#killer sweeped so hard

[xpau-official]

Face off.

I voted for Happy New Year 2016 and Jingle Balls. You?

[alnilaem]

coyote head and the body of a man — (e)

ghost/fem reader There's a killer on the loose. But your logging town is small and quaint and doesn't even appear on maps, so you know you're safe. That all changes when a gruff, big, taciturn man shows up at your workplace one day. Or; Simon is a fugitive serial killer, and you're the housekeeping girl that caught his eye.

cw for explicit content, graphic violence, possessive behaviour, size difference, cunnilingus, stalking

pinterest board | ao3 | for @spidehpig <3

Sometimes, you believe you were born in the centre of a dying star. 

Born on the crest of death and fated for a bleak life. Dead, before you even had a chance.

The universe sweeps before you. Infinite. Expansive. Hungry. You float at the mouth of the galaxy and it swallows you whole, but doesn’t seem to like the taste of you—too bland, too trite—so it spits you back out and sends you tailspinning. 

You land with a lack of courtesy. Tossed between trees and dropped in a basin. You find yourself in nowhere, Oregon. In a town flecked by a lake inlet and a clement fjord, where the moose population outnumbers the people population. It has a maritime allure but strangely enough, isn’t commercial enough to be a tourist hub. It’s too hidden in the thicket. Too deep in a borehole.

Every day here is the same. It's an abyss that yawns before you with no end in sight, lacking undue entertainment and vividness and excitement. There’s no light pollution so far off the beaten track, so oftentimes, you’ll wish upon shooting stars for someone to come for your deliverance. 

There’s a reason they say be careful what you wish for.

The day isn’t even halfway over and your bone tips already ache with hard work. 

It isn’t to say your workplace is busy. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. A cut-rate motel with more vacancies than residents found far-removed from the highway, taking only cash, no card, which is good for deterring paper trails and welcoming the transient but is bad for providing records when the police come knocking. 

You’ll get the occasional trucker, the sparse backpacker. In any case, folks stay here when they don’t want to be bothered. They’ll drive past the splintery welcome sign and stop at the diner for earthy, full-bodied coffee and a slice of famous rhubarb pie. They’ll recuperate in the motel and leave before sunrise, and you’ll be there to clean up what they leave behind, scrubbing the memory out of the fibreglass bathtub for whoever’s next. 

It’s a place where time fleets away. Hallucinatory. Where people pay their due and you hang your head because after all, you’re nothing more than the housekeeping girl. Cottony pinafore and a black dress. Mary Jane flats. Fingers desquamating from years of bleach and vinegar stuck in your nail beds. You get handed dog-eared tips and in return, you don’t ask questions. But maybe you should have.

You’re sliding the window cleaner back into its compartment on the cleaning cart just as your boss scales the veranda. He’s grinning and sporting sweat stains across his armpits. A patchy beard. A loose tie. 

Your nerves lock up tight when he grasps your shoulders. His razorous fingers and the pinchbeck of his wedding band saws under your skin. The dregs of his afternoon drinking knocks into you, and you try not to let your body betray you. Despite that, your eyes water and your nose crinkles. You white-knuckle your dress and almost pop the fabric of your pinafore. 

“How’s my favourite employee?” he grins. “Is she workin’ hard?”

There’s an irreverent innuendo somewhere in his smile. You ignore it and opt for a stale smile.

“I’m working,” you eke out. “I've got to restock the bathroom, then I’m done.”

“That’s good, peach. Real good,” he watches you collect toiletry essentials, then tacks on, “there’s a man in the lobby.”

You falter. The travel-sized shampoo bottle almost slips between your forefinger and thumb. 

“An outsider.”

It’s an observation, not a question. If the man in the lobby were a local, Phillip would have given you a name because in this town, everybody knows everybody. The fact that a name was bereft tells you your new guest came from elsewhere. Maybe he’s cutting through the main road on his way to Yachats for your town’s cascade mountains and bigleaf maple, or for the diner’s famous rhubarb pie. In any case, he's in need of a rest stop. 

“Mh. I’m gonna check him in. Just wanted to let you know I’m givin’ him this room, so try to hurry it up, okay peach?”

You blink slowly. This motel holds twelve rooms—there’s never been a need for any more—and currently, nine of those are occupied. That leaves three. There’s no reason for your boss to put up the new guest in Room 11, especially when you’re still cleaning it.

Phillip reads the question in the bend of your eyebrow. He smiles knowingly and pats your head. “He requested a room on the higher level. Room 9’s aircon is busted and Room 6 shares a wall with the Pettie’s. They’re loud.”

You sigh. “Ah.”

“Sorry peach,” he smiles like he’s apologetic, but you don’t think that’s the case. “Just get it done, alright? And add some extra coffee packets."

You furrow your lips. Displeasure flutters over you but you wash it away with a smile, refusing to irk him. You nod and pivot, bones bending against your skin for an escape as his hand whispers against your bum in an encouraging caress.

Anger simmers in your marrow. Phillip simply chuckles, disparaging.

“That’s a sweet peach.”

His voice gets muted by the tinny, rattling radiator as you make it to the bathroom. You stock it up dutifully—perhaps taking extra long to ensure he's not waiting outside for you—and spritz air freshener around the room when you finish. It’s a flaky, expired bottle of Platinum Ice which barely masks the town’s deep-seated smell of old-growth forest, petrichor and woody debris. You hope the new guest doesn’t have a sharp nose. 

You make sure to stuff the coffee station with extra packets before stepping out of the room. Off the mysteriously stained carpet, onto the veranda. You putter around with your large keyring, thumbing through the nickel-brass since you also have a key to the elementary school, post office, and city hall (aptly titled shitty hall by locals, since this town isn’t much of a city and the building’s roof is held together by nothing but rusty rivets and tassels of sprig collected in the corners). You’ve got so many keys because again, everybody knows everybody, and it isn’t rare to see the housekeeping girl at the motor lodge supplementing her income as a part-time teaching aid. 

Finally, you find the master key. You lock the room and roll the cleaning cart into the utility room before locking that too. Your wrist drags across your forehead, wiping away sweat, and you tug on your dress because perspiration has pasted it onto the pert curve of your breasts, the squish of your thighs. You furtively glance down your bodice and watch how the sweat pocks your skin, knotting your nipples against your cheap bra. Lament catches you in regards to your shower after work—it’s going to be freezing since the heating system here is so fickle—and in the paroxysm of your grief, the sound of heavy breathing eludes you. 

You don’t hear his footsteps. He’s an ambush predator. Stalking and shadowing in the tall grass, waiting for the moment your hackles melt to bite into your neck like an unripe stone fruit. You don’t see him, but you feel him. His breath tickling down your neck. The erogenous zone behind your ear. 

A gasp parts your lips and you whip around, coming face-to-face with a paunchy chest plated by moth-eaten flannel. You heft your head up, exercising the hinge in your neck. Paling at the sight that greets you.

He has a Cabela’s cap on. It’s pulled over his eyes, but a few blonde curls peek out from under the crown of his hat. He has a damaged, blistered face. A cauliflower ear. Nicks on his cheeks that distend from his skin and have turned pallid with time, rippling like seafoam petticoats on waves as he flickers his jaw. He wears jeans and mud-clogged boots and holds a duffel bag. 

His gaze unties you. You slowly find words, fitting them in an orderly queue in your mind as you avert your gaze and stare at the floor. Squirming. Preening. Sweltering.

“Welcome to Sockeye Inn, mister…” 

Silence. He lets your words awkwardly trail off. Doesn’t do anything to belay the discomfort in your belly. The man simply stares at you with brown eyes. 

Humiliation crawls up your spine and settles on your cheeks. It burns through your skin, withering you away, to which you fidget with your fingers and baldly nod towards the door.

“Your room is ready,” you murmur. “Enjoy your stay, sir. Uh– if you need anything just give us a shout. Phone’s on the bedside table.” 

Foolishly, you wait for a response again. Nothing. He towers over you, owlishly blinking, one slower than the other because he seems to have a lazy eye. You clench your skirt and softly shoulder past him, heading for the stairs as you hear him putter with the keyhole. 

You’ve halfway scaled it when a rasp distorted by what seems to be years of cigarettes stops you dead in your tracks. 

“Bring me a BLT and root beer.” 

You burn up at the muscle in his voice. The drag. Just as you’re about to reply, his room door slams shut and rocks across the veranda. 

Your dress is stickier than it was before. Perhaps an ice cold shower isn’t so bad after all.

The end of your shift slowly arrogates. 

After delivering food to Simon Riley—you glinted at the logbook while waiting for his order, reading his name—you left his room as soon as possible. You set the food down and found yourself plugging your nose. The Platinum Ice you sprayed before didn’t accost you— instead, it was pomade. Lucky Strike cigarettes. Decaying heartwood. Bleach. 

You pointedly breathed through your mouth. It didn’t actually help though, since you could taste it then. The ethanol in the air drizzled over your pockmarked tongue and glided down your throat. Collected in your stomach. 

You almost retched it back up at the sight of him.

Through the foggy shower wall, the colour of his hazy contour was striking. It seemed to be a tight fit for him, hemming in his lumberjack build. The shampoo bottle looked like a damn accessory in his large hands and his chased shoulder blades pressed soap against the glass pane, sudsy. 

Your curiosity pulled your gaze lower. Down to the heavy mass between his thighs, thick and fat. Bulbous. 

His spine suddenly went erect, straightening like a chary animal. As if by the agitated pappus of his skin, his chin lifted in your direction, and that’s when the earth collapsed under your feet and you beetled for the door. 

You distract yourself in the kitchen. Emptying the dishwasher. Taking the garbage to the bear-proof receptacles. Putting the oven on steam clean. Kate, the kitchen supervisor, stares at you oddly under her hairnet but she isn’t going to reject a set of helping hands. 

You scrub at a pan hoping it will erase the image burned into your mind. Hoping that the steel wool will have the same effect on your temporal lobe as it does on the pan. You don’t realize your hands are chafing and the pan is flaking, not until Kate is passionately complaining beside you, her spit dashing onto the side of your face.

“—fuckin’ freeloaders. They drain our taxes but can’t even do their damn jobs. Wait until one of their family gets butchered, you’ll see, that’s when they’ll start taking this seriously.”

She waves a newspaper in your face. The paper stack fans in front of you, blowing you with cool air. You’re just barely able to read the big, blocky headline. 

Connection Made Between Ventura, Gilroy and Eugene Serial Killer — Aptly Coined the Ghost.

“Eugene!” Kate slaps the newspaper, frazzled. “Not even three hours from us!”

You scarcely listen to her, her voice ripening into white noise as you scrutinize the police sketch on the newspaper’s margin. The offender is drawn with an overripe balaclava and probing eyes. Dark brown, as if his corneal opacity has laid claim before death. His eyelids have no tension, but a furl of crow's feet gather at the corners. It’s uncanny. Eerie. And even though he’s pressed on paper, you can’t help the unease welling inside you. 

A part of you waits for the other shoe to drop. For him to manifest and crawl out of the paper, dripping ink and viscous tar, ruining your Mary Jane flats and the floor you’d just mopped.

Hemlock hits the back of your throat. Lemony, sedgy. Your eyes fixate on the information detailing his crimes. Spines broken and necks snapped with inhumane strength. Pieces of flesh carved with the precision of either a surgeon or a butcher. Rigour mortis locking the victims in a scream, nail beds caked with skin which implies a struggle, but leads nowhere since the Ghost’s DNA hasn’t been found on any database.

(He’s as elusive as his name suggests. Investigators say he could be foreign, or that he has a clean record. The latter seems unlikely for the violent calibre of his crimes.)

There’s also his modus operandi—slicing off his victim’s ring finger, taking it with him. A cruel reward. 

“They say he’s taking Route 101,” Kate tacks on. “That he’s a long-hauler. How the hell will they catch a long-hauler?”

You shake your head, shrugging. Your tongue is too heavy and your gums rub against the round of your cheeks when you try speaking. The sentence gets snagged on your molars, and all that comes out are sparse words, lamely falling to the floor with how out of breath you are. 

“…They’ll catch him.”

“They better,” she shortly huffs. “I don’t want this town making the paper for all the wrong reasons.” 

Death comes to you in a cornfield. 

You’re sprinting through the crop, barefoot and scantily clad and pricked by thorns. Your clothing catches on thistle and corn husk, slowing you down, but the quick-footed trampling at your tail keeps your pace steady and stable.

Your lungs burn. Your bones rasp. Your eyes well up with how fast you’re moving, with how your retinas strain to see more in the pitch black than just reflective corn silk and the crescent moon. 

The midnight sky is close to swallowing you whole, but at this point that would be an act of mercy. The whistle of his cleaver slicing through the air and the stomp of his boots are promptly catching up, heckling you, barely whispering against the flowy cotton of your dress.

By a cruel twist of fate your foot catches on a tiller and sends you flying. Your nose softens the impact, the crack of cartilage reverberating through your skull, glutinous red spurting down your chin as you try scrambling to your feet.

But true to his name, Ghost, he slips through matter and suddenly, he’s standing in front of you.

Black, sweaty tank top. Freshly sharpened meat cleaver. Stout arms. Predatory eyes. Rotting balaclava—which at this point, you’re starting to believe was grafted onto his face, fitting him like skin. 

You raise your hands for mercy. 

But you should know dead stars have exhausted all their luminosity—that after death, they hold no power. That space is a graveyard. That’s why the Ghost poises his cleaver behind him. That’s why the last thing you see is his cleaver handle swinging towards you, about to collide with and shatter your cheekbone into a million pieces��

—but daylight strikes you with no clear trajectory. 

It’s your alarm that rings, waking you up from a nightmare, telling you to brush your teeth and scrub yourself down and pop your supplements before biking to work. You do so sluggishly, standing under the shower spray as you massage your cheekbone. Burning your toast as you scour the news for developing details on the Ghost case. Ordering a cup of coffee from the local diner and gulping it down behind the motel lest Phillip catches you.  

Your nightmare—omen, prophecy, portent of death?—pursues you like the persistent stench of fish on an angler’s hands all morning. You flinch at the slightest noise while scrubbing toilets, you constantly look over your shoulder while sweeping floors.

Malaise builds in your blood vessels like creosote. It doesn’t thin into fluid, flowing in and out of your appendages and around your sex until you situate yourself in front of Room 11. Fluffing up your skirt and puffing out your chest.

You announce your presence and rap the door with your Mary Jane flat because your hands are occupied with new bed sheets. Your knuckles blanch around the linen, quivering, struggling to keep it in your grip. The sheets almost flutter to your feet when a voice penetrates the door, abrasive and husky. Rough. Grating against your spine and shaving down the vertebrae. 

“Door’s open.”

You wait a few seconds before contorting yourself against the threshold. You try the handle and lo and behold, it’s unlocked, swinging open when you press your weight onto it. 

You step inside and toe off your flats. Next to Simon’s boots, they look fit for a doll, and a dizzy spell ricochets through you at the size difference. At the stark reminder that he’s as big and packed as a thick tree stump.

You walk inside and heed the CRT television playing the news. 

It does nothing to soften the scream that rips out of you as you round the corner.

Simon is in bed, pulling on a cigarette. His pudgy tummy and bristly chest are bared, the steel wool of his happy trail disappearing into the bed sheets furled around his hips. The flat sheet is thin enough to outline something stirring. Something thick and pressed against his inner thigh. 

He stares at you, eyes of Argus. It’s so intense you’re sure he can sense the slick running down your back. The dew that settles in the gusset of your panties. 

You stutter. “I can come back later.”

Simon sits up with a groan. It rattles you. His joints must be fettered with age, or hard work, but in any case your head goes cottony with the picture of him splitting wood and hauling heavy bovine flanks. 

You swallow thick as he shakes his head. “It’s no problem, sugar. I’m not even here.”

The pet name makes you squirm. You sure do feel like it—sugar, that is—with the way you could melt on his tongue, wedge yourself between his teeth. Turn syrupy and sappy at the back of his throat.  

He takes another drag of his cigarette. You watch raptly as his jaw feathers around it, lips proffering another plume of smoke. 

He blinks. “Well?”

You eke out an apology and fiddle with your hands. 

“I’ll have to, um, change your bedsheets first.”

Simon shakes his head. He taps the ashy casualties off the tip of his cigarette and you watch as it sinks onto the bed sheet, almost burning through the floral motif. “No need.”

“Well,” you cough, forcing your eyes away from him, “if I don’t, my boss…”

Simon pricks up. The hind of his spine straightens the same way a dog would sit straight and plumb after hearing rustling in a bush. His muscles tighten, thick, and his face twists into a sneer. The bed sheet around him falls and you lock up tight lest it bare his pubic bone. 

“Is he a minger?”

“I’m sorry?”

He huffs. “‘s he a bully?”

“Oh, no,” you blandly laugh. “Mister Graves isn’t a bully. He just…”

“Makes you uncomfortable?”

There’s a lapse between acknowledging his question and spitting out an answer that makes you kick yourself. Simon already looks dubious. You hug the sheets closer to your chest and smile, your cheeks feathering like beeswax.

“He’s a kind man.”

“Not wha’ I asked,” he says. The bed creaks as he leans forward, the sheets slipping lower, scarcely covering his sex. “I asked if he does stuff he shouldn’t be doin’.”

Your heartbeat quickens. Briefly, you wonder if he can hear it. He probably can, albeit softly, due to his lumpy cauliflower ear.

“He’s a married man,” you mumble. “He doesn’t touch me if that’s what you mean. Not like that.”

“There’s only one way to touch someone,” Simon grunts. His chest starts churning a little, as if he’s agitated. “Does he put his hands on you?”

Your skin burns, remembering. A phantom scar runs through you, long and creeping, mapping all the places in which Phillip’s pinchbeck wedding ring has burned you. The suture of your spine, the pappy flesh of your neck, the rise of your hips where his palm has melted through your dress and smarted your skin.  

Your silence makes Simon grunt. 

Panic surges up your throat. You feel the need to defend Phillip, in some approximation of gratitude and fear since you’re on his payroll and you don’t want to reap the consequences should you rat on him and he find out. 

“No!” you hurry. “Mister Graves isn’t like that. He’s a good man. Honest.”

Simon’s eyes push against your skin. He scrutinizes you, tests you. Waits to see if you’ll fidget too much and flake away and sink into the carpet. 

He growls. “You fancy him, is tha’ it?”

Answering yes is the only way to shake him off your leg. You do so archly, so it seems as though the thought of your boss has you flushing when really it’s Simon. He’s fully upright, and now you can see the girthy base of his cock. Stirring, twitching. You suppress a moan.

“Yeah…” you murmur. You can feel your makeup turning blotchy, running down your cheeks. “It’s just a bit…embarrassing, is all.”

He lapses into it again. Staring at you. Razoring his way into your head and thumbing through your consciousness, searching for an Achilles’ heel. A crack he can break into a hole because he has the size for it—barrel-chested, stupidly thick fingers. 

Simon slips out of bed and disturbs the coiled aches of the mattress. He holds a washcloth over his crotch. It’s crusty and keeps shape and covers almost nothing, confirming your inkling. 

His bulbous cockhead winks at you from under the hem. It’s heavy. Leaky. Dripping precum that laves down his legs and gets caught in the wiry hair of his thigh. 

Anxiety pools in your armpits and around your groin. Or maybe that’s just arousal. Brackish and sticky, rubbing your pussy lips together, hugging your clit. 

Simon pulls on his cigarette once more and then folds it into the bedside table. You should scold him. You should tell him that he’ll have to pay for damages even though the wood is already degraded and mouldy. You should scuttle out of the room and call for Phillip, but that would be a crueler fate. Instead you stay fixed to the carpet as Simon steps forward. Cock swinging between his legs, tummy jiggling. 

You don’t know whether he’s going to pull you in for a kiss or rip off your dress or—and you’re unsure why you think of this—take you by your skull and smash it against the television stand. He has the muscle to, surely, but somehow you know he won’t. And the thought of that makes your skin hot.

You’re at his mercy.

You gird yourself for his lips or for your dress to be torn off, but your preparations flux away as Simon steps close and crowds you against the television stand. The stench of Lucky Strike cigarettes and gamey meat impair you, as he reaches behind you and increases the television volume. You want to say something but cotton fills your mouth and the news report floods your ears. It’s fragmentary—you can only heed oddments of the news anchor’s latest updates. 

The Ghost is still at large. Corpses keep popping up around California and Oregon, each with their ring fingers sliced off. The tipline has been leading investigators nowhere, shepherding them to the end of the earth and over the edge, floating, where they’ll move through molasses and will never be able to catch him. 

White male. 6’4”. 196 centimetres. Brown eyes. Heavyset. Likely military background. Likely a surgeon, or a butcher. A dangerous, ruthless individual. 

If spotted, do not approach. 

Simon’s breath fans against your neck, rousing the bristles of your warm cheeks. He turns off the television and steps back. An ether opens up in the pit of your stomach as your gaze falls on his bulging pelvis, on the purplish veins and webbing muscle, sitting like a tuft under his navel, disappearing behind the washcloth where his cock stirs. 

Simon tuts. “World’s goin’ to shite.”

You nod.

“You shouldn’t be out here anyway,” he tacks on. “Should be at home takin’ care of your man’s house. Keepin’ safe.”

You flash your naked ring finger embarrassingly fast. “I-It’s just me…and my cat.”

His eyes darken. His head tilts down at you. He purrs. 

“Better get started on mine then,” he breathes. “Put yourself to good use.”

You shyly get to cleaning his room. 

You try to ignore his hand disappearing behind the washcloth, pumping his cock. You can’t ignore the silk ruining your panties. Scarcely, you manage to ignore the caution creeping up your back. Your lower instinct that screams at you as you feel his stare tracking you across the room, burning. Smouldering. Warning. 

Daylight scissors into you.

It melts the sleep in the corners of your eyes. It clears the haze in your head. It interrupts the sultry dream you were having. Your flesh is still pocked and your clit is still peaked, as you rehash the contents of it. 

You can still feel Simon’s weight on top of you, sweat compressioning you, the sheets gathering under your slick back. Your underwear had dangled from one of your ankles, flapping and swaying as Simon pounded into you. Your head bobbed over the lip of the mattress. Your tits bounced, nipples caught between his gnashers. Your slick ran down your cunt and over your asshole, pooling onto the floral bed sheets. You just quit your job. You didn’t care about the sheets. Or the Pettie’s down the veranda. Phillip was on the other side of the door too, and he could hear everything. Your moans. Simon’s balls dragging over your furled hole. His groans—

—And the sudden tearing of cartilage and skin stretching, rubbery, as Simon shifted into something else above you. Something larger. Deadlier. His drool dripped onto your chest, and his cock was suddenly too big for your pussy, popping back out until only his tip managed to squeeze inside your puffy hole. He snarled down at you, but it got covered by a creeping balaclava. You still reached your orgasm, quivering around his cockhead. Watching him go spotty and graphite-like in your vision, as if he were a composite sketch.

You get out of bed and wash the absurd dream away under the shower. The nozzle hits your clit weakly, and you never reach your high. You show up to work pigeon-toed and sweaty. Pent-up. You scrub harder at bathtubs and almost snap at Phillip when he swats your bum. Almost. Simon is watching from the dining hall, and he makes you skittish.

The day rolls by sluggishly. There’s a Do Not Disturb sign dangling from Simon’s door, so you don’t get the chance to see him in his room. You huff and puff at the Pettie’s and give Kate attitude. It’s the peak of afternoon when you’re sent home, shoulders stiff because Phillip squeezed them and tacked on, ”I can always help out if you’re stressed, peach,” before shepherding you out the door.  

You bike into town. Indulge in the diner’s famous rhubarb pie because the motel’s cherry pie is nowhere near as good, though you’ll never tell Kate that. You polish off your treat then ride to the beach (which is more of a graveyard for birds and braided, washed ashore sea meadow), and prop your bike against the wooden bollards.

The beach is familiar with you. It sees you when you're overwhelmed by the monotonous colour of your life. You never worry about meddling kids or loud teenagers or anything, because the stench of fish usually keeps them away anyway. It's your own Shangri-La. Your little Eden. Albeit overcast and greyscale, with an ocean spray that gets into your hair and dries out your mouth.

You slip out of your Mary Jane flats and wade through the sand dunes, breathing in salt and sulfur and tasting it on your lips. You maneuver around seawrack and driftwood and eventually find yourself seated behind a tussock of seaoats, watching as the waves lazily beat against the shore.

It's easy for you to lie down and get comfortable among the scent of iodine and the feel of pillowy granules. It's also easy to let your eyes flutter shut, lulled into limbo by the ebbing tide and murmuring waves.

You stir awake with flaccid lungs.

Presentiment hangs in the air, thick, like a blanket of smog. It interrupts your breathing pattern and makes you light-headed. Vertiginous. Makes you see things that aren't there…

…Such as the off-white scleras and twists of dilated blood vessels that stare at you from the foreshore.

They approach you eerily. Two pieces of driftwood floating over the waves, jolting slightly as it hits the sand, splintery and mossy and heavy.

The man feathers toward you from the blue glow of the beach. You squint through the darkness, because maybe it's the sheriff, but you know he walks with a drunken gait and he…strides like a bear on its hind legs.

The way he lurches for you says otherwise. Perhaps he's rather a panther or a coyote, or some crude backyard breed of all three.

A large palm splits itself over your mouth. An arm lays beside you and secretes a musk of sweat and iron. A knee digs into the plush of your cunt, agitating your clit, as a warm breath fans over your pulse point.

"Waited for me, didn't you?" he rasps against your neck.

In your stupor, you brace your hands against his shoulders. A sticky substance coats his skin, too viscous to be sweat.

