#not the only one whose life gets fucked by that. the mess just radiates out until it hits everyone around him and he ends up creating

[bitchthefuck1]

That one chef saying that the worst thing about a bad boss is how they unlock that behavior in you and seeing Carmy mirror the attitude of the chef that terrorized him and gave him panic attacks and then ending the season with Syd having a panic attack because of the stress of working with Carmy...diabolical.

[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 34

Summary: you're caught under Shane's grip, whose violent intentions and past manipulations come to light as you fight to survive. At the same time, Daryl uncovers disturbing evidence of foul play and realizes you’re in danger, prompting him to urgently follow the trail into the woods.

warnings!!!! violence toward fmc

x flash forward x

x flash forward x

You

Your heart stutters, panic surging through your veins as you struggle beneath Shane, but his weight keeps you down. He managed to throw you to the ground with ease when he had emerged into the clearing after you. His boot presses harder now, grinding you into the ground, and all you can manage is a choked breath. Shane crouches down, his face close to yours, the smell of sweat and dirt overwhelming.

Where the hell was Rick? But you already had the terrible sinking feeling in the back of your mind. When you took off running, that had never been part of the plan. Shane was never supposed to reach you, or at least Rick was supposed to be there when he did. But when he didn’t come and no one stepped out of the trees for you— you knew you were alone. The fears you felt about the holes in this plan were coming true. You’re alone with Shane, and he’s ready to do what it takes to get what he wants.

“You think you’re clever,” he spits, his voice dripping with disdain. “Thought you’d sneak Randall out, keep playin’ hero. You always did like to get in my way.”

You try to twist away, but his grip is iron, his fingers digging into your arm as he drags you roughly to your feet, only to slam you back against a tree. The bark scratches at your back, pain radiating up your spine as his hand wraps around your throat, just enough pressure to make breathing a struggle.

“Y’know what else?” Shane growls, his face close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath. "I saved you countless times, Y/N, and yet you always fought against me. When it was me who got the medical supplies the day you were shot. It was me who made the move to kill the walkers in the barn— protecting everyone. It was me who tried to save you from the trailer trash you were becoming. But you could never let him go, even though he was always bringing you down. 

"And now, even after everything I’ve done for you, you can't ever back off. Can't stop gettin' in my way. I’ve kept this group alive. I killed Otis to get back to you, I never once put you at risk of getting hurt. But all you can think of is how I’ve controlled you, Jesus. I can’t control you, you’re a fucking mess, you can’t even control yourself, dammit!" His fists on you tighten with anger as he says the last words, and you feel your world narrowing to this--here and now, where Shane might actually kill you.

"God, and watchin’ you and Daryl fall apart back then... All that whinin’, all that cryin’ over him? Sure, I tried to actually protect you, keep you from ruining your life. But seein' your friendship crumble was the highlight of it all. Though, you would hop to any man who gave you some affection, huh?”

Your vision swims, panic clawing at you as you try to shove him off, but his grip tightens. You can’t break free. Every muscle in your body screams to fight, to run, but Shane’s strength overpowers you. He leans in, his words biting into your skin like a poison.

“And you wanna know somethin’ else? You remember that day you called Daryl, beggin’ for him to talk to you again? Yeah, you remember. You cried my ear off all night over the phone after that. Me and the guys beat the shit outta him after that. I wanted to teach him a lesson—show him what happens when he doesn’t keep his promises when it came to stayin’ away from you.”

Your blood runs cold, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. Daryl. He beat Daryl because of you. The night at Henderson’s when you’d seen him with  a black eye and busted lip. After weeks of not talking, only that one phone call when he finally picked up. It was your fault he was beaten to a pulp. You called Shane that night to tell him about the phone call, how you didn’t understand why Daryl was pulling away so fast. The tears prickle at your eyes, from the memory and the feeling of Shane’s hand crushing your windpipe. You try to lash out, to shove him off, but Shane’s fist slams into your stomach, knocking the wind out of you. You double over, gasping for breath, pain radiating through your ribs.

“God, it was all too easy! Threaten Daryl that I’d plant some evidence, give his dear old junkie nobody brother some serious time, and he was quick to move off you! Didn’t take much,” he leers at you. 

“I was hopin’ when the world went to hell, I’d be done with you,” Shane continues, his voice rough as he steps back, letting you fall to your knees. “Thought I’d be through with all your bullshit, all that whinin’ over Daryl. You stopped bein’ a hot piece of ass and turned into an annoyin’ kid. Nothin’ but a liability.”

You try to push yourself up, your whole body trembling, but Shane’s boot connects with your side, sending you sprawling back to the ground. The pain sears through you, but the physical hurt is nothing compared to the sting of his words.

“And then Lori...” Shane’s voice turns darker, more twisted. “You know, I always liked Lori. Even when I was with you, I was thinkin’ about her. Hell, I was like a brother to Rick, able to stay so close. Lori? She lapped it up, but of course wouldn’t do nothin about it back then. Then Rick went into that coma and the world went to hell. Thought I finally had her all to myself.”

His words twist deeper, more cruel. You choke on the pain, your vision blurred as you try to crawl away, but he grabs you by the collar, yanking you back.

"I had something good with Lori before you and Rick showed up," he snarled, "And then you came and she saw that you were a little too close for comfort--afraid of what you and I were. You pushed her further away from me without even having to fucking lift a finger. Always in my way. Always keeping me from what I want. Whether it was you or Lori. And now you’re keeping me from being a father to that baby in her,"

You manage to get a hand up, shoving at him with what little strength you have left. “I didn’t—” you start, but Shane’s fist connects with your jaw, the force sending a sharp crack through your skull. The world spins around you as you hit the ground again, stars exploding behind your eyes.

“I was done with you back then,” he spits, standing over you, his eyes wild. “But here we are. You keep stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong. Thought you could run, huh?”

You struggle to push yourself up, your body screaming in protest, but Shane’s foot presses hard against your ribs again, forcing you back down. Every breath feels like a knife in your chest.

“But you ain’t runnin’ now, sweetheart. You’re right where I want you.”

The cold finality in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You know you can’t escape. No one was coming to save you—to stop this. Not this time. Your body feels weak, your mind frantic, searching for any way out. But his weight, his presence, is overwhelming, suffocating.

-----

Daryl

“He’s got no bites,” Daryl mutters, crouching down to inspect the lifeless body of what was once Randall. His flashlight beam flickers over the decaying skin, but there are no visible signs of a walker bite.

“Yeah, none that you can see,” Glenn replies, his voice shaky, still catching his breath from the struggle. He wipes his forehead, sweat and dirt smearing together.

“No,” Daryl insists, his voice firmer now. “I’m tellin’ you, he didn’t turn from a bite.” He angles the flashlight, highlighting the snapped neck, the unnatural bend in Randall’s spine. “He died from this,” Daryl says, pointing to the jagged break, the proof that someone had to have done this.

“How is that possible?” Glenn asks, his voice quiet but incredulous. They look at each other then, their eyes meeting. The weight of that truth hangs heavy in the air, unsettling. Glenn swallows hard, the realization dawning on him, the idea that someone killed the kid in cold blood gnawing at his already frayed nerves.

“Get back to the farm, Glenn,” Daryl says, his voice gruff but steady, his gaze locked on the dark woods ahead.

Glenn hesitates, his brow furrowed in concern. “But what about—” His eyes dart to the woods, worry etched into his face.

“Just go,” Daryl snaps, already moving again. There’s no time for discussion. No time for anything but finding you.

Daryl watches him disappear into the shadows, then turns his attention back to the woods, his flashlight sweeping over the darkened path. The tracks are hurried now, you’ve spun on the spot and run fast. The other pair of footsteps—larger, heavier—are right up behind you for a while. Daryl sets into a trot, following your hurried, messy, panicked steps further into the woods. There’s only one person who would follow after you like this, someone he hadn’t seen searching the barn earlier—Shane. The thought alone makes his blood run cold.

[oceanlipgloss]

WATERCOLOUR

ANDREALPHUS.

+ warnings: angst, mentions of blood and death.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

Was this what it’s like to wash away one’s sins?

The water was warm on his skin. The sky may have been weeping blood above him, but that was just the shower. The enamel tub was dyed crimson, as though painted with watercolour. Molten garnets trickled down his pale flesh.

Soap makes foam that’s white in colour. Water is clearer than crystal. Red are the tears of his sick victims.

He couldn’t see, but she could; she watched the pure water turn a morbid hue. Ugly, turbid. She watched cherry-red get bleached into the shade of unhealthy peaches.

Water of nauseating colour.

Like watercolour it trickled down his closed lids. Tears of pale blood.

A vicious sight.

So much gore.

Starving burgundy snakes slithered with ominous slowness into the water. Were they his own hissing sins, or those of his violent destiny?

When he was a child, the world had bared its sharp teeth at him. He had so many enemies.

There are children who enjoy dipping their soiled brushes into clean water just so they can admire the way colour swirls and makes the liquid unrecognisable, changing its very identity and composition.

Despair is like that too at times, isn’t it...? Pain destroys some souls and mangles others beyond repair and recognition. The victims begin to wonder who they are, and whose mistake everything was.

Who was it that fucked up? Was it the people, fate, God? They themselves, perhaps? Each and all of those factors together?

So many questions, but no definite answer. Life’s complexity is a displeasure. Why do things have to be this way, stay mysterious forever?

Endless millennia to think about, thousands of subjects to ponder. There are those who have the time to contemplate, and those who disappear early. Maybe much too soon.

Her touch melted his skull. Soft. It was soft. With her breakable hands she tried to erase the evidence of his hatred. With her breakable hands she tried to clear the proof of his anguish.

Behind his lonely back, she radiated warmth.

The cold bathroom floor was wet with murky water under her feet.

Creamy was the scent of soap and rancid was the smell of blood as they twirled into one in the air, lacing the steam.

Everything could have made one feel queasy. Even him. He was marred, bloody.

Yet, with a swollen heart aching from heartbreak for his misery and lust for his body, she merely thought about how he was so sad and so very pretty.

He felt better, but she was only washing his hair. It’s not that important. It’s not permanent. Tomorrow he would once again think about something dark, something else.

Death can be nice sometimes.

After all, he was alone. He had no one. So had he not promised revenge, if it were not for bloodlust and justice, he would have liked to disappear, too.

+note: finally got around to finishing this WIP that's way past its expiration date. It's so old it was beginning to rot. Depressive episodes and stress normally paralyse my 'writing-brain,' but this was another one of those rare times in which that was not quite the case. I was still somewhat reluctant at certain parts, though that's pretty normal anyways—and surprisingly enough, I managed to continue writing with a sort of ease. Thank you to the torment for taking this damn WIP out of my way, I suppose.

On a side note, long before the game's ordeal I was clueless about how to continue all the 'What in "Hell" is Bad?' WIPs I had, so I scrapped 98% of them. As of now, I have one WIP for each of Leviathan and Andrealphus, but I'm stuck and still debating whether to finish them or scratch them out as well. Besides, the displays of greed and the in-game mess lowered my desire to write 'What in "Hell" is Bad?' fics to near 0. However, albeit the fact that I no longer feel compelled to do so, I guess I'll likely write if ideas visit me. Normally, it would be hard to resist writing an idea I like, of course.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

Aww, thanks for the tag @hhbluedynamite! This is for the game name 10 fave characters from 10 different fandoms, so I've done them in order of most recent media consumption:

Invincible: Deborah Grayson. From the first episode she was pulling out those raw fucking lines, and with a superpowered husband and son she's got a spine of steel and a heart that has to be capable of taking one hell of a battering. My hero.

Dead Boy Detectives: Jenny Green. She was stunning from her first scene and stole every one afterwards she was in. Her style, her lines, how intimidating she seems only to have her stereotype subverted every step of the way. Such a reluctant father-figure of a woman.

A Starstruck Odyssey: Big Barry Syx. Just such a solid dude. Ride or die for his friends, has their backs 100% even if he possesses Regret about it, tragic clone frat boy backstory, Danger Zone is his theme song. I mean it's 10s across the board.

Escape from the Bloodkeep: Kraz-Thun AKA Leiland. A depressed failure of an evil thrall who realises how toxic is relationship with his boss is and swears loyalty to a baby instead. Is a badass but no one notices and would be highly competent if everyone he fought also wasn't so highly competent.

Gravity Falls: Stan Pines. THIS MAN has such a place in my heart. He has like background radiation suffering, just SO MUCH has gone wrong in his life, and every time it does he chooses to spend the rest of his life trying to fix it. He's incredibly stubborn, incredibly clever, incredibly heartfelt, incredibly devoted, and seeing him actually get his happy ending I can't finish I'm sobbing.

Skulduggery Pleasant: Skulduggery Pleasant. The skeleton himself. Every time I read this I'm blasted by how human and warm and he is and the depth of his personality, and I love how much that contrasts with his appearance. He's hilarious, he's angry, he's astonishingly understanding and accepting, he's a scary mf, he's tortured and slightly insane, and his judgement is highly questionable. Every day I try to be like him.

Worm: Taylor Hebert. Man sometimes it is so cathartic to see someone whose life just absolutely sucks from the ground up, in every direction. Everything is awful and she fights it tooth and nail to make it into some semblance of worthwhile. I've never read someone so insanely motivated and scarily smart and competent. She never catches a break and she never wants a fight but she's always ready for one. She had me screaming about the injustices done to her yet she has 0 ego of her own. What a woman.

Mice and Murder: Daisy D'Umpstaire. Her arc about loving someone so much that she lost her sense of identity, and how she tries to get that back and reconcile with it, hits me right in the heart. She's Irene Adler and her betrayal of Sherlock Holmes was choosing not to lose herself to him. I love her.

Rick and Morty: Rick Sanchez. I actually had to start writing essays in my Notes app about this awful man and the fucking JOURNEY of his character throughout the show. His psyche is a mess and he's an unconscionable monster that his family learns to be like for better or worse and he's finally starting to turn things around and I love him.

Hazbin Hotel: Lucifer Morningstar. The physical embodiment of the 'could a depressed person make THIS' meme. A super powerful failure of a person. He loves his daughter. He's a terrible parent. I cried laughing when he was introduced.

Don't know ten people to tag so I'll just go with @demon-diva, @thejesterlyfictionista, @lassieposting, @boldrakles, @hntrgurl13, @aceofstars16, @darrowwyrlde

[dark-arts-and-crafts-universe]

A Dying Art (Chapter 16)

A Dying Art

Lorcan Verdigris is a time wizard, a misanthrope, and a single father to a household of magically-sentient furniture.

Lorcan Verdigris is not a necromancer. Anymore. But when the leader of the local necro coven comes to him with a request he really, really can’t refuse, past collides with present and he finds himself back in a world he’d tried to leave behind. Someone is trying to steal a powerful magical artifact, one whose destruction could unleash chaos upon the city. Or save it from an even greater danger. Or do nothing at all. Who knows. See, this is exactly why Lorcan stopped messing with the stuff.

Unfortunately, one way or another, Lorcan’s the one stuck dealing with it. He’d like to say this is a challenge that will take all his magic and his ingenuity to overcome, but let’s be real, stopping this threat will take something even more dire: actual effort. At least he’s getting paid this time…

Previous | Table of Contents | Next  

Chapter 16: No Good Deed Is Commemorated Here

Word count: 4,670

Content warnings: magic violence, allusions to gore and murder, non-explicit references to death by radiation. Once again I must stress that these characters are magic and fictional and you should not assume anything they do with (magical) radioactive things is in any way safe in real life.

-

The trail went cold after eight different storefronts. Vulcan must have run out of breadcrumbs. But judging by the scorch marks that dotted the floor in front of him, Lorcan wasn’t far from where he needed to be.

It made sense that the scenesters had positioned themselves directly in this new mall’s found court. The whole area was encircled by a thick curve of red paint–abandoned, at least for the moment. Graffiti tags dotted the circumference, probably to mark where each scene kid was supposed to stand in whatever ritual they needed to finish this.

The biggest one, in the entryway, read The New Osiris. Their leader, then. The one who’d bought weird name brand shoes to…flex on regular Osiris, or something. He didn’t understand fashion. And he certainly wasn’t calling this kid ‘Osiris’ too. That would just be confusing. The Crown Osiris was a name for an intimidating sort-of stranger who didn’t care about him and didn’t pretend to. Not someone who put a fake smile on his face to stab him in the back…with another smiley face.

