stopped watching you. Not in a creepy way. In a tethering way. As though he only has to take his eyes off you and you’ll slip between the cracks in the floor.

“I- I thought this time might be different,” you say, voice shaky, voice weak. “I thought maybe - finally - we had something. An answer. A direction. And she didn’t even listen. Didn’t even check the labs or ask me any questions. She just looked at me like I was wasting her time. She told me to try harder. What the hell does that even mean, Bucky?”

There is silence. A rupture.

“She said what?”

You flinch. Not at him. Not because of him. Because of the heat in his voice. The anger he tries to bite down for your sake. But his fists are clenched. His jaw is locked shut. You feel the way he wants to break something. Burn something. Destroy a world that keeps failing you.

You shake your head. “It’s the same story again. Every time. Every year. A new face. A new god playing doctor. And they all say the same thing. Like they’ve only read the same textbook written in 1985.”

You blink. The tears spill anyway. Hot.

And Bucky doesn’t waste any time. He kneels in front of you. Not as if you’re broken. Not as if you’re a child. But as if trying to anchor you to earth.

“I’ve been trying, Bucky,” you whisper wetly. “I’ve been trying so hard for so long.”

You’re crying now. Ugly, breathless crying. The kind that doesn’t make a sound but leaves your whole body shaking.

He takes your hands and brings them to his chest, shifting closer and caging you in.

“I know,” he croaks, voice trembling, but he’s trying to be strong for you. “I know, doll. You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’ve already been doing the impossible.”

You close your eyes and let the tears fall, let Bucky’s shirt catch them. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t try to fix it. He just holds onto you as if you’re sacred.

“I’m so tired,” you cry breathlessly into his chest.

He exhales as if he’s been holding that breath for hours. It comes as a shudder. “You don’t have to be strong with me, baby. I'm here for you, alright? Always here. Not gonna leave you. Not gonna let you go through this alone.”

You pull back slightly, just to meet his eyes.

And there’s something there. Something that’s been building quietly between you for months. A kind of love that doesn’t need to be said out loud to be felt. A kind of love that exists in every small action - every drive, every cup of tea, every waiting room seat he’s ever taken beside you.

But this time he says it anyway.

“I love you.”

He says it while wiping your tears. He says it while brushing your hair back. He says it while kissing your forehead, your temples, your nose, your cheekbones, your chin.

His eyes are glossy, red just like yours and he is staring at you so intently, you stop breathing, stop thinking, stop moving.

“And I see you,” he continues, voice so quiet, but you feel the breath, the truth of every word brush your skin. “Every win. Every loss. Every time you get out of bed when you’re not sure how. Every time when you keep breathing even when it hurts to exist. I see you. I love you.” His voice catches. Falters. Tumbles. But he fights to keep going. “I don’t need a doctor to confirm that you’re fighting something real. I’ve been here. I’ve seen what this has taken from you. What it’s still taking. And I swear-” He looks at you, full and raw and wild. “I swear, I’ll never let them make you feel like this again.”

You forget how to breathe. Forget how to exist in a body that’s suddenly too small for what he just gave you.

He kisses your forehead again, gradually, carefully, so slowly. “You don’t gotta say it back, sweetheart. You don’t gotta say anything right now. Just feel me, yeah? I’m right here.”

You think you’ve been numb for years. You think this is what it feels like when love becomes shelter. When it becomes a soft place to land after a decade of falling.

You let your body sink into him, muscles finally remembering what it means to rest. Your hands fist his shirt. Your head presses against his chest and you can feel his heartbeat. It’s always there.

You’ve been seen before. But never like this. Never with reverence. Never without conditions. Never by someone who watched the worst parts of you unfold and stayed. Held them. Named them beautiful just for surviving.

You want to say thank you. You want to say I love you back. You want to say a thousand things but none of them fit in your mouth. None of them could come close to what he’s done with just a few words and arms wide enough to carry all of you - even the shattered pieces.