Nausea knots in your throat. Tremors wash over your body. You dig your nails into his flesh, and when your hands don't fall through it like you hoped, you gravely realize he's made of muscle and skin instead of your drunken, sleep-inspired imagination.

You experience a cruel loss of equilibruim. If you weren't already lying down, you'd collapse to the ground. You go limp in the sand, thawing into his hands which you unwillingly notice are caked with that sticky substance too.

"There's dangerous folk 'round here," he grunts. "What if someone else followed you? A big, bad man?"

A chord of recognition stirs in your brain at his voice. That brash accent.

"Simon…?"

He chuckles. "It's me, sugar."

You squeeze your thighs together but it's abortive. He pries them apart anyway, and cups your pussy through your panties.

He rubs you through the gauze, knuckling your soft lips. Through the darkness you barely see the misshapen silhouette of his mouth. That snarl, curling off him as if he suffers from some chronic wasting disease, slowly atrophying and turning into some vestigal cadaver.

He kisses down your sternum. Grips your hand and forces it over his crotch. Your fingers brush over the solid mass. It's hard due to both stiffened denim and his thickening cock.

"All for you," he mumbles. "Take it out, sugar."

You fumble with the metal teeth of his zipper. You pull him out with both hands and your mouth goes dry. Tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Deadly nightshade hitting the back of your throat. Despite you, your thighs squish together, and a rumbling chuckle slips through the seam of his lips.

He's huge. Fat and heavy, so much so you need both fingers to wrap around him.

"Give it a kiss, yeah?" he coos. "Like a sweet girl."

You spread your lips against his cockhead. You pull away and a string of precum chases you, but Simon is pushing your head back down and bucking his bristly pubic bone into to your nose.

"There it is," he grumbles. "Such a big girl, aren't you?"

You look up at him with wide, wet eyes.

The stiffs of hair on his pubic bone tickle your nose. You smell sweat and iron, but you can't tilt your head away, because the stout muscle of his arms keep you in place.

Fighting is futile. His cockhead hits the back of your throat like oleander and he holds your jaw in place, dimpling your cheeks with his rough fingers, letting his balls slap against your chin.

Just as you're getting used to his size, he pulls out, breaking the strands of saliva and precum between you.

"Take off y'panties, sugar."

You pull them off and squirm at the way the gusset clings to your pussy lips a little while longer. Simon takes it against his nose and sniffs it, running his fingers through your pussy, spreading your slick.

You don't get a warning before he's curling one of his fingers into you. Massaging your walls. Scissoring you open. Thumbing your clit.

He adds another and twists them deeper—meaner—into you. He swallows your whimpers but spits them back into your mouth when he empties his saliva down your throat. He keeps stroking the inside of your pussy, your sticky walls, and rubbing your clit.

He squeezes your cheeks together and gives you a big kiss. He coos condescendingly into your lips, and licks away your fresh track of tears. "It's supposed to hurt, baby. Don't be mad, alright? It'll feel good soon."

He gets deeper and deeper. Knuckle-deep, when he curls his fingers inside you. You lock up tight and thrust your hips through the bulk of your orgasm, trembling and quivering around him.

Your lips quiver around a plea when he pulls his fingers out. It's a lapse of judgement on your part—you know it—but you can't help it anymore.

"Please what?" He grins. It's ugly. Like a truss of stitching falling off his face, mangled and chewed up.

"Can you g-go…" you squirm when he rolls his tumb over your clit, agonizingly slow. "Can you go–"

"C'mon baby," he whispers against your lips, "spit it out. Big girls use their words."

"Canyougodownonme?" you gasp and grip onto him, bucking your cunt into his palm.

He chuckles against your mouth. He kisses down your chest. He crinkles his nose against the husk of your pussy. He deeply inhales and vibrates at your scent. He darts his tongue out and flattens it against your dewy folds, licking a stripe up your slit.

You writhe but he holds you in place with those big, thickened hands of his. They're wet but at this point you can't tell if it's your arousal or that mysterious substance on him. You can't even think about it, not with your thoughts melting away, escaping you like the humming waves.

Simon's a bit too aggressive in how he eats you out. It doesn't come from a juvenile attempt influenced by sex-on-screen with undue emphasis, but rather his tongue spelling devotion into the fat of your cunt.

Your fingers flex into his blonde head of hair. It's closely cropped, but you still manage to pull him closer, grinding yourself down on the bumpy bridge his nose. You pull on his hair and he growls and sends a quake up your spine. He wraps his lips around your clit and swirls his tongue further into you, softly suckling your juices out.

The waves fold over each other, beating against the shore. They crest and crash and just as they race up the sand dune, teasing your flexing toes, your second orgasm crashes into you too. You twist and twirl Simon's hair in your grip and almost miss the feel of something cold being slipped onto your finger.

You're shaking, trembling, as you raise your hand. You're hazy and the moonlight is shrouded by clouds. It makes the mystery object look smeared across your vision, blotchy and spotty.

You hold it a little closer to your face, examining the twinkle as Simon massages your thighs to ease the quiver.

You turn your hand over and whisper your thumb over its curve.

You bristle when you realize what it is. It hangs off you a little loosely, burning your knuckle.

A pinchbeck wedding ring.

Stained with red, and still warm from the body it was pulled from.

Bile gathers in your throat and burns your mouth. Tears gather in your eyes. A small gasp parts your lips, billowing out of you like the mushroom-head of a flare just as realization fully commits itself to you.

You shiver. Both through realization, and your orgasm. "…What did you do to him?"

"Took care of him," Simon grunts, caressing your hair. "I'm supposed to handle the monsters under your bed, ain't I?"

You spare him a glance. You heed the white of his teeth and a smudge of—you know it's blood—across his cheek. His eyes, hidden in the shadowy canopy. His nose, bent out of shape and speckled with blood.

"You're not going to hurt me."

He brushes your hair back. "No."

You pant into him when he captures you for a kiss. "…Why?"

"I'm supposed to take care of ya," he grunts. "That's what couples do, no?"

He pushes something in your grasp—a folding knife. Your thumb slips over the two initials engraved into the handle—your initials.

"How do y'feel about Kate?" he asks.

Your coworker flashes into your mind. "I like her"

Simon—the Ghost—grunts. "And what about that bloke at the diner? What's his name?"

"I– Franklin?"

"Hn. Does he bother you?"

You thumb through your memory. Perhaps what you say is an embellishment, giddy of what Simon's going for.

"He did steal my bike once…" you mumble.

Simon pricks up. His chest puffs out and squishes against your arm. "He married?"

"Yeah, um," you swallow, "for about ten years."

"You want his pretty ring? Or his wife's?" Simon asks, then kisses you. "Anythin' you want."

Your lips stretch into a smile.

Simon cups your cheek, blood rubbing off on you. For the first time ever, you feel exhilarated at the thought of the future. At the thought of being taken care of. Doted on.

Suddenly the town doesn't feel so cold anymore. It doesn't feel like an invisible barricade is hemming you in. Simon is your ticket out of here, and a ticket to your new life.

You can abandon your pinafore and Mary Jane flats and maybe he'll spoil you with frilly socks and a cute sundress. Maybe he'll fuck you in his truck or in gas station bathrooms as the corpse of a man who wronged you rots in the truckbed. Maybe you'll get caught but at least you'll be together and at least your name will finally be known.

Not as the housekeeper girl, but Mrs Riley.

[kyseya]

Backstory - farm brothers

So it’s fairly clear that Weston and Lucas are not normal people. Surprise, surprise they’re killers. I wanted to have a little Texas chainsaw massacre slasher vibe but don’t know if that worked very well.

Basically they lure(or people just end up there by themselves) folk to their farm and kill them. Though there are instances where they let some walk away without a scratch, but that’s only if they’re needed, will definitely be missed and could potentially be traced back there, and haven’t the slightest clue what’s truly going on at the farm. The Callaghan brothers can’t have anyone running their mouth, you know.

Their parents were pieces of shit and only had kids to lessen the work load. The farm belonged to their fathers side of the family. their mother had never planned to marry their father but an unexpected pregnancy and pressure from others made them stay together. The two of them were miserable with each other, always fighting and blaming the other partner. The mother was mostly mad about having to spend the rest of her days on a ‘dirty farm’ and work. The father hated being married to a vile, selfish woman who barely helped with anything. His own parents were old and his siblings had quickly moved far away to prevent having anything to do with the farm, which meant everything landed on him.

It was the mother who began using her son as a helping tool. Tasks like sweeping, feeding the animals, collecting the eggs and cooking simple meals were passed to him. At first, when Weston’s dad found out he was furious. But not because it came at Weston’s expense, no, it was because he saw it as a sign of ultimate laziness.

The earliest memories Weston has is of his parents fighting over him. He remembers when his father would reprimand his mother about using him to do her labour(he wanted her to suffer the same tiring days he does) while she screamed back. But then it stopped and his father would no longer complain. Nearly a year after that his little brother was born, and of course he became the one taking care of him after he didn’t have to nurse anymore.

Lucas followed his older brother everywhere. He was his second shadow when he went around and did his chores. It was fine with weston, he wouldn’t admit it but it became a comfort knowing he was a hero to someone. It made life easier. Unfortunately their parents wanted to put Lucas to work too, the moment they considered him old enough. That wasn’t the worst part though. Their mood soured significantly over the years and they verbally abused them on a daily basis, a couple shoves and blows were hard to avoid. You’d think they’d be happier with the easier load.

Weston would have been able to take it ifd only been him, but seeing his younger sibling being treated as dirt too, that wouldn’t fly. The hatred grew stronger each day. When it had boiled over the edge, the older one had decided on a plan. They would kill their parents. Sadly, they were too young at the moment, there was no way they’d be able to overpower two adults as they currently were. They would have to wait until they were older. And so they did. Years they waited for the right opportunity. The abuse and work never stopped, in fact, the older they got the more take they had to preform. Eventually everything was done by them and nothing was done by their parents. They finally got what they wanted, total freedom from the harsh farm life.

The day Weston told Lucas the plan to kill their parents, he had expected a little pushback from him, but he was surprised when Lucas was totally in on it. One might say he was even excited.

It was really easy to murder them. You just had to corner each one when they were alone and then slice their neck. The kids had far outgrown the adults, they were no match for them anymore.

After their mother and fathers death the brothers took over the farm. Despite all the bad memories they still liked it there. It was rather peaceful(especially when no one criticised you on how to feed the pigs), plus, they didn’t have much of an education beyond reading and writing. Where would they even go? At least on the farm they had food and shelter.

The killing didn’t stop though. It appeared the first murder had awakened something in the both of them. They both had found out they enjoyed it. The power and pleasure in seeing their parents fear stricken faces was too good of a high not to experience again.

Although, they might make one exception to the killing if you’re cute enough~

[nemesyaaa]

from the sea // pirate!rafe cameron x mermaid!reader

summary ; he was the too scary captain of the ship, and you were the too gorgeous mermaid of the sea. you were on his way, he was on your territory.

but mostly, you were not allowed to go on the surface alone since your mother's death because of dangerous and killer men like him. so when you unfollowed the rules of your father, you faced the consequences.

genre ; fantasy blurb. siren x captain dynamic.

warnings ; fantasy story ? possession. rafe has whip scars/and one eye. fear enthousiast. slight of violence. reader is a mermaid with tail. light gun play mentions and using. smut. gaslighting. dubcon. no shells on breasts reader. webbed fingers. lust as a sin.

author's note ; it's a 3k words. no songs inspiration for this one. i just wanted to make a fantasy au.

you were that kind of beauty that aspired to make all men go crazy over you, and it was for this reason that you had taken so many pirates adrift, to their bodies to their ships. you were beautiful and indeed the bewitching and seductive creature that legends and tales spoke of, but you were also the dangerous monster that the captains with monstrous scars on their faces and marks on skin who had survived your man-eating canines were whispering about in the back of a tavern to overly curious and drunk sailors.

you were the wife of all the gods but above all, those who defended their oceans. but only since your mother's death, your father firmly forbade you from going to the surface, either alone or accompanied. you were forbidden by the all-powerful sovereign of the seas. and his law was indisputable because he was the king and the monarchy. one day as his daughter, you will also be the head of the kingdom, and hold the power as him, even if you're not interested in it.

but like all girls your age, you had trouble listening to your father. no, you had this innocent and blind thirst to chase men. and, you had never had an incident before, so what could stop you ? you only had to slip into the clear waves, and let your magical and fairy body disappear through the eddies of the water which made your flowing silhouette as fast and shiny as a shooting star. the feeling of diving into the soft waves that play hide and seek with your sparkling and enchanted tail while the water gently embraced your mermaid skin was always the best.

you were the only dazzling thing of the perfect blue. the sweet and salty waves kissing your nakedness and long mermaid tail illuminated with colorful reflections ran alongside the rest of your bared chest in the flapping of a fin. you looked nothing like a fish that fishermen wanted to eat, but you looked like an underwater creature that captains wanted to capture.

one stormy evening, you decided it was time to go to the surface. you needed to break the rules to survive. with all the youth and rebellion of your free will, you had left the abyssal depths to face the dangerous world.

the sea was raging, and the waves were decidedly uncontrollable and violent. the shadow of a boat disturbed by the marshy assault of the storm on the waves wavered from one end to the other. that meant you were going to be able to have fun. you could also hear from here the agitation of the crew, the fear and the tension building. you easily spotted the captain because he was much taller and broader, the one who didn't frown a single eyebrow, and who remained calm as if it was the storm that should be feared. his voice shouted orders that you couldn't hear because of the raging sounds of the hard weather. he had a parrot on his right shoulder, and bangs stuck to the sweat of his forehead lightly sweeping his face. he looked delicious, you licked your bottom lip, flicking your mermaid tail to move.

you barely lifted your head out of the water in a crashing entry, emerging from the water by sending your hair flying back, a splash of water falling noisily into the waves and attracting the attention of the sailors above of the boat.

“ captain, captain, look !! there’s a siren ! ” said a sailor who pointed a finger toward you.

“ she's gorgeous ! ” replied another.

“ those tits…”

“ stop being horny, that creature can kill you. i don't pay all of you to do all the work so everybody on the ship move his fucking ass before i throw you all on that storm. am i clear ? and if i don't hear a yes right now, i will let that siren eat every single piece of yours. . ” warned the captain with a deep and somber tone.

“ captain yes, yes captain. ” echoed all the sailor voices.

“ man, you can't say that when you have a fucking boner while looking at her. ” commented a sailor.

“ shut your mouth, barry. it's not her at all. ”

“ do you think i'm dumb to think it's one of the men on the ship ? come on, you can lie with that mouth but that hard dick in your pants betrays you. don’t worry, nobody is immune to tits, especially when they're wet as a fucking pussy.”

“ mind your business. ”

“ as you want, captain. ”

a smile appeared on your soppy lips, as you disappeared again into the tormented waves. you had surrounded the ship, swimming only around the boat. you loved it when everyone was fascinated by you, catching with their eyes all your flawless moves as a show.

water being your domain and your home, you took the initiative to do some twirls by immersing your entire body in the water to bring out only your tail as you leaped to the surface with some back flips and observing your audience. you stood on an icy rock, resting your webbed and manicured fingers against the stone.

“ someone is gonna fucking do his work here ? ” shouted the captain. he was actually running out of patience because of his crew being so attracted by the siren. “are you all dumb on purpose ? this is exactly what she wants, to get all of your attention, and kill you. ”

“ captain accept there is nothing you can do. that woman is too stunning. ” cutted one man, literally drooling over his huge beard, giving up his activity for you.

“ do you think she cares about you ? you're just a prey for her. but right, this is not my problem. you can leave my ship and die. ”

once comfortable on the rock, , you begin to open your mouth to sing a sweet song that would bring them as well as this storm to their doom. your voice was just a trap to lure men.

you had no shells on your breasts as the tales loved to tell. actually, you were completely naked from the top, water running down your chest to your mermaid glowing tail. your skin was still cold and damp, like your eyes. but it shone through the moon, and the white pearls on your body lit up every inch of your flesh like stars. you were of a beauty that had thrown more than one sailor into the water. you were in the image of no god, no man, no woman, you were the angel of the sea. you had a throne in every wave, a kingdom wherever you swam.

your hair fell deliberately on your shoulders, and your angelic voice currently pierced all the foam. the storm was raging, and you appeared as their savior, a halo of light projecting above you to cover your superb figure. you were beautiful and unrealistic like a work of art.

when you weren't expecting it, one of the men you had guessed to be the captain had lowered a boat. he was certainly tall and imposing, a long coat covering his entire frame, and immense leather boots with roughly tied laces on his feets as he approached you. he had a pistol stuck in his glistening and leathery belt, and above all an eye patch over his face. you took a look at the cross scar hidden in his shirt of which you only saw the scary top of the burned mark of the probably iron.

he rowed up to you, until you felt his scent replacing the salty smell of the sea. you quickly understood that there was nothing like the other men you had managed to charm. not unlike the others, this man seemed to be able to corrupt anyone, men and women, humans and mermaids alike.

he placed his boat near the rock to look at you more closely.

“didn’t your father warn you not to come near men like me? i’m sure he did gorgeous, i bet you’re just not smart enough to listen to him. ”

you backed away but he put his gun on the tip of your tail to stand you still, making you shake. “y’know what that means? I’m in charge here. ”

“let me go!” you responded, waving your tail limply, but he pushed his finger against the trigger of his gun to scare you.

"you'll leave when i decide. so stand still because from now, all your rules are made by me. ”

“you should fear my father, he will kill you.” you replied.

he laughed in a mocking tone, and moved closer to you with a smirk. “you could kill me too though, couldn’t you mermaid ? but look at you, shaking like prey ready to die by my hand.”

“are you going to kill me?”

“ is this a question or a wish ? or maybe a dirty mermaid fantasy ? ”

“i don’t want to die.”

“If that pretty mouth can sing like it does then it can beg too, don’t you think? If you want me to spare you, you’re gonna have to be a bit more convincing.”

he lowered his gaze towards your glossy and watery body, his weapon buried in the flesh of your stomach, before slightly moving up to your breasts, your nipples arching against the gun. you shivered at the contact of the metal against your skin.

he slid the gun up to your throat, pushing the barrel against your vocal cords. you coughed, and placed a hand around his.

he had sworn "oh fuck...legends don't tell all the things siren can do to a man…"

your webbed fingers, surrounded by tiny fins, had found their effect on him. you looked so sweet and innocent, but you were a creature who knew how to be machiavellian so he had to keep an eye on you.

“you don’t want to die?” he asked, repeating your words.

rafe was not a man of morals, he made fun of laws and conventions. and above all, why would he deprive himself when a beautiful mermaid was willing to do whatever he wanted just to be spared.

you were desperate, and frighteningly attractive. rafe would be lying if he said it didn't stimulate him. his cock was clearly hard and painfully stretched against the leather of his pants, forming a bulge just below his belt. and it was starting to be so uncomfortable. he only wanted one thing, it was to fill your soppy mouth surrounded by divine dripping lips until he felt your throat tighten around his dick, because his girth prevented the air from passing into your cavity.

oh yes rafe cameron was cruel. he wanted you to die, but in a completely different way.

and what he wanted, he got. he was a captain admired and respected by all and who had a high reputation both on the seas and on land. he was rich and miserly. he had as much money as he had girls.

he pulled down his pants, freeing his thick length to reveal it before your eyes. you'd be lying if you said you'd seen one before. It was the first time you saw something that big, it was terrifying. you didn't even know what this sailor wanted you to do with it so you looked at him with curious and desperate eyes.

oh that innocence burning in your gaze had shot a charge through rafe's body and his cock had twitched, letting precum drop on your face and the blood inside him completely heated.

"open your mouth...yes, like that. show me your tongue, i'll help you, gonna tell you how to do it.”

he had thrust himself into your mouth before giving you instructions, telling you how to make him feel good, while his dick found a way to your throat. you were even wetter inside than a real woman and it felt perfect and insane. you started to suck him, your lips vibrating around his throbbing girth that stuffed you real quick.his tip was slightly salty from the precum dripping from it that you had swallowed, making the ship captain above you groan.

pushed by his grunts and his tight grip through your hair, you pumped him faster because you were starting to understand how it worked. he never tired of your lips that foamed, and fully encircling his cock which as you licked got bigger and bigger, your naked tummy spiraling as the growing feeling.

with one hand, he had plunged himself completely into you, your head completely trapped between his firm fingers, and your nose buried in his pelvis. you gagged on him, a spurt of drool coming out of your mouth when he pulled out, as you gurgled strongly . your saliva hung from his glistening tip down the length of his hardened dick, all the way to his heavy balls.

he re-positioned himself inside you, his massive dick now dripping inside your soaked mouth as you continued to suck and lick with the fear knotting in your stomach of being killed. but you could feel that his body was relaxed, his muscles were loose, and you could hear every deep sound of pleasure coming from his lips.

he was both fascinated and over the moon, because your wetted tongue twirling around his hot cock was perfect. oh if he could have fucked you, he would have. he couldn't help but fantasize about how he would have fucked you on this rock, his large hands on your tits caged them like bra and pressing them against his thick fingers that would easily crushed them.

he also loved how your throat was so capricious, clenching around him while your tongue hungrily brushed his entire growing bulge. the feeling was intense, and you could hear his breaths become harsh.

that's what he liked about corruption, you were too good for him, a creature blessed by all the gods who had nothing to do with a mortal as rich as him, because you were too divine , too wonderful but at that moment, you were in the same rank. you were at his mercy.

you placed your wet hands on his hips, leaving trails of water on his body and impressive marks of whip that left scars on his skin. rafe could have sworn it was the gentlest touch in the world. the tiny fins around your fingers, tracing the straight line of his waist, down to his firm ass as you sucked him to death, drove him so crazy with your long soaked tongue that made him gasp.

and even if he was not a believer, he was convinced that heaven could not be so wonderful.

a few minutes later, his dick had convulsed around your mouth, and you felt large hot streams filling your throat down to your tummy. you swallowed, and he smiled before stroking your hair gently.

“ good job, little mermaid. don’t you deserve a reward for that ?”

you didn’t really know what that meant but you nodded.

he had taken a long pearl necklace from his pocket. “turn around. let me help you. ”

and you complied. he had hung the expensive and luxurious jewel around your neck, the length of which was so long that he had to make several turns until a hundred white pearls covered the entirety of your bust, dangling around your handsome tits.

“do you know what that means?”

you moved your head to say no, and he responded. “that now you belong to me. you’re my prized possession. you need to understand that now you can't leave. without me. ”

he had found a treasure and he was going to keep it. after all, he was a pirate, he stole everything the ocean had. and sirens were not an exception to the rules.

“i want to see my father.”

“mermaid, you are mine, and mine only.” he responded while caressing your soppy cheek. “ you don't need your dad anymore, just me. ”

you lifted your gaze to meet the most beautiful blue eyes you ever met. he was handsome as the devil, and you couldn’t deny it. but you were a mermaid, you belonged to the ocean, not to a man.

you tried to run away but he stopped you by placing his leather boot on your mermaid tail with a smirk, before leaning forward to grab you by the throat, your upper body was arched, his biceps caged your vocal cords tightly, his thick fingers pushed further in your mouth to forced you to behave, your drool dripping over your hanged jaw.

“what did I tell you about making silly moves, huh? behave, unless you want to die. you know what’ll happen if you act up? what you did earlier, with that pretty mouth, we’re gonna do it again. except this time instead of my cock, it’ll be my gun and if you stop, I shoot. And I know you don’t want that, right?”

" no…”

“ yea ? better to be alive. ”

you nodded. because it was true.

"now i have my men waiting for me. but don't worry, you're coming with me.”

“ that's a kidnapping — ”

“ do you think i care ? because listen to me, i don't fucking care. do you know what it means ? that you can pout, cry, scream, whatever tantrum you want to shout, it will not change anything. ”

you shivered when his hands stroked your shoulders, the icy metal of his silver rings brushing your skin. “ don't you want to be cherished ? see that world ? look up, because it can be yours. ”

“ you're not afraid that i can eat you ? ”

“ didn't you see my scars ? i fear nothing, even if you dig those canines in my skin, you will be the only one to be scared of what i can do to you. because babe, be mean to me, i dare you to, and i will be meaner. ”

“ where are your scars coming from, they're huge. and it's not sirens. ”

“oh, it’s a horrible story for a little mermaid like you. stick to your fairytales. so are you gonna come with me willingly or do we have to do things the hard way?”

“ sound like a trap. ”

“ sound like you're smart. ” he mocked.

“ i'm gonna follow you. but don't be too happy, my dad will find you before sunrise. so you're soon a dead man. ”

“ such a mean baby, already wishing that i'm dead. but careful, don't make me correct that mouth myself. it's not the kind of thing you will like. ”

“ because there is a good thing you can do with my mouth ? ” you were curious.

you turned your gaze toward him, and he lifted a brow, not believing your words. “ mermaid, you never kissed a man ? ”

“ show me what kissing is. ”

“ Why would I kiss the mouth that curses me ? ”

“ Should i ask those men on the ship? ”

because of his possessive side, categorically refusing to share you with his crew full of grotesque men, he had leaned down to grab your jaw and press his lips against yours.the feeling was so strange, but your mermaid tail was waving on the cold stone. “seems like you enjoy being kissed. ” he said, as his tongue swirled with yours. “ want to be kissed endlessly ? yea ? then don't make me repeat myself and move that fucking tail to the ship. ”

[ggidolsmuts]

Career Killer, Decision Maker - Yeonwoo

"So, this is it huh?"

"Yes."

"I wish you all the best."

"Thank you, Miss. Lee, it was a pleasure working with you." You hold out a friendly hand.