Fuck it, Lorcan was just going to call this guy ‘Smiles’.

He’d brought one thin bottle of acetone in his left pants pocket. He didn’t have much space left after he’d packed up, so he could really only justify bringing the most versatile of his time magic tools, the one that bit through almost anything.

Lorcan uncapped the bottle and let the liquid splash onto the paint as he walked towards the fray. There was no time to scour it properly, he was just going to hope that once the fight ended it would slow the winner down.

A nearby trashcan gave him decent cover and a good vantage point. The open court was a lot bigger now, and the food adorning the tables was…aesthetic. Candy but also blood and apples oozing with something slimy. And it looked like every smoothie was pomegranate-flavored.

He was missing the rest of the mall’s desolate solitude already. Truly, the hell dimension was always greener.

The scene mages–were there still eleven? A couple might be dead by now–had scattered throughout the area, probably trying to surround Osiris. The Crown had found a good spot with a buffet at their back, and for the moment at least seemed to be holding their own. They were also holding Vulk.

One scene girl with purple feathered hair stepped out from behind a meat stand, piercing gun in her hand. Lorcan had just enough time to notice the starter stud glint before the spring was released and a screaming phantasm exploded from the ‘barrel’.

Osiris met the attack easily. Their right hand had a glove he’d never seen them wear before, and it took only a theatrical flourish for invisible force to cast the specter through the skylight into an unforgiving void. They gestured behind them. Smoke wafted out of a meat platter on the buffet and shaped itself into a large bull. With a single point of Osiris’s finger it charged the purple piercer, who cursed and started to reload.

The exchange took less time than Lorcan would need for even one spell.

As the piercer fell back, another moved in. One leg of his pants was yellow and the other was black. Which. Why. He stuck a kazoo in his mouth and hummed. Dark, buzzing clouds popped into the air above him. Ah, Lorcan thought. He was summoning bugs.

He had something like that. It let Lorcan conjure a horde of flesh-eating beetles, which he mostly used to scare off the non-magical. Your typical bug summons could be cast very cheaply–individual bugs didn’t really need much life energy, such as that could be quantified–but that also made them easy to snuff out. Plenty of necromancers got their start learning how to kill bugs with their mind. Even Lorcan could do it. If this guy thought an insect swarm could stand up against Osiris, he must have put a lot of oomph into it.

The swarm–hornets, it looked like–murder hornets, probably–moved to surround the Crown on all sides, easily pushing through the buffet. Osiris themselves looked unconcerned.

The Crown shook their shoulders, coronet glimmering, and a mantle of shining light burst from their back. Lorcan could see Vulk’s power cord shiver as the rippling, rainbow wave hung in the air, like a cape caught in an impossible wind. Every wasp within range fell to the floor in the same moment, twitching as they died.

They'd used necromantic energy to ionize the air like an aurora, Lorcan realized. Turned the immediate area into a giant bug zapper. It was…an incredibly inefficient use of power. Smart–a better spell would risk taking long enough to get stung. But the amount of raw energy you had to waste to force a spontaneous localized aurora in the air…it was offensive just how easily they'd done it.

He’d heard stories about the Crown Osiris’s fighting prowess, of course. Between thirteen necromancer souls, they had magic and they had skill. The gestalt that operated their shared body could multitask spellcasting in a way no single necromancer could match. But knowing it and seeing it were very different things.

This was a necromancy fight. This was power.

In one way, that was good. It made being held in Osiris's arm the safest place in the fight. Heck, all that electricity was probably perking Vulk up. For the time being, Lorcan could be confident that nothing was going to hurt his son except Osiris.

Which, of course, was the fundamental problem. And he couldn’t exactly deny his own inadequacies while looking straight at the most powerful ‘singular’ necromancer in city limits.

He pulled out his own insect summoning tool, a replica scarab. It was one of two spells from his old stash he’d brought tonight. His insects would be far less hardy than the murder swarm had been, but at least he wasn’t sending them at Osiris.

The horde sprung out of cracks in the decrepit mall around him, going unnoticed in the chaos. When he finished the spell, Lorcan gave them their command, and the army of coleoptera marched towards the combatants.

The scene kids were nowhere near Osiris’s level, but they’d been throwing around enough death energy that most of Lorcan’s summons died instantly. Didn’t even count as a distraction at that point.

Even with the survivors climbing over their brethren’s corpses to reach their targets, there were only a handful that managed to reach flesh. One necromancer hissed in pain and swatted at her neck, but she recovered quick, throwing another hex at Osiris’s maelstrom. The bite hadn’t slowed her down.

That was okay. That wasn’t the plan anyways.

In the heat of the fight, with two different sets of bugs littering the floor, spells in the air and spirits bursting from the walls, no one noticed a few beetles returning with their spoils. A few strands of hair. Drops of blood. An earring torn straight out of the cartilage.

He took out a bandage and set to work.

The hair strands were dyed a bright orange, which was handy; he could pick out exactly which necromancer it had come from all the way across the battlefield. If only all Lorcan’s enemies came color-coded.

The orange-haired necromancer was working on some kind of hand-weaving curse, it looked like. His fingers twisted the knotwork tight, and over by the buffet Osiris’s gloved hand spasmed. That didn’t look good.

Power was one thing. Osiris had so much magic it made Lorcan gag, but as a gestalt entity they still only had one human body. It was a weakness, for all they proclaimed they had none. If the scene kids managed to hammer at it, they just might win.

In a battle Osiris was ready for, they’d have semi-loyal servants watching their back. People like Belial, whose minions could fight the small fry while Osiris took out the leader. Eva, who’d no doubt leap into the fray herself to draw fire if Opal’s body needed a chance to recover. Gravelord’s keen eye dissecting the situation, offering strategies and weak points.

Even the Crown Osiris needed other people. Right now, all they had was Lorcan.

What the knotwork crafter was doing had to be an act of sympathetic magic, linking physical muscle and nerve to yarn so both could be manipulated at once. Lorcan pulled out a small pack of bandages, the other spell he’d brought tonight.

The life-leeching unguent on the bandages was hopefully still functional after ten years. In the hands of a strong necromancer, it could be used to potentially fatal effect. In Lorcan’s out-of-practice ones, it would be a nuisance. But his strength as a necromancer had never been raw power. It was knowing how to get the most of the tools he had.

He looped the orange strands of hair around the middle finger of his right hand, like a ring. Over top, he wrapped one bandage, tight enough to sting. The most Lorcan could do with a spell like this was rob a target of a small bit of life force, in a very localized area. But life force circulated through the body, just like blood. Even a small blockage could do damage if it was in the right place.

Lorcan could feel his finger going numb. The orange-haired crafter, linked to the spell by sympathetic magic, felt it necrotize.

The man screamed, the woven curse unraveling as he thrashed in pain. He could probably still do something even without the one finger, Lorcan knew, but this was an interruption he wouldn’t be able to ignore. And back at the buffet table, Osiris’s hand steadied.

The others kept up their assault, probably assuming the blow had come from the Crown. But one necromancer–the one who had been bit on the neck–turned, looking for other attackers.

Well, he thought, that wouldn’t do.

Lorcan let his one beetle scrape the blood onto a finger. He rubbed it onto his neck where the woman had been bit, then slapped another bandage right on the carotid artery. In the moment her eyes met Lorcan’s, they rolled back into her head as the supply of blood to her brain slowed. She passed out limply onto the ground. (Alive. He wasn’t going to…she was still alive.)

It went like that for a little longer. He managed a few cheap shots, knocking out one more opponent and mildly injuring two, before the leader started making gestures to search him out. And Osiris’s eyes had been scanning the field since he took out the knotwork mage.

Alright then, Lorcan thought. “Hey, assholes!” he yelled, stepping out of cover. The fighting stopped a moment, everyone’s eyes turning to Lorcan as they assessed the new threat.

“You don’t need to shout,” one said, in a normal speaking voice. He scratched at his ear with a wince. “We gave the space non-Euclidean fight acoustics. Makes it easier to banter across the room.”

Lorcan aimed his body right at the guy, cupped his hands around his mouth, and took a deep breath in.

“Well,” Osiris stepped in, with a carefully composed expression. “We have certainly underestimated your resolve, Verdigris.” Damn right they did. “But while your assistance in this matter is appreciated, this fight is far outside your capabilities now that you have removed the element of surprise. You may leave.”

“Gracious. You’re right, I’m not as strong a necromancer as any of you here, but that’s why I came prepared.” He shifted his backpack off his shoulders and reached inside it for the first time that night. “And I’m not here to help you. Or you,” he told the scenesters.

Osiris’s eyes widened. “You…what?”

“I’m unambitious,” Lorcan told them. “I’m not an idiot. I wasn’t dealing with someone like you without a contingency.”

Out of the bag he pulled a twisted iron statue, as big as his entire arm. It looked something like a horseshoe, except that it looped in ways almost like a Mobius strip. The thing glowed in the places it folded in on itself with a sickly green light.

The Crown Osiris gasped, audibly. Thank you, non-Euclidean acoustics.

“Yeah, I thought you’d recognize it. See, Dexter told me all about his little dreams of radioactive destruction back when we were teens. And where he planned to bury the trigger.”

“That was seven years before he actually developed that curse,” Osiris said. Their expression was flat, unreadable. “You assumed he would not select a different location?”

“I assumed he hadn’t changed,” he replied, looking them square in the eye. “Turns out, he didn’t.”

He turned to the scene group, brandishing the thing with all the drama sixteen-year-old goth Lorcan had ever managed, and declared, “This is the death curse of one Dexter Young. A necromancer lord with a talent for radioactive blight. I think you’ve heard of him.”

The scene crew seemed to confer with themselves with a few pointed glances, and Smiles, the leader, stepped forward. “Duh, we know Dexter Young,” he said, while the rest settled into defensive positions around him. His face twisted into a condescending smirk. “We did our research on everyone…important to the current Crown.”

That wasn’t even worth an eyeroll. “Great burn, consider me roasted. Since we’re sharing important details, do you happen to know what this curse does?”

The smile dropped. It appeared he did not.

“Huh,” Lorcan said. “Because I do. Dex loved having an audience for his fantasies of deadly revenge against his enemies. Let me think…it was something something, wave of magical blight that destroys every cell of organic matter it hits, leaving a radioactive wasteland behind–who here’s made of organic matter? Show of hands,” he asked. Then when no one responded, “Don’t be shy, we’re all not-friends here.”

“Look, Young was powerful, but so are we. We can fight off a death curse,” one sneered at him. “You might have some trouble.”

“That’s funny, I remember Dexter’s enemies being strong, too.” A flinch. Point, Lorcan. “And he really wanted to make sure he finished them off, so he rigged the curse with this cascade effect. Consumes any other magic the blight encounters, then sets itself off again with the obstacle removed. That includes wards, other curses, revivification–but sure. I bet you’d fight it off just fine.” He glanced over to Osiris. “Did I get all that right?”

“An amateurish explanation,” they said, in a petulant tone, “but essentially accurate.”

“So no, it’s a ridiculous overpowered curse and we’re all lucky the murdergame didn’t set it off ages ago. Also this entire mall dimension is basically made of magic, so you could say goodbye to that, too. You think the place looks bad now?” he asked, wry. “Just wait until the curse goes off.”

“But it won’t.” Smiles straightened in place. “Dexter Young isn’t quite dead, and he’ll stay that way so long as the crown stays in one piece. Unless you think you can destroy the current Crown’s symbol of power?”

Ha, Lorcan thought. “In a fight? Obviously not.” It was the only answer he could give, under the circumstances. He was playing with fire enough as it was. “But Dex’s big problem with curses was keeping them stable. One time, at freshman homecoming–” Actually they didn’t need to know about that. “--the point is, exposure to radiation sets them off, too. Now, does anyone want to guess how my time magic works?” he asked.

“It–his magic is radioactive,” Osiris told the others. “His mere proximity triggered a number of Dexter’s curses in our shared youth. But–but you would not dare do so here.” The shock was clear in their voice. “You lack the nerve. With a spell of that curse’s magnitude, the entire city could–”

“I wouldn’t, no,” he agreed easily. “City-killing’s not really my thing. But we’re not in the city, are we?”

He gestured at the space around them. “This mall is a liminal death-space separated from reality by the void of absolute boundary or whatever. That’s got to be great for containment. And considering what you plan to do with it–” He shot a glare to the other necromancers. “--maybe it’s better this space remains an irradiated, unusable husk forever.”

And there, the scenesters started to look nervous.

“Holy shit, dude,” one spoke up. “Don’t you think that’s going a little too far?”

“Too…far?” he repeated, with a purposeful incredulity that made a few of them step back as if in fear. It was probably the deadly radioactive curse he was holding in his offhand that did it.

“As opposed to, what,” Lorcan asked, “just an ordinary, restrained magical firefight in the middle of a liminal death dimension? This is what necromancy does, MCR! It pushes you ‘too far’. Nobody in this goddamn mall is capable of interacting with necromancy in a calm and collected manner. None of us gets to pretend we’re above this!”

A scoff cut through the air.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” It wasn’t nothing. Smiles shrugged. The easy fluidity of the motion suggested hours in front of the mirror to get the superior air just right. “It’s funny to hear from someone trying to play vigilante.”

“I’m not playing–”

“What, just because we’re killers means your hands are clean? Releasing a death curse is all for the greater good if it means some gullible geek gets to see another anime convention?”

Lorcan didn’t know how to respond to that, because Smiles wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t right, either. He shouldn’t have brought up Kyle if he wanted Lorcan to think so.

These necromancers would need supplies if they were going to seize control of the local covens without provoking a power struggle. ‘Supplies’ was, of course, another necromantic euphemism. And having a giant portal to a hell dimension just about anyone could be lured into would make that easy. Osiris, meanwhile, made no secret about wanting to do many, many murders. The world would, objectively, be better off without any of them.

But was Lorcan the person to make that call? His judgment hadn’t been foolproof lately. Sure, he might be the only necromancer here who hadn’t ever committed homicide before. He was better than them in that respect.

That didn’t mean he was good enough. There were no clean answers.

“I’m a guy standing in a death dimension, wearing a necromancer’s robe and holding about half a Chernobyl of radioactive death in my bare hand,” he said. “If I knew what the greater good was, I wouldn’t be here.”

“What do you want, then?” Smiles asked. His jaw was clenched tight.

Lorcan considered that. “I’d think it was obvious. But I guess you never bothered to study me beyond the best place to ambush me buying eyeliner, did you?”

“I was lying about your wingtips, by the way. They were shit.”

It was an insult for insult’s sake. Lorcan was used to it, hanging out so much with necromancers when he was young. But god, why had he bothered?

“You don’t know me,” he told the other man. “You don’t know anything about me. We’re strangers, and that’s all we’ll ever be.”

“What does that have to do with–”

“These usurpers may be strangers to you, Verdigris,” Osiris spoke up. “But we are not. And we know if you were to actually use that curse, you would be killing your familiar as well.” Confusion tinged their voice, because Osiris had known him once. “Your child, Verdigris. You must recognize the lamp’s spirit is made of magic as well.”

Lorcan looked at them, and nodded. “I was wondering when someone would bring him up. As it happens, I’m a simple man with simple demands. The only reason I even put this option on the table is that you put my son in danger. Give me my son. And both me and this thing–” He shook the curse. “--go away.”

The purple-haired piercing mage suggested, “Or we could shoot you. Can’t set it off if you’re dead.” She lifted the gun (he noted it wasn’t loaded) and mimed a shot.

“If you knew anything about time magic,” Lorcan told her, “you’d know it’s not entirely under my control. I have been concentrating very hard not to let it leak into this curse. But no matter how fast you kill me, there’ll be a moment where my concentration slips. Try again, MCR.”

“...You already said ‘MCR’.”

“I don’t know any other bands!” he shot back.

“We could get your thing back for you,” Smiles spoke up, with an icy…well. “If you give us that curse–”

“Stopping you right there. This is not a game you can chessmaster your way to victory with. The options are me, with the curse, here. Or me, with the curse, out of your blast radius. And it’s not your call which, unless Osiris–”

“No,” they said loudly. No doubt wanting to snip that dangling thread of potential collusion. “To us, the choice is clear. There is no sense dallying.”