So you hold him tighter. You press your face into his chest and you weep. For every year you spent trying. For every dismissal. For every night you wondered if you were imagining your pain, if maybe the world was right and you were just weak. Lazy. Failing.

But you’re none of that. You never were.

Because Bucky said so.

And Bucky Barnes is a man of his word.

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ask-an-epidemiologist · 8 months ago

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Why "COVID anxiety" is not an actual disorder

In psychiatric terms, a phobia is considered as such if, and only if, it is unreasonable. So, an average person experiencing panic attacks at the sight of bees would be considered to have a phobia, because they are more afraid than the risk bees present to them.

However, a person with a fatal allergy to bee stings would not be considered apiphobic. This is because, with the risk of death bees present to them, having panic attacks is considered a rational reaction.

I'm sure you can already understand my point.

COVID not only can kill you (particularly if you're medically vulnerable), but it can cause severe disability. Even ignoring that people who have had COVID in the last three weeks are 81 times likelier to die of cardiac events than uninfected people, survivors of COVID are also 40% likelier to develop neurological sequelae. Rates of POTS or other dysautonomias (dysfunctions of the autonomous nervous system, which can be anywhere from "uncomfortable" to "rendering a patient bedridden") are through the roof, and neurologists are finding huge increases in the under-45 demographic of their dementia patients- a demographic that was previously extremely rare.

If someone wears protective eyewear while welding because they don't want to be blinded by an arc flash, we consider that a normal and reasonable precaution. So why are people who mask being labeled as "anxious about COVID" considering that this virus will very likely disable them if not kill them outright?

"COVID anxiety" is a rational behavior, not a medical diagnosis- so why are we treating it as one? Simple: it's another politicization of medicine. Just as "hysteria" was used to silence women, and lobotomization was used to subjugate inconvenient people (especially of rival political affiliations), "COVID anxiety" is being used to silence those who refuse to cooperate with the false narrative that COVID is over and/or no big deal. The very sight of a mask is a stark reminder to medical officials and laymen alike that they should be doing something they aren't. It's why some doctors aren't even "letting" chemo patients, one of the most severely immunocompromised demographics, do this. Because even though they are carefully avoiding a lot more illnesses than COVID, the sight of the mask still makes the doctor think of the COVID precautions they are ignoring first and foremost.

That is to say, "COVID anxiety" is a punitive diagnosis made by doctors when they are angry at the discomfort they feel when their patients remind them of their utter inadequacy, and they created this solely to stigmatize and demean patients to ensure they wouldn't subvert the expected power dynamic again.

Zero competent medical professionals actually use this terminology for their patients, and if yours uses it for you, run, don't walk, to a new clinic. Helping you is a secondary goal at best for your doctor.

#covid #covid-19 #covid anxiety #long covid #masking

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moonstruckme · 9 months ago

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Happy birthday!! Apples pie: james potter with cartoon patterned plasters 💗💗

Thanks angel!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 236 words

“I don’t understand why it hurts so much,” James says, brown eyes a bit pouty as he watches you tend to his finger. “It’s worse than the time I cut myself and actually needed stitches.”

“Paper cuts are the worst,” you agree.

“They take something that shouldn’t even be able to cut you, logically, and make it sting like a thousand bees.” He shakes his head. “Nefarious.”

“I’m sorry, Jamie. I’ll handle the rest of the mail while you’re healing up, okay?”

“Yeah, please. Just be careful, darling, it’s more dangerous than you’d—oi, what do you have there?”

You pause. “A plaster.”

James gives you a baffled look. “It’s beige.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You try to suppress your smile. “This was what was in the first aid kit. Would you like me to go to the bathroom to get the cartoon ones?”

“Well,” he shrugs, a tad huffy, “I just figure that if I have to have a plaster on like a nerd, it may as well be a cool one.”

You press your lips together. The efforts to keep your grin at bay are becoming terribly arduous. “And your cartoon plasters make you feel cool?”

“Hey, I’m injured, don’t question me.” James frowns at you, but you can see the humor peeking through.