"Of course, likewise." She takes it.

How did you even get to this point?

After Yeonwoo's confidence boost you were the perfect right-hand man to her, and Yeonwoo kept you close for your good work, and together both of you rose in the ranks—she took care of you, and you backed her up.

Of course, she kept you close for other reasons, and she certainly took care of you as well...

"I didn't know that coming home with you was part of my performance review."

"Shh, not so loud, the neighbors might hear!" Yeonwoo pushes you through her door and shuts it behind her. "It's part of mine." Your pants seem to unbuckle themselves as you take in Yeonwoo's sweet tongue, and soon Yeonwoo is the one doing the taking, wrapping her tongue around your shaft.

"Oh fuck that's so good!" She has you leaning against the door, thrusting your hips out and pushing her head towards it. You pray the neighbors don't hear your piteous whine when Yeonwoo grazes her teeth ever so lightly across your shaft—Yeonwoo is your boss in the office, and occasionally work bleeds into personal life, your knees buckling against her kneeling form. She grabs you by the balls, and you head thumps quite loudly against the door as you cum, dumping a load straight down her throat. When you come to you are the one on the floor, with Yeonwoo standing over you.

"So, as part of our 360 degree review, how was my performance?"

"Exceeds expectations." You shakily stand up and kiss her passionately, sweeping her up in your arms. 

"Can you stay the night?" Yeonwoo pleads with round eyes, her fingers tightly gripping your shirt.

"Only if you don't wrinkle my shirt, I'll still need it for tomorrow." She wraps her arms around your neck instead, keeping your shirt unwrinkled, all so that you can wrinkle her sheets with her tonight.

You wake up the next morning with Yeonwoo all dressed up and kissing your cheek—she's already heading out.

"Don't be late."

You arrive slightly late to work, and wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but thankfully no one notices beyond a few knowing grins and nudges from a co-worker or two.

That probably wasn't how things got to this point though. 

At least, mostly likely not.

You're hard at your desk, listening to Yeonwoo breathe heavily through your ear buds. She had lost a bet with you the night before, and knowing that she had only a few meetings today, you made her slip a vibrator in her during the day.

"Nngh... Fuck I'm so wet," she whimpers into the phone. "Can I take it out?"

"No, keep it in, you sound so hot." You up the intensity, and you hear Yeonwoo gasp before whining even harder. She squirms in her chair, praying that she isn't soaking through her pencil skirt. You resist the urge to touch yourself, and it is a good thing you didn't as you suddenly feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey man, still here?" You quickly sit upright and move yourself closer to your desk, making sure your co-worker doesn't see your hard on. "I was calling for you earlier."

"Huh? Yeah sorry, on the phone with customer support, they've kept me waiting with the stupid music, didn't hear you."

"Oh ugh yeah it's always bad. Anyways we were going to order some dinner in the office, you want any?"

"I'm good, thanks, gonna head out soon."

"Alright. Oh what's this?" To your horror they grab the remote controlling Yeonwoo's vibrator, and hurriedly you snatch it from them—you need to come up with something!

"O-Oh, just a toy, fidget spinner thing, I just click it whenever I'm bored."

Yeonwoo hears your conversation through her own earbuds, and to her sheer pleasure and terror she feels the vibrator inside her pulse erratically. It's one thing to constantly try to resist the urge to just cum in her office, but it's a whole different thing to have the pleasure come in waves. Yeonwoo leaks like a broken dam as they crash against her mental barrier.

"S-Stop, turn it off, turn it off!" She whispers harshly, her mind going white. She takes deep breaths, just trying to not scream as her orgasm creeps up on her inexorably.

"Fu— Mmmmm fuck!" So close, but then— "No! Damn it!" Thankfully she feels the vibrator stop, but unfortunately the pleasure is ripped from her far too quickly—her orgasm was ruined! It takes a while before she can get off her chair, but when she does she is seething.

You and your co-worker are surprised by a livid Yeonwoo storming towards you.

"Miss Lee, I didn't know you were still in! We're ordering dinner, would you—"

"No, thank you. And you, you missed a deliverable and the customer is pissed. We need to fix it, right now. Follow me." Your co-worker is scared into silence as you follow Yeonwoo into the elevator. She walks you out the building and into the carpark. "Get in." You make to get in the passenger seat, but she yanks you back by the collar. "In the back!" As soon as you get in Yeonwoo's on top of you, slamming the door shut with a hook of her heels.

"You fucking ruined my orgasm!" Off pops one, then a second button as Yeonwoo tugs on your collar, pulling your shirt open. You hiss in pain as she leaves a mark on your neck, sucking harshly on your skin. Her hands trail lower, on to your pants.

"Yeonwoo! We can't do it here!"

"I'm not." She pulls your cock out, and in short order she's threatening to suck your soul out, giving you the blowjob of your life.

"Fuck Yeonwoo, fuck... Oh fuck!" You groan and moan, but as you try to thrust and push deep into her mouth she gets off, leaving you to hurriedly pull your pants back up as she opens the door to the night air.

"Now get out and drive us to your place."

"What the fuck Yeonwoo!"

"Now you kinda know how it feels, be glad I didn't ruin your orgasm." It was definitely not the safest thing to do, to drive while horny, and certainly not safe to drive fast while horny, with Yeonwoo next to you rubbing your thigh, teasingly moving up and in. Luckily you make it back to your place in one piece, and as the door slams shut behind you Yeonwoo is ripping your shirt open, hungrily pushing you to the bedroom. The contrast with how she takes off your clothes versus how she takes off her own clothes is almost comical, but with barely measured composure she leaves them neatly on the floor before jumping you. There is a loud ripping sound as you tear off her underwear, trying to gain access to her.

"Yah!" There is a loud stinging pain on your chest as the two of you freeze, the frenzied mood put on pause. Yeonwoo merely bites her lower lip, saying sorry, protecting her underwear, and teasing you, all at once as she silently removes her bra. As you latch your lip on an already stiff nipple Yeonwoo gasps, hugging your head to her chest and pushing her hips against yours needily. The frenzied mood quickly returns when she grabs you underneath your boxers, and it is a signal to kick them off and get naked.

Your lips moan against hers when Yeonwoo sinks her hips on you, and you have to squeeze her ass to hold her still.

"Ugh, I'm close already."

"What?"

"You're the one who teased me earlier."

"Don't you dare cum before me!" Yeonwoo pushes you on your back, and with one hand on your chest she holds you down while she starts rubbing her clit with the other.

"This isn't any better!" you gasp, watching Yeonwoo try and get herself off. She shuts you up by kissing you, letting her own whimpers leak into your mouth. As she gets close to her peak her hips start going up and down, humping you and bringing you close too.

"Yeonwoo—"

"Cum with me, just cum with me..." She grabs your hand, bringing it to her ass that you love so much. You squeeze her reflexively, and Yeonwoo mewls. The two of you cum together, her walls seeming to vibrate around you as your cock throbs against her. Yeonwoo purrs when she gets off you, murmuring happily at the thick load dripping out of her.

"Now that was much better than a ruined orgasm."

"I hope that made it up to you," you whisper, kissing her parted lips.

"Almost, let me use your shower and we're even."

"Go ahead." Yeonwoo sighs in relief as the hot water runs over her lithe body—it was a quick but good session, and she was dreading the long trip home. As she steps out, she is pleasantly surprised by you wrapping a towel around her, hugging her tightly.

"What's gotten into you?" But in reality, she already knew what you wanted.

"You should stay the night."

"I really shouldn't— Mmm..." Yeonwoo really shouldn't stay the night, she'd have to get up early to change, or not change at all. And what if someone notices the two of you coming in together? Your lips are a very persuasive argument against Yeonwoo's concerns though, finding the spot on her neck that would make her knees go weak. She braces herself against the sink unknowingly, allowing the towel to fall off her.

"It's not a good idea," she protests weakly even as she goes on her tiptoes, trying and failing to not feel you hilted deep inside her already.

"It'll be fine," you assure her. Yeonwoo opens her mouth to argue more, but she is silenced by the sensation of something hard pushing against her puckered ring! "Good thing you didn't leave this in the office."

"You— Ah!" Yeonwoo can't help but moan before continuing. "You went digging in my purse?"

"It spilled out earlier. But enough about that, you should just stay the night." A surge of pleasure rockets through Yeonwoo as she feels the vibrator switch on in her ass, and she can only yell when you start thrusting.

"Yes yes yes!"

Little did either of you know that it would be the beginning of the end, for a few people noted Yeonwoo coming in with the same clothes as yesterday, and more than a few people saw how she walked a little different, a side effect from you opening both her holes up the night before. Presumably no one would be able to see how she had no underwear on the whole day, but regardless, lurid rumors began to swirl, the workplace speculating on how she was in a particularly good mood that day.

It then turned toxic, with people wondering if she slept her way to the top, and you had to make sure to never ask Yeonwoo to stay the night again. It got worse when people noted how you had rose in the company with Yeonwoo, that maybe she pulled you up with her, keeping her boytoy nearby. You forced yourself to keep a distance from her, to protect her, to protect yourself, to protect both of you.

"Why are you avoiding me?" she asks you flat out after a meeting, where you unfortunately allowed yourself to be the last one in the room with her.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You don't drop by my office, you decline our 1-on-1s, you want to handle everything by email, and don't pretend I don't notice that you're always the first one out of meetings now. What's going on?"

"People are talking, it's bullshit but the rumors are bad. I'm doing this to protect you."

"You can protect me by telling me what's going on."

"You really don't know?"

"No."

"They say you're sleeping your way to the top, and that we're involved, and that I'm benefiting." Yeonwoo's reaction is muted, but you can see her hands grabbing the folder tightly, threatening to crumple it entirely.

"That's it? That's all? I don't care about that."

"But I do, I hear it, even if you don't."

"You want to get rid of them? I'll promote you, and you can fire them."

"That would be proving them right."

"What do you want me to do then?" Yeonwoo asks, exasperated. You mean I can't do anything for you?

"I think we should stop, you know, our thing."

"You want to break up?" she is quiet, deathly so. Her face turns pale when you answer back.

"I... Didn't think we were in something to break up for? W-Were we?" you ask, suddenly unsure of how Yeonwoo felt. Everything was casual, the sex was great, but you had never asked her out on date, and you never got the inkling she wanted to make things serious and official, but the way she spoke about breaking up...

"No. You're right, we're done then," her whisper cuts through the thick air, and she leaves with a slam of the door.

You continued avoiding her, and thankfully Yeonwoo stopped approaching you individually. That said, you realize painfully that absence does make the heart grow fonder, and you started missing Yeonwoo. Running into her randomly in the offices did not help, and soon you are the one pining for her, rather than the other way around. You also know that there's no way you can get back with her, and working with her isn't helping you forget about her either, so you come to the logical conclusion.

"So, this is it huh?" Yeonwoo asks, calling you in once she saw your resignation email.

"Yes."

"I wish you all the best."

"Thank you, Miss Lee, it was a pleasure working with you." You hold out a friendly hand.

"Of course, likewise." She takes it, and doesn't let go.

"I'll miss you, um, you were a good worker." The last few words tumble out of her rushed, blurting out the truth and then a lie.

"Yes, I'll miss working with you." You manage to couch your feelings better. Your thumb traces the back of her hand, and Yeonwoo twitches, quickly pulling her hand back.

"T-That's all then, good bye."

Much to Yeonwoo's chagrin (probably, you had no way of knowing), you join your competitor, diving into the same work you were doing before except without having to, or in some ways, getting to, see Yeonwoo. All was fine, and she faded from memory eventually—or at least, you weren't thinking of her as much.

You wonder if it was the same for Yeonwoo...

"Should I stay the night?" he asks her, a hand teasingly cupping her breast, no doubt wanting her to say yes.

"No, sorry, I have to be get in early tomorrow."

"What about me? I would love to 'get in' early tomorrow too," the whisper is soft and husky, yet almost repulsive to Yeonwoo.

"No, you should leave." She wraps the blanket around herself and stands up.

"What the fuck Yeonwoo?" This wasn't the first time this has happened, and her amour is pissed. "You never come over to my place, and you never let me spend the night here!"

"We're keeping things casual."

"Even so, it wouldn't hurt for us to spend the night together would it? God I bet you'd be a lot happier in the morning if you get a nice quickie in before going to the office."

"What the fuck did you say?" Now he touched a nerve. "Get the fuck out, right now."

"What? All I'm saying is having some morning wood with your coffee wouldn't be—"

"Leave, right now, before I throw you out naked." He gets the hint quickly, tripping over himself as he dresses, and stumbling out the door, but not before throwing one last barb in.

"You're fucking crazy, you know that? Who would want to be with you?"

Yeonwoo drops to the bed as he slams the door shut, burying her face in her hands, frustrated even after the romp. It wasn't the first argument she had over this with him, nor was he the first person she's had multiple arguments with about it. She could not, and would not, allow someone else to stay over, not after what happened with you. She didn't want to risk her career or her heart anymore. Yeonwoo sighs and picks up the used condom, discarding it, much like everything else she has thrown away.

What did she have to show for it?

Well, she could attend swanky events, wearing a sleek black dress that screamed power and position. "That's something, I guess," Yeonwoo thinks to herself, even as she sips wine more expensive than her secretary's salary. She could relax a little, even in the terse, stuffy atmosphere of a VIP event. Even if it was an industry event, there's no way she would run into—

"Miss Lee, what a pleasure seeing you here!" Ugh, just from the voice she recognized it as an exec at one of her company's biggest competitors. Oh well, just smile and be polite.

"Oh come on now, you knew I'd be here—" She stops short, stunned at who she's looking at next to the exec.

"Of course. I wanted to introduce you to our newest director, I can't believe you let him go."

"Long time no see, Miss Lee," you bow politely to her.

"Oh, yes, small world. I see you're doing well at your new company."

"He has! I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the work he was doing! Anyways, enjoy the event! Come." Yeonwoo watches you walk away from her, and the glass in her hand trembles slightly.

The day done, you sit at the bar and relax, nursing your drink. Seeing Yeonwoo again was enough to throw you off a little, and seeing her in the audience of your presentation made you stumble over a few words, although it was still very well received.

"You're out of practice." You'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"They don't make me do as many of those."

"I'll let your boss know to do so. Still, good enough." Yeonwoo raises her own drink in salute.

"Thanks. It's okay for you to be here talking to me?"

"What, nothing wrong with just two former co-workers catching up and talking shop right?"

"Yeah but we're also competitors. What if someone at your company sees you talking to me, you remember what happened before right?" You watch Yeonwoo's eyebrows furrow briefly, before taking in the rest of her face—you had seen her with and without makeup before but damn, her makeup today looked perfect. You flinch slightly as her hand brushes yours.

"That's all in the past, don't worry about me." She's grabbed your drink, finishing it for you. "Besides, if you're so worried, how about we do it in my room?"

"Y-You mean talk right?"

"Of course, just talking business."

You should've known better, but you find yourself not talking business, but getting down to business with Yeonwoo as she pushes you on the bed. Automatically your hands go to her waist, admiring her curves over the slim black dress and letting her get on top of you.

"Fuck I've missed you so much," she murmurs into your neck, her hands diving daringly under your shirt. Yeonwoo's soft body presses into you, and you allow yourself to drift down her body, feeling her ass and squeezing—god that feels so good! She's smiling into your neck, using a hand to guide you to her chest, wanting you to feel her there too. She purrs as you kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck...

But that's not the only sound you hear, you hear a vibration. A phone, business. Work.

Shit.

"Yeonwoo, what are you doing? We can't be doing this! It's a huge conflict of interest."

"I don't know about conflict, but there's certainly an interest..." She palms your cock over your slacks, kissing you more fervently, trying to get you to comply.

"Do you know what you're doing? You're literally sleeping with the enemy!" You push her back by the shoulders. Yeonwoo sits her hips more firmly down on you, but you manage to roll her off. "We can't be doing this!"

"Is that all I am to you now? Enemy?!" She wraps her arms around you, hugging you from behind—fuck she feels so soft, and you're still hard. "Just stay the night, no one has to know, no one will know..." Her hands drift to your belt, trying to undo it, undo all that she's done to get here.

"Let me go Yeonwoo," you manage to utter, hoarsely. You grab her hands, stopping her. "Please." They retract. "You're not my enemy, I just don't want you to get hurt, to hurt your career."

"That's not your choice to make. Who are you to make choices for me? I just want you back!"

"Are you really going to give up your career for something like this?" Yeonwoo is silent, and you walk out on her. But you're still hard, fuck, how did things get to this?

Yeonwoo was right, who are you to make choices for her? The only choices you should be making are your own. What did you want?

Yeonwoo gazes out her window at the cloudy sky, the sun setting dimly behind it. She's working at home for once, but that also means she'll be working through the night for once too. She sighs and stretches in her chair—another long and boring day. There's a knock on the door, who could it be?

"It's you." She hadn't seen you since that time at the conference, nearly two months ago. Yeonwoo had blocked it out of her mind—it was shameless, cringy, desperate, everything that she didn't want to do, and yet she did it then, in a moment of weakness! And now here you are, standing in front of her, and all she can say is "It's you"? What else can I say? Why are you here?

"Yeah, can I come in?" you ask, cautiously.

"Ah, um yes." She blushes slightly as she leads you in, aware of the unintentional show she's suddenly putting on—Yeonwoo's wearing a blouse appropriate for video calls, but underneath that is the tiniest pair of shorts possible. This was not how she had planned meeting you again. "What's the matter?"

"I've been thinking about what you said last time."

"Oh, what I said last time?" What did I say last time? All Yeonwoo can remember is her throwing herself at you.

"Yeah, about me making the choice for you. Like who am I to make choices for you."

"Oh I—"

"Well you were right, I shouldn't have done that. I should be making choices for myself."

"That's good to hear." Yeonwoo says, not knowing where you're going with this.

"I quit my job."

"What? Why would you do that!" Her mind immediately goes places. "We're not hiring right now, it's not going to be easy to find the budget for you—"

"I don't want to come back."

"Do you have a job lined up already? I can find someone to refer—"

"No Yeonwoo, that's not the point!" Yeonwoo has her breath taken away as you wrap your arms tightly around her. "I left my job to be with you. It's not right for me to choose for you, so I'm choosing for myself."

She's still in your arms, so still that you had to ask. "Yeonwoo?"

"W-What do you mean?" She's grabbing your t-shirt from the back, fists of fabric trembling.

"I want to be with you, and I don't want to hurt your career, so I ended mine."

"But why?"

"I made the choice for us, so you don't have to." She pulls on your shirt even harder, and you had to speak up. "You're choking me like this."

"I can make my own choices right?"

"Yes, of course." Your heart drops for a moment—is she going to choose no, to reject you? Her fingers go to your hair, pulling it, this is going to hurt—

She smashes her lips against yours, wiping away all doubt. She grips you oh so tightly, lips pressed almost too harshly against yours, as if to never let you go—that's her choice.

"That night, at the conference, in the hotel..." Yeonwoo's murmuring into your neck again, hands diving under your shirt once more—it all comes back vividly to you.

"I want you to choose again."

You find yourself on a bed, except this time instead of Yeonwoo's hotel room, you're in her bedroom. She's pressed on top of you similarly, but this time your hands slip easily under her tiny shorts, allowing you to squeeze her ass directly, and it feels even better. She sits up on you, smirking teasingly as she unbuttons her blouse—she has you exactly where she wants you, and you're not pushing her off this time. As the blouse falls off her shoulders you hug her close, hand moving to her back.

"Let me."

Yeonwoo hums as she lets you remove her bra. Her hands run through your hair and move down your shoulders, feeling your arms; her memories of that night run through her head, and she begins sharing them without reserve.

"Fuck... Do you remember that night?" 

"I regret leaving," you mumble, squeezing her ass while you bury yourself in her bare chest.

"I'll make you regret it even more, do you know what I did after I finished crying?" She doesn't wait to hear your apology, she wants to skip right to the good part. "Feeling you for the first time in so long, god I just had to get myself off." She's humping you not so subtly even now, and you can feel her through your tent and her tiny shorts.

"Yeonwoo!"

"I wondered if you would come back, maybe turn back at some point. I kept edging myself, rubbing my clit in circles, I wanted you to be the one who made me cum. Except you never did."

"Yeonwoo I—" You feel a strange mix of guilt and arousal, her words painting a picture of what happened in the hotel room after you left. She plunges on, her nails teasing your chest—when did she take your shirt off?

"I debated taking photos, show you just how much I wanted you, needed you." You imagined Yeonwoo on the bed, legs apart, fingers parting her pussy for you, or maybe plunged deep inside her. "That maybe you'd come back to me if I took a video for you." You can imagine, no, recall how Yeonwoo would look and sound when she came—you needed to see that right now!

"Mmm fuck Yeonwoo!" you murmur into her neck.

"Yes, I need you to fuck me, god I'm so wet already." You shimmy your pants and boxers off just enough, and in the time it took you to do that Yeonwoo kicks off her small shorts and soaked panties. Fully naked she simply grabs your stiffness and without another word sinks herself down on you. The sound she makes is utterly unholy, one of want, and one of thirst satisfied.

"Yeon— mmph!" She catches your words with her lips and rides your cock with her hips. There is no stopping the freight train of pleasure pumping right into Yeonwoo as she lets herself run wild with desire, gripping your shoulders tightly and bouncing herself on you with wanton abandon. She covers your cock with slick, and the lewd squelch of her humping joins the moans in the bedroom. All you can do is hold on and try not to cum.

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming, cumming!" Yeonwoo squeals, suddenly going still and sighing as she clenches around you. All the strength seems to concentrate around her pussy as she slumps against you, even as you have to groan and shut your eyes, trying to withstand the strong tugs of her walls around your shaft, eager to have more of you in her. "Oh fuck, never leave me." She sighs into your neck.

"Never again." You roll the two of you over, and Yeonwoo glances sideways at the vacated part of the bed.

"Oh, that was how drenched the sheets were after that night too," she teases, trying to rile you up more. And you knew just how to get her back for it.

"Do you have a condom?"

"Hm? You can cum in me—" Yeonwoo goes pink—she didn't quite mean it like that, but she feels you throb, and Yeonwoo wraps her legs around you. "That is, unless you don't want to?"

It takes all of your self-control to not pound her into the bed, to have her moan your name as you give her what she wants—a thick creampie months in the making.

"Not yet, just get me the condoms." Yeonwoo directs you to a drawer in her nightstand, and you find and pull out an opened box of condoms. "Seeing someone? I'm not going to regret this am I?"

"No, that was a while ago." She caresses your cheek for emphasis. "I haven't seen anyone since, just never threw it out. I didn't let them do me raw, but you can, so we can just skip the condoms and—"

"I will, but." You sink deep into Yeonwoo, and her walls seem to clench around you in response to your words. "I want to fuck your ass."

"Oh!" she whines as you pull out and take a condom from the box. "It's been a while... Since our last time, actually."

"That long? I'll go slow then." Properly wrapped, you push into Yeonwoo's pussy first, getting some of her juice over the rubber.

"No, don't! Make it hurt, like our first time." Your mind goes back to the first time you had Yeonwoo's ass, slamming into her and pounding her until she looked back at you, tears running down her face... and slick running down her thighs. She throws her hands around your neck, bringing you in close as your tip nudges against her puckered hole. "Make it hurt, I want to feel you in my ass, but afterwards, afterwards—" Yeonwoo whines a little as you breach her, feeling something enter her ass for the first time in a while.

"Afterwards, don't hurt me again." You push into her harshly, and Yeonwoo yelps before her cry is muffled by your kiss, holding her face in your hands. Her eyes are watery when she opens them again, but they also sparkle, especially when you mumble into her ear.

"Never again." You push deeper into her, relishing in the unique tightness that is Yeonwoo's rear, adding rubs of her clit to help the pain subside, to give her some pleasure. You focus more on her pussy, happy to keep yourself buried in her ass, just letting her get used to the shape of you in there once more. You rub and pinch and press on her little button, and soon Yeonwoo's squirming underneath you, softly moaning, until finally she can't take it anymore—she grabs your hand, bringing it to her hips instead.

"Fuck me already!" You start pumping her with slow and firm thrusts, and you the see first sign of pleasure from the anal fucking—her lipbite, lethal as ever, a mix of pain and delicious pleasure on her face. "Oh god that's good, you fuck my ass so good... Nngh!" Yeonwoo starts rubbing herself, chasing that high she needed from you taking her ass. To her dismay you pull out just as she's close, but before she can complain you rip off the condom and plunge back into her pussy.

"Mmm!" The sudden and different pleasure catches her by surprise, and only a few hard thrusts are needed for her to throw her head back and cum. She's speechless, head in the clouds while her body bucks and writhes beneath you. Meanwhile you have the box of condoms in hand—Yeonwoo's not going to use them in the future, not if you had your say in it.

So might as well use them all now?

You roll a new condom on your cock, and Yeonwoo can only groan as you push into her.

"Oh fuck, you're in my ass again..."

You give her what she wants on the second go around, rubbing her clit and making her cum while you're stuffing her ass. Once she's done with her anal orgasm you rip the condom off again to fuck her pussy raw to another climax. Rinse and repeat. The process allows your pleasure to subside between rolling on and taking off the condom, letting you fuck Yeonwoo in both her holes longer. Your usually smart and sharp-tongued former boss is lost to bliss, her eyes vacant, tongue slipping out between her lips when you rattle her with a particularly hard thrust. She barely notices when you roll her on to all fours and get behind her, both holes winking and gaping at you, begging for more.

"Nngh!" Yeonwoo groans when you take her from behind, the new position allowing you to get deeper inside her. 

"Fuck, you take my cock up your ass so well!" you curse, sliding easily into her.