They began to walk, carefully, through the food court. The cape of necromantic light stretched out behind them, a reminder that attempting an ambush now would be very unwise.

“Verdigris has been generous to lay out his terms so plainly, and as it happens it is easy to acquiesce.” They reached Lorcan, and held out his son. The warmth of his bulb as he settled into Lorcan’s free arm was stark against the mall’s natural chill. “It has served its purpose, anyways,” Osiris finished with a tight smirk, and began walking away.

It would serve the smug bastard right if he really did set this curse off right there, Lorcan thought. But Vulk was safe. Everything was going to be okay.

“Can you lead us out of here?” he asked.

Vulk whispered back, “Yeah. There’s a back exit nobody noticed yet.” Lorcan shifted his son in his arms, cataloging all the little twitches and shivers that told him yes, Vulcan was scared but fine.

“That’s it, then?” Smiles asked. “All you want is that stupid familiar?”

And, well. Lorcan never was one to let go of a grudge. “Give me your shoes, too.”

“Wh–my shoes? These are a limited collector’s run,” he protested. “You can’t get them online anymore.”

“Good,” Lorcan said. “Think about that next time you decide to fuck with me and mine. Time’s a-wasting. Tick tock.”

The guy fumed, but took off his chunky brand names and lobbed them over. It was clear from the low, underhanded toss he thought Lorcan might actually try to catch them. That was funny.

The shoes thumped to the floor.

“What do I look like, a jock?” he asked. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk fumbling a catch while holding both his familiar and his leverage. “Thanks though, these’ll look real cool in my basement with all the other junk.”

It was, he realized, a quip too far. He knew that the second his smart tongue pushed it out of his dumb mouth. With people like Osiris, he at least had some idea of how far he could push things. A few fuckups, sure, but a better track record than he had with total strangers.

Smiles was a stranger. He’d been a stranger when they’d met, and he was only stranger now that Lorcan knew the truth. And there was no smile, fake or otherwise, on his face now.

With a strangled growl, he charged directly at Lorcan. Physically. With his fists clenched.

That could have been the end of it. Lorcan froze in place–he didn’t have a backup plan for this. He remembered strange neighbors and fear. Then the metal prongs of Vulk’s power cord scraped against the back of his arm.

Lorcan and his oldest son didn’t always see eye to eye. But there were moments they were perfectly in sync.

He lifted the arm holding Vulk upwards. His fingers curled, as if in an arcane configuration. Behind it, Vulk’s cord stretched out to the air.

If he had still needed proof the Crown Osiris was a fight out of his league, he only needed to look at the aurora they’d made out of magic and will, keyed in directly to their presence. Already, the space in front of Lorcan where they’d been standing was losing its glow, fading to a dull glitter. That was power.

Lorcan jabbed his finger forward, straight at Smiles. Vulk could channel power.

The glitter in the air turned into a dark bolt of lightning that hit the floor a mere foot in front of his opponent. The man stopped. Lorcan could almost see him mentally re-calculating.

He put a look of careful indifference on his own face, like any powerful necromancer would when launching an attack they could totally pull off a second time. “Vulk, the shoes,” he instructed. His son coiled through the laces, lifting the prize into the now-empty backpack.

Lorcan took a few steps backwards, and gestured towards the death curse. “Remember, if any of you feels like a last minute double-cross, my death’ll make this whole thing explode. Otherwise, we’re out.”

The two were too tense to speak on their way out of the food court. Lorcan only knew they were safe once Vulk let out a slight, nervous chuckle. “So. I guess the friend thing’s a bust. But you did do a fashion today,” he added. “Doug’s gonna be happy.”

“They’re not exactly my style,” Lorcan remarked, but the shoes weren’t bad. Mostly black with deep, multicolor accents. A solid trophy. “I suppose Smiles could have worse taste.”

“Is that what you called him in your head?” Vulk asked, sounding almost like their usual banter. “I was calling him Tino.”

“Tino?”

“The New Osiris.” He emphasized each word. “T-N-O.”

Lorcan snorted. “That’s great. Tino Smiles, evil necromancer. I bet he…” He trailed off. The silence hung heavy in the air, and what came out next was: “Good work there, Vulk. With the lightning and–staying alive.”

His son’s voice was almost a whisper when he heard it. “Thanks, Dad.” Lorcan hugged him just a little closer.

The mall dimension’s exit was, somewhat predictably, inside a hidden Hot Topic. That’s not what stopped Lorcan in his tracks. No, that was the pretzel stand right in front of it.

He checked inside the machines–yup. Same stand. Same pretzels. A last-ditch effort to keep him and Vulk from leaving.

“I don’t want those pretzels,” Vulk told him solemnly. Which, good. Good.

Maybe Lorcan was feeling introspective in the wake of metaphorically selling his soul to dark magic, but this just felt sad the second deathtrap around. A dead mall’s kiosk, plaintively offering treats to passers-by. Still, it didn’t have to be so repulsive about it. It was like the place wanted…

He paused. It was like it wanted to push people away.

Fuck, he was empathizing, wasn’t he? He was. For all he knew the place wanted to murder him, Lorcan did get it. If you spent enough time being lonely, it was easy to forget you’d ever wanted anything different. Forget how to reach out. People could be mean and also lonely.

And maybe he might want to change that.

It was a scary thought; Lorcan had his sharp edges for a reason. They wouldn’t smooth out all at once. But he could try, once he got out of here. He might have to–he couldn’t keep doing this alone.

A classic-style mall goth leaned casually against the register in the store, flipping through a magazine and blowing a large gum bubble. How were they–the store wouldn’t have even been open when the rest of this shit went down. Fucking Hot Topic, nobody understood it.

“You know there’s a bunch of necromancers having a death match just outside, right?” he asked the employee. (He said he would try after he got out.) “And also the entire mall has been turned into a hell dimension.”

“Yeah, yeah,” they said, not even looking up. “You gonna buy a shirt, or what?”

Lorcan bought the damned shirt.

[astroluvr]

can i request something with a famous reader & she went with drake to that crew league game where jack & druski r the commentators. and her n jack broke off their relationship bc he wasn’t ready to be exclusive. and maybe when druski & jack r interviewing one of the players they say how they’re going to shoot their shoot & jack gets all jealous. then at the end of the game jack talks to the reader and someone caught it on video.

okay, i hope i did this justice and i hope u enjoy! thanks for ur request!!!

***

When Jack arrived to the arena for the game that Druski invited him to commentate on with him, he was more than excited. His life had been beyond hectic and he really needed a breather, so taking the weekend away from the studio and messing around with some good friends was just what he needed.

What he didn’t need though, was to see you strolling in with Drake’s posse in a dress he knew you pulled from the back of your closet. You were radiating to the point where you were almost glittering in the fluorescent lighting of the arena. You had on a tight black dress that scooped just enough above your cleavage to distract from the pretty necklaces you had on and the gold hoop earrings you wore and kept fiddling with. Along your fingers were meticulously placed rings that only complemented your manicured nails you drummed against the bars of the balcony you were on.

“And above the court, we have Jack Harlow’s biggest fumble.” Druski put on his best pseudo announcer’s voice and Jack tore his eyes from where you were giggling with another woman in the entourage.

“Would you shut the hell up? Your mic might be on.”

“It’s not. That dude didn’t shut up about how to work ‘em.” he sat back in the chair and Jack sat next to him in his own. “So, are you actually going to help with the game or are you going to stare at Y/N’s fine ass all night?”

“I didn’t even notice she was here.” Jack shrugged off and placed a toothpick between his teeth.

“Oh, so that was Drake’s ass you were staring at?”

“Yeah.” Jack said distractedly and Druski smirked before reaching over to turn on both microphones.

“I’m sorry, whose ass were you staring at?”

“Drake’s.” Jack said once more, hardly recognizing the trap he was in before all the bustle came to a slow halt. “Wait, wait, wait, that’s not what I meant!”

Druski laughed loudly and you looked down over the balcony to see where Jack was turning red. You hated to take satisfaction in his embarrassment, but you couldn’t help but giggle. Soon enough, Drake was coming next to you and his phone screen displayed the laughing emojis he’d just sent to Jack.

“Didn’t you two fuck with each other a while back?”

“Oh, no, not really. We used to hang out, but you know how it gets sometimes.” you shrugged it off and smoothed down the sides of your dress. Before Drake could say anything else, you cleared your throat. “I’m going to grab a drink.”

After you were able to weasel your way to the bar, you were pretty much left alone. Throughout the game, the cameras panned up to you and you flashed an award-winning smile with a Pepsi can in your hand before going back to focusing on the way the TV showcased the livestream. You laughed at Druski and Jack’s stupid sense of humor and took a few swigs of your soda.

You sighed and thought to how you and Jack broke things off. You had put off ending whatever the two of you had going on for the longest time until you started gaining opportunities that made you realize there was more to life than sneaking around with Jack. Ever since that night you two got into a yelling match, you never spoke again.

“What’s happening now?” you came up beside Drake who had a stern frown on his face as confetti was released onto the court.

“Fucking Chris just won.” Drake grumbled as he pulled a wad of cash from his pockets and turned to face a smirking man that arrived with you all.

“So, Chris, man.” Druski’s voice sounded through the small stadium and you tuned in to the TV screen as well as the court where he had an arm around Chris Brown. “Is there anything you can’t do? I mean, can you fight?”

You laughed at Druski’s comment as Chris punched the air. Everyone on the balcony laughed as well and Chris walked back over to Druski.

“What do you plan on doing after the game tonight, man?” Jack was able to throw an arm around his shoulders with a pair of dark shades on his face.

“Y/N, if I’m lucky.” Chris chuckled and Druski made an exaggerated shocked face. You bit your tongue as loud laughs coming from everyone around.

“Do you really think you’re going to get lucky?” Jack’s voice was shaky, but it was more in irritation than anything.

“Damn, I was just playing.” Chris laughed, trying to escape Jack’s tightening grip around his neck.

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Alright!” Druski cut in as Jack glared at him through the glasses on his face. After clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder, Jack walked away and ran a finger under his nose as he returned to the locker room.

You rolled your eyes at the scene. Jack acting like this was a huge part of the reason you two broke things off. Druski kept the show going as you packed up your things. Once you let a member of the entourage know that you were leaving the arena, you made your way out of the door.

“Y/N!” you heard the familiar voice and picked up your pace, only to hear Jack’s voice once more. “Y/N, quit playing and let me talk to you.”

“Fuck off, Jack.” you grumbled, pulling your shades out of your purse to slide onto your face before walking outside.

Jack caught your arm in the last second and you turned around and shoved him. It didn’t do much damage, only enough for him to get the message and take a step back with his arms up in defense. “I’m sorry. I just really need to talk to you, that’s all.”

“We’ve said what we need to say. What was it that you said, actually? We fuck good and get along, so why can’t we leave it at that?”

“It was different then.” he huffed, already growing annoyed that this wasn’t going his way.

“When was then?” Jack rolled his eyes and you licked your lips. “Two months ago, if I’m not mistaken. That’s some fucking major character development, J.”

He wanted to melt at his nickname, but it fell short when you started walking away again. “I’m sorry. I know I was an ass for how I let things go, but you have to understand where I’m at in life right now.”

“I do understand, that’s the crazy part, Jack!” you spun around and started walking back. “I understand being at a point where everything is make or break because that’s exactly where I’m at. I wasn’t asking you to scream my name and post me every day or go public, I just wanted to feel like the nights we spent together were worth telling your boys about. That’s it. I gave you seven months, Jack. How do you think it feels when you’re cuddling up more to models than me?”

Jack sighed when he heard the crack in your voice. “Y/N-”

“And you only care to say this because of what Chris said. You want me to yourself, but I couldn’t have you to myself. That’s not fair, Jack, at all.” you said accusingly, pushing your shades even closer to your eyes despite the way they began to steam.

“I wasn’t- fuck, come here.” he stopped his explanation short and wrapped his large hand around your own to pull you into his chest. “I shouldn’t have done you like that. I thought I knew what I was doing... I wanted to get everything out my system, but you’re in it now. I’m so sorry, baby.”

You really, really didn’t want to cry, but you were being faced with the insecurities that had riddled you. “I don’t want to get back together if you always feel like you need to find better than me.”

“Fuck that. You’re the best I can ask for. I don’t know why I let myself fuck that up.”

You sniffled and looked up at Jack. “Does this mean once we get to a better place, we’ll be exclusive?”

“We’ll do whatever you want. I know I’m going in there and telling Chris he better not even look at you.”

“You aren’t about it.” you giggled, feeling the weight come off your shoulders.

“Say it with these glasses off.” he said smoothly, taking the sides of the glasses and pulling them gently. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, I don’t know what I was thinking not letting the world know you’re mine.”

Jack hugged you close and pulled you flush against his body, working his warm lips against yours. You moaned softly and trailed your hand up his back to grip his hair. He swallowed and worked his hand to your ass and squeezed it tightly, causing you to squeal.

"At least buy me a drink first, perv."

"You know what," Jack narrowed his eyes at you and you smiled. "You're lucky I'm obsessed with you."

"I know." you wrapped your arm around his neck and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

"Let me take you on a date tonight. Let's start fresh."

"I'd like that a lot, Jack." you agreed warmly and he kissed the top of your head before leading you away to the parking lot.

||

tmz

tmz It seems that Jack Harlow and Y/N L/N rekindled some old romance months after their mystery fling during the star-studded Crew League game that Harlow commentated on while L/N sat pretty in the stands. Check the link in our bio to see footage of the steamy reunion outside the arena!

52,000 comments

jacklover232 you can't be serious

y/nupdates FOOTAGE????

sheryl3322 my daughter will be devastated. huge fan of this jack guy.

jackandy/nships so happy for them :`)

[mrwinterr]

Over & Over

Pairing: Pornstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Pornstar!Female Reader

Summary: You’re an up-and-coming adult film star secretly eager to work with the popular Bucky Barnes, and with just the right connections, your paths cross much sooner than later.

Warnings: Adult themes. Smut 18+ (unprotected sex, vaginal penetration and instructional fingering, oral [male & female receiving], size kink, spit & cum play, a smudge of male dominance), dirty talk and language.

Disclaimer: I don’t know how the porn industry works; this was just written for fun.

Title Inspiration: “Over & Over” by Smallpools

A/N: After doping up on strong painkillers wasn’t enough, I thought releasing endorphins would help ease my headache, so once again watching porn inspired another fic. Idk. I’m a mess. Enjoy!

Slipping on your oversized sunglasses, you walk along the rectangular outline of the hotel’s lavish pool, to one of the vacant lounge chairs next to the redheaded goddess, whose wings you were taken under and could gratefully call a close friend. You hadn’t known a single soul when you packed up and moved west to Los Angeles at 18, but you knew you were destined for more than what your humdrum life back at home could offer.

The porn industry wasn’t your first choice at a career in entertainment, but the starving profession wasn’t paying the bills fast enough. You weren’t going to survive in L.A. another year juggling to pay for tuition and stay enrolled in acting school from the income of working menial jobs and booking small gigs. However, one minor role as an extra in a one-night stand sex scene of a TV show, you catch the eye of the multitalented adult film actress Natasha Romanoff.

It was pure coincidence she was also casted, playing a bigger role, of the same episode, but she saw more in you in your less than 15 seconds of fame than most casting agents did before offering you a chance to shadow her. You knew she looked familiar and you were no stranger to watching porn, but when you’re as down on your luck as you were, you went all in and soon enough countless scenes now under your belt within a year, you’re porn’s best female newcomer.

“There’s this year’s Best New Starlet!” Natasha proclaims loudly for almost everyone around to hear.

Lucky for you, the shades conceal the roll of your eyes at her comment as you kick off your flip-flops and remove the thin cover up to reveal your skimpy bikini. You dare look over at her in time to catch her mocking reaction, jaw dropped from your attitude.

“After all I’ve done for you,” she says, placing a hand to her heart, feigning hurt.