“My bad.” You take his face in your hand, kissing him briefly on the lips. “I’ll be right back with that, handsome.”

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evilgwrl · 10 months ago

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Captain Price x Reader

One Job

Summary: You’re his assistant and he needs help with something a bit more… physical

CW (MDNI): Fingering, oral sex (m&f receiving), unprotected PIV, creampie, some degradation, praise :)))), Price is a bit mean to you oops, spitting, ROUGH sex, age gap (legal ofc), hints of manipulation(?), sir kink???, dom price, sub reader

Word Count: 3,304

Masterlist

Working for the Military was a difficult job. Sure, you weren’t doing any physical labor but my God, the demands some of these men had pushed you to the absolute limit, the fluttering of a migraine swarming you like bees the moment you stepped foot on base.

It wasn’t their fault, they spent most of their time training, or fighting, or off hunting down a terrorist so if you could help them out by completing some of their much needed paperwork, you were happy to oblige. I mean, who could say no to dear Johnny’s face?

For the most part, your work was thorough, always completing it to the best of your ability and you were very proud of that. However, sometimes you happen to accidentally neglect the man you’re actually here for.

Captain Price.

While you were technically only his assistant, it was so difficult to turn down the other men. Their gruelling faces and scarred hands always felt like a knife twisting in you as you quickly grabbed their paperwork, ushering that this was going to be the last time you would help them out (it wasn’t).

So now, you find yourself here, sitting nervously in the leather chair across from the Captain’s desk, irritated scowl on his face as he inhaled his cigar, a thick puff of smoke exhibiting across the room before he placed it on the ash tray.

He rubbed his hands across his exhausted face as he sighed, “Sweetheart, I told you I needed that paperwork done by today and sent off to Laswell. I knew it was going to be a lot to handle so I purposely gave it to you early and have left you alone since.”

His tone was harsh and disappointed. You felt like a child being scolded for accidentally breaking something important.

“Sir, I-“

“You think I don’t know that you spend your time helping out my other men? I mean Christ, I understand you want to feel important around here but how will anyone take you seriously if you can’t even do the work for the one person you’re supposed to do it for,” his words were cruel, degrading you as you stooped lower into the chair, a pit forming in your belly as you avoided his angry eyes.

“Sir, I understand that I made a mistak-“

“Mistake?” He spat, voice growing gradually louder, “This isn’t a mistake, y/n, you neglected the work you were supposed to be doing all because you wanted to impress a few men in the military!”

You looked up at him, his words stinging you. You weren’t trying to impress them, you were only trying to help. “Captain Price, I understand your anger but you don’t need to result to shaming me,” your voice was heavy, the undertones of embarrassment evident as you diverted your tear-streaked eyes.

He let out a deep sigh, taking in your skulking frame. “This work is important, y/n, if you can’t handle it, I think it’s best if you either transfer or resign.”

Transfer? Resign? You had worked your ass off for over a year. Dealing with his shit, Soap’s shit, Ghost’s shit, Gaz’s shit! You make one mistake and suddenly you’re incompetent?

“I’ve been slaving away for you for over a year now. I understand that work is important and I can guarantee you that I can get it done by today, the latest by tomorrow, so instead of sitting here and lecturing me, when you know damn well how capable I am is a waste of both our times!”

You didn’t mean to yell, he knew that by the quickly changed expression once you had stopped. “Are you done?” He asked, voice gentle.

You nodded, embarrassed, as he handed you the paperwork, your nimbly fingers gripping onto them as you quickly left his office, kitten heels clicking against the floor as you scrambled to your own space.

By the time you were done, the sun had well set and almost everyone had gone home. You were praying that included Price. You turned off your little lamp, clutching your shoulder bag as you neatly stacked the paperwork in your arms, putting off the walk to his office.

Your walk sounded throughout the hallway, evident anxiety on your face as you stood outside the door, the large CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE sign glaring back at you. You sounded a small knock, praying no one answered but you found yourself letting out a small groan once you heard a deep, ‘come in’.