"Then don't stop, don't stop fucking me!" You answer her with a smack on her ass, watching her cheek jiggle as you do as she says. Yeonwoo drops her head to the pillow, her world spinning as she's quickly cumming again.

"It's so good!" *Rip* You open one more condom.

"Baby..." You toss another one away, letting Yeonwoo get one word in before you put her on back and fuck her pussy again, rendering her incoherently happy once more.

"Too... ahhh much!" You reach for the box, and Yeonwoo's hand is on yours, stopping you. She looks delicate, absolutely shattered, wrecked like the first time you ever fucked her—hair a mess, a bit of drool from her mouth, eyes watery in pleasure. You grab the box anyways, only to find it empty—you've done what you set out to do and used up all the rubbers in there! She grabs the box from your hand, crumpling it and tossing it aside—Yeonwoo had more urgent urges. "Cum for me, cum in me raw, I want to feel you in me now!"

Between her begging and the long session you realize you've delayed your own orgasm for far too long, and you're just about ready to burst. She hugs you close, hips grinding up in response to your throbbing length.

"Cum in me, fill me up." Yeonwoo whines when you start losing it, going even harder into her. "You're so deep in me! Fuck, fuck me deeper, harder! Oh my god, I'm going to cum with you, you're going to make me cum—" She actually goes off the cliff first, but you're right there behind her with a loud groan.

Yeonwoo shudders through her climax, and the first sensation coming off her peak is your throbbing thickness deep inside her, followed by the sound of your moans in her ear, and finally the thick cum splattering her walls. She may have been the one to orgasm multiple times tonight, but Yeonwoo feels you filling her with many orgasms' worth of ejaculate all at once. You rut into her, riding out your own peak, and Yeonwoo moans with you, your cum thoroughly overflowing inside her, oozing out of her pussy and staining her other hole below—the last time she had been fucked and creamed and gaped to this extent was well, with you. The thought makes her hump up into you, legs still around your hips, and you spurt just that little bit more, pushing the cum deeper into her.

"Oh fuck Yeonwoo..." She tilts your head towards her, kissing you passionately, face pink with satisfaction.

"I never want to go without this ever again."

"Did I not stretch you enough yesterday?" you joke at Yeonwoo holding a yoga pose.

"This is a different kind of stretch! But if you want, I'm sure I could stretch some other muscles too?" A wink and a lick of her lips is all she needs to get you to drop to your knees, and Yeonwoo soon has you in her mouth, letting you push as deep into her throat as you can, all while holding her pose. But both of you can only last so long before you're peeling the yoga pants off her, ruining her mat with her squirt and your cum.

Yeonwoo got no work done over that weekend as she made you stay over, and it seemed like every waking hour was making up for a night the two of you missed. Every wink, every lipbite, every wiggle of her hips was an invitation, and Yeonwoo's apartment quickly became a clothing-optional zone. She would wear nothing but a t-shirt, snuggling up with you and have your arms around her, but her naughty hand would inevitably drift between your legs, and the movie is quickly forgotten in favor of Yeonwoo riding your brains out.

"Ugh we need to eat," you mumble, your stomach growling.

"Yeah it's late, I have some leftovers in the fridge, let me go get it." At the sight of Yeonwoo's cheeks walking away from you you grow hungry for something else. You surprise Yeonwoo, hugging her from behind in the kitchen.

"I just ordered some food, don't bother with the leftovers."

"I have plenty for the two of us though!"

"I'd rather eat something else, and the food's coming in fifteen minutes." Yeonwoo braces herself on the kitchen counter as you press your face into her ass, letting your tongue slide between her lips. When you are done with her she's slumped over the counter, and you're wiping her juices from your face.

"Come on, time for dinner."

"In a— Ah! Minute..." Yeonwoo gasps, basking in her peak. She reminds herself to put the leftovers back in the fridge, but that can wait.

Just as soon as she can stand again.

The weekend finally ends with the two of you cuddling under the covers, a streak of white oozing onto her creamy thighs.

"Ah I can't believe it's Monday tomorrow."

"Do you have to go in? Maybe you could work from home and work hard. And then play hard, hmm?" You squeeze a breast, reminding her just what type of "play" the two of you could get up to.

"I'd love to, but I have meetings to be present for."

"Ugh, employment." You kiss her forehead before wriggling out from the sheets. "I'll see you soon then."

"You're leaving? You can stay! I-If you want to." She looked utterly angelic, buried within the sheets, and you wanted nothing more than to join her back beneath them, but you knew better, knew that there'd be devilish happenings if you let yourself stay.

"I do. But I would think that the mighty Miss Lee can't show up late tomorrow, walking all funny like and unable to even sit in her chair properly."

"I'll just say I had a fall!"

"You think that school of piranhas you manage would believe that?"

"But it's the truth! I've fallen for you..." Even Yeonwoo blushes at her own corny joke, and you have to hug her embarrassment away.

"Tch, I've fallen too then. All the way to the unemployment line."

"Yah don't say that, you'll find something for sure! But... Thank you for coming back to me."

"Thank you for taking me back. Don't worry about me from now on." You kiss her again.

"Just worry about us."

A/N: Finally back, just haven't felt like writing and was agonizing around finishing this story. I have other ideas in mind, so hopefully I can get around to those faster, but I just wanted to finish this one first as a sequel to Confidence Booster. Thanks for reading!

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Finally

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Spy!Reader

Plot: Bucky and you have a hard time staying away from each other. And though you try to push him away, every time he finds you again, the universe finds a new way to pull you apart.

Warnings: 18+. Smut, fluff and angst.

Words: 9,1OO

A/N: Recently I’ve been trying to understand what it is people want to read of my works and I have no idea, so here is my brain in scrambled pieces. I'm so sorry it’s so long, I swear it's worth it!

Romania.

It isn’t often you agree to such an extensive trip to meet up with one of your clients, but apparently this particular one can’t be seen in the more supervised countries. Besides, you’ve never been to Bucharest before, so you’re quite enjoying your drink at the small picturesque café.

You’ve done your research and know damn well who you’re meeting up with. A small part of you is screaming at you not to agree to do business with him or back out now, but your curiosity overrules any common sense. Last you heard, Hydra had lost their favourite asset and you can confidently say you were relieved to hear it. It had been a few too many times that specific organisation had made your job more difficult than it had to be.

A many number of things could have happened to the Winter Soldier. He could’ve been killed, corrupted by another organisation, fled to live as a hermit– You really want to know. It’s the spy in you that enjoys knowing the ins and outs of the criminal world. He’d tried not to mention who he is, but you had a few offers on the table, he needed some leverage to get you to agree to meet him. Safe to say, you were surprised he’d told you he was the Winter Soldier. Big chance you will now be the only person to know about the asset’s current whereabouts. That is, if you live to tell it of course…

Every hair in your neck stands up straight, despite the comfortable weather and the easy going crowd roaming the street. The sudden change in atmosphere has your spy senses stand on alert. Your spine stiffens and you casually look around, slightly discouraged at the way your body has never responded to anything in this particular manner.

You cross your legs and turn to look behind you, scanning every face in the crowd. When you turn back, the seat next to yours is taken, only a rickety metal table separating you from the large man sat in the other chair. Your breath halts in your throat and you look him up and down, instantly recognising the buff man as the Winter Soldier. How? You’re not sure, you’d never really seen a picture.

You check his hands. Gloves. With this weather? To cover up. You check his build and take a particularly long time to do so, because God, this man is broad. He’s all sturdy flesh and muscle, firm and casual. His thighs look like tree trunks and you know the man is fast, despite his build. You force the deliberate sweep of your eyes over his body to appear more nonchalant and confident than you feel.

Then your eyes reach his face and the breath gets knocked out of you. There is nothing in that face that hints towards a stone cold killer. Dark blue, deep set eyes, freckles pattered over his nose and cheeks, lips bitten raw from contemplation and an expression on his face that almost looks like… Nerves?

“Hello,” you start carefully, unable to keep your surprise from your tone, but sounding relatively cool to your own relief.

“Hi,” he says and the tone of his voice is deep, but rough, like he hasn’t spoken in ages. You think that maybe he hasn’t.

“Should I refer to you as the Winter Soldier?” you ask, composing your cool nature entirely now. “Or would you say that is a bit on the nose?”

He huffs a laugh and you smile, feeling the overwhelming urge to make him do that again. “James will do, thanks.”

“Alright James,” you say, taking your time to let your mouth get acquainted with his name, “what is it you need my services for?”

“I hear you’re a spy,” he starts and searches your face. “A good one– the best one.”

“Well now, I’d hate to disappoint,” you purr. “What do you need?”

“It’s not so much a document or one piece of information,” he mumbles and his face hardens as he collects himself. You sit upright and frown as you study him. “I need you as a partner for an assignment.”

You instantly shake your head, “Absolutely not. I’m not working for Hydra, that organisation is–”

“Not Hydra,” he quickly cuts in. “Just me. It’s a personal assignment.”

You wait for him to continue, not appreciating his vague communication if he wants to become partners on whatever this is.

He sighs, “I– I have a lot of… gaps. Things I don’t remember, things I can’t quite place. Years of information. The things I did for Hydra– I wasn’t there for most of it. Neither were a lot of people. So I need someone with access to some dark shit to help me figure it out.”

Chewing your lip, you process the information he gives you and empathy clenches your heart together. James gives you the time you need to put the pieces together. You’d heard of Hydra’s experiments with brainwashing and had already sort of assumed some of their soldiers had only worked for them because of that reason, had stayed far away from the organisation’s shit to steer clear from that danger.

But it’s so different to see it in real life, or what is left of it, you suppose. Many things aren’t quite clear to you just yet. However, you slowly start nodding your head. Your brain starts running a million miles an hour, all the gears turning to form a plan, the way you always do before you agree to a job.

“Can you pay me for the service?” you ask, already wondering to yourself if you’d help the clearly hopeless and damaged man for free, and to be honest, just for kicks. The things you’d dig up from everything he’ll give you– Selfishly, you’d kill for it. Anyone would kill for it.

He gives you a tight-lipped, apologetic smile, “Not that much. But I can save up more.”

You think. Your gut tells you he won’t kill you after he gets what he wants, even though he could. And though you will always keep a close eye on him and everything he’s capable of, your gut feeling has never disappointed you.

So you sigh and shake your head. “That’s okay. I’ll do all of it for free, and you can pay me what little you have to insure that I stay quiet. Sound fair?”

His eyes narrow with a twinkle that you hadn’t expected from a man like him and he says, “Deal.”

“Alright,” you say and finish your coffee before clearing your throat. “First order of business: tell me your full name.”

He shakes his head with a faint smile, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Oh shit.

You do know him.

Germany.

Relief seeps into your bones as you cross the threshold of your building and you slip into your routine of coming home. Tired feet drag you through your building and to your apartment, and muscle memory unlocks your door. After the week you’ve had, you are ready to turn off your brain and settle down.

You enjoy being this tired though, revel in it. Exhausting yourself with a normal person job and the way it puts your usually restless body to sleep at night is exactly what you wanted for your life.

One step into your own hallway, however, makes your daydream of a quiet night in crumble to your feet. Something is off. You can blame your trained senses for being so instantly on edge, but the apartment you just stepped into isn’t a place that has been vacated for the past nine hours. This apartment isn’t empty.

An even older routine settles into your bones this time and you creep into your home on light feet. The air is warm and the space is completely quiet. You’ve been alive long enough, seen enough, to know quiet is never good.

You don’t turn on any lights and let your eyes adjust to the dark. Ears perked and muscles at the ready to spring into action, you slowly make your way further into your home. And when you slip around the corner and look into your darkened living room, you let out a frustrated sigh at the dark figure lounging on your couch.

“How did you find me here,” you grumble and it is hardly a question.

You can feel him sit up and tune in to your presence. You couldn’t explain it if your life depended on it, but you instantly knew who it was. The dark figure in the dark apartment, waiting patiently for someone to catch him. After all, he will deny it until his dying day, but he does have an awful lot of dramatic flair for someone so stoic.

“Better question is: why are you here?” he counters and you drop your bag onto one of your dining chairs, shooting him an unimpressed glare. “Trying to stay off the radar, are you?”

“And failing, clearly,” you say before he can say it for you. “How did you find me here, James?”

Your eyes are finally fully adjusted and you see the smirk forming on his face. You haven’t seen that smirk in five years. “I have my ways,” he says and pushes off the couch, adjusting his leather jacket. “Now, what are you doing in this abandoned town?”

“It’s not abandoned,” you counter and slip off your coat, deciding to just go about your old routine and ignore his presence as much as you can. Maybe then he’ll go away.

“It’s a shit town and you know it.” He cocks his head at you, eyes tracking all of your movements.

You notice his puzzled look. He’s genuinely wondering what is left of his old ally and you can’t quite blame him. Perhaps he can easily see your lame attempt at finding a normal life for yourself. He has probably tried a thousand times himself to escape the roaring life of saving the world, has probably failed every time, too. But you’re determined to make it work – make yourself normal and live a full life.

And that is all you were to him anyway, just an ally. The entire time, you’d felt that he paid a little too much attention to you, but you supplied critical information and occasionally wiped someone off the map. A spy. Nothing more, nothing less. However, for the infamous Winter Soldier to need your alliance again, you cannot help but feel wary.

After the first time he approached you, you’d spent months together. It was an effort not to grow too close – too much effort. Because you had. It was impossible not to, helping someone literally piece their life together through intimate and awful memories. Digging through protective walls and coping mechanisms to help him rebuild some of his life again. With a lot of reluctance from both of you.

Yes, you’d grown close then. Grown close enough that you fell asleep slumped over the kitchen counter in his awful Romanian apartment, your face sticking to the countless research papers. You’d woken up hours later on his poorly constructed bed on the floor with a blanket thrown over your frame. Close enough that you’d eventually asked him to assist you on your missions. Ones that required a different skillset than your own. Close enough that you cooked for each other, sometimes shared clothes, roasted one another for the mental health issues that lead you both to your current occupations.

After a while, you couldn’t describe your relation to Barnes in any other way than a partnership. Partners. Who had kissed once. Maybe twice. After some bad Vodka.

You sigh and turn to him, “Why are you here, James?”

“I need to lay low for a while.” A wider smirk, his eyes narrowing at you. “I remembered I know someone who is very good at that.”

“Careful,” you warn and roll your eyes. “You just gave me a compliment.”

His smirk turns to a smile and he shrugs off his own jacket, instantly making himself at home in your apartment. A strange thing when it comes to Bucky, since you don’t recall that man feeling at home anywhere. Then, he did always have this incessant cocky streak around you and he is awfully good at getting on your nerves, so he probably sees the perfect opportunity to be a pain in the ass.

“If you so much as sneeze on anything, I swear–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, his tone unimpressed. “You’ll skin me alive. You’re always so weird about your stuff.”

You give him a tiny proud smile and decide to make yourself something quick to eat, only to feel him peer at you from the edge of your kitchen. He’s met with a confused frown before you raise your brows at him to make him spit it out.

“What’s the catch?” he asks warily.

You smile and look down at the sandwich you’re making. “Nothing. Just fix your shit and get out of my hair as quickly as possible.”

He winces slightly and you turn to him fully now, slowly taking a bite.

“What.”

Bucky sucks in a short breath and gives you an apologetic look before he speaks, “It might be a while…”

Your brows drop, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I–”

“Bucky.” You cut him another look, one shaped by many, many instances of working together. “What. Did. You. Do.”

“It’s not important. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You open your mouth to continue arguing with him, but decide against it, already done with his shit. Yes, he is doing better and supposedly now qualifies as a good person. But you know the man before you and the soldier cannot stop himself from lying about pretty much everything. He has damaged tendencies. Give him an inch and he will take a mile, show him a weakness and he will exploit it. You genuinely think he doesn’t know how to be different, how to not abuse those effortless skills he trained all those years working for Hydra and surviving it.

“It’s my weekend off,” you tell him instead. “If you get between me and my plans, I will change the locks.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You think I can’t get through a simple lock?”

Another glare is his answer and he raises his hands in surrender. You walk around him and toe off your own shoes, grabbing everything to take a shower as you shove the rest of your sandwich in your mouth. Bucky slowly strolls through your place and examines everything that belongs to you.

“Can you not pretend like you haven’t completely scanned the place already before I got home?” you ask him as you make way for the bathroom.

“It can’t hurt to have a second look,” he mumbles, but you have already closed the door and move take the shower you’ve been looking forward to the entire day.

You should probably work harder to get him out, should probably make an escape plan and move somewhere else. But you know arguing with him is futile and the best approach with him is to patiently wait for him to move on. Bucky doesn’t get attached and doesn’t nest, so he’ll be gone soon enough.

As the scalding water trickles down your scalp and spine, you realise how much more alert you should have been when you noticed someone was in your home. Especially with all of those loose ends and enemies you have scattered across this planet (and others). Yet, somehow you think your body knew it was Bucky waiting for you. After all, it isn’t the first time he’s pulled this shit, waiting up for you. Usually because you kept something from him, he found out and would start ambushing you to fess up.

And even though technically, you haven’t exactly kept anything from him this time, you can’t ignore the dreadful feeling that explaining your current situation will be the hardest thing to ever speak up about. How pathetic, to try and live a normal life when you’re ‘extraordinary’. Ugh, you hate that word. You’re trained well and you refuse to be anything but good at what you put your mind at.

Now, Bucky. He is extraordinary. He has potential to make a difference. You have always felt that. Hated working with him because of that. Not because of him – he never made you feel less than him at all. But–

The water turns cold and you groan audibly, time having slipped away from you as you got lost in thought. Stepping out and drying yourself off, you get ready to walk out of the bathroom. You’re met with Bucky sitting on your couch, reading one of your books.

“Let me guess, warm water’s gone?” he asks, not looking up from the book.

You walk to your bedroom and shrug, “Cold showers are good for you, I heard.”

“I suppose I’ll take the couch then?” he asks, finally looking up from the book.

You turn back and peek through your doorway at him. “You can take the floor if that’s more comfortable for you.”

“We’ve shared a bed before.”

“Not by choice.”

He smirks, “You liked it.”

“You snore.”

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.” He grins at you.

You make to get to bed when you pause and turn back to him once more with a slight frown. “Why are you so cheerful? Aren’t there people after you?”

“Well,” he says, casual as always, “these may very well be my last days, so I might as well be in a good mood.”

You find yourself swallowing hard and desperately search his face for any intel on how true his statement is, without giving away that you might just care a little bit about his well-being. But his grin stays firm in place and he raises his brows in wait for you to call it a night.

Without another word, you close the door between you and crawl into your comfortable bed. And you wonder why it is that you can’t quite get comfortable this time.

…

A powerful jolt rips through your body as you lift out of layers of sleep. You’re too tired for whatever made you wake up so suddenly. It’s too goddamn late for this shit.

But as you gain more and more of your consciousness, your senses start perking up and you realise you might very well be in danger. The gentle and calm voice calling your name with a warm stroke of a hand down your arm, confirms that for you. That specific type of calm in Bucky’s voice sends your body into overdrive.

“We’ve got to go, sweetheart,” he murmurs and is already throwing clothes onto your bed. “Now.”

You sit up and rub your eyes and it dawns on you after a week of Bucky staying at your place. This man wasn’t going to leave you until he got chased out of your apartment. And that day has come.

“Bucky,” you start with a hoarse voice as you climb out of your warm bed and quickly throw on the clothes he picked for you, “who the fuck is after you?”

He takes his time to answer, pulling two fully packed backpacks from the corner of your room that you surprisingly didn’t know he hid there. Oh, this man is going to get an ear full about this bullshit.

“Some weird underground cartel that deals in tech or something,” he grumbles and throws you a pack. You are nearly too slow to catch it before you sling it onto your back. You gape at him after his answer and his face stays solemn as he pushes a hand gun into your hands. “Let’s go.”

“Bucky.”

He stops and turns to you fully. “It’s bad, okay? I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.”

He groans out your name, peeking outside while he impatiently chews on his lip. “Don’t do this right now. You can be pissed at me later!”

“I will be pissed at you now,” you seethe, “and later. How about that?!”

He sighs and then grabs your arm, giving you a boyish grin before shooting two bullets through your window, breaking the glass, slinging an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and jumping out of the fucking window with you clinging to him. It’s only when you fly about five stories down, that you realise the two of you are attached to a bungee rope that eases your descent. His feet touch the ground first, yours following. He cuts the rope and grabs your hand before he starts running towards the parking lot beneath your building.

“Bucky, you piece of shit!” you yell at him as you run, hearing the faint sound of gun fire behind you over the sound of your ragged breathing.

“I’ll make it up to you!” he simply yells back.

You can hear the smile in his voice. And the worst thing? You feel yourself smiling as well when you realise how easily you’ve slipped back into being his partner in crime.

…

Bucky checks one more time, his gleaming metal hand pulling the sheer curtain aside to peer out onto the dark streets. You hear some shouting coming from outside and still feel your heart pounding, even when you know you have definitely outrun those people coming after you. You hate how out of practice you are. And how much you missed the adrenaline of being on the run with Bucky.

He turns back to you and finds you with your arms crossed, glaring at him. Oh, you know the perfect way to let out this adrenaline. There might be actual steam coming out of your ears.

Bucky cringes and slowly strolls over, already reaching out his hands to use his irresistible charm on you. Like the time he dropped the cake you made one afternoon and tried to make it up to you. Or that time he left some very important documents in one of the buildings he set on fire. Or the time he accidentally deleted your recordings off the TV when you had been looking forward to watching the next episode for two weeks.

However, your burning eyes stop him dead in his tracks and he opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it and closes his mouth again. A second later, he tries again, “Okay. Give it to me.”

You give him a satisfied, albeit sadistic smile, at his willingness to take your scolding and then, you start yelling. You have no idea what words specifically are rolling off your tongue, but your speech starts somewhere during that first meeting in Bucharest, drifts to your entire time together as partners, how you drifted apart, only for him to show up whenever he pleased, and you continue to how he stood at your door a little over a week ago, to him terrorising your happy little life in Germany… To now.

Your voice rises with every instance you tell him about, fire burning in your core and hands flailing to give your story that much more power (even though you couldn’t stop your conviction if you tried). As the grin on his face grows through your rambling, a metal hand pressing to his lips to stop it from showing too much, you burn even brighter with fury.

Then you stop, breathing heavily. You give him a withering look to get him to start speaking up, because let’s be honest, all the two of you really needed was only just a look.

His shoulders slowly stop shaking and he drops his hand, eyes sparkling like a glass of Prosecco in the light. Devious asshole. “I just– I haven’t seen you this alive in a while. It looks fantastic on you.”

You gape at him like a fish and you wonder if the warmth in your face still belongs to your anger. Though you fear it belongs to quite the opposite. Either way, this man certainly knows how to make you passionate. And you realise he knows what you have been trying to do with your fake little life here in Germany.

“I don’t think you–”

“I’m sorry,” he says and steps forward, his large hands cupping your face as he looks down at you with earnest eyes. “I’m sorry for making your life so goddamn miserable. So tell me how to make it up to you.”

And for all the world, you can tell he means it. Can tell that he will do anything to make it up to you. You can almost feel the squeeze of pain in your own heart when you see the disappointment in his eyes after he realises you didn’t enjoy this as much as he had.

But the worst part is, is that you did. You’ve never felt more alive than with him. Never felt more like you. You wouldn’t necessarily call him an adventurer, maybe he is just a magnet for trouble. But whenever you’re with Bucky, you’ll drop anything for him and you’ll burn like an inferno doing so. He makes you into the best version of yourself and he makes you love the parts about yourself that you have been conditioned to feel guilty about.

You sigh, “I don’t know. Never mind.”

He doesn’t let go though and searches your eyes, his own narrowing in suspicion. “I’m going to make it up to you, you know.”

You cross your arms and give him an unimpressed look. “Yeah? How?”

He smirks and your knees weaken. “I could kiss it better.”

“Shameless flirt,” you huff and roll your eyes as an excuse to break his intense stare on you.

“You’re just too proud to admit that my kisses would make you forgive me,” he prods and your eyes snap back to his. He’s right, that is pride surging in your chest to lunge at him.

“You’ve grown too cocky for your own good,” you sneer at him.

“You like it.”

“I assure you, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

“Manipulator.”

He feigns hurt, “Ouch.”

You huff a laugh with a roll of your eyes, “Such a fragile ego.”

He smirks again and you swallow as you fight to look at his lips. So close to your own. “Now you have to kiss me for forgiveness.”

You can’t help but truly laugh this time, your face still safely tucked in his palms and his brows raise with intrigue at the sound of your laughter.

You tell him, “You are so full of shit.”

His smile fades, his eyes large with earnest and all of a sudden, it’s the man standing before you that sat next to you in that Romanian café. Stripped down, bare, rough, and perhaps a bit vulnerable.

“Let me kiss you,” he says in merely a whisper now.

You fight for your life not to falter to that genuine request and the way he said it. “It won’t make me forgive you,” you say softly, but barely hear your own voice over the increased pounding of your heart in your throat.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs. “Just want to kiss you.”

He doesn’t wait for your permission either, because quite frankly, you most likely gave him a look of permission instantly at that request. His soft lips slot over yours and you could’ve never predicted the depraved moan that resounded in the back of your throat as your mouths meet. Your hands instantly slip into his hair as Bucky’s hands slide around your waist to pull you closer, fingers digging into your flesh possessively.

The kiss deepens when his tongue meets yours and he lets out a groan of his own, a sound so addicting that you instinctively tug on his hair to hear it again. The laugh against your lips is rough as he hauls you closer and changes the kiss. Something more desperate and impatient. Something hot and sweaty and slightly messy. You might be walking as Bucky finds something to press you up against or lay you down on, and you almost squawk in surprise as you fall back onto the double, motel bed.