The pair of you laugh at your nonsense and after she helps you with applying the appropriate amount of sun care protection, you recline in your seats and attempt to soak up some sun. It was a much-needed break with the long stressful week of the award show now behind everyone. Your hard work had paid off and after all you did learn from the best.

Your predecessor before you, Natasha was also a former Best New Starlet, and now is a household name in pornography. She didn’t welcome a lot of people into her inner circle, but she had plans to one day direct and knew she had to find the next big thing before anyone else to take her place.

“Hello, ladies,” comes from the voice of this year’s Director of the Year and other close friend Wanda Maximoff.

“Hey Wanda,” you greet her by sitting up to give her a proper hug.

You met her through her twin brother, Pietro, who happened to be your first co-star and was very welcoming and caring to you. The twins took care of you during your first few months starting out. Much like Natasha did for you, you help her administer the same amount of sunscreen on her body.

“Congrats on your achievement,” she says wholeheartedly, looking over her shoulder at you as you finish up on her back, and even under the heat of the sun, she could still see the blush creep up on your face.

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Natasha comments casually, to which Wanda nods enthusiastically, only speeding up the process of the rose tints on your cheeks to spread all over your face. They were your biggest fans and supporters; you were so happy you could make them proud.

“I owe it all to the queen herself,” you say, downplaying your achievement and turning the attention to your mentor in Natasha. She scoffs at that and teases you about just taking the damn compliment. You put in the work; it was all you.

“Seriously, you deserved it,” Wanda says honestly, and you finally accept the praise.

“So, what’s next for miss Director of the Year?” Natasha asks leaning on a propped elbow, body facing towards you and Wanda.

“Well, I managed to finally book Bucky Barnes in an upcoming project…” she starts out, but the moment you heard his name slip from her lips, the rest almost didn’t matter.

Bucky Barnes was somewhat of a legend. There wasn’t a model or director that didn’t want to work with him. The man was downright gifted in every aspect and his work speaks for itself. Before you broke onto the scene, you’d gotten off to his videos, and only dreamed of one day starring in a scene with him, but you were still new to this world.

As a promising star, you had a long way to go and tons of plots, positions and people to still experience, so landing a role with someone like Bucky Barnes wasn’t entirely written in your plans any time soon. Then again, your first girl-on-girl scene was with your mentor herself, so anything could happen, right?

“I just haven’t found my girl yet,” was the next thing you pick up Wanda say the moment your head comes back from the clouds, “...I have all this momentum now that I want this to blow everyone away, especially Stark.”

Tony Stark was her rival. It was a friendly competition amongst friends. You hadn’t gotten the chance to work for him yet. He was a playful character and had directed some of the best adult films out there, Wanda just happened to be the better of the two this year…

“Sorry, I’m retired,” Natasha reminds her and repositions herself on her back.

“Fuck you,” Wanda says playfully to which Natasha responds with a finger in the air before she clarifies, “I was hinting at this year’s Best New Starlet…” and slyly looking in your directly.

“Me?” You ask incredulously. Your head can’t even start processing that you’re finally getting the opportunity to work with Bucky.

Wanda rolls her eyes at your obliviousness, “no, last year’s Best New Starlet. Hell no! Of course, you!” You respond in the same manner as your mentor, who is more than amused at you also following her lead, and flip Wanda off. Wanda snatches your hand to bring it away from her face, “I’m serious!”

“I-I don’t know, Wan,” a part of you is a little scared that you’re not going to be able to keep up with someone as established and with the star power as Bucky, “...like you said, you have all this momentum behind you. I don’t want to fuck this scene up because I don’t have a lot of experience.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Natasha pipes up on the other side of you. “This is the perfect role for you!” She sees the questionable look on your face and sighs before explaining. “You’re a fresh face and rising star! People are lining up to book you, Stark included.”

“Nat is right. You’re a hot commodity now! I need someone who is a little inexperienced to mix with someone that is,” Wanda further explains her premise, “let him take the lead, but at your pace. I need it to be raw and passionate. People love that shit!” They were right, he had all the experience, and you were a fresh loveable face. It was the perfect combination.

You remain quiet for several seconds before Natasha rats you out, “and don’t even try to act like you don’t want to work with Barnes. This is your fantasy come to life.” Way to throw you under the bus like that…

There’s no denying your goal to work with him. He’d been in this business much longer than you had, you didn’t think your paths would ever cross on a set, but the opportunity couldn’t have presented itself in a more perfect point in your career.

The room is very pristine. White walls with a king size bed, also adorned in white sheets, fluffy pillows scattered at the top, minimal furniture around to make it look realistic, and the lighting was just right. Wanda had received a hefty budget after her recognition that’s for sure.

“Alright, girly, let’s get you on the bed!” Wanda happily directs.

You nod silently, remove your footwear and plop down on the center of the large mattress. You decide to leave your legs sprawled on one side of your body, settling on a bashful position. It’s not hard for you because although you agreed to do this and have done several scenes, internally, you’re freaking the fuck out. Unbeknownst to you, it’s all part of your charm; the innocence you somehow still radiated was an all too endearing quality and actually sexy.

Even your attire was pretty modest, opting for a more casual look with black leggings and a tight long sleeve that accentuates your figure and shows off the right amount of cleavage. It was something that you could easily wear out in public, which again was a part of your brand in being as natural as possible, but come the right circumstances, when it was time to roll you could turn on the right switch.

“We’ll start off like a typical casting interview before we bring Bucky in and then we’ll go from there. Sounds good?” She runs down the plan with you, fixing a few strands of flyaway hairs on your head before back away from the bed. With a thumbs up and a smile from you, she starts recording.

“Welcome, Best New Starlet of the Year!” Wanda greets from behind the camera.

“Hi,” you politely reply with your signature sweet smile and a wave to the screen.

These scenes start off with a small interview recounting your tale into the porn industry leading up to your recent achievement and even delving a bit into your personal life before the topic changes to your co-star.

“So, how excited are you to work with Bucky today?”

No matter how hard you practiced at keeping a straight poker face, that was something you were unable to master from Natasha, and the blush couldn’t be contained.

Fidgeting at the hem of your top, you open and close your mouth, trying to find the right words. You’re overly flustered at the thought of Bucky and he wasn’t even in front of you yet. You don’t want to sound like a fool and ruin the atmosphere. Wanda mouths words of advice from where she sat in the director’s chair, “be honest.”

“Um, I’m...nervous,” you say truthfully.

“Nervous?” She questions, urging you to elaborate.

“Yeah, he’s Bucky Barnes! He’s hot and he’s got so much experience. I’m kind of scared I’ll be boring,” you finish explaining and hope to God that Natasha doesn’t kill you afterwards, or with that answer let Wanda down, but the smile on her face sends you a wave of assurance.

Maybe you could do this...

Earlier that day, Bucky had already recorded his little opening scene. Wanda had called him to report on set before you were scheduled to arrive.

On the contrary, Bucky was also a tab bit anxious to work with you. He’d seen some of your work and more so heard about your talent from his own best friend, Steve Rogers.

He didn’t deny it, he was very much attracted to you and he wanted a chance to work with you too. Bucky wasn’t a jealous person, which made working in the porn industry easy for him, but when he had to hear Steve recount his scenes with you, he couldn’t help but want to sock his own childhood friend. He didn’t of course, but the rage was evident and his other friend, Sam Wilson, took some sick pleasure in teasing him over it. In fact, the eccentric personality of the trio of friends, decided to tag along with Bucky to introduce himself to you and get under his skin a little more.

“What’s going on in that nasty head of yours?” Sam poked at Bucky as they made their way over to Wanda, who was by the camera setup going over a script with another stagehand. When Bucky doesn’t respond, it provokes Sam even more, “no way, you’re nervous!”

Bucky sighs fed up with dealing with the anxiety brewing ever since he found out he was going to star in this film with you. “Shut the fuck up, will you? Of course, I’m nervous,” he says, trying to remain calm.

“Dude, you’ve slept with some of the hottest people in the world and millions of people have seen you naked. Why is one girl any different?” Sam wonders.

“I don’t know, ok. She just seems so down-to-earth and normal?” Bucky attempts to explain. You were real. His work was just that, it was a work, and he was afraid that it would be different with you. He could say he was almost intimidated by you.

“Yeah, as if I don’t have to hear that enough from Rogers…” Sam chimed in. Steve had nothing but high praise for your performance. In fact, his testimony helped expose you a little further. He was an honorable performer and a respected one, so they took his word on you. “Maybe, I’ll be her next co-star,” and just like that Sam ruined a moment.

“God, I hate you,” was the last thing exchanged between the two friends as they finally reached Wanda. She warned Sam to behave and gave Bucky a quick rundown before instructing him to hop on the bed.

Bucky’s interview starts a little differently than yours. Having already been a more established performer than yourself, no one needed his background story. The only thing Wanda wanted out of him was his plans and opinion on you.

“Well, I don’t know too much about her, personally speaking...but everyone seems to love her,” Bucky’s answer was a bit bland for Wanda.

“She’s a great person to work with,” she comments and that’s a tactic most directors used to get talent to keep talking.

“That’s what Steve keeps saying,” he says with somewhat of an awkward light laugh. He could see Sam facepalming next to Wanda at that lame answer.

“Yeah, you don’t win best female newcomer for nothing,” Wanda points out. If anyone was the lucky one here, it was Bucky. He was climbing up in age and you were the next big thing. You were the real star of this film not Bucky. She was counting more on you to deliver than him.

“That’s right. She’s a very talented performer,” Bucky says, and this small comment opens up a can of worms for Wanda to build up on.

“Oh, so you’ve seen some of her work?” Bam! He was caught.

Bucky’s mouth starts twitching slightly and Wanda and Sam are smirking from their spots as they watch the gears in Bucky’s mind start turning faster trying to think of something. The only piece of advice Wanda gives is “be honest.”

He sighs, the jig was up. Smooth Bucky Barnes was caught red-handed, “yeah, I’ve watched some scenes. I’ve seen her in person a few times too…”

“Wait,” Wanda interrupts him abruptly. She knew you were attracted to Bucky, but never knew of any encounters between you two, “when did you meet her?”

“I haven’t,” Bucky starts, which causes a look of mass confusion on Wanda’s face before he follows up, “formally. I haven’t met her formally, but I’ve seen her at a few parties and at the award show...I was just nervous to walk up to her,” the words just kept flowing out of his mouth and he inwardly cringed at how awkward he might’ve sounded.

Sam was amused by his embarrassment, but Wanda was pleased with this result. Bucky was good at what he did and that included him trying to play it cool, which he did well on screen, sometimes.

“You know she was actually thrilled to find out she would be working with you,” Wanda said, stretching the truth. The truth was, you hadn’t verbally confessed that, at least not yet.

“Really?” Bucky asks all too hopeful, his mood noticeably perking up.

“Yup! Ever since she won Best New Starlet of the Year, people have been lining up to book her, but she chose this project. You were the deal breaker, Barnes,” she fabricated and hoped this all worked out for you two in the end.

“Wow, who would’ve thought this has-been still had it in him?” He jokes at himself. His humility would get the best of him in every situation.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself! You didn’t win Best Male Performer of the Year again for nothing!” Wanda says and then steers the interview to a close.

After wrapping up Bucky’s scene, he’s allowed to stay in another room with a monitor. At first, he thinks it’s to help him prep for the scene, but to his surprise it’s a live feed of your interview and he starts clinging onto your every word. Enthralled by your journey, work ethic and he gets flustered all over again hearing you talk about your equal eagerness to work with him.

“You know, if anyone is the lucky one in this situation, it’s Barnes,” Wanda reminds as your interview comes to an end.

“Right,” you sarcastically remark.

“Are you ready for us to bring Bucky in?” She asks.

“It’s now or never,” you reply. 

You watch the doorknob twist and the door open to slowly reveal Bucky. Where do you even start with him? He just looked like the total package. His gaze immediately on yours. As he makes his way towards the bed you’re still sitting on, when his knee comes in contact to the edge, you maneuver your body in his direction, sit up on your knees to meet him halfway and welcome him in a hug.

“Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he says when you pull apart. The both of you don’t break away completely. Your arms are still wrapped around his neck, his hands placed just above your waist, you can feel his fingers that slipped under the fabric rub your skin.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you respond, giving him a genuine smile and can’t help but stare at his pretty face. You had to remind yourself he’s just another guy, except he wasn’t. You didn’t know how he felt, but you wanted this, wanted him. You also don’t know if you’ll ever work him again after today, so he was going to get the real you.

A small, subtle clearing of someone’s throat shatters the staring contest between you and Bucky causing you both to sheepishly break away from the other, not realizing you’d both allowed dreaded dead airtime to pass by. You scoot over to make room for him next to you on the bed. After he pulls his footwear off, he sits cross legged in front of you, you have one leg tucked in and the other extended in front.

Bucky’s not entirely oblivious. He not only witnessed you backstage reveal you were actually nervous to work with him, he could feel it, so at an attempt to help ease both your nerves, he places a hand on your shin and absentmindedly run his hand up and down the fabric, fingers sometimes stopping to mess with the cuff of your leggings and at the skin of your ankle, while he listened to you speak.

He congratulated you on your achievement as you did with him, both a blushing mess before diving into different topics like traveling and other interests.

Wanda stood proudly behind the camera watching the scene unfold. Everything was so candid and real between you and Bucky, the chemistry was clearly evident, she didn’t foresee there would be much directing on her part today, which was going to make her job easy.

“Wanda said you were excited to work with me,” Bucky teases, wanting to see if what you said was just for the cameras or if it was really true, but also, he found out he liked to see you get all hot and bothered in more than one way.

Your jaw drops and you look directly into the camera, breaking the fourth wall, calling out to Wanda. You playfully chastise and curse at her for revealing your secret. She tells you it was going to come out anyways, and while that was true, you’d hoped it was later and much after you’ve slept with him, hoping it doesn’t ruin the shoot, but Bucky assures you that it’s actually a flattering to hear or in his words, “assuring” for someone like him.

“Are you kidding?” You say, lightly shoving him back, “you’re like a legend! Of course, I was excited! I’m surprised you agreed to work with a rookie like me!” Now that the cat was out of the bag, you might as well own up to your secret.

“Everyone wants to work with you,” he makes clear, leaning in closer. Fuck, he didn’t even need to initiate foreplay because with the way he was looking at you right now, you could come swear you’d come undone for him in an instant.

“Oh really?” You challenge, your body gravitating like a magnet towards his.

“Yup, Steve wouldn’t shut up about you and even Sam said he can’t wait to someday work with you,” he said, voice slowly dropping in decibels and his hands sliding up your thighs.

“Did he?” You ask, but you don’t really care about Sam as your eyes look dead into Bucky’s blue ones, swirling into a darker shade full of deep want and desire.

“Yeah, but let’s see if he still wants to try to outdo me after I’m done with you,” he whispers, finally closing the gap between your lips in a sweet kiss. It was about as sweet as it could last because after just one taste of your lips, he was a starved man, hungry for more. You tried your best to match his pace and the kiss turned sloppy very quick.

You moaned at the pressure of his lips pressed roughly against yours, and you do your best to keep up, but you’re already finding yourself short of breath. However, the more you try to pull back to regain some oxygen, the more he’s unwilling to part as he grasps your face in both hands to keep you still, so you lightly squeeze at his biceps as a warning in hope he gets the message.

Lucky for you, he does and lets up. He’s also noticeably breathless, his warm breath fanning against your kiss-swollen lips, his forehead resting against yours. Bucky’s hands are still on your face.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and you let out a small chuckle at the sincerity. He was cute.

You take his hands in yours and bring them back down to begin undressing him starting by helping him slip his shirt over his head, the fashionable dog tags around his neck clank as it slaps against his toned chest, you let him keep them on though.

Bucky sits up on his knees as he watches you settle on your stomach, propped up by your elbows, hands getting ready to work on his lower half. He patiently watches as you unbuckle his belt, pop the button of his jeans off, and drag the zipper down.

With his pants hanging loose off his hips, you begin to plant soft kisses along his navel down the defined lines that lead to his cock. Each contact of your lips sends a ghostly tingle and the blood to rush even quicker down his lower region. The imprint of his endowed member doesn’t leave much to your imagination, you can already see the stain where the tip is through his tight boxer briefs. It gives you a little boost of confidence knowing you’d caused this and would get to take care of it.