You opened the door nervously, palms clammy as you looked at him, nearly empty glass of scotch on his desk and his tired eyes glaring back at you.

“Sir, I finished it,” you said, placing the paperwork on his desk, “I’m sorry that it’s slightly overdue. It won’t happen again.”

He let out a breath, gentle smile on his face as he gestured you to sit down. You awkwardly obliged, fighting the ability to follow his order, but also to excuse yourself.

“Listen sweetheart, I’m sorry about what I said. You’re a very capable young woman, you’ve helped me, us, all. I just don’t want you to take on things that you don’t want to. The boys are very grown men, they kill for a living, doing a tiny bit of paperwork won’t dent their fingers.”

“I understand that, Sir.. I just.. want to help, I guess. It feels nice knowing people, important people, come to me for help… and even if it’s just because they don’t want to it themselves, it makes me feel good knowing they trust me to do it.”

“Like I said, you’re very capable. Just don’t want my men stealing my best girl I suppose.”

His words took you off guard, heat rising in your face as you looked down, a nervous laugh leaving your lips. “I try my best for you Sir,” you reply, still avoiding eye contact.

“Didn’t mean those things earlier, you know that?”

You nodded, still looking down as he cleared his throat. “Come ‘ere,” he said, voice gruff as he tapped on his desk.

You looked at him in surprise, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as you hesitatingly got up, walking over to his side before plonking your ass down gently, almost like you were testing the waters.

“I’m sure you could handle anything I gave you, hm?” His tone was sickly, a teasing arrogance lacing his every word as you felt his hand graze your stocking-covered thigh, pencil skirt riding up at your seated position.

You nodded, mouth suddenly going dry, barely being able to think as you felt his every stroke against you.

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

“Y-Yes sir, yes, I can handle whatever you give me.”

He smiled, looking pleased as he stroked further up your thigh before placing a gentle kiss right above your knee. Nerves bubbled in your belly. Of course you wanted this. It was Price. You mainly took the job because you enjoyed looking at him, his rugged frame, laced with muscle from the years of hard work, tall body towering you whenever you stood too close.

His eyes watched you twitch slightly as his movements, taking in how nervous you were, yet so, so obedient. “You wanna prove to me how capable you are, hm?”

“Yes sir,” you nodded, your lips dry as your tongue darted out to lick them, cerulean blue darting down to watch the muscle lap at the fullness of them.

“On your knees,” he commanded as you immediately hopped off the table, dropping almost desperately to the floor as you perched between his thighs. His cargo pants were tight, almost straining against the visible hump near his crotch. Your mouth practically watered at how well he was filling them out.

Your hands gently reached up, stroking his covered bulge as you finally took in just how big he was. You weren’t a virgin, but if he was as big as you could feel, you just weren’t sure it would fit.

No, you could take it. You would show him you could take whatever he gives you.

His veined hands reached up to tug down the zipper, standing briefly as they dropped to his feet, now standing in his boxers. His cock was thick, practically tearing through the thin fabric as your eyes focused on the dark, wet patch prominent next to the head.

You watched carefully as he tugged them down too, thick, angry cock bulging out as you took in the sheer size of it. Jesus fucking Christ.

He took in the nerves in your eyes, hand reaching down to stroke your cheek as your eyes ogled the ginormous girth in-front of you. “Still think you can handle it?” His tone was cheeky, almost mocking as his thumb graced over your lips.

You didn’t reply, only reaching forward to balance yourself on his thighs, hand wrapping around the base of his cock as you kitten licked the tip. You could taste his salty precum, a string of saliva connected your mouth to his member before he hissed, your lips wrapping around the tip as you sucked gently, your eyes looking up at his face.

You pulled back and spat, a thick glob of saliva landing on his throbbing head as you curled your wrists around, lubricating it before taking him back into your mouth. You steadied your movements, building a strong pace as your head bobbled, taking him down your throat slightly as you gagged, your other hand working the remainder of what wouldn’t fit.