Though before you can say anything else, Bucky is on you again, his mouth demanding and greedy against yours. His hands feel and grab and squeeze every inch of you and you grind your hips upward for his weight. You want his heaviness between your hips and on your stomach and against your chest.

Growing impatient, convinced that Bucky’s brain might no longer be working, you lock your ankles around his hips and pull him down between your legs, sighing a groan of relief at the feeling of him tucked against you so warmly.

“God dammit,” he grunts and gives one luxurious roll of his hips against yours, making you whine as your pulse hammers down in your core.

His mouth grazes against your neck now and you can hardly breathe, panting as if you’ve run a marathon. The pressure between your hips leaves as he moves further down and you buck your hips at the ache he leaves.

“Bucky,” you whimper and look down, heart slamming in your throat at the sight of him. He messily yet gently makes his way down your body. Hands roughly pushing up your shirt as his lips find the plane of your stomach, kissing from your bra, down to your hips that you can’t seem to keep still.

Your body feels so heavy, yet so light without him on top of you and you can’t remember any moment before this kiss. Before five minutes ago. Everything is solidified. Your entire history with him. And Bucky presses a kiss just below your navel that confirms that feeling, his hands peeling off your jeans. That is until he speaks.

“Listen to me,” he orders and you freeze at the sound of him. He’s only sounded like that during missions where either of you might die. So serious and detrimental. “Don’t ever try to build a life without me again.”

“Bucky–”

“No,” he snaps and you close your mouth. “Don’t ever pretend like we don’t exist. Like you and I aren’t supposed to do this shit together, like you are better off without me, like I am better off without you. That’s bullshit.” You give him a questioning look. Where is this coming from? “I’m going to kiss you and you are going to forgive me. And then I am going to kiss you some more.”

He waits then. For you to answer, to process what it is he is saying exactly. It’s a lot of words with a lot of meaning, yet you’re not sure if this is the declaration you didn’t know you were waiting for.

So you speak from your gut and let out a breath, “Finally.”

Bucky smiles at that and surges upward, clearly happy with that intuitive answer. His lips claim yours once again and then you feel his fingers inching up your thigh.

You whine softly against his lips and you feel him smile as his fingers reach your drenched core. Two fingers slip through your folds to explore your wetness and Bucky drops his head into the crook of you neck.

“Finally indeed,” he breathes and slips his middle finger into you, making you whimper and buck your hips.

The stretch against your swollen walls sends an ache through your abdomen that cries out for more. You cannot explain the desperation to have him, to have every empty pit of you filled with his essence. His finger curls up and you throw your head back, making Bucky raise his own head to look at you.

“There?”

You nod frantically and Bucky pushes in another finger, making you tense up around him. He curls that one too and you don’t recognise the sound spilling from your lips. You’re already so fucking full.

As Bucky teasingly darts his thumb over your swollen clit, he traces his tongue over your mouth and you gasp for air at the sensation.

“Bucky, fuck!” you cry and he pushes his mouth to yours in a claiming kiss, his fingers moving faster as his thumb rotates over your clit. You can barely kiss him back, overtaken by pleasure as he pumps his fingers over and over until you can hear your wetness surround his sinful digits.

It is by far the hottest thing you have ever experienced. So much time has passed and now this beast of a man who tries everything to make you blush with his flirty persona, is bent over you with his fingers peeling your pleasure to the surface like his own fucking release depends on it.

His chest is heaving from watching you, brows pulled together, eyes dark as they rake over you hungrily, muscles flexing as his hand disappears between your legs.

His leg slips beneath your knee and pulls your leg up to finger you in a different angle and your nails bury themselves in the muscles of Bucky’s neck, abdomen flexing at the wave of pleasure that courses through you. “More. Oh my God, more!”

“I know, I can feel it,” he grunts and slows his fingers. “But I’ve waited ages for this. I refuse to let it be over so soon.”

Your brain is nothing but cinders and you shake your head violently, “No! No, please. You can have everything, just let me come. Please.”

Bucky pecks your lips. Once. Twice.

“You want to come all over my hand, pretty girl?” he murmurs in your ear and you can only gasp at the press of his fingers against your spot. “Can I lick you up after?”

You clench around him like a vice, his low voice making you drip onto his palm, his words incinerating what is left of your pride. You can only nod, so you do. And his hand starts moving again. Faster, deeper, more thorough. You keep nodding, your moans raising, your pleasure retreating like a snake ready to strike. Oh God, oh God, oh God–

“Come.”

Your hips fly to the ceiling when you come, thighs trembling and closing around his hand. Bucky keeps moving and thrusting and curling until he has wrung all of your pleasure from your body and you feel like you’re made of jelly. Your voice is hoarse from yelling your release and the sheets below are drenched with your desire.

Soft kisses are pressed to your face and that is how you return from whatever plane of existence you went to. His gentle laugh makes you shiver and you open your eyes to find him licking his fingers like there is caramel dripping from them. You swallow hard and zero in on that action, making his eyes sparkle.

But something changes when you reach up to stroke his hair and his eyes flutter. Your eyes rove over his face in admiration and your entire soul sighs at the sight of him. Bucky looks down at you curiously and cocks his head.

“What is it?” he asks and you chew your lip, trying to find the words.

“You and me, huh?” you murmur with something like wonder in your voice. Bucky can only nod. You continue, “Who would’ve thought…”

Bucky leans down and kisses you. Soft, slow, deep. It makes your body sing. And he shuffles back to make himself at home between your legs. Though as he does that, he remains his focus on kissing you. Deeper, more, desperate. Depraved. He moans and breathes and you swear you hear him whimper, his hips grinding over your oversensitive cunt as he gets lost in kissing you.

Raking your nails over his scalp, you once again wrap your legs around his hips and pull him down. And if Bucky hadn’t snapped his leash just yet, this does it. He turns wild and passionate and heavy. One hand of his and one hand of your own both reach down, messily working together to get rid of his jeans. He shimmies out of them, not bothering to get rid of them entirely, but bothering to at least take off his shirt.

Your fingers drag down his pecs and abdomen, trying to memorise every curve and edge with what little brain capacity you have left. You feel like no more than a flame, no more than passion and want and need. And when Bucky slides his bare cock through your folds to slicken himself, you shudder so violently, your breath shudders with it.

“Woman, you are going to kill me,” he breathes and nips at your lips.

You almost growl with impatience, “Then fuck me and die already.”

He laughs, bold and happy, before thrusting into you in a long stroke. Home. Oh fuck, he’s home. Both of you freeze, taking in the moment of being fused together before he slowly pulls out and out and out. And sliding back in with an agonizing thrust.

Something in you clicks. Something so vital, so necessary. And Bucky feels it too.

“Yes,” he groans and presses another kiss to your lips, like he can’t get enough. “This is it.”

You nod and close your eyes in pleasure. In relief. You shudder with emotion and clamp onto him. Bucky keeps pressing kisses to your skin. Your neck, your lips, your cheek, temple, forehead.

“This is it,” you choke out and Bucky smiles. “You’re it.”

Bucky breathes a sigh, as if he’s been waiting ages for you to admit it. “Finally.”

Infinity War.

Biting your lip and bouncing your leg, you try to let the rumble of the swift jet calm your nerves. Your eyes search the cabin and go over the confusing screens for the thousandth time.

“Nervous?” Natasha’s sensual voice sounds next to you and you force a smile.

“Why would I be nervous?” you ask and smirk at her. “We’re only stepping into a war with the probability of us winning being like…” Zero? Less than zero? You sigh, “I don’t want to think about that.”

She bites back her own smirk and raises her eyebrows. “Wasn’t talking about the war. Are you nervous about seeing him?”

Bucky.

You glare at her after quickly glancing around to see if anyone heard her, making Natasha try even harder to hold back a smile.

Yes, you were nervous to see him. So much had happened. So many aspects of your spy work had suddenly intermingled and now you are fighting along with the Avengers. Even after you were sure they had torn themselves apart over Bucky. Being caught in the middle of that had put you and Bucky’s relationship –if you could even call it that– so far to the back of both your minds, you barely had time to mention it to anyone until Steve shipped him off to Wakanda to get some real help.

You and Bucky were over before it even started and you think that maybe it’s for the better. Neither you nor Bucky are any good at that relationship shit anyway. It showed over and over.

Luckily enough, you’d found plenty of distraction being on the run with Sam, Natasha and Steve. No Bucky in sight, but knowing he was safe and taken care of. Private mission after mission with other people you cared about, people who didn’t know about you and Bucky, one of them eager to forget about Bucky himself.

You barely gave it any thought.

Except you thought of Bucky every day.

And now you get to see him again. However, if any time would make you reconsider any commitment at all, it would be now.

“No,” you answer and then turn serious. “I mean, I was. But now I’m just preparing myself for either grief, or death.”

“Are those our only options?” she asks with a displeased frown. “Why not prepare for victory or somethin’?”

Giving her a long and hard stare, you sigh deeply. “Yeah. You’re right. If I die, I might as well die hopeful.”

“That’s my girl,” she grins and you bump her shoulder with yours, finding your own smile breaking through.

That’s when Steve gives Sam the coordinates to fly through a barrier and show you the hidden – and beautiful – kingdom of Wakanda. So you ignore every jittery feeling you have in your stomach at possibly seeing Barnes again, and you channel it all into hope.

…

Natasha strokes her hand over your shoulder as you walk up to king T’Challa, who’s flanked by his closest guard and a palace that screams to get you on your knees to worship. You barely hear the conversation the king has with Steve, partly because you’re still in awe of the beautiful place around you.

Now this, this is a refuge.

“How are we lookin’?” Natasha asks from next to you and that’s when you start to pay attention. You’d need a hell of a lot of man-power to win this.

“You will have my Kings Guard,” T’Challa starts, “the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and…”

“A semi-stable hundred-year-old man,” finishes a voice that makes your entire system dysregulate. Oh God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard the warm timber of that voice.

You notice your hands have started shaking and clutch them behind your back, squeezing courage out of them to face your past, as Bucky Barnes walks up to hug Captain America.

“How’ve you been, Buck?” Steve asks and Bucky answers with a heart-stopping smile.

“Uh, not bad,” he answers, “for the end of the world.”

They share another warm look before Steve turns to everyone behind him and then to the king, “Should we prepare?”

A few minutes later, you’re following the king inside with all of his closest guards and your own team, which now includes Bucky. Focusing your eyes on everything around you, you barely notice the large hand slipping around your elbow and pulling you into another hallway.

You know better than to scream for help and you use the momentum to swing the person around and pin them to the nearest wall with a knife to their throat. But the air rushes from you when you stand face to face with Bucky.

“There she is,” he grins and slowly raises his hands in surrender.

You back away slowly and look at him like a gaping fish, your insides pounding and swirling and thrashing as your body heats with adrenaline. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

“New arm?” you ask him, your voice coming out surprisingly steady, and he glances at the appendage, flexing his hand between your faces.

“Yeah, you like it?” he asks and he almost sounds like a young boy, genuinely interested in what you think of it, of him.

And you calm. Everything inside of you settles and the heat turns to warmth. Your insides seem to melt with relief and you throw your arms around his neck, almost tipping over until Bucky’s arms automatically slide around your waist to pull your pliant body tightly against his. He’s so big and strong and warm.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he laughs softly and one hand starts to stroke your hair gently as you huff out a sob into his neck. “Oh, sweet girl. You’ve never been sad to see me before.”

You finally pull back and cup his face as he lets you survey him closely, him grinning widely at the worry in your every feature. You breathe, “You’re good. You’re safe.”

He nods and takes your hands, pressing a kiss to your palm. “So are you,” he whispers and you nod.

“Not for long,” you add, deflated.

He gives you a sad smile. “Now, who would we be if we didn’t go down fighting, hm?”

You smile slightly at that. “Back on the same team.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips and the planet stops turning.

“Finally.”

The Blip.

Another knock sounds and you roll your eyes, throwing on a quick cardigan as you hop over to your door. Unusual, for your quiet, lonely evenings to get interrupted like this. You’re ready to cash in what you can only assume is some complaining neighbour or your awful land lord when you open the door and are met with a familiar face that makes your heart squeeze together.

“Steve,” you breathe.

“Hey.”

You step aside to let him in and take a deep breath.

“Want something to drink?” you ask as you close the door behind him and let him venture into your home. Or, whatever you have tried to turn into your home. It had never been more than the latest home trends and some empty picture frames.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I found you?” he asks and you get a feeling of déjà vu.

But you shake your head with a forced smile, “I left a trace for Natasha to track for emergencies. I know how you found me.” You give him a pointed look and Steve actually has the decency to look slightly apologetic.

That look tells you enough about how much of an emergency this is and you wonder what prompted Natasha to decipher your code and hand your location to the Captain. Maybe he was the one breaking and could use a familiar face. Maybe something turned him awfully worried about you. Maybe-

No.

“Aren’t you mad that Natasha told me?” he asks unsurely and you give him a tight-lipped smile, taking a seat in one of your dining table chairs and ushering for him to do so as well.

“Would you believe me if I said that it’s actually quite nice to see a familiar face after five pretty lonely years?” you refute and he gives you a warm smile.

“It’s good to see you, too, Kid.”

A comfortable silence settles between you two and you fidget with your hands, staring at them intently before raising your face back to Steve. “Why are you here, Cap?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Ever since the Blip,” he starts and you can feel him debating whether to continue, “I never– I didn’t get to tell you how sorry I am about Bucky.”

You freeze and slowly turn your gaze to him. “Okay. Now I am pissed at her.”

“Natasha didn’t tell me,” he quickly assures and you raise a brow at him. “He did.”

You fall quiet at that. “Bucky told you about…”

“What,” he laughs. “Didn’t think you two were serious enough for him to tell his best friend about it?”

You reply with a humourless laugh of your own. “He um– He wasn’t a very committing guy. And I don’t blame him. Why commit to something if you might lose everything all over again?”

The pity in Steve’s gaze feels burning to your skin. “Well, if you’re that scared of losing something, it might be worth committing to,” he says and you find yourself agreeing with the wise bastard.

“Well, I committed and look where I am now,” you huff. “Turns out, he was right all along.”

“Kid–”

“Why are you here, Cap?” you try again, all of a sudden too eager to get rid of him.

It takes a while for him to answer and dread settles low in your belly. When he starts talking, you’ve already started shaking your head. “We have found a way to bring them all back.”

You still. And you stay like that. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe another five years have passed.

“Did you hear what I said?” he tries.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. We figured out a way. Time travel.”

You bark a laugh and give him a pointed glare. However, your vision is already slightly impaired by the tears pooling at your waterline. “Don’t,” you stop him before he continues elaborating. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this in the past five years? That you, or Nat, or even Tony fucking Stark himself would stand at my door and tell me we figured it out? About a million times, Cap. And the more normal this delusional scenario became in my head, the more absurd it seemed to be. And now, you expect me to just believe that nearly five years on the dot, you have figured out a way to return everything to normal?!”

Steve can take it, the sudden outburst of your disbelief. He has definitely encountered a whole lot more scepticism in his life. But his heart breaks a little for you. Bucky had tried to be so casual when he finally told Steve about you, but Steve had caught the sparkle in those hundred-year-old eyes and he couldn’t describe the relief of Bucky having found someone, let alone you.

But now, to see you so far removed from Bucky – from hope. He hates it.

“I waited,” he almost whispers. “Until I was completely sure. We need you for this.”

You blink away your tears and one rolls down your cheek. Steve quickly reaches to catch it and cups your face. A touch normally so very unwelcome, but now you cannot help but bury your face in his palm.

“You’re sure?” you ask, voice breaking.

Steve pulls you in and up to his chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “Time to bring our best friend back, Kid.”

Time Travel.

You cannot help but smile when you see the handsome brainiac hunched over a laptop near some high-tech stage that you can’t seem to look at too long without talking yourself out of this.

“Hey, Tony,” you say quietly as you walk up and his brown eyes light up when he hears your voice. Stepping away from the screen, he opens his arms wide and pulls you into a tight hug. Another comfortable embrace that you can only breathe in and cherish.

“My favourite spy,” he murmurs and pulls back.

“How are you doing?” you ask him.

He gives you a knowing look. “Oh, you know. Good. Until he showed up,” he sneers with a pointed look at Steve, who simply rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he has a way of interrupting peace.”

Tony snorts. “Now that, is what I call a paradox.”

You laugh and pat his shoulder, “Pepper and Morgan?”

“They’re wonderful.” He grins, but you can see the fear shining in his eyes and you give his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this, Tony.”

He smirks in answer. “I swear, if you and Barnes don’t openly kiss after all I am about to sacrifice, I will find the stones and undo both of your existences.”

You shoot a thunderous glare to Steve, and to Natasha who is walking up behind the Captain. But Tony stops you before you can scold them on their horrible secret-keeping skills, “Pepper told me.”

You grit your teeth.

The Avengers are a bunch of gossips.

The Endgame.

You stumble backward, your sprained ankle and broken ribs somehow only a faint ache over the sight before you. You almost trip over debris, or a body, or just air and you keep blinking to see better or to make it all go away, you don’t know.

He did it. Tony did it. You’re sure you can still feel the snap of his fingers vibrate through your spine. And there he is. Slumped against more debris, half of his face cracked like burnt coal, his suit barely reflecting its original colours. The blue light at the centre of his chest is fading, shuttering and then… it goes dark. With Pepper’s hand over it.

Your own hand barely muffles the sob trying to break through and you stumble over and over again as you back away from that horrible, awful reality. He did it. But at what cost?

You turn around and start jogging. How? You’re not sure. Your body is in no state to hurry. But it’s incomplete. You were barely strong or extraordinary enough to be of any help during the fight, but you tried your best. Helping people in the field, some war medic patching up gushing wounds. You’d cashed some punches and kicks yourself. Dealt them, too.

It was all because you needed to be there. Because you needed to stay alive. Needed to stick around to see him again. And now… Now… You barely survived this, barely made it through. And Tony died. Tony Stark. The chance of him still being out there-

You start running faster. Hobbling and grunting from the pain.

“Bucky,” you voice is raw and frantic, it’s barely a sound as you cry out for him. “Bucky! Bucky!”

Head swinging from side to side, you hope the soldier reveals himself from behind one of the plumes of smoke. Further and further away, you flee from the horrifying scene of whatever is left after Thanos. You need to find him, but you can’t identify anything on this war ground.

If he’s dead. If Bucky is dead–

Your head whips around so fast, your neck might crack, when you’re sure you hear your name. Everything about you goes quiet and you hold your breath like it will make any difference. Slowly, you walk in the direction where you assume the sound came from, but you almost cringe at the idea that you might just be going insane. After all those explosions, your hearing can’t possibly be this sharp.

Though perhaps intuition is at play here, because you’ve always been able to feel him. Always knew it when it was him waiting up for you, or looking for you, or needing you.

“Bucky,” you croak again.

“Here…” It’s so quiet. But you hear it over everything else and follow the echo of the sound.

“Bucky,” you rasp out. “I’m coming!”

And there he is. On hands and knees, struggling to get up. You can only describe your approach as a dive, as you crash onto your wobbly knees and wrap your arms around him. His body instantly stops struggling and falls into your rib cage.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

“Yeah,” he groans. “’M right here.”

You had no idea you were sobbing it to him, but you don’t care as your hands grapple for a better hold of him. He does the same until both of you are kneeling in front of each other, cupping each others’ faces to check for injuries.

“You look pretty all roughed up,” he mutters and you smile through your tears.

“You look awful,” you reply and he chuckles before pulling you into his chest. “But you’re home.”

He shudders and you might actually hear him let out a sob of his own as he tightens his grip on you.

“Finally.”

[tipsynight0]

Possessions kiss

Paring - jeff the killer x female reader

Trigger warnings - jealousy, possessiveness, toxic relationship, abuse, blood, broken bones, violence, threats, mature themes.

Synopsis - jeff had a shitty mission and takes it out on toby and (y/n)

Word count - 1.6k

A uthors note - I’m sorry but I like making this man angsty as hell, I dont condone this type of behaviour I just simply write it. It is creepypasta after all and Jeff is quite the character to begin with. Anyway, thank you for the crazy amount of love I’ve been receiving. I’m just doing this shit for pure therapeutic reasons and I’m glad so many of you are enjoying it <<3

Three agonizing days of trudging through the bitter cold, snow whipping against his face, and all for nothing. The target—Jeff’s kill—was already dead. Worse, the one who stole his thunder was Toby, the jittering, stuttering pain in his ass who always managed to get under his skin. Jeff’s fists clenched at the thought, knuckles whitening against the cold. The icy wind wasn’t the only thing making his blood run hot.

He slammed the mansion door behind him, the crack of wood against wood echoing through the empty halls. His boots were caked in snow and mud, leaving wet, dirty prints on the floor as he kicked them off carelessly. His jaw was set in a hard line, his breath coming out in heavy puffs, like a storm waiting to break. No one was around to witness the brooding fury that seemed to radiate off him in waves, but that didn’t calm the growing rage gnawing at his insides.

With heavy steps, he trudged up the stairs, the quiet of the mansion only amplifying his agitation. His body ached from the cold, the kind of bone-deep chill that even a steaming hot shower wouldn’t cure, but it wasn’t just the cold that was bothering him. Toby had taken what was rightfully his. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the house was too quiet—too still.

Where the hell was (Y/N)?

His mind reeled as he reached the bathroom, his jaw tightening as he entered. Immediately, the familiar scent of her perfume hit him. Sweet, delicate, floral. Completely at odds with the chaos inside him. It clung to everything she touched, an irritating reminder of how she had woven herself into his life.

Jeff’s lip curled in frustration. Her meticulously organized row of perfumes, skincare bottles, and other girly shit cluttered the counter. He reached out and, with a sweep of his hand, shoved her things aside, not caring where they fell. They tumbled over each other, bottles clinking as they scattered in disarray. A petty victory, but one that briefly sated the growing anger inside him.

But it wasn’t enough.

As he brushed his teeth, he leaned over the sink, his eyes narrowing at his reflection. Tired, bloodshot eyes stared back at him, but what irritated him more was how (Y/N) had her toothbrush placed so perfectly beside his. How her towels were neatly folded while his were haphazardly thrown around the room. He couldn’t stand the neatness, the way she tried to bring order to the chaos that was his life. So, after rinsing his mouth, he spat a thick wad of toothpaste directly into the sink, leaving it there like a challenge. She’d have no choice but to clean it up, and that small, spiteful act brought a ghost of a smile to his lips.

Still, something gnawed at him—a tension in the air that wouldn’t let up. As he pulled on a plain black T-shirt and flannel pants, the mansion’s silence felt oppressive, pressing down on him. Something was off. Where was she?

Jeff stepped out into the hallway, his heavy footsteps echoing against the wooden floors. As he moved toward the far end of the house, he noticed something—a muffled sound. Laughter. And not just any laughter—her laughter. It was light, familiar, and it made his gut twist in the worst way.

His steps faltered, his body going rigid as he approached Toby’s door. The closer he got, the more he could hear—(Y/N)’s soft laughter, followed by Toby’s stuttering voice.

Jeff’s grip tightened on the doorknob, a slow burn of anger building inside him, his breaths growing shallow as he peered through the crack in the door. The sight before him was enough to set his blood on fire.

There she was, sitting on the floor, laughing as she held a handful of Uno cards. Toby, his goddamn twitchy, annoying self, was sitting far too close, his body angled toward hers, that stupid grin on his face as he tapped her knee like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That single touch—the light brush of Toby’s hand against (Y/N)’s leg—was all it took. The rage inside Jeff erupted like a tidal wave.

Without thinking, Jeff slammed the door open, the force of it crashing against the wall with a deafening bang. The sudden intrusion sent (Y/N)’s cards scattering across the floor, her laughter immediately dying in her throat as her eyes shot up to meet his. Toby flinched, but before he could even react, Jeff was on him.

“You piece of shit,” Jeff growled, his voice low and dangerous, dripping with venom. In an instant, his hand was wrapped around Toby’s collar, yanking him off the floor with the strength of a man possessed. Toby’s back slammed against the wall, hard enough to rattle the pictures hanging beside him.

Toby’s eyes widened in panic, his stuttering breathing erratic as he raised his hands in a feeble attempt to pry Jeff’s iron grip off his throat. “J-J-Jeff, w-wait—”

But Jeff wasn’t listening. The rage had fully taken over. “First, you take my fucking kill,” he spat, his voice shaking with barely contained fury. He didn’t wait for an answer. His fist flew, connecting with Toby’s jaw in a brutal crunch. Blood immediately gushed from the impact, splattering across the floor and the wall.

“Then you touch my (Y/N)?” Jeff’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper as his fist struck again, this time smashing into Toby’s nose. Blood sprayed from the broken cartilage, Toby’s head snapping back with the force of the blow.

“Jeff! Stop!” (Y/N)’s voice cut through the tension, panicked and sharp as she rushed forward, grabbing his arm. But her grip was small, insignificant against the hurricane that was Jeff. His rage had him in a chokehold, refusing to let go.

Toby’s head lolled to the side, barely conscious, his twitching body sliding down the wall as he let out a pathetic laugh. Jeff’s breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling with each angry exhale, his fists still clenched and dripping with blood—Toby’s blood.

With one last shove, Jeff released Toby, letting him crumple to the ground in a pathetic heap. His body was twitching uncontrollably, a mess of blood, bruises, and broken bones, but Jeff didn’t even spare him another glance. His eyes were solely focused on (Y/N), the object of his rage and his obsession.