You hook your fingers into the undergarment and tug them down his muscular thighs. His cock springs out, almost hitting you in the face causing you to jolt back a little and a smile to spread across Bucky’s.

Your clumsiness was also a part of your charm. It wasn’t on purpose, you were still learning after all, and that’s what made it so unique and fun to work with you. Your partners just felt a real, genuine connection, citing it felt less choreographed and of a porno with you.

A little embarrassed about that move, you’d watched what he can do with that cock, but nothing could’ve prepared you for it face-to-face. You don’t waste any time on getting your hands on him and wrap your fingers around his half-hard cock and start pumping him sensually.

He’s hot and soft in your hands before getting gradually heavy. The look in your eyes grows more predatory as you watch him grow and feel him getting harder with each pump causing more and more pre-cum to ooze out. You spread it all over the head of his cock with your thumb then daring to look up at him, hoping he was indeed enjoying your work, before you pucker your lips and kiss at the crown. Bucky curses when he sees your lips shining, coated in his pre-cum, with a string connecting you to his cock.

You gather the fluid up in your hand before spreading it all over his length, when it’s not enough you start not only pumping him faster, but also licking up and down, from the base to the tip, hoping to effectively slick him up. The way your tongue scrapes along over Bucky’s sensitive flesh stirs him up. Your other hand joins in to fondle with his neglected balls, massaging and pulling at them in the right moments, sometimes you travel a little south and take them in your mouth. It all but drives Bucky wild and it’s confirmed with each swear that leaves his mouth.

Bucky wants nothing more than to lodge himself deep in your throat, but he remembers he needs to go at your pace, and once you’re broken in a little more, you could follow his, so he’ll bide his time for now and watch you work.

When you’re ready to take him in, you regain his attention and he watches you slowly take in his inches down your mouth, stopping halfway before your wide-open mouth hollows out. Your full mouth immediately waters around him and it doesn’t take long before you’re a drooling mess all over his cock. You pull back torturously slow, looking back down watching his cock reappear and loving the way it disappears back in, and especially how it feels when it drags through your mouth, taking note of the veins and unique ridges.

“Don’t be like that, doll,” he says, wiping some of the hair away from your face, “come on and show me why they don’t stop talking about you,” he coaxes, now gathering some of your locks in his hand to completely give you both a clear view. He tries his best to not take the lead, but you don’t disappoint as your mouth works faster on him. The gagging and sucking, mixed with Bucky’s moans of pleasure soon become the soundtrack.

You’d gradually take him more and more in, close to deep throating him, and you’re just ready to let up, but he can’t help it and before your last round, he holds your head in place.

“Don’t quit now, baby,” he encourages you, placing his other hand on the back of your head, keeping you still and carefully starts to thrust his hips, urging you to take him all the way, “...that’s it, you can do it, you can take it,” he releases a big sigh feeling the tip of your nose bump his lower abdomen. The moisture builds up in the inner corner of your eyes and you do your best to mind your breathing and not choke.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but shout when he feels your throat contract around him. You just looked so divine, mouth full of his cock. He keeps you there for a few seconds, before releasing his hold, and you immediately pull back, drool dribbles down your chin, and you’re desperate for oxygen to return back into your system. He grabs your face by your chin forcing you to look up at him.

He uses his fingers to scoop up some of the mixed fluids of his arousal and your saliva at your chin before presenting it in front of you. You easily read his mind, look up at him with big, watery eyes, and take his coated digits in your abused mouth sucking the juices clean off him. 

He growls and commends you, “...such a good girl.” When he slips his fingers out of your mouth, a small pop could faintly be heard, he gently yanks at your hair, craning your head back further, it’s almost painful but you don’t care, “do it again,” he demands.

You bite your lip and reposition yourself. Bucky settles in a more comfortable position on his back, completely rid of his pants and underwear, his legs spread open for you to lie between them. Before you get back to the job, you slip your tight top off, all-natural breasts spilling out and on display for him. His cock twitches at the sight and he lets his head fall back when he’s once more fully encased in the warm, wet cavern of your mouth.

When he finally starts begging you to let up, you pull back slowly pumping him and watch his every move, the rise of his chest as it heaves from the activity, the way he runs his hands over his face. He’s absolutely stunned by your performance so far.

“On your back,” he says, and you do as he commands, and forget who is supposed to really be in charge. He yanks your leggings and panties all the way down, chucking them behind him somewhere in the corner of the room.

“You’re so sexy,” he compliments, eyes taking in every inch of your naked body, hands getting their fill. His body dips, lips latching onto your breasts, kissing at the skin and sucking on each nipple before they make their way up the juncture of your neck and claim your lips again.

You feel his tongue run along your bottom lip, and they part to grant him full access. You barely notice how he takes a hold of one of your hands, he pulls his face away to bring the hand in his grasp up to your face, using your fingers to trace the outline of your lips. You see him inaudibly instruct you to open your mouth, you do as you’re told.

“That’s right get those fingers nice and wet,” he coaxes you to suck on your own digits until he deems you ready for the next move. When he finally does pull your fingers out from your mouth, he extends your arm, ghosting them just over your pussy.

“Play with that clit,” he tells you and you don’t need to be told twice. Your pussy was begging for any kind of attention. You let your wet fingers roll over the bundle of nerves, puffs of breath escape your body as you’re finally attending to your own needs.

Bucky sits back and watches you intently, fascinated by your every move. He instructs you to close your eyes and listen to his voice, instructing you to go slow at first, “does that feel good?” the only reply he gets is a fast nod, “yeah? Make yourself feel good...that’s it,” his words only encourage your fingers to soon work faster, “let me hear how good it feels,” he demands, and you moan and whine like the true pornstar you are, your circular motions speed up, the lewd noises egg him on and soon enough he wants a taste.

“Let me help you out,” and you feel the bed shift a bit, “spread those wet lips for me,” he requests. You use both hands to invite him into your wet, glistening hole. You pick your head up to see his face buried between your thighs, you watch just long enough until each broad lick up and down your pussy sends you close to the edge.

He no longer needs the support of your hands, and they find purchase in his dark, fluffy hair as he starts sucking on your clit and tonguing your folds. At first, you’re doing a good job keeping your legs apart to accommodate him, but it gets harder and harder for them to not clamp around his head, with every nudge the tip of his nose makes at your clit and it doesn’t help your case when he inserts a finger inside you. With a good curl, his finger scratches dangerously close to your sweet spot, causing your legs to start quivering.

The sudden hitch in your breathing catches his attention, and Bucky tests the waters more by digging in deeper and curling in further. He notices the increasing agitation and knows he’s found the trigger.

“Bucky,” you whine, hoping he doesn’t push you over just yet. You want to last longer, and so you reluctantly attempt to scoot back further away, but the sudden strong grip  he has around your leg locks you in place. You pick your head back up and find Bucky’s eyes trained on you. You see the stoic look in his eyes laced with determination. Oh no, he wanted you to come now. You feel a hum from his full mouth, only pushing you further.  

“Don’t hold back,” he says against your pussy, “let go,” and the gruff in his voice, vibrating against you, his thick digits still curled deep inside you, you can’t hold back the floodgates from bursting any longer.

He laps up your arousal as you desperately try to regain composure. He really pulled one out of you, proving he was as every bit good as he put out and you’re not even close to the end of this scene.  

“Come here,” he says, getting back on his knees and pulling you up by your arms so you’re in an up-right sitting position once again, but with Bucky still towering over you, “open up.”

You comply and open your mouth wide, tongue out, not understanding his motive, and you’re met with full surprise when he spits in your mouth, a firm grip on your face, he holds you still.

“Don’t swallow,” he gravely warns. You feel and probably look stupid not knowing what he wants you to do with your mouth open wide and full of his spit mingling with your arousal, just trying to keep it all contained. Bucky was testing your patience and obedience and you passed every test so far. You were just the right amount of submissive, absolutely perfect.

You can feel his hard cock pressing up against your sensitive pussy, it slides up between your folds and the base rests on top of your mound. “Drool it out...on my cock,” he instructs. Oh. He guides your gaze down between your bodies, you purse your lips, and both watch as the liquid cascades down onto his erect member. He uses it to lube himself up before he pushes you down to lie flat on your back.

Bucky slowly but easily slips inside your wet channel but notices your slight struggle. He was big, and he gets it. The way your eyes are tightly shut, hands pulling at the sheets, you struggle to breath and your walls cruelly grip him tight. Normally, he’d just pound away until his partner got used to him, but he didn’t want to do that with you. He wanted you to enjoy feeling him.

He tries to help you relax by rubbing your thighs a little with soothing motions, when they fall limp on either side, he leans down, you feel the cool metal of his dog tags against your heated skin, his weight sort of comforting on yours, and arms entrapping your head. He lovingly calls out your name, and your eyes flutter open, your attention refocusing on him.

“We’ll go at your pace, alright?” he assures you. You curse yourself for allowing your heart to swell at his concern, but you nod giving him permission to move slowly. Your whimpers soon transition into pleasurable moans, the more your body begins to adjust to his.

“Damn, you’re so tight. You’ve never been stretched out like this by anyone before have you?” he dares ask, once he sees it’s a safe playing field once more, his hips moving slow, his cock sliding in and out of you. You attempt at a laugh between your ragged breathing and the intense sensation coursing through you.

“No,” you respond and kiss at his chin, the light stubble pricking your soft lips, “you’re so big.” You feel his cock twitch inside and you want to curse yourself again at the comment that unintentionally riles him up because he was nestled close to your spot again. Fuck, he could reach just the right depth in you.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you don’t want to go slow anymore. Fuck Wanda and this movie, you wanted all of Bucky now, “please fuck me,” you resort to begging. He inwardly growls and his hips start snapping forward, thrusts growing hard and uncalculated. You just lie there and allow him to use your pussy for his pleasure.

Bucky’s movements falter a bit in this position, so he steers both your bodies on their sides, still facing each other, he slings your leg high up over his hips, and resumes his task. His cock glides right back in your pussy and the new angle causes you to yelp and walls to clench around him.

“You feel so good,” his voice riddled with so much lust as he brings your body closer to his with a hand behind, full of your plushest asset. Your head rests on the bicep of his other arm that was underneath it.

Bucky’s expressive eyes ask you if you're close, and the more your walls continue to grip him, he starts begging for you to come with him. “I’m gonna cum,” he warns, giving up and letting you take the rest of the lead.

“Yeah?” you huff out, your fingers digging into the side of his hips, “you want to cum inside me?” You know he does; you can feel and see it written all over him, but you want to just poke at him like he had with you, “I want you to...I want all your cum inside me, Bucky,” and you wanted him to cum hard, deep inside, “fill my tight pussy up, please,” you plead.

With one more jab of his hips, your back arches and head is thrown back, you can’t help but let out a scream as your orgasm rips right through you like it’s never before. Bucky’s body on the other hand caves into yours, feeling almost paralyzed as your tight walls hold him in place and all he can do is bury his face into the sweaty skin of your neck.

His mouth hangs open, a plethora of profanities coming out of him, and he waits for his cock to finish spewing ropes of his hot, thick cum into you. Your walls can’t help but to involuntarily contract in small aftershocks, especially when he’s still coming.

Bucky continues to moan as he does as you hoped, he came hard and deep inside you. When you’ve both finally come down from the high, it’s silent, and even though you’d both long forgotten you were on a set with multiple people watching you two, they were also quiet, completely taken back by the performance.

Incoherent cries come out of each of you, when Bucky agonizingly pulls his cock out. For the most part you’re able to keep him inside, but he’d proven to come so much some of it seeps out and runs down in streak fashion along your thigh, staining the bed sheets.

In your last act, as your gazes meet each other again, your fingers dip inside your soaked cunt and coat them. Hypnotized by you, Bucky watches as you greedily suck off his essence from your digits, and you evoke a small hum in his favor at the taste bursting in your mouth.  

Bucky bites at his bottom lip, trying to not lose it again. When your hand disappears, he tenderly wipes the matted hair away from your face, smoothing your hair back before pulling your body close again, swooping your lips for a deep kiss.

“Shit, you’re good,” he admits, when he pulls away, effectively breaking the blissful silence. You bust out in a fit of giggles beside him and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, but it’s not something you’re supposed to feel towards your co-star, especially in the porn industry.    

He smiles at you, basking in your afterglow and all he knows is that he wants to feel this high with you over and over, so he decides to risk it all, “I hope this doesn’t ruin the moment, but can I take you out some time?”

You try your best to read him, wondering if he was just still in the heat of the moment. Either he’s really good or he’s being sincere, you can’t tell and you’re hoping you’re not overthinking it, but his eyes, this whole time, were what gave him away. He performed with them and he definitely spoke through them.

Before you could accept and give him a definite answer, you’re both brought back to reality, “we’re still rolling here!” Wanda reminds.

A/N: Thank the pain meds for this. I think I effectively used up my vacation days the right way, won’t you agree? Likes, reblogs and comments/emojis are appreciated! 

[the-iceni-bitch]

She Keeps Me Warm

Pairing: Valkyrie/Brunnhilde x fem!Reader

Words: ~1.3k

Summary: Hilde gets a little jealous after you hang out with Nat and Bruce.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (edging, fingering, f receiving oral sex, edging), jealous Val, cute alcohol fueled antics, SMUT!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: Thanks to the nonnie who sent me an ask for a jealous Val fic. I’d been having trouble coming up with something to write for her and this was great!! I also have a planned threesome fic with her and Carol that is going to murder me, so let’s all look forward to that one.

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!!!

Hilde was glaring at you from across the table.

Bruce and Nat had decided to visit  Tønsberg on a whim, and as happy she had been to see the big man, you had been flirting with Nat the entire time. Sure, she had lived a very interesting life, and you were always great at small talk, but you were laughing way too hard at her stories.

Now you were babbling with her in Russian, which Hilde didn’t even know you spoke, and she had to do her best to focus on what Bruce was trying to say to her.

“Hey, angry girl, you still with me?” He said, giving her a grin when she turned back to him.

“Yeah, big guy. I think it’s almost time to turn in though. How much vodka have the two of them had?”

“Yeah, c’mon Romanoff, we’ve gotta get up early.” He said with a shake of his head, drawing her to her feet as she whined and cursed at him in Russian.

“Ok, you too, Y/N.”

“Aww, du fikk det kjære.” Great, you were speaking Norwegian now. “Jeg elsker deg så mye.”

She sighed as she started to drag you out of the bar, your own legs not up to the task of carrying you. “Jeg elsker deg også, Y/N.”

You were giggling like an idiot as the two of you headed back to your little cabin, Hilde eventually losing patience and tossing you over her shoulder, making you let out a whoop. She jumped when you started slapping out a rhythm on her ass, singing a stupid song to yourself about it, still in Norwegian.

“No more vodka for you.” She huffed after she kicked your door open, dropping you onto the couch with a squeal.

“Du er ikke morsom.” You grumbled, blowing a raspberry at her as you struggled to take your sweater off. 

“I’m loads of fun, but you, you’re too much.”  She watched you try to extricate yourself from your sweater for about a minute before rolling her eyes and moving to help you. How you managed to get your head stuck in your sleeve was a mystery. “You enjoy flirting with that little redhead all night?”

“Ha, er du sjalu?” You were making grabby hands at her as you gave her a stupid, sloppy grin that devolved into a frown as you struggled with unbuttoning your jeans.

“Are... are you just gonna speak Norwegian the rest of the night then? Is that what you’re doing?” She started to unbutton her flannel as she watched you roll around as you tried to remove your jeans. “And I’m not jealous!”

You snorted at her as you finally managed to get out of your jeans. “Løgner.”

She caught you when you almost fell off the sofa as you tried to remove your bra, wrapping a hand around your arm. Her other hand moved to grip your jaw, tilting your head up so she could look into your eyes.

“How drunk are you?”

“Been worse.” You mumbled before nipping at the pad of her thumb.

“English, good.” She murmured, a smirk teasing her lips as she stepped forward and pressed her lips to yours. “Cause I want you to know exactly what I’m doing when I take you apart.”

“Oh, shit.” You moaned, gasping when she slid a hand down your torso until she could shove her fingers into your panties.