A hand wrapped around the base of your hair as he guided your movements, his hips bucking slightly as he groaned.

“That’s it baby, take my dick. Doing such a good job.”

His praise only edged you on, your mouth taking more of him as you spluttered, tears welling in your eyes as you watched his face contort with pleasure through wet lashes.

Your other hand nestled at his balls, thick hair lightly covering it as he practically growled at the sensation. You could feel his pubic hair against your nose as you swallowed around his cock, spit stringing down your chin making you look almost pornographic.

His grunts and moans egged you on as you continued to bob up and down his legs before he was pulling you off of him, his cock throbbing angrily, tip flushed a deep red as you gasped for air.

“I’ll cum down your throat another time, pretty, okay? Right now I gotta feel how tight your cunt is around me.”

You yelped in response, hands grabbing to lift you back up onto the table as he stood up, digits grabbing out to undo the buttons of your blouse before he growled, frustrated taking over him as he ripped it, the sound of buttons flinging across the room as you gasped.

“My shirt-“ you squealed as you felt his hands dive towards your chest, pulling your bra down to pool at your stomach before his hungry mouth was on his chest, licking and sucking and biting at whatever he would as you moaned. You held the back of his neck, rubbing gently as he took a nipple into his mouth, tugging on it gently with his mouth before pulling away to do the same to the other.

He looked up at you, gaze almost starving as he smashed his mouth against yours, your tongues fighting rapidly against each other as you tasted the residue of his alcohol, longing for more. You felt his hands grope at your waist, tugging down your skirt as you quickly stood up, lips still connected as you pulled it off, along with your stockings and panties. You kicked off your heels as he laid you against the table before pulling away from your lips.

You brought your knees up, spreading your legs slightly as he growled at your exposure, two fingers reaching down to dive into your dripping slit, gathering your slick in between before pulling them apart, the evident string making him let out a dry laugh.

“All that for me, love?” He groaned, fingers rubbing at your pulsing clit as he took in your wetness.

“Y-yes sir,” you admitted, slightly embarrassed at how much of a hold he had over you, over your cunt.

“Dirty girl, hm? All desperate for your Captain?”

You whined at the degrading words whilst you nodded, “Just you, Sir.”

He seemed pleased with your answer, his touch almost possessive as you felt two fingers at your entrance before they graced the tight hole, sliding inside with ease as a mortifying squelch filled the room.

His fingers reached places that you didn’t even notice existed as you whined, hips bucking before he lifted your thighs over his shoulder before bending down to lick a fat stripe up your wet heat. You gasped at the sensation, hand jolting down to rest on his scalp as he began to lick and suck at your sweetness, practically growling into it as he lapped at whatever he could.

You felt like you were in heaven. His beard scratched along the plush on your thighs as he worked his two digits against your sweet spot, his lips and tongue sucking at your folds and swollen clit.

“Oh fuck, Sir, please I’m gonna cum,” you whined as he quickened his pace, a tight coil forming in your stomach as your breathing became heavy. You let out a pathetic whine as your head fell back, his spare hand holding your waist as he continued his fevered movements, the coil in your stomach snapping as you moaned his name followed by a string of expletives.

“Tastes so fucking sweet, so good for me,” he growled as he watched you twitch, overstimulated by his actions before he pulled away, reaching up to grapple you with another bruising kiss. You felt the wetness of his beard and it made you even hornier as he kissed you with such need.

His hands gripped your hips, the force most likely going to form subtle bruises as he dragged you closer to him. You broke away from the kiss, your forehead leaning against his as you looked down at this cock, wrapping a hand around it, thumb darting over the precum as he hissed before watching you drag it over your tongue, a pleased hum leaving your lips.

“Dirty fucking girl, so pathetic for her superior, huh?”

His words were like poison, you lived off of it. You had no idea how you would be able to work around him after this. He didn’t take well to the silence, a spank landing against your pussy as you gasped, body jolting slightly.