“Don’t you fucking speak,” Jeff growled, his voice so low it was almost a hiss. In an instant, his bloodied hand shot out, grabbing (Y/N) by the wrist and yanking her out of the room with brutal force. She stumbled, her feet dragging across the floor as she cast one last glance at Toby, who lay crumpled on the floor in his blood-soaked mess.

The hallway seemed to stretch out endlessly as Jeff dragged her toward their shared room, his grip tight and unyielding. He slammed the door behind them with enough force to make the walls shake.

(Y/N) stood there, arms crossed over her chest, her expression a mixture of fury and disbelief. “What the hell was that for, Jeff?” she demanded, her voice shaking with a combination of fear and anger.

Jeff didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stalked toward her like a predator cornering its prey, his dark eyes locked on hers, dangerous and filled with a possessive hunger. His breath was still labored, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, but his gaze never wavered.

Without warning, he grabbed her by the throat. His grip was firm, not quite enough to cut off her air supply, but tight enough to make her feel the threat in every breath. He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke in a low, deadly voice.

“Next time, I’ll break his hand,” Jeff hissed, his words sharp as a blade. “Do you think anyone gets to touch you but me?”

(Y/N)’s pulse raced under his grip, her breath catching in her throat as his possessive words sank in. She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper as she tried to respond. “You’re being—”

Before she could finish, Jeff’s grip tightened just enough to make her gasp. His smirk was dark and dangerous as he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze head-on. “You’re lucky I don’t strangle you right now,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers in a maddening tease. “You’re lucky I fucking love you.”

Then, in a move so sudden it made her head spin, Jeff’s lips crashed down on hers in a brutal kiss, all teeth and dominance. He bit down hard on her bottom lip, the metallic taste of blood filling both their mouths as she winced from the sharp pain. But before she could protest, his tongue swept over the bite, claiming her in the most possessive way possible.

His other hand gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him, his body a solid wall of heat and danger. There was no space between them, no room for protest. His kiss was savage, demanding, taking everything he wanted, leaving her breathless in his wake.

And for Jeff, that’s exactly how it should be.

[violetflowerswrites]

I’ll Be Here

Summary: After a traumatic injury, your SWAT roommate turned boyfriend (?) Jim Street strives to take care of you, and meet all of your needs.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Minor mentions of leg injury, meds, and recovery with wheelchair, casts, and crutches. Reader has a protective older sister. One scene of nightmares, mentions of trauma. Discussion of child abuse, drug use, drunkenness, in Street’s family history. Filthy Smut. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. 18+ for explicit smut, and language

Word Count: 4.0k

A/N: I felt like there needed to be one more epilogue / ending to this Street x Roommate fic series. It picks up directly after the ending of Part Two (Taking it Slow). I got a little caught up fleshing out her backstory and recovery journey, but there’s a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, and quite a bit of smut. I added some details from Season 4, Ep 2 as well. It’s a slower paced story than what I normally like, but I still had a fun hell of time writing it. Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Part Two Here - “Taking It Slow”

Masterlist Here

…

The click of the door makes the two of you startle, and quickly.

“Commander Hicks is gonna put you on armory duty for a week for pulling a stunt like that.”

“Hey, Tan.” Street smiles at his teammate’s lack of greeting. Classic Tan — a bit of hard-ass, but always means well. “Hicks already chewed my ear off on the phone earlier.”

“Figured. I just wanted to come down, see how my friend’s sister was doing. I already briefed her on what happened. She’s on her way back from a case up in Burbank.”

“Thank you, Victor.” You breathe out a sigh of relief.

Victor Tan was co-workers with your older sister back from his days in LAPD’s Hollywood Vice division. When you decided to move to LA, she figured you being roommates with a SWAT officer was the safest place you could be.

But the world is a dangerous place, even if you live with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT.

Victor looks you up and down, noticing that besides being a little pale, and having a massive cast on your leg, you don’t seem to be in pain.

Then, he notices the way that Street is standing— body turned to yours, hand hovering on the bedside protectively, as if he wanted to hold your hand at any given moment.

“Hold on, don’t tell me you two are a thing now.”

A hot flush creeps up your skin and you and Street immediately stumble over your responses.

“We were trying to take it slow—“

“and not make things too complicated…”

“but then this happened so…”

“We don't really know what we are, but I do know that I am so so grateful for you Victor. You and Street helped save my life.”

You end your rush of words with a watery smile, emotion cracking your voice.

Tan looks down sheepishly, immediately trying to be casual about it.

“Nah, Y/N. It was the tourniquet you made that probably saved your life. You gave us a big scare today, but I am glad to see you’re okay.”

“That makes 3 of us.”

A petite, fierce-looking female cop stands in the doorway of the hospital room, her hand sweeping back some stray hairs that fell out of her tight bun in her rush to get to you.

…

Your bad-ass cop sister stays over for a week while you recover, watching Street like a hawk. You’re so hopped up on pain-killers that you barely notice the tension between them.

Street on the other hand, feels like he’s being evaluated in some test he didn’t train for. He couldn’t take time off, so he’s eager to see you whenever he gets home. But most of the time, your sister is hovering over you, helping you adjust to moving around in the wheelchair, and making sure you are eating your meals and taking all your meds correctly.

One late evening while you’re supposed to be sleeping, you overhear your sister confront him.

“So. When were you gonna tell me you’re fucking my sister?”

Street spits out the beer he just took a sip of. He’s barely exchanged more than a few sentences to your sister, and that was when she helped you move in a few months ago.

“Uh…”

“I see the way you look at her. I’m pretty sure I warned you that this arrangement was solely to keep her safe while living in this neighborhood. Didn’t expect you guys to fuck so quickly.”

Damn. Your sister is known to be blunt, but this is next level. You remembered how she reacted when your dick-head of a college ex-boyfriend broke your heart. He was sorry to have ever known you after that.

“About that…” Street starts, but gets cut off with a raised palm in his face.

“Before you say anything, I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She hasn’t told me yet, but I know. She’s down bad for you, Street.”

You automatically pull your covers up in embarrassment, hearing your sister lay all your feelings out in the open like that. She’s right though, you’ve fallen hard for him and it’s not just because he saved your life a week ago.

It’s because he's an empathetic listener to your rants about work, LA traffic, anything.

It’s the way he notices the small things, like when you're stress baking, or when you have your shoulders hunched up in frustration at the kitchen counter.

It’s how he gently pries your closed off doors open, helping you heal from your past.

It’s how he loves you, in such a sweet, gentle way that only he can.

“So you have 2 days before I go back to Vice to show me that you can take care of her.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Well, I don’t want to, but we’re about to make a big drug bust and my team needs me. Y/N is strong. She can take care of herself, but I worry about her. Her surgery was intense, and it’s gonna be a long recovery. I was gonna have her live with me for a few months, but I don’t think she wants to be away from you.”

“Thank you.” Street lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He may be a big bad SWAT officer, but your 5 foot nothing of a cop sister scared the shit out of him.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

…

That weekend, you get the full princess treatment from Street. He helps train your upper body strength to be able to lift yourself on and off your wheelchair. He takes you to the park to get some sun, and makes sure the entire house is wheelchair friendly so you can move around independently. He rearranges the fridge and pantry so that your favorite foods are all easily reachable from your lower height. He even meal-preps some home-cooked lunches to have while you go back to work on Monday.

Working with your sister, he re-arranges his schedule so he can drive you to the office in the morning and your sister can take you home.

On Sunday evening, you read out a long string of dates as Street writes all your upcoming appointments on the fridge-calendar and your sister says which ones she can take you to, and which ones she needs Street to help drive you.

“Well…fuck.” Your sister swears, which only happens when she’s particularly exasperated.

”What? What’s wrong?” You look up from your laptop with your Google calendar open.

“Y/N, I didn’t wanna admit it, but you got a good one here.”

An ear-splitting grin spreads across Street’s face as he realizes what she means.

You obviously told your sister that you overheard Friday night’s conversation, and all of what’s been going on between you and Street…minus the mind-blowing sex.

“He passed?” You ask eagerly, hopeful stars in your eyes.

“He never had to pass anything in the first place, Y/N. If you chose him, that’s all the approval I needed to know. I trust you. I was just giving him a hard time, because I love you.”

You burst out laughing while Street spits out a flabbergasted “The hell did I try so hard for?!”

“That’s what big sisters are for. Y/N deserves all the princess treatment she can get. We put our lives on the line every day, but she doesn’t normally have to. She’s gonna need you, Street.”

Street places a reassuring hand on your sisters’ shoulder.

“I’ll be here.”

…

Street lives up his promise, taking care of you through some of the worst physical and emotional pain you’ve ever been in.

He’s there at your physical therapy appointments, making sure you’re practicing the exercises at home even when you just want to lie down from exhaustion.

He’s there holding your hand even though you squeeze him until his fingers go numb. It hurts him to see your face contort with unexpected pain when the meds wear off and you try putting some weight on your leg for the first time in weeks.

He’s there when the trauma sets in. He notices when you’re on the couch in the evenings, the TV on, but you’re not really watching. He holds you tightly while you wake up in the middle of night crying, reliving the moment you almost died.

He’s there through it all.

…

“How do you deal with it?”

You’re sitting upright in bed, the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp warming the darkness of the middle of the night.

“Deal with what?”

Street’s sitting next to you, holding your hand while your sweat-soaked forehead leans against his shoulder, your racing heartbeat finally slowing down.

Your breath draws in and out in a steady rhythm as you calm yourself from your latest nightmare with his comforting presence.

Street ran into your room when he heard you. That’s been the third night in a row that you’ve woken up to the sound of your own screaming.

“Deal with trauma. Not the physical pain, but those horrible moments that just keep flashing before your eyes every time you close them.”

“Well, I’ve been dealing with trauma my whole life I guess.”

Street has already talked to you about growing up in the foster system, because his dad was a drunk. You knew that his mom was in jail for killing him, but Street didn’t go into details. You knew as much as he hated talking about his past, he hated talking about his complicated relationship with his mom even more.

“Last week, we were surveilling a house, trying to get someone for the CIA, and I saw a kid. A little boy, covered in bruises on his back porch. He looked so alone, and so scared.”

“What happened?”

“I got into it with Hondo a bit, almost compromised the mission because I wanted to get him out of that abusive home.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. But it brought back a lot of memories, and none of them good.”

It was your turn to comfort Street as you could hear his breath come in shudders as he thought back to his rough childhood.

“Have I ever told you that my earliest memory of kindergarten was my mom putting makeup on my chin to cover up my dad’s crappy weekend?”

“No.” The word comes out in a saddened whisper. “You’ve never told me that one before.”

“Well, it’s not something that comes up in casual conversation. And I’ve tried a lot of things to make sure I never have to mention those moments.”

“What kinds of things?”

Street lets out a wry chuckle.

“What haven’t I tried? Drugs, alcohol. Thrill seeking. Street racing. Driving way past the speed limit.”

“You still do that one.”

Street laughs genuinely now. “Yeah, but not where I’ll get caught by cops.”

“You are a cop!”

He chuckles again, but quiets down into contemplative silence.

“For many years, I just poured myself into my job. Climbing the ladder until I could make something of myself. Run away as far as I could from that childhood me. The one with the drunk dad, jailed mom. The helpless foster kid.”

“It didn’t help, did it?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then, how did you heal?”

Street looks down at you now, his heart breaking to see tears streaming down your face. He’s certain those are empathetic tears, tears for his hardships. His rough childhood. Pangs of guilt wash over him.

He doesn’t deserve your tears.

Then, he sees the way you’re looking at him. The way you’re holding him in a bone-crushing embrace. Well, as tightly as you could possibly hold all of his heavily-muscled torso.

So, he sucks in a grounding breath and reminds himself that you’re crying because you care about him. Because you love him.

And it’s okay to accept your love.

Street caresses your cheek with a strong hand, and thumbs off a few of your tears.

“I’m still healing. But when those moments come, I’ve learned that it helps to talk about it.”

All those late-night bike rides down the California coastline could never truly help him escape from his problems.

He thinks back to all the people in his life who’ve helped him open up. Who’ve confronted him on his bullshit and made him stop running away.

Hondo and Buck.

Chris, Deacon, Tan, and Luca.

Even his ex-girlfriend, Molly Hicks.

As much as he hates to admit it, putting his trauma out in the open was better than keeping it in.

Your hand in his starts trembling and that small movement pulls him out of his thoughts.

“What if I’m not ready to talk yet?” You choke, as if you could barely get the words out.

“Then I’ll be here waiting until you are.”

…

Weeks pass in a whirlwind of work, doctors’ appointments, and recovery exercises at home. Eventually, the nightmares subside, and you start seeing a therapist to help you work through the trauma.

You graduate from the wheelchair and giant full-length cast to a bootie on your calf and ankle. The hardwood floor is littered with little dents from the first few days you learned to hobble around on crutches, but you get the hang of it quickly.

Both Street and your sister feel much more at ease leaving you at home alone, knowing that you can take care of yourself more easily now.

Except today.

Because your idiot brain put the crutches by the bathroom door instead of next to the towel rack.

And here you are, butt-naked in the shower, the floor wet and a slipping hazard, and 6 feet away from independence.

Just as you debate bear-crawling across the cold tile to grab your crutches, you hear the front door open and close.

“Street!” You call out.

Heavy footsteps rush over to the bathroom and skid to a stop as Street quickly leans his head against the door and asks urgently, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine! I just left the crutches by the door and I can’t reach them. Can you help me get out of the shower?”

Street breathes out a sigh of relief. Ever since the accident, he finds himself panicking easily about any situation that has to do with you getting hurt.

“Of course. I’m coming in.”

You’ve managed to dry yourself off, wrap your body in a fluffy white towel, and sit on the edge of the tub.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Street how your damp hair clings to your skin, flushed from the hot water. Lavender-scented steam hits him in a rush as he opens the door, a familiar smell to him. You love lavender shampoo, soaps, lotions, candles, anything.

He scoops you up gently, trying not to think about the last time he carried you like this was when you were bloodied, unconscious, and barely alive.

A small moan draws him out of his head immediately.

Not a moan of pain.

A moan of lust.

What?

Street freezes and gently places you on the bathroom counter, carefully holding your injured leg against his hip.

His eyes dart across your flustered face as you realize just what kind of inadvertent sound escaped your lips as soon as you were in Street’s strong arms, and you inhaled the familiar leather of his bike jacket.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Street kisses you breathless and pulls your towel down, inhaling your damp skin and that damned lavender soap that is making him dizzy with lust.

Water drips from the ends of your hair down your body, and Street licks up the river trailing from your shoulder, down the swell of your breasts, all the way to your core.

He pulls you to the edge as he kneels down in front of you. Ever-conscious of your injury, he lifts your hurt leg onto his shoulder, which only serves to widen your thighs, giving him full access.

Your knuckles tighten against the counter and your moans bounce off the tiled walls the second he licks your dripping pussy.

Street is a master at oral and it’s been weeks since you’ve had the pleasure of being his pupil.

His tongue dives first into your center, stretching your hot, leaking core. Then his lips find your clit, sucking it in gently, until the nerve endings in the sensitive nub light your body up with pleasure.

Before you have a moment to recover, his fingers find your entrance and enter with ease. Your slick gushes out, dripping onto the towel as he thrusts two fingers in and out. His knuckles curl up, searching for the spongy spot that he knows will drive you absolutely wild.

Filthy sounds of wetness fill the bathroom as he eats you out and fingers your clenched center, once, twice, three times.

Before long, his moans mix with your own as you voice your pleasure, cumming on his face in moments.

“Keep going.”

Street freezes at the first words you’ve uttered since he kissed you. It was an impulse, a lack of self-control that got him to this point in the first place.

It was seeing you nearly naked, with that damned lavender filling his nostrils that drove him crazy.

But he was going to stop. It was enough to get you off.

”I’m not done yet, Street.” You demand arrogantly, and look pointedly at the hard erection pushing against his dark-blue jeans.

“But—“

“I’ll be fine. Just hold my leg up and fuck me.”

You pull him up by the collar of his leather jacket, and kiss him roughly, panting in his ear as you lick and suckle the skin of his cheek, his neck, the underside of his jaw.

It’s been too long since you’ve had his body, his touch, his cock. You crave him with a hunger you’ve never known before.

And now that you’ve had a taste, every cell in your being is vibrating with one simple word.

More.

Needing no other encouragement, Street strips off his jacket only for you to take it and pull it over your bare shoulders.

The sight of you, fully naked except for his jacket, makes him suck in a breath.

His eyes darken immediately and he can hear his heart beat in double time.

You make him go feral.

It takes no time at all for him to rid himself of his remaining clothing, and line himself up with your pink entrance.

“You’ll tell me if I’m hurting you?” Street asks, still hesitant, even as the pre-cum of his throbbing member mixes with your juices.

“Yes.” You affirm breathlessly, feeling the round tip of his hard cock start to breach your center.

“You’ll stop me if you can’t handle it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure about this, Y/N?”

“Yes! Street, fill me with your cock already!”

He blushes at your filthy words, feeling the heel of your good leg dig into the small of his back, trying to draw him into your waiting core.

You finally feel him push through the tight circle of your center. You’re especially tight, having not had sex since the accident over a month ago.

Street lets out a growl as he feels your pussy gripping him, struggling to push in deeper.

But instead of pain, you only feel pleasure.

“Fuck—! That feels incredible. Go deeper, Street. Please!” You beg him, desperate for more.

He grabs your thighs, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pulls you towards his pelvis. You can feel his cock thrust to the end, finally completely filling you with all of him.

You throw your arms around his waist, breathing heavily as the heady lavender steam only serves to make the two of you even more sex-drunk.

You hear Street suck in another deep breath before he pulls out, and slowly inches his way back into you, experimenting with how fast he should go.

How much you can handle.

But the slower pace feels heavenly to your hot, needy core. His cock stretches every part of you, pressing against your spongy center, all the way to your cervix as he thrusts down to the hilt once more.

”How’s that, Y/N? Does it hurt?” Street checks in with you again, a vein popping out of his neck as he strains to maintain his self-control. All his cock wants is to fuck you with total abandon, but he refuses to put himself first.

Your voice comes out in a stream of incoherent whimpers as you wordlessly express just how good it feels to be filled by him.

So Street cups the back of your ass, and presses you flush against him, and you cry out, feeling him impossibly deep inside.

“Oh my god! Street!”

“I’m just getting started.” He grins, licking the side of your neck as he starts to roll his hips into you.

You feel his cock slip out just a few inches only to thrust back in as far as it can go, over and over.

As you look down, you are blessed with the magnificent sight of Street’s abs clenching with every sensual roll of his body against yours.

Every slight motion pushes you to the brink of orgasm, your body almost unable to handle all the stimulation after having only known pain and discomfort for the past several weeks.

Impulsively, you bite down on Street’s shoulder, trying to expend all the pleasure you’re feeling somewhere else, muffling your moans against his muscled flesh.

“Shit! Are you biting me?” Street growls, incredulous, but also massively turned on.

“Does it hurt?” You grin mischievously, pulling his lower lip in between your teeth next.

“Yeah.”

“A good hurt, or bad hurt?”

“Good.” Another sharp inhale. “Fuck, I’m already close!”

Street’s body shudders as you feel his grip slide back to your hips, his slow thrusts giving way to a faster, more desperate rhythm.

You nibble and nip the side of his neck, the bottom of his ear, as you feel just how hot his skin is under your tongue and lips.

Another loud moan is wrenched from your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you. His cock satisfies your body in a way you can’t describe.

You can’t wait any longer.

“Cum for me.” You whisper into his ear, demanding his obedience. His brow furrows as he tries to delay his incoming orgasm, and you kiss it, giggling as you watch him come undone by your body.

Street pushes his cock into you, your wetness making the movement easy, but your tightness gripping him like he is never supposed to separate from you again.

You lock your fingers behind the small of his back, pulling him in and clenching down until you feel his cock spurt out jets of hot cum into your core.

Street grits his teeth and heaves out the sexiest, most overstimulated moan you’ve ever heard from any man.

Your own orgasm follows right behind his, your entire being vibrating with pleasure, wetness repeatedly gushing around his cock. Your pussy stutters, muscles spasming as it tries to recover from the best sex you’ve ever had, with the biggest cock you’ve ever had.

With the most loving, caring man you’ve ever had. Your heart fills with love and contentment at the moment the two of you just shared.

This is what sex should be like - intimacy, pleasure, love.

It is truly something else.

“Y/N?” Street murmurs against your damp shoulder, slowly regaining some semblance of control and coherent thoughts.

“Mmm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

“I never want to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’ll always be here for you.”

You find the rough skin of his jaw and pry him off your body, and instead, pull his face towards you, your forehead pressing against his. As you lock eyes with the emotional gaze of your lover, you notice that he’s a little teary, and your heart melts for him even more. Jim Street. The love of your life.

“I know.”

…

[darkromanceenthusiast]

3 a.m. fights

Jeff the killer x GN! reader

Contains: angst, substance use, toxic relationship mentions, blurb

It was nights like this that reminded you that Jeff was… well… Jeff. You loved him so of course you had an idealized version in your head.

You shakily wiped the tears from your face and stood up, looking at the multiple shattered beer bottles on the ground, a chair that was thrown onto the coffee table and the door still open from not shutting with the force of how hard he slammed it storming out.

You walked towards the broom, taking comfort in knowing it could all be fixed… mostly.

Your mind drifts as you begin the monotonous motion of sweeping the floor, you tried to remember what set him off at the start… what made him explode… the drinking… he had started doing it more lately you tried to ‘jokingly’ say he was drinking a lot and well… this happened. Jeff was mentally ill. It’s always a bit easy to forget that when he’s sort of your only constant and contact.

The sound of the glass dumping in the bin pulled you back into pilot of your body, you looked at the cleanly swept floors and nodded, the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway pulled your attention, the lack of headlights could only mean Jeff, you tensed a bit and stayed there as he stood in the doorway.

“Hey… I uh.. got you something.” He says, motioning you to come closer, you walk up to him, arms crossing as you do. He stares at you for a moment before lifting something to your lips.

“Suck n breathe, babe.” He instructs, and you simply obey, a dank but slightly sweet taste fills your mouth as you inhale the vapor. He chuckles and places the small vape in your hand.

“A… cart,Jeff? Really?” You ask, eyebrow raising as the dark haired male shrugged.

“Well… I also wanted to take you on a drive… maybe.. talk.. and uhm… get some food?” He said, his tone was shockingly kind for once and you sighed, looking at the pen in your hands and shrugging as you took another hit.

“I suppose…” you said and he smiled, holding you his hand. You slipped yours in his and enjoyed the comfort of his warm, slightly calloused hand. You got into the passenger side and he started the car back up and began driving, he turned on the radio to some alternative station and sighed.

“I love you.” He said, and your head snapped over to him, his face was serious as he stared ahead, his carved grin a stark reminder of the facade he pushed. Your breath caught in your throat.

“I don’t… I don’t like doing that. I don’t like throwing things and storming out… but I’m so scared I’ll hurt you if I don’t break something.” He said, brows furrowing as he gripped the steering wheel, his hind coming over to rest on your thigh, you instinctively grip his hand and he sighs.

“I just… I need you to know I love you. I do. As much as I am capable of loving… you have it.” He says, his hand gripping yours, he leaned his head back for a second before lifting your hand to his lips, they press against your hand and you can feel the slightest hint of those scars on the back of your hand. He places your hand back on your thigh and resumes gripping your thing and you nod.

“I love you too, Jeff.” You said, gripping his hand, you’ve never seen him be this vulnerable, then again he almost never takes you on “dates” either. He gave a soft smile and lifted the pen to your lips, you took another hit and he nodded.

“Now… what do you want to eat?”

[scenezfreak]

hiii im here to req jeff the killer smut where he brings you out for your birthday and then on your way back he gets ykyk (Im feral for this burnt marshmellow)

YESS idk if this was meant for specifically your birthday and I missed it..but if I did I APOLOGIZE 🫶🏻

Please don’t bully me if this is ass..I’ve been away for months 💀

The birthday girl

Jeff The killer x fem!reader NSFW

Warnings: Nice Jeff? Creampie, hairpulling, squirting…and that’s it.

NOT PROOF READ, MINORS DNI

Jeff sighed, finally relieved that he could take that damned face mask off. Jeff had just taken you out for your birthday and bought you whatever with money he stole from his victims. “Thank you.” You smiled, delighted that he actually went as far as to go in public with you. “No problem.” He said, eyeing you.

By now it was around 11:52pm, you both practically stayed out all day. Currently you were enjoying a lollipop since you had decided to get a bag of them to bring back home with you. You hummed happily as you sucked on it, speaking about various things that happened throughout the day as if he wasn’t there the whole time. The cool night air and the moonlit forest path was enough to set the mood for Jeff, his hand grabbing yours to lead you from the path. All day he had been worked up and the cause of that was you. Everytime he bought you something you hugged him happily, unknowingly rubbing against him, or when you bent down to look at a lower shelf only to look back and beg for Jeff to buy it for you, or when you were eating ice cream and some dripped down your chin, and now..you sucking on the lollipop, swirling your tongue around it.

Fuck..he thought. He needed you so bad and he needed you now. You gasp in surprise as he pulls you and pushes you against a tree, you drop your bags and take the lollipop out of your mouth. “Hey what was that fo-“ You were stopped with Jeff kissing you roughly, your eyes widening in surprise as you dropped your lollipop. His hands on your hips slid up to cup your cheeks. You gave in and melted into the kiss, his hands worked their way under your shirt to tease you over your bra. You gasped and he took this as an opportunity to slide his tongue in. His tongue swirling with yours as you moaned.