“Yeah, shit.” She purred in your ear, her fingers sliding easily through your slick coated folds. “Imagine how I must have felt watching you put your hands all over Nat, and let her put her hands all over you. You like acting like a little slut, baby?”

You whined as she slid two fingers inside you, digging your hands into the couch cushions as she stretched you open. Lewd squelches filled the tiny living room as she fucked you, sliding her digits in and out of you easily and curling them against that spot that made your eyes roll back in your skull.

She slid another finger into you and started brushing her thumb over your clit softly, grinning into your neck as you started whimpering. Your breath started to hitch and your pussy started clenching around her fingers as she brought you closer.

Suddenly her hand was gone, your orgasm receding as you let out a pathetic whine, huffing and turning to glare at her as she circled the couch. She just winked at you as she licked her fingers clean, moving to kneel in front of you and ignoring your pouting.

“Seems like you need a little reminder of whose pussy this is baby.” She started pressing soft kisses to the insides of your thighs as you squirmed with need.

Her fingers hooked under the sides of your panties and drew them off you in one swift motion before diving in. A shiver radiated from your core as she ran her tongue over your slit in a heavy stripe, lashing kitten licks over your clit and holding your hips down so your couldn’t writhe against her face.

“So much better when you hold still baby.” She cooed, grinning as you mewled pathetically. “Tell me whose pussy this is baby.”

“Hilde!” The cry you let out was absolutely wanton, your breath coming in needy little pants as she took you apart.

“That’s right sweetheart, all fucking mine.”

Her tongue thrust into you without warning, curling against that sweet spot that made you almost pass out. You felt a coil forming in your abdomen, warmth spreading from your core fast as you held onto the couch for dear life.

“Fuck, I’m so close. Don’t stop. Shit, oh god right there.” You were babbling like an idiot as you felt a wave of pleasure looming over you.

She felt you clench and grinned, sitting back on her heels and denying your orgasm again as you screamed with frustration. Her smile was wicked as she watched you sob, a sweaty, needy mess who was sagging into the couch.

“Say you’re sorry, and I’ll let you come.” She ran her fingers over her face slowly, cleaning your slick off her chin and sucking it into her mouth with a satisfied smirk.

“But I didn’t do anything!” You whined, kicking your feet like an angry toddler and squeezing your knees together to help relieve the throbbing ache between your thighs.

“I don’t care, say it anyway.” She sank next to you and nuzzled into your neck, tracing a trickle of sweat with her tongue and grinning as you whimpered. “C’mon baby, otherwise I’m just gonna edge you all night until you can’t even think.”

“Ugh, I hate you.” You rolled your head to pout at her and frowned when she gave you a wicked grin. “Fine, I’m sorry I flirted with Nat.”

“Oh, good girl.” She purred, wrenching your legs apart and shoving three fingers inside you with no preparation. “Now I’m gonna make you come fast, then I’m gonna sit on that pretty face until you pass out.”

Her palm ground against your clit and you wailed, your entire body vibrating around her fingers and your release soaking her up to the elbow as you came violently. You yelped when she scooped you up and flung you over her shoulder with a wicked grin, singing her own little song about how she was going to absolutely ruin you as she carried you to the bedroom.

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[sanghyukstattoos]

Care

Summary: Almost any day now.

Genre: crime au; fluff-fluff; smut-smut-smut (spanking and submissive behaviour, amongst others)

Characters: B.I I Kim Hanbin x reader x Bobby I Kim Jiwon

A/N: None of the images in the collage are mine, please refer to here for more; For SF9 writings, read here and for iKON, read here~~

The place is a motel, straight out of an American movie. You would not see a place like this anywhere else in the world, or even visit one for that matter. But he had insisted. He brought you here, on a whim, spontaneously. The bed is fine, less than clean but not dirty either. Upon first glance, the place is retro. ''Out of an American movie'', you had said out loud. He chuckled, ''I guess it is.''

Now he is balls deep in you. Caressing your side, in a soothing manner, soothing your cries and whimpers because of the stretch he causes. But it's more than that. The cries of his name that fall from your lips is because of how he pleasures you. Surges of arousal rocks you to and from. With every touch he fills you.

Hot and cavernous are his kisses. You only lean away for breath. Ironic that it has to be something so intimate to occur in such a setting. With every kiss, your hot cries are muffled, like he wants you all to himself. So that no one else can hear you. It is the small space between the two of you, within which all the sounds of resulting pleasure come from, that cultivates such precious memories.

Maybe it was the thrill of running away. From the police you were running, gasping for breath. You wonder if you are going to go to jail. That can not happen. There was conflict of the mind. You were scared, when you were running through the barbed-wired gates but for a brief moment, you looked at the two of them and laughed. Such a weird moment it was; you can't stop thinking about it.

''Let's play some music'' he had said. As he kissed your collarbone and fluttered down your breasts, taking a perk bud into his mouth, hot and heavily, music played through the speaker. In between fast- paced and slow-paced, regular maybe, it played in the background. It was like nature, enough to leave an impression but also enough to pass by.

Hanbin sucked on the skin above your breasts, skirting the area with the warm touch of his lips, his mouth doing it's dirty work. He loves tasting you, the smell of your skin would embrace him too, in this act. Without Jiwon. The atmosphere is different, more serious. With Jiwon it would be light, some jokes would be thrown around. Where is Jiwon?

Out taking a risk. He could be caught. You and Hanbin are here, without a care in the world. Finish what you start. A couple of thoughts are involved in this. He absolutely needs to be naked with you, to let go of all his worries. Motivated by his concerns about the three of you getting caught by the police? High off adrenaline? Whatever it is, you push him on his back, straddling him with a bright smile.

Moans and groans ensue from the man underneath you, whose chest you have your hands roam on, freely. Exploring. Your mouth falls open, jaw slacks when you sink onto his hard cock, circling your hips. The two of you are way past any concerns at this point. He caresses your backside, kneading the flesh in his hand.

You fall forward, on his chest. He slapped your backside, rather harshly, eliciting a moan from you. Anything he does would be pleasurable to you right now. Not less than twenty minutes later, Jiwon comes back. Flash of fear radiates throughout your chest. Your first instinct is to freeze but Hanbin's isn't. He covers you with his body, shielding you from view.

You look like you are caught. You can not see much but you relax. It's Jiwon's chuckle, ''You guys are doing this? Go on, it's not like I haven't seen her naked before.''. You mumble something for Jiwon to shut up, which he laughs at, ruffling your hair before dropping off the groceries on the table.

''Shit you scared me man.'' Hanbin murmurs, ''Plus, we were done, just cuddling.'', he motions, wincing as he slips out of you and into his jeans. You lay on the bed for some time, contemplating, looking outside with your limbs splayed all over the sheets. In a moment, you find them in the bathroom.

Jiwon is freshening up, all his clothes removed, hastily placed on the counter. He only wears his boxers. You grab your shirt from the side, putting it on. Jiwon momentarily loses his train of thought when he glances at you. ''What was I saying? Ah'' was what he said, welcoming you with a hug.

The conversation stops short. He hugs you, in relief, I'm back, so to say. He nuzzles himself in your hair, breathing in the scent of home, what it smells like. Committing it to memory just in case he does not come back anymore. Hanbin looks up from his phone, smiling at the two of you. It can not be the same without either of you or something like that, he thinks.

''What happened?'' you ask in the embrace with Jiwon. It sparks a need from him, he's open to the idea since there's a bed big enough to fit the three of you out there. He needs you, but not now. He has something to tell you first.

''Let's get out of here first.'' he motions to the bed that makes up for most of the room.

Hanbin doesn't say anything, he follows you out into the room. ''We have time, we can stay here for sometime. Unless the two of you want to get out of here, which is perfectly fine by me. Actually, I think we should move.'', Jiwon looks out the room, confirming his idea.

Hanbin seats you in between his legs, his chest touching your back and opposite Jiwon who is close enough to touch your knees. He rubs your sides, blowing out air in nervousness. He tries to keep calm. He can't lose his calm now, especially not in front of the two of you. Shit like that is contagious.

''Where should we move?'' Hanbin asks. This has to be thought out carefully. Choices have to be rationalised right now. The more choices the better, but then it would feel as if it was wrong, like this can't be right.

After that conversation, Jiwon takes the two of you to the pool he found earlier. To relax. You feel that he's doing this because you won't be able to rest, maybe for a really long time. Jiwon thinks hard to himself that he wants the three of you to be together. More peacefully as compared to the situation that you currently are in. Maybe in a foreign country, relaxing on the beachside, something like that.

He'll make sure that it happens, just the three of you. He knows that you aren't one for settling down but it's better than going to jail. That's how it is at this point. Alone would endanger you with no help and three is a support but easy to pick off when together. Stuck. Perception?.

He's on the other side of the pool, waddling his legs and leaning against the granite wall. The pool is blue, brightly so. Sun shines throughout the whole area. Hanbin is at the opposite end; you are swimming towards Jiwon. You took off your t-shirt earlier. You are naked right now. What can Jiwon do?. He knows that this was perfect.

Jiwon reaches out for you as do you for him. He switches so that it's you against the wall. You already know how this will play out. But every time is a new experience. Of experience but new? Fresh is the optimal word. You kiss him lightly, giggling some and laughing some.

He reached for your sex, easing a finger or two in without warning. His groin stirs at the scenario. You were already wet from having sex with Hanbin, he had eased you up. But like this? You must have been ready for a second round. You would have done so if Jiwon hadn't come back then.

If he was more than a second late, he would have seen Hanbin ramming your pretty ass into the creaking bed, without a care that the bed should be intact because it's the only one you have. For three people. He could have joined in. But now he had you all to himself. He turns you around, telling you to place your hands on the wall.

You do so excitedly, he can see the flush on your cheeks at his suggestion. ''From the back?'', you ask even though you know. He hums, placing a kiss on your neck, pumping himself a few times before he sinks into your warmth. God, it is glorious. He is lost for words. The feeling of relief after a long day spent running and what not. He always had the energy to do this with you.

He rocks you against the edge of the pool, shifting the water in waves. Hanbin doesn't watch for the first half, but he can hear. And his cock grows hard when he hears. Especially what you say about Jiwon's dick and how it is like an intrusion between your legs. Fuck, he thinks. You cry out in pleasure, like you had moments ago, cutting off your speech short.

It is how hard you were holding onto the edge, grasping the granite, moaning out like the mess you were. Jiwon noticed the red print, like a shake darker than it should have been. The mark on your backside, made by Hanbin. He grits his teeth at that instant. He pulls you back by the neck, asking, ''What were you and Hanbin up to when I was gone huh?''.

His tone is punishing and you know where this is going. You are about to love this. He takes your silence as disobedience. He lets go of your neck, letting you fall back to the edges. Jiwon forces you straight when he fists your hair, printing your backside red. Tears rim your eyes. You will find it hard to sit afterwards.

Jiwon is angry. Unsuccessfully, he had pushed it away earlier. By going out, he was risking his life, your relationship. He could have been caught. But he walked in to see the two of you having the time of your life, of course, it angered him. And this is how it was coming out. Frustration.

He hits till you cry out for him to stop. He goes much more slowly then. He caresses your tummy, avoiding your sore spot altogether, asking, ''You okay? Do you want me to stop?''. You sniff, finding him peering at you with those inquisitive eyes, always inquisitive.

You disagree and he continues on, till he rips your release out of you. Before you can slump, Hanbin catches you, sliding in front of you. You lean on his chest. Jiwon kisses you, leaving the pool. You pull him back, ''Where are you going?''. He kisses your hand, meeting your smile, ''I'll be back.''.

You are a little tired, not by much. Hanbin holds you till Jiwon comes back, with a bottle of lube and a condom. ''Huh?'' you murmur, realising that you are not done, at least not yet. Jiwon slips back into the pool, the warm body of water enveloping his figure.

Two different people, two different scenarios. Perhaps not all the resources are available but you have time. Enough to let both of them fill you up before you leave for the open road.

[ladyfogg]

Heal My Wounds - Part 1

Heal My Wounds - Part 1 of 3

Fic Summary:  After you meet the infamous Kit Walker, you realize that he cannot possibly be guilty of everything they say he is. Determined to treat him with kindness and compassion, you end up falling hard for the handsome man with gorgeous dark eyes. But you both are playing a dangerous game and you must decide just how far you’re willing to go to save the man you love. Part 2. AHS Masterlist. 

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: War by Poets of the Fall

Pairing: Kit Walker/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Slow Burn, tw: mental illness, tw: asylum setting, tw: violence

A/N: I ended up finishing this a lot quicker than I thought I was going to. Enjoy! For @tatestripedsweater​ and @kitwalker02​. 

You’ve seen many things during your time at Briarcliff. Being a nurse, you deal with truly awful alignments, either self-inflicted or acquired under “mysterious” circumstances. This usually means that a guard roughed the patient up or Dr. Arden can’t be bothered to treat them himself. You learn to expect the worst, not in the patient but in what they are afflicted with. In truth, your heart goes out to every one of them. Regardless of what sent them to Briarcliff, it is always your mission to treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve. 

Which is why, when you hear that the infamous Bloody Face, aka Kit Walker, has been transferred to the asylum, you try not to be concerned. You knew all about Bloody Face and what he’s done and when they arrested Kit, you aren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was, “Good riddance!” However, you force yourself to change your tune once you learn you’ll be treating him at some point. Plenty of dangerous people had come and gone through Briarcliff’s doors. You aren’t going to treat him any differently than you would the other patients.

No matter how dangerous he is. 

It isn’t long before you find yourself face-to-face with him. He is there less than a day before he’s brought in to see you, his lip and his nose a bloody mess, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. His appearance surprises you even though it shouldn’t. You read the papers; you’ve seen his face. Yet, in person, he’s so handsome it takes your breath away and you need a moment to compose yourself.

“What happened?” you ask Kit as the guard forces him to sit on the bed. He is bound with cuffs and chains, an overkill if you ever saw one. 

“He got into a scrape with another inmate,” the guard says in a gruff voice. “Bloody Face here got the worst of it.”

“They’re called patients, not inmates,” you correct him with a glare. “And I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mr. Walker. That is his name, that's what he will be called while he’s under my care.”

The guard, whose name you think is Hardy, looks taken aback by your words. He is a new one who hasn’t had to deal with you yet. While many of the female staff are nuns, you are not. You are there purely for medical purposes, not religious ones. Therefore, you have no reason to force politeness to the guards. After all, why should you? They never show you any. The sooner Hardy learns you will not tolerate his bullshit, the better. 

You have been talked to by Sister Jude several times regarding your attitude but since you are appointed by the state, there is nothing more she can do. Eventually, the both of you came to a mutual understanding. In fact, you suspect she admires your non-nonsense attitude as it most often gets results. If there is a patient in your infirmary, you can call the shots. Of course, the male guards don’t like that, but they can get fucked. 

When you turn back at Kit, he has a surprised look on his face. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you ask. 

“Just my face,” he answers. “And my hands.”

You glance down and see his bruises and bloody knuckles. Clearly, he defended himself but given the fact that the other patient hasn’t been brought it, you assume Kit got the worst of it. You go about collecting what you need to disinfect his wounds. 

To Hardy, you say, “Remove his chains.”

“No can do. Not for this one.”

“His knuckles are bleeding, and I need to examine his hands to make sure nothing is broken or fractured. Remove his chains.”

There is an intense stare-off between you and the guard before he relents and unbinds Kit. Once his restraints are gone, you wave Hardy off. “You may step outside.”

“Now hold on a minute! This man—”

“Has rights. He deserves the same privacy as every other patient. Besides, I won’t have you getting in my way while I patch him up. You can step outside and wait. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Hardy snorts, annoyed and done with arguing. “Fine by me. Don’t complain if you get killed.”

“I won’t, considering if that happens, I won’t be able to. Or are you not aware how death works?”

With a sneer, he stalks away, and you heard him mutter, “Stupid bitch.” under his breath.

“Smart bitch actually,” you call after him. “And shut the door on your way out, please.” It slams behind him and you return your attention to your patient. 

Kit looks at you with awe. “Forgive me for saying so, doc. But you’re one tough broad.”