“Speak when you’re spoken to,” he commanded, his hand reaching up to grip your cheeks before he asked you to open, your mouth immediately obliging as he leaned down, a wad of his spit landing perfectly on your tongue as you swallowed. He hummed at it, his own hand reaching down to grab his cock, slapping it against your puffed clit a few times causing you to squirm at the delicious sensation.

“P-Please sir, I need you.” Your tone was desperate, soft tears filling your eyes as he rubbed the head of his cock up and down your wet folds.

He tsked. “Just a needy slut for me, hm?”

You nodded, a gasp leaving your lips as you felt his thick head prod at your entrance, your hand immediately pushed against his chest at the burning intrusion before he grabbed it.

“Relax for me, love, you can take it.”

You let out a shallow breath as he laced your fingers together, your pussy fluttering as he pushed it deeper and deeper. He was massive, the burn absolutely ramming through you as you waited for him to bottom out.

“That’s it baby, I’ve got you. Taking me so fucking well.” His words encouraged you as you wrapped a leg around his waist, welcoming him before you pressed your lips against his, dragging him towards you using your leg as an emphasis to hurry up.

He laughed against your lips as a hand wrapped around your jaw, pulling away to pepper kisses along your neck before he thrusted slightly, the entirety of him now inside you as you practically yelped at how full you felt.

“Tight fucking thing, gripping me like crazy,” he gruffed, spare hand reaching down to thumb at your clit before he pulled out most of the way before slamming back in.

You felt all the air leave your lungs as you moaned, your sounds high pitched as he began to slam his hips against yours, thumb circling your clit as you could feel him practically kiss your cervix.

“Holy fuck,” you choked out as you wrapped your arms around his neck, nestling your face into the crevice as you bit down lightly to conceal your pathetic sounds.

He was a grunting mess as he praised you, coaxing you to cum around his cock as you felt him practically in your throat.

You were babbling at this point, your words slurring at how much pleasure you were in as he continued to pound into you at a brutal pace, other hand roughly groping at your right breast, tugging the sensitive nipple as your eyes rolled back.

“Take that fucking dick,” he growled out at you as he continued his abuse against your clit, his other hand now reaching up to grab your neck as he pulled you away from hiding, leading you into another kiss as his hips mashed against yours.

You could barely kiss him back, the pleasure blinding you as your eyebrows scrunched together, delicious expression written on your face as it egged him on to fuck you harder.

“Holy - fuck,” you whined as you felt your second orgasm building up. The coil seemed never ending, his rough thrusts sending you into a spiral before you screamed out, pussy clenching desperately around his cock as it attempted to milk him, his hand jolting tighter around your neck as his rhythms got more sloppy, a loud grunt leaving his mouth.

“Gonna make me cum soon, sweet’art,” he grumbled against your lips as he continued his bruising pace, your pussy moulding to the shape of his cock.

“Inside me.. please, please, Sir,” you whined desperately and somehow, he began to fuck you even harder, almost like he wanted to cum quicker just to fill you up with it.

His hands reached down to your hips, pace deadly as slaps and grunts filled the room and you knew you would feel his grip for days. He let out a staggered breath, his thrusts getting sloppy before he let out a groan.

You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, hot spurts of cum emptying into your womb as you whimpered, his head falling into your neck as his seed pumped into you.

He kept his cock inside you for a little after he finished emptying everything he could give you, soft pants filling the room, your bodies practically merged into one as sweats clung to every fibre you had.

You fell flush against the table as he pulled out, his cum pooling at your entrance as it began to leak out, his possessive fingers rushing to push it back in as his fingers swirled against your slit before pinching lightly at your abused clit.

“You okay?” He asked, gaze softening as he took in your fucked out expression. Your throat was dry, a croak of an “I’m okay” slipping out as he laughed, rubbing a gentle hand against your waist.

“Proud of you,” he cooed, his softening cock still out as he grabbed some water for you in his miniature fridge which you took gratefully.

“Guess you proved you could take anything I give you.”

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