His hands pushed inside your bra to rub and pinch at your nipples causing you to arch into his touch more. He broke the kiss, laughing, “So fucking needy, doll.” Oh that laugh..that sadistic laugh. It made you clench your thighs. Jeff smirked, “ y’been teasin me all day.” His hands retracted, causing you to whine at the loss of his touch, eyes looking at him to plead for more. “Don’t be starin’ at me like that, you’ll get yourself into some real trouble with that look.” He unbuttoned your pants and pulled them off along with your underwear. Leaving you in just your shirt, bra and shoes.

He put your legs on his shoulders and his hands under your ass to support you, kissing the inside of your thigh and biting not too hard but hard enough to leave marks. “How about I give you your last gift, huh?” His eyes flicker up to yours. You nod, not trusting your own words causing him to chuckle. He leans closer to your wet cunt, his warm breath fanning over it causing you to shiver. “Jeff..stop teasing..” you whine. He ignores you and softly plants a kiss on your clit, you let out a groan at his actions. Your noise fuels him on, he envelops your clit into his mouth.

His tongue swirls around it before gently biting it. You jolt and your hands bury in his hair, you’re not sure whether it’s for support or to pull him closer. He moans when you tug his hair, the vibrations going strait to your cunt. “F-fuck” your thighs tighten around his head and you can practically feel him smirk at you. He lowers and his tongue starts teasing your entrance before slipping in. You bite your lip to stifle the moans and lean your head back. You close your eyes to fully enjoy the feeling. His mouth works on your cunt, you can feel every motion and every sweep of his tongue.

He rubs his nose against your clit as his tongue works its way in and out of your hole. You feel yourself slowly grinding your hips, his nose perfectly hitting your clit, you feel like you’re about to cum already. He can feel you’re close, your hole clenching around his tongue. His eyes look up at your disheveled form, he thinks you’re cute when you’re trembling because of him. You shudder with a moan, your cum flowing out as he happily licks it up. You let go of his hair and try to catch your breath. He sets you down and wipes off the rest of your cum on his face with his hoodie sleeve. Before you get a chance to say anything else, he flips you around and pulls your ass towards him.

He leans forward and whispers in your ear, “I’m not done with you yet, doll.” He grinds against your ass, you can feel his hardened cock through his pants. He lets go to undo his pants and push them down along with his boxers just enough so his cock springs out. His hands return to your hips as he grinds himself against your ass. You can feel his warm cock rubbing against you, causing you to be more needy. You slowly match his pace and he laughs. Deciding to not make you beg, he slowly pushes his cock into your weeping cunt.

You both let out a relieved moan as he pushes in all the way. His hands leave from your side again and you take the initiative, slowly bouncing back and forth on his cock, you look over your shoulder at him. His gaze is locked on your ass, his hands spread them apart to get a better look at your cunt sucking him in. “Look at you, your cunt is practically begging for me to fuck her.” He groans when you tighten at his words. He lets out a low curse and his hands return to your hips, this time gripping onto them to fuck himself into you. His speed intensifies and face forward, your head hanging low as you moan out.

“That’s it, doll. Moan for me.” His words are filled with lust. One of his hands go up to grab your hair, pulling your head back as leverage to fuck into you deeper. His balls slap against your clit, your brain short circuits at the new position, your hands grip into the tree in front of you. The sound of his hips smacking against yours along with your moans and whimpers fills the area. Jeff can’t deny that it’s starting to get to him too as he lets out quiet moans.

“Oh s-shit Jeff wait-!” You’re cut off by another moan. “Why should I?” He teases. He feels you tighten more around him and he slows down to thrust in harder, his cock hitting your g-spot just right. You let out the sluttiest moan which causes him to go feral. “Oh? Right there?” His words only push you further. His thrusts getting rougher and rougher, his hands tighten on your hair. You’re so overwhelmed that you can’t tell him when you cum.

Your release soon comes out fast, he groans as he feels you squirt on him. “So damn dirty..” His hand lets go of your hair and returns to your hip. His grip tightens and he hammers into you, chasing his own release. He cums with an embarrassing loud moan. You both stand there catching your breath. When his cock fully softens he pulls out, watching his releases mix with yours as it drips out of your hole and onto the forest floor. He uses his index finger to push it back in, the feeling causing you to shiver. He then helps you back in your underwear and pants after he pulls his own pants back up.

“Damn, I should make you squirt more often.” He chuckles. You aren’t opposed to that idea but as of right now, you’re exhausted. He captures your lips in a kiss before pulling back, “Happy birthday, doll.” His words causes you to smile, “Thank you.” You wrap your arms around him.

Bonus:

When you guys got back home he told you not to worry about putting the stuff you got into its respective place and just go and shower with him. Needless to say..you spent an hour ‘showering’.

[qininqinin]

Ride

cw: NSFW under the cut, f!reader, Cross x Reader, Cross is oblivious and Reader is nasty, +18, thoughts about riding, sweat kink, dacryphilia, kinda sub Cross?, creampie… 

notes: my first post here and it was obvious that it would be about my favorite boy.

It was unavoidable; no matter how hard you tried to keep yourself distracted, your thoughts always drifted back to your desire to ride Cross — and as if that relentless yearning tormenting your daydreams wasn’t enough, Cross remained completely unaware of your advances.

“I’m not great with these things; perhaps Nightmare would be better suited for it,” he replied when you invited him to spend an afternoon at the library. Feeling embarrassed, you had to stick to your lie and asked Nightmare for a book recommendation (which, to be honest, you didn’t even bother to read).

It was already difficult to make small talk with anyone who wasn’t Killer, but Cross was even more clueless — not that you don’t find that endearing in a way, but it was frustrating that he couldn’t pick up on even the subtlest hint or flirtation.

That’s why you found yourself here, in the training room; at least you weren’t alone. A bit further away, Cross and Murder were sparring, working on some moves and combined attacks.

The original plan was for just the two of you, but when Cross started taking the ‘training’ part seriously, you had no choice but to abandon it — bruises from falls weren’t exactly what you had in mind today (you would have preferred clear fingerprints marks on your waist, to be truth).

However, it wasn’t all in vain. Now, more relaxed on one of the benches in the room, you let your gaze roam over Cross’s body, savoring every detail. His exposed ribs and sternum, along with his spine, were glistening with a faint violet sweat. Soon, you let yourself drift into darker thoughts.

He was definitely the type to sweat a lot during sex, especially if it was to restrict his own movements - how you liked to imagine his sharp phalanges trembling against your thighs, both trying not to tear your skin apart as you grind yourself against him.

Your own sweat dripped down your breasts and stomach, all the while reaching Cross's pelvis, whilst he drooled himself — saliva trailing down his chin and onto the floor as you bounced on top of him.

You could almost hear his whimpers, begging to let him cum inside you — as he began to cry from the overwhelming stimulation you were causing, his tears mixed almost seamlessly with his own drool.

The gasps, his whimper way of moaning and begging for more, all of this would make you finally let him cum. And not satisfied with that, Cross would certainly take the reins and force your body to withstand his strong thrusts — those big hands finally grabbing your waist and turning your pussy into a fleshlight for his own pleasure.

And as he neared his own climax, Cross would bite your shoulder, leaving a bloody mark on your skin and preventing you from pushing him away. Your own blood and sweat mixing with his fluids, tears dripping down and leaving a stinging sensation on your new wound.

Your eyes would roll back as he apologizes so softly for hurting you, for breaking your body with nothing but sniffles and quiet moans-

“Hey! Ready for another round, or do you want to take a break for today?” Cross’s real voice pulls you back to the present.

Quickly, your eyes sweep up and down his body before settling on the little fuzzy lights in his eye sockets.

Anything to stay glued to that body, but that’s not what you say.

“I think I can handle a little more.” A mischievous smile plays on your lips as you notice a slight blush on Cross’s bonecheeks (whether from the workout or not, he’d definitely be blushing this way when you’re holding his face between your thighs).

[kabutoden]

orthid is the rustblood and morble is the purpleblood, and they're around 13 and best friends!! they're big into roleplaying too, morble likes pretending to be a ghost and orthid a SUPER MURDERER. when they were kids, they were both hemoanon and expected the other was closer to the center of the cast then they were. entering the school system outed their blood colors, which has disrupted their relationship. more below readmore

orthid pretends to be a serial killer, but they would never really hurt anyone. it's more about reclaiming agency over who she is than anything else, not unlike creepypasta. pac man's a hungry cryptid troll kids tend to be scared of, and orthid likes the character a lot. they have a lax and languid personality, and while they don't like working, they're reliable and emotionally stable.

morble, on the other hand, pretend to be a ghost because he really wishes that if he cant see others, they shouldnt be able to see him. its unfair. he was blinded when he caught his horns in the brambles around his house when he was extremely young. caprine's cliff wyverns defend their homes with briar patches, so it was difficult for him to leave his home for a long time with how buried it was. melosa was able to help with getting his lusus's protective gardening under control, letting the very online duo finally hang out and play together in person :) morble has a goofy and unserious personality not unlike a puppydog. he loves playing and rolling around and his best friend!!

growing up and entering school has been hard on the two of them: the school requires them to wear outfits with their sign and blood color, when that's really not what they like. they rebel by wearing their sign in grey and otherwise conveying their caste. until learning morble's caste, orthid had internalized a lot of the grim history of trolls and pretending to be some evil killer who could hurt highbloods, instead of fear them, brought her a lot of relief. she's struggling to adapt her friendship with morble to a group she disliked. morble on the other hand has tends overly cautious and upon learning orthid's a rustblood, he's really scared of her getting hurt like he did. orthid hates the coddling, but morble's always grown up kind of slowly and acts a sweep younger then he really is and she can't stand scaring him. the school's scheduling and meals is only driving them further apart, and they're both very stressed out about it. Oh yeah. Orthid's class is Dunce of Blood. No idea what the dunce class does wrong answers only.

[calypsocolada]

WINNER WINNER | r. zoro

(click here for part two)

synopsis: a stoic swordsman helps you figure out what your type is. authors note: hi :] i like zoro. no other notes. cw: violence, fluff, small bit of angst, clueless!reader, kissin :*, zoroxreader, small bit of sanjixreader wc: 4.4k

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Zoro’s wooden practice sword swung in an unpredictable arch, you knew you couldn’t avoid it so you turned, letting it smack hard against your shoulder. Pain zaps through your body, the hit more annoying than painful. 

“Ow!” You growled, eyes narrowing. Zoro danced around you, you never knew how light-footed he could be, how quick and precise his sword play was. Zoro was a huge man, he was easily two feet taller than you, built like a damn freight train and somehow still quicker than you. Zoro’s mouth quirked up in a smart ass smirk, his brows raising tauntingly. 

“I thought you said you were getting better.” He jested, obviously trying to get a rise out of you. You took the bait every damn time. You swing your sword in anger. 

“I am!” You yelled, he dodged your assault with ease, playfully hitting your back as you stumbled forwards. You gained your footing and spun back around, swinging again but he just bats it away lazily. 

“Come on, killer, swing with purpose not with anger.” He says listlessly, like he’s bored with this. 

Of course he was bored, he was probably the best swordsman in the world, you were just some idiot pirates daughter. It had been a few months since escaping your fathers crew and although you were one of your fathers best fighters you fought more close combat style, with knives mostly. Swords were long and heavy, especially the ones Zoro used. It was like he made them out of boulders rather than steel. But right now you were using practice swords because you’re sure that if this was a real fight you’d be dead and buried. 

You grip the handle of the sword hard, knuckles turning white. You weren’t used to defeat, it left a sour taste in your mouth. Zoro’s stretched a bit, yawning. The anger always took you over. You were your fathers daughter after all. You pretended to swing the sword again, with clumsy maneuvering and when Zoro went to bat it away you chucked the sword aside, dodging his blade, hitting him square in the stomach with your shoulder. It was meant to take him down but he didn’t budge against you. It was as though you were pushing against a damn tree. You remembered just then how it felt fighting your father, how unmovable he was. You were raising your knee before you could even stop yourself as he knee him square between the legs. A rush of air leaves his lips and the way his body shifts you know you finally caught him off balance. You sweep a leg out from under him and with all the force in your body you shove against him. You both slam against the forest floor, your hips straddling his abs as you jam your forearm down against his neck, successfully pinning him beneath you. He looks up at you with immeasurable annoyance. 

“You’re a dirty fighter.” He huffs, groaning in pain. You nod your head, a proud fact you already knew. 

“You’ve met my father, right?” You jest. This was something new you were learning. Since joining up with Luffy’s crew there were a few things you had to learn. 

They weren’t out to get you. 

You were raised by a killer, his crew were a bunch of killers so naturally you grew up always keeping watch of those around you because the moment you slacked out someone would have their hands around your neck just waiting to extinguish your fire. 

2. You had to soften up and learn to work as a member of a team. 

This one you were still working on. You were alone most of your life, your father never spared you a kind word and sometimes at night you’d lay awake, knowing you were just like him sometimes. You guarded every part of your heart so well that sometimes you could trick yourself into thinking you never had one to begin with. But it beat the day you met Luffy’s crew. They saved you, even when you were good, they knew who and where’d you’d come from and still accepted you for who you were. That meant to you that you had to change. If you wanted to stay a member of this crew you had to let them in. You couldn’t push them away because one bad day would come and they’d stay away. You didn’t think you could survive that. Knowing that there was warmth in this world that you turned cold. 

3. Lastly, how to protect someone. 

You could protect yourself just fine because you’d been left behind in wakes your entire life. But you wouldn’t do that to them. You’d stay and fight because that’s what they did for you. You weren’t just looking out for yourself anymore, you had people, possibly a family, it’d take the devil himself to pull that from your grip. 

“Yeah I met him, he’s an asshole, like you.” Zoro grunts, his pinned hands escaping from your fingers as he turns the tide, swinging you to your back, pressing you into the dirt. You’re not sure where his sword came from but the wooden edge of it was pressed gently against your throat. He beat you. You groaned out a sigh as he cocked his head to the side. 

“I had you.” You fume as he purses his lips, he’s heavy against you, it feels like ten men rather than one. 

“For a second.”

“That’s all a killer needs.” You dared. He must’ve seen that look in your eyes before because he presses the sword ever closer to your neck, but not hard enough to actually hurt. 

“We’re done for today.” He says and suddenly his weight is lifted off you and you feel as though you could finally breathe again. You didn’t know you were holding your breath. Zoro extends a hand to you, narrowing his eyes. “No funny business, I’m hungry.” He warns because for someone who’s only known you for a few months he knows you pretty damn well. Knew that look in your eye, that you would take his hand and end up trying to pin him beneath you again. He knew you hated to lose. You took his hand and did nothing of the sort because you were hungry too. He pulled you to your feet with ease and kept hold of your hand for a second as he spoke. “You’re a good fighter, don’t give up on practicing.” He says and the look in his eye is intense, he meant it. He lets your hand go and bends to grab the practice sword that you tossed aside. 

“I don’t see the point in it, I fight better close.” 

“You can fight better any way you choose. You master the sword and you give yourself more options.” He says, tossing it to you, you catch it with ease.

“More options?”

“To survive. You want that don’t you?” He asks over his shoulder, walking back towards the camp that the crew had set up near the beach. You never thought of it like that before. You learned how to fight because your father needed someone unassuming to kill. Who’s more unassuming than a young girl? You always fought to kill, to end lives, you never cared much for your own. Who could care for a killer after all? Zoro slowed, tossing a glance over his shoulder at you after you took too long to answer.

“Of course I want that.” But your words sounded hollow. There was still that nagging voice of your fathers. There was only so many times someone you looked up to could call you worthless before you started to believe it. It was ingrained in you. To live but not feel worthy of life. Maybe you did want to live, but that didn’t mean you felt like you deserved to. You’d done wrong your entire life, killed and followed in the footsteps of someone you knew was bad. Didn’t that make you guilty of something? 

Zoro’s eyes dissected you, that face you made and the tone of your voice. He was a smart man and for all his faux uninterested stare he read you like a damn book. Like he’d cracked open your mind and read your innermost secrets. It was strange, having someone who you couldn’t fool. Someone who could look at you and call bullshit. 

“Do you just want to survive for the sake of others or for yourself?” He asked, slowing to a stop. Crickets chirped around you, wind picking up, swaying the leaves of the trees gently. You stopped too, mindlessly turning the practice sword over in your hands. 

“Is that a trick question?” You asked and watched him shake his head. You turn the question over in your head. “Surviving for yourself is quite selfish right?” 

“Not necessarily.” He breathes out, walking and plopping down listlessly on a stump, he stretches out his legs. “You charge into things head on, you don’t wait for others to act.”

“That’s a good thing.” You cross your arms defensively. “How else would you catch enemies by surprise?”

“By others I meant your crew. When you charge into things you could end up getting hurt.” He countered, you kick at a raised root and toss your head back a bit dramatically. 

“But if I kill the bad guys first you guys have nothing to worry about.” 

“We’d still worry about you.”

“Why?” You questioned as though someone worrying about you was way out of the realm of possibility. 

“Because you aren’t a martyr, we don’t need you throwing yourself on the knife.” Zoro argues, it’s one of the first times he seems interested in what he’s talking about. Passionate even. “I know what you’re used to. That’s why I wanted to train you.”

“So I can fight with a long blade instead of a short one?” You quipped. 

“So you can fight next to me.” He says as though you should’ve known. You look up from the ground over to him. He has this strange look in his eyes, the kind of strange look Sanji gave you sometimes, though Sanji looked at every girl like that. But not Zoro, the man was inexpressive usually. 

“Fight next to you?” You echo, as if trying the words out loud would give them a different meaning. Zoro nods his head. 

“Wouldn’t it be nice? Not having to wonder who has your back?” He asks. You look at him, something stirring inside you. 

“Is that what you want?” You start. “Someone who can keep up with you?” 

He nods his head. 

“Don’t you?” You ponder it for a moment. 

“I guess, yeah.” You say softly. “I feel like I keep up with you just fine.”

“You could be better.” Zoro jests, pushing off the stump he sat on.  

“I took you down, big man.” You growl, jogging to catch up with him as the sun starts to set. 

“You cheated.”

“I was being… resourceful.” You said and heard Zoro laugh, a warm laugh coming from his chest. You never heard him laugh before, probably in the same way he’d never heard you laugh. You both were somewhat serious types. 

“Sure, let’s call it that.” He intones. 

Back at the campsite the first person to greet you and Zoro was Sanji. Ever since landing on this island Sanji had been acting somewhat differently to Zoro, almost colder. You had no idea what that was about and honestly you didn’t care, not presently because they always bickered anyways. 

“There you guys are!” Sanji all but growls, shooting dagger at Zoro. “We’ve been waiting for you.” He says, giving you a kind smile.

“We didn’t mean to keep you guys, you could’ve eaten.” You say as Sanji shakes his head, guiding you with a gentle hand on your back towards the food. 

“Nonsense, it was no trouble.” Sanji croons as you look towards the rest of the crew. Luffy has his hands crossed against his chest tightly, his face scrunched in annoyance. 

“It was a little trouble.” Luffy grumbles as Sanji shoots daggers at him. You sit down, Sanji occupying the seat next to you as Zoro plops down in the sand across from you. It's quiet as everyone digs into their food. 

“How is it?” Sanji asks, eyes watching you. You’d just filled your mouthful, unable to answer right at that moment.

“It’s a little salty.” Usopp chided as Sanji hurled a dinner roll at him.

“I wasn’t asking you!” Sanji ranted, the roll hitting Usopp square between the eyes. You and Luffy both snort in laughter. You laugh, almost choking on your food which serves to make you two laugh even harder. Sanji turns to you with a worried expression, lightly hitting your back as you're able to swallow your food properly. You bite your lip to keep from laughing as you give Sanji a small smile. 

“It tastes good, Sanji, thank you.” You say and Sanji practically melts. 

“Usopp’s right,” Zoro starts, a mischievous look in his eyes. “It’s a bit salty.” Sanji’s eyes turn to slits as he grabs another roll, hucking it at Zoro who catches it with ease, grinning before taking a bite out of it. 

“I don’t care what you think because my dear Y/n likes it.” Sanji proclaimed, turning to you. “Would you like some more, dear?”

“Sure.” You shrug as he practically stumbles over himself to grab you more. Your eyes meet with Zoro’s, he gives you a wink and you roll your eyes. Zoro liked messing with Sanji and most of the time it was pretty funny. Sanji took a big liking to you and Zoro liked to tease him about it. You weren’t sure what it was that Sanji liked about you but he was always quick to give you anything you asked for. Sanji fills your plate and as the night winds down Luffy, Nami and Usopp take off for bed. 

You sit by the fire next to Sanji, your legs pulled to your chest as he leans back, eyes staring at the stars. It’s quiet, just the sound of the fire crackling and the waves of water crashing nearby. Your eyes watch the fire as it slowly lulls you into comfort. Suddenly a blanket is placed over your shoulders as you blink, eyes watering. You turn to see Zoro as he plops down near you. You silently thank him, pulling the covers closer to your chest, shielded from the cold. Something burning hotter was the look you caught sight of from Sanji, he looked as though he was seconds away from challenging Zoro to a duel. But when he noticed you his face morphed into a smile again. 

“Is a measly blanket gonna be enough to keep you warm, my dear?” Sanji asks. “I could scoot closer to you?” He offers.

“The blanket’s good.” You answer, unaware of the implications. Zoro snorts beside you, amused at something you weren’t sure of. 

“Do you have something to add, Zoro?” Sanji hisses as Zoro, face unphased as he shrugs his shoulders. 

“Sanji?” You start.

“Yes, dear?” He asks, voice all soft, way different from the tone he was using a second ago. 

“Did Zoro do something to make you angry?” You ask, making Zoro snort again. Sanji shakes his head.

“Nothing more than usual, dear, no need to worry.” He says and you nod your head, satisfied with that answer, eyes sliding back towards the fire. “Could I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” You hum, watching the flames flicker and dance. 

“What’s your type?” He asks. Zoro doesn’t snort this time, he fully laughs, gaining an angry stare from Sanji. “Shut your mouth you damn idiot!” Sanji yells across the fire at Zoro. “You’re ruining the moment!”

“My type of what?” You ask cluelessly. Zoro can’t help but laugh even more. You look over at him, confused but he’s laughing so hard his eyes are closed. You look back at Sanji.

“Ignore that damn fool, dear. Your type in a partner.” He explains. 

“Type in a partner?” You echo, Zoro slowly quiets down next to you. Sanji nods his head. You purse your lips, thinking. You and Zoro fought pretty well together the few times you had to, it was just mere hours ago that he told you he liked the idea of fighting with you and you had to admit you didn’t mind that also. “I guess Zoro would be my type.” You say, completely unaware of the havoc you just caused. Sanji clamps a hand to his chest dramatically over his heart. You look at Zoro, his cheeks blushing a moment before he begins a fit of laughter all over again. Understanding the miscommunication before you and Sanji do. 

“You hear that, Sanji? I’m her type.” Zoro boasts jokingly, throwing an arm around your shoulders, loving the effect it was having on Sanji. Sanji looked like a deflated balloon. Sanji sinks back into the sand as you cock your head, confused. Zoro gives your shoulder a small squeeze as you look back over at him. “He meant romantic partner.” He whispers just to you. Your eyebrows raise, mouthing the word ‘oh’.

“I’m sorry, Sanji, I thought you meant fighting partner.” You corrected and Sanji shot back up, hopefulness on his face again.

“It’s okay, dear, you scared me there.” Sanji sighs wistfully, running a hand through his hair. Zoro’s arm moves away from you as you look back at him. 

“Keep it there.” You order softly. “I was getting warm.” Zoro’s brows raise in surprise but he does as you ask, even scooting a bit closer to you. When you look back at Sanji his jaw is practically touching the sand. “What?” You ask innocently, he shuts his mouth instantly, shaking his head. 

“N-nothing.” He turns away, kicking sand at the fire. You feel Zoro laugh softly. You had no idea what sort of nonverbal conversation these two were having and honestly you didn’t care to know. You close your eyes, leaning into Zoro’s warmth. Romantic partner. You were thinking about it now because you’d never thought about it before. There was no love where you came from, no positive role models, no romantic tension. That stuff was way out of your realm of understanding.

“How do you know your type?” You ask, turning to look at Sanji. His eyes meet yours, his eyes glancing at Zoro’s arm around your shoulders then back to you. 

“That's a hard one to explain.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Is it something you just know?” You ask and Sanji nods his head. 

“More or less, yeah,” Suddenly he lets out a big yawn, stretching. “Boy am I beat. Are you tired?” He asks you.

“Not really.” You say and watch as he pouts. 

“Maybe you should head off to bed then.” Zoro says. Sanji’s eyes glare his way as he grumbles, pushing up from the sand and dusting himself off. 

“Night,” He says sharply, trudging across the sand back towards the ship. You watch him go. 

“He is so strange.” You whisper, earning a warm laugh from Zoro. 

“You're clueless, you know that.” He remarked with another soft laugh. You turn to look at him.

“Why?” You ask, his eyes slide to yours. 

“He likes you, killer, a lot.” Zoro explains. You furrow your brows, you already knew he liked you, he treated you very kindly. “And I know what you're thinking. It’s not that kind of like.”

“What other kind is there?” This garners another laugh. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m sorry,” Zoro chuckles, smiling warmly. “He likes you… romantically.” He emphasizes and suddenly everything starts falling into place in your mind. He was always going out of his way for you, giving you extra food, following you around like a lost puppy, practically begging for your attention. 

“Hm.” You hum, turning back to look at the fire. 

“Hm?” Zoro echoes. “You sound mildly uninterested.”

“Eh, I don’t- I guess I don’t understand.”

“Which part?”