You laugh, pulling a chair over so you can sit in front of Kit. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And you have to be though, especially in this place. The gentle don’t last long. Now, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Kit extends his hands, and you take them in your own, examining his wounded knuckles. After moving each finger and his wrists, you determine there was nothing broken or fractured so you set about cleaning the scrapes. Kit watches you the entire time. Even though you don’t look up from your work, you can feel his eyes on you. 

“I think you’re the only person in this place who’s not afraid of me,” he says after a stretch of silence. “This is the first time I’ve been treated like a person since this whole thing started.”

“Should I be afraid of you, Mr. Walker?” you glance up and are immediately taken in by the soft expression on his face. 

“Call me Kit,” he says. “And I never hurt anybody. All the things they say I did are lies. I have no idea what happened to those girls and I have no idea what happened to Alma other than they took her.”

You consider his words for a moment and pull away, letting his hands fall to his lap. The bloody towel you hold is tossed onto your tray of supplies before you sit back and cross your arms. “Alright then, Kit. Tell me why I should believe you.”

Kit doesn’t seem to know what to say at first. You’ve dealt with numerous patients who swear up and down they didn’t do what they were accused of. Most of them had. Because of that, you are pretty damn good at reading people because even the best liar has a tell. An eye twitch, a knee bounce, a lip bite…anything. You trained yourself to look for these things because, in your line of work, it means the difference between life or death. 

The man in front of you doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. More to the point, you don’t feel scared of him. You aren’t made of stone; you feel fear just like everyone else. You are simply better at masking it. However, that violent vibe you’ve learned to sense doesn’t radiate from Kit and as you look into his deep brown eyes, all you see is fear, frustration, anger, and sadness. They all pass one after another on a loop. 

“I don’t have a reason,” Kit finally says after a long pause. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But you showed me kindness no one else has and I’m grateful. Really.”

“I think this place wouldn’t be half as bad as those colleagues of mine showed a little kindness too.” You go back to work, cleaning his hands. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Kit flinches as you pour alcohol over his cuts. Carefully, you clean them some more before you are sure they won’t get infected. Once that’s done, you wrap them in bandages. 

“There, good as new. Just try to keep those bandages dry for a bit. You can take them off tomorrow to let the cuts breathe. Let me make sure your nose isn't broken.”

Kit remain still as you gently cup his face, turning his head left to right in order to take stock of his injuries. Being so close, you realize how handsome he truly is. That jawline is to die for, and his dark curls looks so soft, you want to run your fingers through them. Once that thought entered your brain, you scold yourself. He is your patient and is in the asylum to see if he is fit to stand trial for murder. Thinking about him in any way other than professional is a dangerous game. And very stupid.

“That bad huh?” Kit asks with a slight smirk. 

It isn’t a malicious one by any means. In fact, it’s almost hesitant. Like he is afraid to be so comfortable joking with you. You don’t blame him considering what he has gone through. You offer him a smile in return. 

“Just a split lip and it doesn’t look like your nose is broken. It’s not even swollen. There shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

You grab a fresh towel and dip it in warm water before gingerly cleaning the blood from his face. But before you can get far, Kit reaches up to stop you. Instinctively you freeze, worried that you may have hurt him. Maybe his nose is worse off than you originally thought?

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

Kit shakes his head. “No, I’m just…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next. “I’m sorry but I just...why aren’t you scared of me?"

“You really want me to be, don’t you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just…” He stops when he sees you holding back a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

You shrug and go back to your work. “A little,” you admit. “But to answer your question, I’m not scared of you because I believe you. I don’t think you killed or even hurt anyone. I just don���t sense that sort of evil in you. As for what you claim to have witnessed, that I don’t know about. But I do know crazy, Kit Walker. And you’re not it.”

It is like the remaining tension leaves his body and Kit slumps against you, a few tears running down his cheeks. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight hug, letting him rest his weary head on your shoulder. The warmth of him is invigorating and you savor the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched in any way. Long work hours make your social life non-existent and you carefully keep your distance with your patients.

Except Kit, it seems. You don’t know why your well-constructed walls are crumbling under the weight of one interaction with one man.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he says, his voice muffled by your uniform. “No one will listen. No one believes…”

“I’m listening. But first, sit back before you get blood all over me.”

With a weak laugh, Kit pulls away.  He wipes the tears with the back of his hand which you’re grateful for because you were about two seconds away from gently brushing them away. Pulling yourself together, you continue to clean his face while he tells you his story. It’s definitely strange. The idea of being abducted and probed was one you’d rather not think about.

But you don’t just listen to his words, you watch his expression, pay attention to the tone of his voice and his body language. Even though you’ve heard some of it through the papers, it’s different hearing it from him directly. Once he’s done, you’re even more certain he didn’t kill anyone. No one who talks about their missing wife that softly and heart felt could possibly be a vicious serial killer.

It’s his eyes that give him away. There’s so much emotion and depth, you can’t help but believe him. You wish you can explain it, but some things are beyond explanation.

“You sure I’m not crazy?” Kit asks when you don’t respond to him right away.

“After that story, you’re absolutely batshit.”

He chuckles when he realizes you aren’t serious. You pull your hand away, finally done getting rid of all the blood, but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist. “Thank you for listening. I could tell you weren’t judging when I spoke, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge. Only heal.” You sit back, breaking all contact with him, hoping it’ll clear your spinning head.  “There. Now you’re just as handsome as you were before. Do me a favor and at least try not to get majorly hurt again for the rest of the day?”

“He started it.”

“Everyone always starts things here. And given your current situation, it’s best to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What’s the point? They’ve already made up their minds about me being guilty,” Kit says bitterly as you roll your tray over to the sink. He sees a pack of cigarettes on your desk and nods towards them. “Mind if I have one?”

You wave for him to go ahead as you clean up. “I wish I had words of encouragement for you. I wish I could say it will all work out. But unless they catch the real Bloody Face, your choices are either here or the electric chair.”

Kit pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights the end. “I have to see the state-appointed shrink. My last hope is to convince some head doctor that I’m not crazy.”

Your heart goes out to him. His situation really is a double-edged sword. If he proves he isn’t crazy, then they are sure to send him to trial and his death. If he keeps spouting off about strangers abducting him and his wife, then they will keep him at Briarcliff. Either way, he loses. It isn’t fair. 

“Stick to your story,” you tell him. “If it’s really the truth and that’s really what you know happened, then stick to it. I mean, it’ll probably get you confined here for life. But at least you’ll be alive.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

You don’t get to respond. The door bursts open and Sister Jude strolls in with Hardy right behind her. You wonder how long he waited outside before running to tattle on you.

“Why is this patient not restrained?” she asks in that stern voice of hers. 

“I needed to clean his hands and couldn’t very well do that when they were bound,” you say. “He’s all set now.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would leave the door open. No young woman should be alone with this one,” Sister Jude says, motioning to Kit. “Not until he’s been properly medicated.”

“He deserves just as much privacy as any of us do when being medically treated.”

“Not here. Not under my roof,” Sister Jude counters. “I like you, girl, but don’t push me on this. Kit Walker may have the looks of an angel but he’s far from it.”

“She didn’t do nothing wrong,” Kit says angrily.

Sister Jude motions for Hardy to grab Kit. Anger courses through your veins when you see how he is manhandled. “Hey, be careful! I don’t want to have to treat a dislocated shoulder,” you say.

Kit sends you a grateful smile which Sister Jude unfortunately notices. She steps up to him and in a low voice says, “Quit your leering! You don’t fool me, Kit Walker. You can keep spouting that innocent act all you’d like but I know there’s darkness in your soul.”

Kit’s body tenses and you see him clench his fists in anger. The nun yanks his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on your desk. 

What a bitch.

As he is led away, Kit dares to look back at you and you see the glimmer of another smile before he is gone. The empty room suddenly seems more so without him there. It’s strange how comfortable you feel around him, especially considering the circumstances. After cleaning up the remnants of his cigarette, you sit back at your desk. But focusing is not in the cards for you. The rest of the day, you find yourself constantly sidetracked by the handsome brown-haired man with the deep brown eyes. So much so that you get angry with yourself.

You are hardly ever swayed by just a pretty face. Then again, there’s more to Kit than that. Although, it certainly helps. The way he stood up for you even when he was in trouble spoke volumes about who he is a person. You don’t think there is a selfish bone in that man’s body.

The next day during meds, you don’t see him in the Day Room with the others. It suddenly occurs to you that after the fight the day before, he probably was thrown in solitary. You hate solitary being used for any of your patients but the thought of Kit in a small dark room, bound and alone makes your heart break in your chest. All you can do is hope he’ll be out of there soon. 

At least three days pass before you see him again, mostly because you spend most of that time in the infirmary rather than in the common areas. It’s early morning and you are enjoying a rare moment of silence when the door opens, and Kit is led in. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which has already begun to bruise and swell. 

“What happened?” you demand as you leap to your feet. 

The guard, a brute named Dixon who you can’t stand, forces Kit onto one of the beds. “He slipped and fell.”

You doubt it. Your eyes slide over to look at Kit, who gives you a subtle shake of his head. “Oh really?” you ask Dixon, narrowing your eyes in distrust. “This seems like a pretty big bump just to happen from a slip.”

“Just treat him so I can get him back with the others,” Dixon orders. 

“He hit his head. I’m going to have to keep him here for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Fine.” Dixon shoves Kit until he was laying on the bed. When he reaches for the restraints, Kit fights back. 

“No! Let me go!” Kit struggles against him.

“Those aren’t necessary,” you declare, crossing the room to try to stop Dixon. 

But the guard isn’t having any of it. The next thing you know, he pushes you away, hard enough that you trip over your feet and fall right on your ass.

“You son of a bitch!” Kit exclaims. He leaps up and punches Dixon square in the jaw.  

What happens next is a flurry of blows and swears as the men fight each other. Knowing this can only end poorly for Kit, you manage to get back up before prying the two apart. “Enough!” you snap. “No fighting in my infirmary!”

Dixon is practically snarling as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me, Bloody Face. If I had my way, you’d be in the furnace by now.”

Kit makes a move to go at him, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Mr. Walker, lay down so Dixon can bind you. If you don’t, I know the right injection that’ll make you so tired, you’ll wake up next week.”

Kit’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you with concern. You throw him a subtle wink. Breathing heavily, he sits back on the bed and allows Dixon to restrain him. Even though it pains you to do so, you help to keep up appearances. But you don’t tighten them as much as you should. Kit’s jaw is clenched as he watches Dixon’s movements, as if he’s waiting for him to attack again.

Once Kit is secured, you reach into your pocket. Unbeknownst to the guards, you carry around a sharpened scalpel for your own protection and the second Dixon lets his guard down, you press it to his neck, making him halt his movements.

“Listen here, you sick fuck,” you growl. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll shove this so far into your neck you’ll have to take your meals through a tube. Are we clear?”

Dixon sneers and takes a step back. “Whatever you say, woman. Call us when this psycho is ready to go back to his cell. And I’d be careful who you threaten. You wouldn’t want to end up like one of your patients, now would you?”

His threats send a chill down your spine, but you keep your hand steady, the scalpel still pointed at him as he backs away. It’s not until he’s out the door that you cross the room so you can lock it behind him.

“Are you alright?” Kit asks the moment it’s clear the two of you are alone.

You cross the room, pocketing the sharp instrument as you go. “I’m fine, Kit. Don’t worry about me.” As quick as you can, you undo his bindings. “Sorry about this. I fucking hate using bindings, but it was the only way to get Dixon to leave. He’s got a nasty streak in him; I’d stay clear if I were you. Are you okay? What happened to your head?”

“That asshole smashed my face into the wall,” he says as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. “He caught me wandering out of the Day Room.”

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head down?”

“I just needed some peace and quiet. On my own terms and not in a dark dirty cell. Besides, others wander. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because the others aren’t wanted for murder. They mean to make an example out of you, Kit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You sigh and head to the icebox in the corner of the room. As you put together an icepack for him, you say, “These guards will look for any excuse to get rough. And they especially have it out for you. You have to be careful.”

“I hate this. I hate all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy. My head is so cloudy, and I can barely feel anything.”

“Those are the meds. Meant to keep you docile.” You carry the ice pack over to him along with supplies to fix up his head wound. “And suppress other impulses.”

“It’s inhumane, that’s what it is.” Kit barely makes a face as you clean the cut and dress it. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even feel like me? I think I’m slipping, doc.”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, what should I call you then? You never gave me your name.”

You tell him your name and press the icepack to the bump on his head, “Here, hold this. Your nose is bleeding…again.”

Kit does as he’s told. After a moment, he says your name. It’s soft and beautiful coming from his lips and you can barely focus long enough to hear his question. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m no priest or nun.” You start to dab at his nose with a damp towel.

“It’s not that kind of confession. I wasn’t just wandering for the sake of wandering. I was trying to come see you.”

You pause, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickering up to meet his. “Why?”

“I feel safe here.”

You go back to your work. “I’m glad you do, but I don’t want you to get yourself hurt just to see me.”

“I didn’t know that asshole was gonna beat the shit out of me just for wandering.”

“Say you have cramps.”

Kit raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“If you want to see me…I mean, come to the infirmary, tell a guard or one of my assistants that you have cramps or a stomachache. It’s something most people don’t question since stomach stuff is really common, ‘specially around here. It usually comes with vomiting or diarrhea and no one wants to deal with that.”

Kit smiles. “Good to know.”

You finish cleaning him up and add, “But don’t overuse the excuse. Otherwise, if something is really bothering you, they won’t listen.”

“Understood. Do you really think I have a concussion?”

“No. Your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring your words. I figured it would at least give you a little reprieve from everything out there.”

Kit’s smile widens. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Although, I will have to at least keep your feet bound. That way if the guard comes back, I can quickly bind your hands before they enter. The lock will only temporarily slow them down since they have keys.”

“Hey, if it means spending time here with you instead of out there with everyone else who thinks I’m a vicious murderer, I’ll take it.”

Once you have him settled in the bed, you give him a cigarette before going about your daily routine. It is nice having Kit there. Occasionally, you talk as he smokes, but for the most part, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. He asks you about yourself, minor things, nothing too personal or probing, which you appreciate. You feel like he’s also trying to keep some distance between you, understanding your position and what a friendship with him could mean.

A few hours later, when you hear footsteps coming your way, you quickly bind Kit’s hands.

It takes a second for the door to be unlocked but then it opens and Dixon enters just as you’re pretending to check Kit’s bandages. “Walker here needs to see the shrink,” he says gruffly, crossing the room towards you.

“I was just about to call you.” Your lie is so effortless it even impresses you. “He doesn’t have a concussion. You can take him.”

Dixon is rough as he unbinds Kit and yanks him off the bed. To his credit, Kit doesn’t fight back or resist, understanding the stupid rules he needs to follow if he’s going to get anywhere in this place. Once he’s gone, you start to wrap up for the day, finishing any last minute tasks before getting ready to go home. As you’re straightening up your desk, your eyes catch the medication logbook, and an idea strikes you.

Sitting down, you flip through the pages, taking a look at the medications that are prescribed to each patient. At the bottom of the list is Kit’s name and, with a quick flick of your pencil, you manage to subtly cut his doses in half. It’s not much. You wish you can outright stop giving him the meds but that’s impossible. Hopefully, this way he’ll start to feel like himself.

You expect to be worried or guilty for what you’ve done. But honestly, you don’t. It feels right. Far too many patients have lost themselves in Briarcliff and you’re determined not to let Kit be one of them.

---

Kit’s world is not even recognizable anymore. One day he’s home with his beautiful wife, the next, she’s gone, and the police are accusing him of murder. He sees those damn creatures every time he closes his eyes, hears that loud noise echoing in his ears. If it’s not that he’s hearing, it’s the screams of the other patients.

When he saw you for the first time, heard you snap at the guard for mistreating him, he thought he was still dreaming. You have to be a dream. Nothing that good or sweet can possibly exist in this place. The way you look at him makes him feel seen for the first time in months.

He can’t get you out of his mind. After that initial visit, all he could think about was your warm embrace and the concern in your eyes.

To have someone care enough to worry about him meant everything. Especially during such a dark time. Trying to sneak away to see you had been a stupid idea but one he thought was worth the risk. He needed to know if he would have the same feelings each time, the same security and comfort. Do you really believe him or are you just a great actress?