“Why would he like me? That makes no sense.” You say and for a moment Zoro is quiet, you turn to look at him, his cheeks pink, probably from the heat of the fire you guessed. 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He asks. And when you just look at him quizzically he pities you a bit. He inhales, sighing. “You do know you're gorgeous right?” He asks as though you did know that. That was not what you were expecting him to say. You can’t remember the last time someone referred to you in a positive connotation. 

“I-- I don’t think so.” You say, your cheeks feel hot under Zoro’s stare, you feel slightly nervous suddenly, but not a bad nervous, you're not really sure how to explain it. It’s completely new to you.

“Well you are. And you're strong, men love strong women.” Zoro goes on, he’s leaning back slightly, his arm still around you as he gazes up at the stars. You bite your lip, your mouth feels dry. Were you getting sick or something? 

“Do you?”

“Hell yeah I do, I’m not an idiot.” He says, amused. You nod your head. 

“Hm.” You say and he looks at you with that amused expression. “But what does him liking me have to do with you? He looked angry with you all night?” You ask, piecing things together in your mind.

“He’s jealous, killer.” He says. 

“Jealous, huh…” You trail off. “Because you're a good partner?” You ask and he scoffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“Sure, let's go with that.” He intones. You lay your head back down on his shoulder, settling against him. You always found your way to Zoro, you two had grown pretty close in the past few weeks. He was a calming presence, one you always seeked out. You liked sitting near him, talking with him and training with him. You liked when he talked and when he looked at you. It was strange, you’d never felt that way before meeting him. Never let your guard down but he just felt like a calming, safe presence to you. 

“What’s your type?” You ask and you feel Zoro tense up slightly, you turn slightly to look up at him. “Something wrong?”

“No, nothings wrong.” He says, recovering smoothly. “Are we talking about fighting partners?” He jokes, earning a laugh from you.

“Apparently not.” You answer. Waiting for a reply. Zoro’s arm slightly tightens around you, pulling you just a bit closer as he fixes the cover that had fallen off your shoulder. 

“I think I might keep that a mystery.” He answers as you huff out a laugh. 

“Keep your secrets then.” You say, letting your eyes drift closed. Sanji’s words float back into your mind, when you asked if liking someone was just something that you knew and he said more or less. It was something you just knew? That was harder to understand for you. “I think I’d like someone who I feel safe with.” You find yourself saying aloud as you try and imagine what that means, you were still kind of getting fighting partner mixed up with a romantic partner because both options you felt you needed someone you could trust.

“That’s a good thing to look out for, killer.” He says softly. You think hard. You felt safe with Zoro, you felt comfortable enough to rest against him. You couldn’t see yourself doing that with Sanji although you trusted him you didn’t want to be that close. Your mind was reeling now. So you liked being close to Zoro? Did that mean anything or nothing at all? You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Romance is confusing.” You find yourself saying. Zoro chuckles, nodding his head.

“Damn straight.” You lift up slightly as he turns to meet your eyes.

“How do you know you know, you know?” You ask as Zoro’s brows raise.

“I don’t know?” He asks as you purse your lips. 

“Sanji said your type was just something you knew,” You puzzled. 

“Killer, I think you may be overthinking it.” Zoro says. 

“What if you think you like someone but you're not completely sure?” You ask as Zoro hums slightly, thinking up an answer for you. 

“I guess- I guess you could kiss them.” He offers and you nod your head, leaning forwards to press a quick, searching kiss to Zoro’s lips. For someone so rough around the edges his lips are surprisingly soft against yours, cold from the night time wind. When you pull back Zoro’s eyes are closed, his cheeks as red as cherries. He slowly opens his eyes, he’s stunned to say the least. 

“I’ve never kissed someone before.” You say, eyes glancing back down at his lips. You kissed him too quickly to tell if anything came from it. “I’m gonna try again.” You say and he stammers but doesn’t object as you scoot closer and lean to press your lips back against his. You leave them there for a moment. You’d seen people kiss before but trying it now you were completely unsure of the correct way to do it. You feel something bloom but you're pulling away before you can put meaning to it. “I suck at this. You do it.” You say as Zoro finally finds his words. 

“You kissed me.” He says shocked and you nod your head. 

“It was bad, I don’t know what I’m doing. This is like training with a sword all over again.” You grumble, pouting and crossing your arms.

“You just need a good instructor.” Zoro’s hand slides up from your shoulder to your cheek, moving your face to face him. You have no time to access the way your stomach bottoms out at that before he’s bringing you flush against his lips this time in a delicate embrace. His fingers tangled in your hair, a shock zaps through you at the contact. Zoro knew exactly what he was doing, he was skilled in more ways than fighting it seemed. You burned all over, your breath catching in your throat. Sanji was right, you knew right then. Right as he pulled you impossibly closer and kissed you with fervor and confidence. When he pulled back your lips chased after him slightly as you stopped yourself. You swallowed dryly. 

“Was that good for you?” He asks, his voice all breathy and hoarse. 

“Uh huh.” You exhale. It's quiet for a beat. “I think,” you start, clearing your throat. “I think maybe you should try again.” You whisper and you don’t have to say anything else because Zoro understands. That and he’s kissing you before you can utter another word.                         

[urhoneycombwitch]

hands of love

foreword: omg been so long since I wrote for greenwitch!reader she’s baaaack. thx for reading if u do <3

cw: greenwitch!reader, R dresses very femme, referred to as ‘girlfriend’ once

wc: 1.5k

___

It’s the first sunny spring day in Hawkins, so when Eddie’s cursory call goes straight to your answering machine, he’s not worried. Wherever there’s sun, you’re sure to be found- dozing on his front porch like a cat in the sun, making daisy chains with rings sparkling on your pretty fingers, anywhere but indoors.

He hums along mindlessly to the radio on his way over, plucking at the neck of his cut-off tank for airflow. Metalhead fashion is a killer during warm months; he’s already regretting the choice of black ripped jeans over more weather-appropriate shorts.

Your dad’s house is just off Cornwallis, nestled in a forested area, gravel service road for a driveway that’s easy to miss. Eddie swings his van with a practiced wheel-flex, tires crunching down the lane when something catches his eye and he hits the brakes, hard.

Just off the gravel, sittin’ pretty in the dirt, is you- deep green tank top hugging your chest, bare feet poking out of a long patchwork skirt, gold and silver jewelry dripping from your ears, sliding around your neck and wrists, glinting in the sun. 

You’re a fucking vision. Eddie swears, softly, then throws the gear shift to park and pockets his keys.

At the sound of the van door closing, you look up from your spot sat on the ground, the little crinkle of focus between your brows smoothing out into a devastatingly radiant smile- for Eddie. All for him.

”Hey! Was just thinkin’ about you!”

Eddie’s careful not to disturb the gardening tools spread out in haphazard array when he walks over, bending to his haunches for a kiss. 

You taste like fragrant oil and sunshine. He gives you another for good measure, then pulls back, bracketing your face between his palms- “You were thinkin’ about little ol’ me?”

“Always.” An honest grin for an honest answer. “I was making you a present and then wishing you’d show up, so it’s kind of like I manifested you. With my mind.”

“Freaky,” he replies, indulgent, giving you a forehead kiss then dropping to sit at your side. “Good thing I have a witch for a girlfriend, hm?”

“Uh-huh. Good thing.” 

He’s already lost your attention to the trowel you’re plunging in the dirt, churning up the earth, loamy smell filling the air. Used to chasing after your trains of thought, Eddie asks, “Whatcha doing? 

“In a minute.” The reply is kind but distracted, a sort of coded rhythm that Eddie’s good at breaking- I want to tell you but if I try to find the words, my focus will slip.

Your focus is a precious thing- especially when it comes to your craft. Unintentionally, you’ve taught Eddie more about the virtues of shutting up and taking the world in these past few months than he’s ever cared to learn before.

After reaching past him for an open mason jar, you carefully shovel in about an inch of dirt, hold it up to the light for inspection, then repeat the same motion for the other nearby jar. 

Eddie waits patiently, leaning back into his hands, watching you work. It’s soothing, seeing you interact with the nature that runs through your veins; having been on the receiving end of many of your gifts, he wonders if it’s a spell jar. Or a planter. Or-

“Terrarium.” As if responding to Eddie’s internal questions, your full attention envelops him, suffocatingly, wonderfully close as you lean in. “Was gonna make it for you as a surprise, but now that you’re here… wanna make it with me?”

Eddie’s still reeling from the steadiness of your eyes on his, the soft slip of bare arm pressing against his own. With a slow, dazed head shake- “Hold on. Give me a second.”

Your turn to be patient, jar of soil held at the space where your bodies are joined, paused, lashes sweeping with each curious blink.

Eddie blows out a breath, only half-joking as he says, “Goddamn. Really unfair. Thought you promised not to get prettier?”

Compliments only land with you half the time, so when a bashful smile pulls at the edges of your pretty mouth Eddie mentally fist pumps.

“I made no such promise.” The jar is thrust into his waiting hand, and you turn to pick up your own. “This one can be for your windowsill, maybe in the kitchen? It’s gotta have some light, but not too much. If Wayne likes it, maybe you can share-”

“Not sharing shit with that man,” Eddie says, grand in his petulance. “Wayne can get his own jar of dirt.”

Your squint straightens him out. Eddie folds easy for you, always has.

“Gotta find some moss,” you say, eyes still unerringly on Eddie’s, “That’s the substrate layer. And then little plants, maybe some grass, whatever we can forage that’s small enough to fit. Oh, and isopods, if we can find ‘em.”

“Iso-what?” Eddie asked, alarmed, but you’re already standing, moving past the edge of the forest in search of terrarium treasures while he scrambles to catch up.

There’s an easy, graceful lilt to your movements when you’re outdoors, as if you’re meant to be there- moss reveals itself to you faster than Eddie would’ve thought possible. One overturned rock later and your gleeful exclamation rings bright through the woods.

“Sheet moss!”

“Oh, sheet,” he jokes, lamely, but you laugh anyways.

A circular patch of moss gets pushed into the jars. Eddie’s fingers feel bulky and clumsy in comparison to your dexterous ones, but the praise you give him once the layer is settled makes it worth it.

He happily trails after you in search of more small greenery, listening to your lengthy explanations of each new addition, huffing in amazement when you come up with the scientific name for crabgrass.

“Christ, sweetheart.” He whistles low as soon as you’re done, reaching over to brush some sticky pine needles off your hip. “So fuckin’ smart. Would’ve killed to have you as my teacher back in the day, might’ve actually graduated on time.”

“I don’t think Hawkins High has a botany program.” Your reply comes distracted, but this time it’s because Eddie’s hand has found a home on the strip of skin between your skirt and top.

He rubs a thumb into your bare hip, moss jar hanging loose from his other hand as he pulls you towards him. “Yeah. Probably for the best. I think they frown on students who sleep with teachers. Couldn’t keep my hands off’a you.”

Chin tilted to meet him halfway, you give him a real good kiss, lips soft and smooth over his, parted slightly until the thrill of your wet tongue presses into his eager one.

“Gotta show you the best part.” When you pull back, sounding a little out of breath, you slip your hand into Eddie’s and lead the way to your original spot.

Two flat metal disks are procured from your pile of things; you hold one out for Eddie in your palm, explaining as he takes it- “Made this one special for you. It goes on top, like this-” you rotate the other disk until it slides into place over your jar. “Like a lid. But I had to make my own from scrap pieces ‘cuz the original mason lids didn’t take the markings.”

Eddie flips the homemade lid over in his hands to find a five-pointed star hugged by a circle, raised and tamped by hand into the metal. He blinks up at you, in awe. “You did this?”

“Yeah, it’s-” you must misread his wonder because the words spill out like you’re nervous, fiddling with the sides of your jar like you don’t want to see his expression anymore. “It’s a pentacle. Like from your Judas Priest poster? But this one’s not upside-down like his, so I meant it more for protection and prosperity. Y’know. To help keep your little world safe. And make it grow.”

Gently, a little unsure, you clink your jar against his in the sweetest cheers he’s ever seen.

Eddie swears again, achingly in love, then spins the lid tight over his new terrarium and grins at you. “I’m gonna marry you one day.”

There’s no room for a buffer as a smile nearly splits your face in two, giggling, delighted with his affection. “Over a jar of dirt? Man, can’t wait to see what you promise me when I give you an even better gift.”

“I’ve got some ideas.” His voice pitches low, taking the jar from your hand to join his on the ground so he can wrap you up in his arms, properly. “Gonna have to come over a lot more and make sure I’m keeping it alive. Think of all those tiny ocelots depending on you.”

“Isopods,” you correct in a whisper, letting Eddie nuzzle into the crown of your hair, warm and smelling faintly of your bergamot shampoo. “And it only needs to be watered like, once a month, but I’ll come over way more than that.”

“You better.” Eddie puts on his best threatening tone. “I get crazier every hour we’re apart. Swear.”

He feels the curl of your smile against his sternum, and you let him hold you and sway in the afternoon sun. 

[yandere-wishes]

★ɴᴇᴏɴ ɴɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇꜱ★

Synopsis: It's late and you're tired. Trapped within a dreamlike trance trying to figure out if you're sick or just in love. Although to Blade you're just confused and need a little more persuading of how much he loves you.  

Author's note: I don't know how or even when regular people go to sleep. So forgive me for any errors. I typically just stare at my phone until I pass out. 

Warnings: Violence, blood, injury, murder attempt, delusions, Blade being Blade, Yandere themes. 

Inspired by @aluraveil post

🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️ 🥀🗡️

Neon lights bleed into the room, all proton purple and electric blue. They cast shadows across Blade's face, painting him as something surreal, something sweet, anything but a monster, anything but a killer. Just another blazing star, lost in an endless sky. 

You don't let the lights fool you, as you hover above his unconscious form. Knife clutched tight between unsteady fingers.  You know your lover's true colors better than you know your own name. In reality, he's a murderer with a schoolboy crush. Proud and prudent with a sword that's snuffed out one too many lives. 

He plucked you from your home planet, all those moons ago. A land of sands and trees. Oases and blood moons. where the wind would carry tunes of joy and laughter. It had been a perfect paradise. One you have every intention of returning to. Just as soon as you break these shackles.  Freeing yourself from this dreaded man. 

Blade is a monster. You know this as you trace the side of his face, mapping out scares that have healed too quickly. He's the embodiment of every horror harvested out of a children's readable. From eyes that echo the cosmos' insanity to a body that can withstand any calamity.

He's scary.  

But even scary things have their weaknesses.

Or so you hope. 

You learned that the hard way when he would drag you off to his room. Laying you on his bed as he'd settled beside you. He'd dose off after a few kisses and affectionate threats. Whilst you stayed awake counting every boogyman that crawled around his room. You've come to mature since then. Having befriended every terror that crawls around the accursed chamber. Vivid spiral-faced ghouls, all paying homage to both Blade's crimes and agony. You use to wave to them each night before falling asleep. But now they've all merged into the terrifying beast that you lay next to in the dead of night. 

He's beautiful you think as the colors dance across his face. Eyes sewn tight in his first blissful slumber in days. You could almost call him charming, if not for a recently patched-up would throbbing on your upper leg. He's a monster, but a rogue memory forces you to wonder if monsters can love too. If killers ever yarn for a lover's touch as they delve their blades into beating hearts. 

There's a stray moment when something begins to tug at your beaten heartstrings. your heart begins to beat to an unsteady tune, your lips begin to pulse as you recall every forceful kiss he's ever gifted you with. 

You wonder if you love him as you imagine splitting his skull open. with a Xianzhou Alliance paperweight, he keeps on the nightstand.

It's sicking you think as you dream of the cartoonishly large crack along his head. Blood sweeping out and leaking from the corners of his face. It's even worst when you imagine yourself pushing down on his shoulder as you kiss him with every desire you've kept under lock and chain, staining your pristine nightgown with his red essence. 

A grand goodbye

A childish dream. 

Still, you're sure that even the unkillable Blade has a weakness. Hidden under unbreakable bones and scarless flesh. You plan to dig deeper. Split him open and reach the one organ that no lifeforce may live without. His heart, his heart must be his only weakness. Granted he even has one in the first place. You're not sure such a terrible creature can even be labeled as a human, let alone possess any humanly needed organ. Still, you intend to find out. 

Curiosity, Curiosity, Curiosity

It's almost romantic you think, as the neon signs outside change to floating hearts in shades of plastic pink and cherry red. It's almost like falling in love with very literal analogies. 

You're lost somewhere on the border of reality and fantasy. A life-like dream that encompasses the room in a surreal glow. It's hard to tell if you're even awake. Nothing feels the way it should, as if someone mixed the pages from a horror story and a love tale. Miss-matched patches crack along your eyes. Blade's face morphos, beautiful and deadly. Desirable and detestest. Loved and hated. The knife feels unbearably heavy in your hand.

You love him, you love him, you love him...

So maybe that's why you must kill him. 

You prep the knife. Clutching its steel handle with both hands and lifting it above your head. The digital hearts outside pop one by one. A countdown bestowed upon you by the universe itself. 

4...3...2...1....

There's a grotesque sound that would make even the Aeon of Destruction flinch in disgust. The knife enters his heart just as the last digital heart pops. Blade's body is jerked forward as his eyes abruptly open. He gasps as if awakening from a nightmare. Eyes unfocused as he evaluates the room. You lean to the side, prepared to run. until his icy hand clutched your shoulder and pulls you back, throwing you to your side of the bed. 

"what the hell are you doing!"

He's angry you realise. All so angry. Wrath spirals off of him like spider lily petals in the wind. Oh, how you wish to kiss him. Your fingers reach for his face, pulled like magnets. He grips your wrist, crushing it between his fingers as he snarls. A throaty growl warning you of moving again. 

"Kiss me" You beg

Blade smirks, cruel and charming. Bits of his anger melting off live flakes of ice. He bites the side of your neck, causing droplets of crimson to leak out. 

"You stupid, stupid idiot" he chastises 

Neon lights flood the room, all lightning purple and mourning blue. They paint you like a shooting star, far from home and lost to time. Blade's weight holds you down, mesmerized by the colors that form a spiraling galaxy upon your body. 

"It's almost like you don't love me...if you did, you'd know a little knife like that isn't going to do anything to someone like me" his voice is a symphony of patronizing taunts. 

Blade straightens his back, peering down at you as if you're nothing more than a pesky insect that awakens him from his slumber. Blood mares his shirt, dripping down onto the velvet sheets. 

"Maybe I should remind you who you belong to." His tone is nothing short of a death threat, one that makes you blush.

He grabs an elastic from the nightstand, right next to the paperweight you'd used as a murder weapon in a dream-like reality. Blade pulls his hair back, teeth subconsciously chewing on the elastic band. His nimble fingers pluck the band from his mouth, tying his hair into a tight pony tale. Majestic and menacing as always. 

He's ready to punish you, you realize as his blood-red eyes focus on you. Funny how you didn't notice the dark bags forming under his eyelids until now. They make him look tired, exhausted, almost, almost human. 

He leans down slowly, lifting your hand up and entwining his fingers with yours. His index finger doesn't follow the dance, instead, it pushes down on your own forefinger, at first a nudge and then...

crack!

the bone breaks and Blade's attention snaps to your middle finger. Repeating the same torture, again and again, and again.

Somewhere along the line midnight bleeds into six am and Blade thinks he's maybe forgotten how to tell time. Or maybe he's forgotten in general, it's hard to remember when there's a knife lodged into your heart. he used to kill his assassins. Not leave petty punishment and loving kisses across their skin. He use to bathe in blood, not ravish in the mere sound of breaking bone. He wonders if you love him as much as he loves you. You're confused he's sure. What he wouldn't give to hear you say that adoring phrase. But the words keep slipping from your mind and your tongue can only muster screams of pain and agony. And oh Aeons you're so beautiful, utterly perfect.

Unterrly his...

By the time the sun rises and the neon lights die down, Blade has already dragged you to the Medical room. Settling you in his lap as Kafka tends to your destroyed fingers. 

She smiles, patronizing and sweet. Looking at the two of you as if she's seen two stars collide. 

"Now this was uncalled for" she chides, as she wraps bandages around each finger.  

 "We all tend to fabricate monsters for ourselves in the dead of night, I'm sure you know this better than anyone Bladie. Little (y/n) was probably just confused, that's all. No need to hold any grudges now. Especially towards someone you love so much" 

Kafka is his voice of reason.

You're wholly grateful for how she keeps Blade on a leash. 

"hmph, confused" Silver Wolf mutters from her place behind a large glowing screen. 

Blade's head tilts down, lips brushing over yours, eyes barring into your soul. A sinister smile chipped across his pretty face.

"Well (y/n) what do you say? I think you've finally learned your lesson this time."

[superbdragoncollection-stuff]

"We did it, but others told us to."

We thought it would be fun. Wars were always a civilized business after all. It was supposed to be grand, sweeping, and romantic. Two armies would clash, there would be lots of daring do, and once this grand conflict was over that was that. You didn't hold a grudge. It was a relief from the boredom of jobs at home. You got done, shook hands, picked up the dead, and that was that. We didn't have a quarrel with the other male, this was between our bosses, see? It's the way of things. We challenge a dominant power to see who is better.

We were just following orders.

We took their Jupiter bases and wondered what all the hubbub was about further inward. Something about the targets we hit. I didn't understand. Sure the bases didn't have any weapons, but this was war. We were doing our jobs.

They opened up on us at the asteroid belt, with hundred megawatt transportation lasers and mass drivers. We didn't expect that. This was supposed to be civilized! They made us fight our way through the belt, forcing us to lose ten fighters for every kilometer of space. They were using civilian equipment against us! Those lasers were for high speed transportation, those mass drivers for cargo delivery! Why did they not use proper warships? We were just doing our jobs.

The Martian colony, here we thought would be the great decisive battle. They threw dozens of ships against us. They used their megawatt lasers and mass drivers. Their reaction drives burned out anything that got close. They screamed their hate at us and we didn't understand. We were just doing our jobs.

We dropped bombs on their colonies, we seized their stations. We took them fair and square. But they were savage. Our troops landed and they were gunned down by heavy machine guns. Machine guns designed hundreds of years ago! And their designs had stayed the same. Their rifles and tanks were certainly different, but that machine gun, that Browning, had stayed the same. And they screamed at us. They called in close air support, they planted mines, they did everything they could to bleed us dry. We destroyed what the officers said to. We blew up domes. We destroyed train lines. Even those that had nothing to do with the war effort. So what? What's that got to do with us? We did it, but others ordered us to. And isn't it our right as conquerers? We were just doing our jobs.

Their anger only grew worse. As we moved, they continued to throw everything they had at us. Soldiers sacrificed themselves so their fellows could retreat in good order. They did those kamikaze runs they are so proud of. And the prisoners were angry. We gave them supplies, and still they cursed us. We tried to be nice, to compliment them on their skills, and they were silent. They called it "interrogation". We called it friendly chats.

"Why do you force us to destroy so much expensive material? Damage to private property is very uncouth, you know! It's very expensive!"

"You bombed civilian targets!" The fighter pilot snapped at us, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your people use private machinery rather than weapons to fight us! Well you do both, but that's beside the point!"

"We didn't hide troops in civilian domes!" The pilot shouted.

"That was what we were ordered to do. It was not my doing. The commanders simply felt a show of force was necessary."

"Necessary?! You son of a--!" We had to restrain her then.

"What inspires this loyalty?" I demanded, "You fight as though more depends on you than your life! What demands such high sacrifices?"

"If it means beating baby killers!" She snarled, her head pinned by one of my soldiers. She managed to move it, "We'll throw everything we've got at you! Someday we'll defeat you! And then you'll see who's laughing!"

I was flummoxed. "Why do you do this? Why do you fight so hard? You're only doing your job!"

She seemed confused by that. "Of course I am!"

I knelt down to where three of my soldiers held her, "Yes! So why fight so hard? Why do you defy us like this? Why do you make us kill and destroy private property?"

She seemed baffled. "What do you mean? I fight because I'm part of the UN Defense Force! Why else?"

"But you don't need to fight this hard. We fight, one of us loses, we shake hands! That's war!"

She looked befuddled, "The fuck is wrong with you, *bug*? What kinda war is that? Sounds like a slapfight!"

I tried to dumb it down for her. "You plant mines. You set traps. You crash your ships into ours. What kind of war is that? What inspires this loyalty, this desire to sacrifice so much? You are but an employee of your masters. They demand no less than you doing your job, and no more. You do not need to go beyond!"

She confusedly said, "Because that's war, idiot."

By the time we reached the lunar perimeter, our force was battered beyond belief. Forces were still fighting over Mars, and the Mercury and Venus attacks had been blunted. We finally encountered their war fleet. Many of the ships were barely finished. They had been pulled out of the dock yards still with workers aboard. Why was that? Our leader hailed their fleet admiral. He congratulated them for their clever tactics and admonished them for their unsavory techniques. He gave them a list of booty to recover, requested a refuel, and gave them a time frame for when we would be on our way. The war was over, we'd made it to their homeworld. This is how the great competitive wars are always done. Something about this confused the Admiral. "This isn't a game!" They spat. "War isn't defending dots on a map! It's death! Vast organized death! Are you telling me you came all this way for FUN?!"

"No, we came here to see who is better."

"That's the same thing."

"No it isn't." Our leader said dismissively. He paused, "Tell me, what inspires this loyalty in you? Aren't you just doing your jobs?"

"What?"

"You're just following orders. So are we. What inspires this unthinking, undying loyalty? You're just following orders, as all civilized beings should. We are just following orders." The comm line went dead. The humans unleashed a terrible display of firepower. They learned a long time ago that loyalty is not simple deference. And that war is more than just orders, it is not romantic.

War is not a game to them.