The second time, you’re just as kind and generous as the first, and Kit knows that he is in trouble. A different kind of trouble than he already is in. This one is emotionally based and has the potential to end very badly.

Kit knew himself well enough to recognize the signs that he is falling for someone. You have only known each other a short while but already he can’t get you out of his mind.

The day following his first appointment with Dr. Thredson, he sees you in the Day Room and has to stop himself from immediately going over. It’s clear you’re busy, making the rounds and checking in on the other patients. Kit watches from a distance, smoking a cigarette as he leans against the back wall. Your kindness extends to everyone you come in contact with. He watches with admiration as you sit patiently with Pepper, checking on the small scrapes and abrasions she has.

You smile and his breath gets caught in his throat. Fuck you’re gorgeous.

Curiously, Kit watches as you slip something into Pepper’s hands before moving on to someone else. It turns out to be a small chocolate, which Pepper immediately devours before going back to her book. Kit smiles.

You catch each other’s eyes across the room just then. It’s a charged moment, like nothing in the world matters but the two of you. He makes a move to walk towards you, unable to help himself anymore. But then meds are called, and the moment is lost. Kit stubs out his cigarette and gets behind Lana as everyone lines up for their medications.

“This is bullshit,” Lana mutters under her breath. “Not all of us need medication. I don’t like that they force it on us. Makes my head all foggy.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Kit asks, echoing your sentiment from the day before. “Keep us under control.”

“I have a point. One I’d like to shove right up their asses.”

Kit snorts at Lana’s blunt phrasing. At first, she had been weary of him but now the two have developed a mutual understanding. Neither one of them belongs there and it’s better to support each other than fight. The line moves and Kit watches you join your assistant to make the medication process go faster.

When it’s his turn, you hand him his cup and briefly, his hands touches yours. It’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through your fingertips and into his, coursing through his veins at such a speed it makes his head spin. On the outside however, he remains calm, bringing the cup up to his lips to knock back his meds. Except, he notices they look slightly different than the days before. His eyes briefly dart to yours and there’s a subtle change in your expression. Your eye closes just enough to seem like a wink without fully being one.

Kit downs the meds with less hesitation than before.

Sadly, he can’t talk to you after that. Once meds are distributed, you go back to the infirmary and he’s left alone once more. Briefly he considers faking a stomachache to see you again, but your warning is still ringing in his ears. The fact that you offered him the excuse was risky on your part. He doesn’t want to get you in trouble by overstaying his welcome in the infirmary. Even though he is curious about the medication change, he lets it go.

It’s not until he’s in his room that night that he realizes he’s feeling clear-headed. Usually, once lights out comes around, the meds have him so loopy he rolls over and goes to sleep. Or at least tries. This time, however, he feels more like himself. Of course, that also means he’s more aware of the dark and the loud screams, but once they subside, he’s left with silence and his own thoughts.

She must have lowered my meds or something. She’s fucking amazing.

Kit smiles, curling onto his side as he allows himself to think about you without worry or fear. Again and again your meetings replay in his mind and when he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. The way your soft hands gently held his made him flex his fingers instinctively. Those lips of yours…he’d given anything to kiss them.

Kit’s eyes fly open when he feels his cock swell. It’s been so long since he’s felt any kind of sexual desire even before being medication. It’s a wonderful change of pace, however now he has a slight problem. Kit feels ashamed of himself for thinking of you sexually. All you’ve done is show him kindness and he’s thinking about doing all sorts of things to you. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

This turns out to be a bad idea. The pressure of his body against the hard mattress causes wonderful friction and Kit finds himself pressing his hips down for some semblance of relief.

Fuck it, he thinks, shoving his hand in his pants. I need this right now. I need her.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this himself. It takes a second to find the right angle and rhythm. He stays on his stomach, arching his back just enough to give his hand room as he jerks himself off. Burying his face in his pillow, he bites down to stifle his moans as he pictures you in your nurse’s uniform. The way it hugs your frame suddenly assaults his vision. When you had leaned over him to check his head, he had caught just the barest hint of cleavage. Then, he had purposefully closed his eyes to be respectful.

Now, it’s all he focuses on, thinking about how he’d love to run his tongue across your salty flesh while his hands cupped your tits. He’d bury his nose in your skin and inhale your scent before kissing and sucking every bit of you he could reach.

Would you moan his name? He bets you would, and he bets it would sound fucking fantastic.

Kit grips himself tighter, speeding up his movements as he keeps the fantasy going in his mind. Suddenly, the angle is too constricting, and he rolls onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he hand brings him closer to coming.

He pictures it being your hand. Pictures him laying in that hospital bed, you leaning over him and jerking him off as you watch his face. He thinks of you telling him to come for you and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he explodes, coming all over his own hand as he quietly moans your name.

Sweating and panting, Kit lays there in his bed, heart racing and head spinning. He uses his blanket to clean himself up, tossing it onto the floor before curling into a ball. He expects the shame or guilt to hit him any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to feel either. All he feels is aching in his heart for the real thing.

The next morning, when they open the cells, he remains in bed. Once he hears the guard come closer, Kit begins to moan in agony, clutching his stomach.

Thankfully, Hardy is the one who check on him. Ever since you told him off, he’s been mostly tolerable to Kit. At least to his face.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks.

“My stomach,” Kit moans. “I think…I think I ate something bad.” When Hardy kicks Kit’s soiled blanket aside, he adds, “Wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I felt real sick last night.”

Hardy wrinkles his nose and gestures for Kit to get up. “Come on. I’m taking you to the nurse.”

Laying on the theatrics, Kit forces himself up, still hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

You’re sitting at your desk when he enters. The morning light is filtering in through the barred windows and it catches you ever so slightly. Enough to almost make Kit forget he’s supposed to be in great pain. When you see him, your face grows concerned.

“This one is moaning about a stomachache,” Hardy says. “Where do you want him?”

To his dismay, Kit notices you’re not alone today. There’s a patient asleep in one of the other beds. You’re out of your chair in a second, pressing one of those soft hands to his forehead.

“He’s burning up.” Your ability to lie so smoothly makes Kit admire you even more. “Here, let’s get him on this bed right here.”

Hardy and you help Kit onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, one that’s hidden behind a divider. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” you say, tucking Kit in. “It’s probably just food poisoning. I’ve told the cook a million times they need to store the food better.”

“Think he needs to be tied down?” Hardy asks.

“No, of course not. Have you ever dealt with a patient who’s tied down and soiling themselves? My job is hard enough as it is. I won’t be dealing with that today.”

Kit makes retching noises if for no other reason than to see Hardy grow pale and uncomfortable.

“Oh, you better go before he starts up,” you urge, shooing the guard away.

Kit keeps up the act until he hears the door close and you turn to him, giving him a wide smile. “Wow, bravo. Great work, Kit.”

He smiles, sitting up. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a shot as an actor when this is all over.”

You chuckle and glance over at your other patient to make sure he’s still sleeping before sitting on the chair by Kit’s bed. “How are you really feeling this morning?”

“Better, actually. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Well…it did seem overkill to have you on such high doses of medication when you aren’t mentally unstable. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you off them completely.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kit says, reaching out to lay his hand over yours. “If anything, I’m sorry for you having to take that risk. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or worse, because of me.”

You look down at his hand and he immediately draws it back, worrying he may have crossed a line. There’s something in your expression that puts him on edge. He can see that you’re struggling, which only makes him feel worse. He berates himself for foolishly giving into his desires. Already things are tough, and the future is scarily uncertain. He’s on the hook for murder for fuck’s sake.

Before Kit can continue the self-deprecating spiral, you surprise him by carefully getting out of your seat and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Kit…” you say. “This friendship between us…I don’t know if it can continue.”

Kit’s heart sinks and he looks away from you, his gaze now fixated on the floor. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s not safe being near me in any way. Honestly, it was stupid of me to come here like that. As much as I like spending time with you, I never want to put you in a compromising position. I’ve seen these guards and I know how they treat women. You’re in just as much danger here as I am.”

Your hand takes his, and he snaps his head up to look at you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. For the first time since you met a few days ago, he hears the slightest crack in your voice. “I’m worried because, if we continue this friendship, I know that for me, one day, it might not be enough.”

His heart speeds up at your confession. Kit can’t believe his ears. The fact that you are feeling even the slightest bit of the attraction to him that he’s been feeling for you is enough to give him the sliver of hope that’s been severely lacking over the last few weeks.

Kit hesitantly links his fingers with yours, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. When he says your name, his throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can go on. “I have no right liking you as much as I do. I don’t believe in God, but I can’t help but think that you’re my damn guardian angel. Because of you, I’m actually starting to think that maybe there’s a way out of this. Or at the very least, staying here won’t be so bad so long as you’re here.”

Your gaze softens and you look away, trying to hide the tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. With his free hand, Kit reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb. He can’t stop himself from cupping your cheek, needing to feel the warmth and softness against his palm. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch, a shaky exhale escaping through your parted lips.

Your lips.

Kit’s eyes can’t look anywhere else. They look so inviting. He bets they’re just as soft as the rest of you, maybe even more so. Without even stopping to think what he’s doing, he starts to lean in, so slowly that you don’t seem to notice until you open your eyes to meet his. You pull your head back. Not abruptly or angrily, but enough where he gets the message to stop. Kit sighs with disappointment at the refusal. But a second later, you’re leaning in this time, at the same achingly slow pace he had been before.

Your lips brush and there’s a heated charge that soars between you, making you pause before you even properly get a kiss. Your eyes are wide as they meet his, searching for the same thing he’s looking for in yours: permission, acceptance, desire.

Kit closes the distance.

With one hand still cradling your face, he kisses you deeply, drawing your body as close to his as he dares. He feels you melt under his touch and it urges him to keep going, to keep kissing you, to deepen the kiss so he can savor the intense waves of desire washing over him.

You let him, opening your mouth so that his tongue can glide along yours.

It all becomes too intense for the both of you and you have to break the kiss, panting as your foreheads rest against one another’s.

“This is such a bad idea,” you say, the breathlessness of your voice making Kit’s cock twitch. “We have to be smart and we have to be careful. If we really can’t stay apart, then you have to listen to what I say and follow my instructions. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Kit says. He’d honestly agree to anything you say at that point. “Trust me, baby. I know the stakes.”

“Me too.” You take a deep breath and pull away, breaking all contact with him. It immediately leaves him cold and wanting more. “My assistants will be coming to collect the meds any moment. I need to go prepare.”

You reach out to cup his cheek and Kit holds your wrist, keeping your hand there for another moment so he could savor the contact. The way your eyes soften at him only makes him want to kiss you again. Instead, he settles for a peck on your palm before letting you fully pull away.

As you stand and collect yourself, you take a step towards the divider before you pause and look back at him. “No one can know, Kit. Not if you want to stay under my care. If anyone finds out there’s something between us, they’ll transfer me somewhere else and I won’t be able to protect you.”

The fact that you’re scared for him in this scenario and not yourself makes Kit want to throw you on the bed and ravish you. “I promise, I will find a way to clear my name,” he says. “Then once I’m out of here, I’ll take you away. Far away where this place can’t reach us.”

You smile and reach out to stroke his cheek again. “Easy there, Mr. Walker,” you tease, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb. “Keep talking like that and I may think you’re already falling for me.”

He watches you walk away, only one thought on his mind. Too late for that.

[flightlessangelwings]

A Man’s Weakness

Comandante Veracruz x fem!Reader

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: cursing, mild violence, blood/injury, minor character death, mention of smut, kidnapping, very pissed off Veracruz, Veracruz secretly veracares (thanks @tintinwrites​ for that lol)

(gif by @thewaythisis​)

~

Veracruz stormed out of the building and grumbled to himself about what an asshole that guy was. He had just met with a new drug lord named Ceferino to discuss trade routes in which Veracruz and his men were supposed to provide protection for. However, Veracruz did not like the deal that Ceferino offered him, and pulled his gun when he felt like he was being shorted on his end of the deal.

The comandante paced in front of the building as he replayed the argument in his head. His gun was pointed right at Ceferino, yet he didn’t flinch. In fact, he deemed it appropriate to threaten him at that moment.

“Every man has a weakness, comandante,” Ceferino chuckled darkly, “And I’ll make it my mission to find yours.”

“Well you’ll be looking for a long time señor, because I do not have one,” Veracruz spat back before he was forcibly removed from the office.

“Hijo de puta!” he shouted as he punched a nearby car and didn’t even care whose it was.

Veracruz shook his hand and didn’t even fully register the pain from all the rage he felt. He paced a few moments more before he decided that after he debriefed his men, he’d go to the one place where he could relieve his stress and tension

*

You and Veracruz both collapsed into the bed in exhaustion. He showed up at your door with a snarl on his face, and his hands were on you before you could even close the door completely. Hours later, you were both finally spent and you both laid out on your bed completely nude.

Veracruz laid on his back with his eyes closed and you were on your side to face him. You knew from the moment he stepped into your apartment that something was on his mind, but he was too busy slamming into you to ask about it. Now that he was calmer though, you really wanted to know. 

Normally you didn’t ask questions about what he did when he wasn’t with you. You knew that he was in the Colombian military and you knew that not all of his business was exactly legal, but beyond that, you were completely in the dark. What you didn’t know was that Veracruz kept it that way on purpose.

You traced your hand along his chest as you worked up your nerve to ask, “Something on your mind?”

He just grunted in response, and surprisingly he slung an arm around you and pulled you close, “Nothing for you to worry about, querida.”

“V, I’d like to think I know you better than that,” you retorted as you looked up at him.

“Do you?” his voice was laced with annoyance as he gripped you tighter. Veracruz let out a sigh before he finally decided to open up just because he needed someone to talk to about it. And he trusted you, “This asshole tried to cut me short of a deal. Thought he could cheat me.”

“His mistake,” you chortled.

He gave you a squeeze; that pleased him, “I’ll figure out a way to deal with him, don’t you worry your pretty head about that.”

You smiled into his skin, “You always do, V.” You left it unsaid that you always worried about him, especially the times that he was gone for weeks at a time. But, he always came back to you, which was a huge relief. 

Veracruz kissed the top of your head. He would never admit it but the best part of his week was when he visited you. He tried to convince himself it was just for the sex- which was incredible- but there was a voice in the back of his head that said it was more than just that. You were even allowed to call him by that ridiculous nickname; if anyone else tried to call him “V,” they would get smacked across the face with the barrel of his gun.

The sun set soon after, and Veracruz decided to stay over for a while longer. Usually, he left soon after you two had sex, but tonight he wanted you close to him. He didn’t even realize how late it was until he woke up hours later in the middle of the night. Veracruz looked down at your sleeping figure in his arms, and since you were sound asleep, he let himself smile at you and lightly brushed his fingers across your face.

But, Ceferino’s words echoed in his head and Veracruz thought about what his weakness really was. He frowned, and he realized that he needed to leave. He wouldn’t risk Ceferino tracing his movements back to your place, so the middle of the night was the perfect cover to sneak out.

Carefully, Veracruz slid out of your bed and got dressed. He thought he was quiet enough, but just as he was about to leave your bedroom, he heard your voice call his name.

“It’s 3:30 in the morning,” you grumbled, sleep still apparent in your voice, “Why don’t you just stay?”

“I can’t,” he met your eyes and was quiet for a moment, “Lay low for a while.”

You sat up and pulled the sheets to cover yourself, “Why? What’s going on?”

He hated the fear in your voice, though he would never admit it out loud, “Nothing,” he said curtly, “I’ll be gone for a while. Just…” keep yourself safe.

Veracruz crossed the room and without another word, his lips were on yours in a passionate kiss. You sighed into the kiss as you leaned into his body and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. 

He didn’t linger, however, and the comandante abruptly broke the kiss before he turned to walk out of the door. He knew he had to deal with Ceferino sooner rather than later, and he couldn’t afford any distractions. You were enough of a distraction for the moment to dull his rage, and now he needed to focus.

Veracruz met with his men in the morning and worked on a plan to discreetly take out Ceferino. It proved harder than he thought, though, and the drug lord was never without any bodyguards. He tried to corner him a few times over the next few weeks, but every attempt on the man's life failed. Frustrated, the comandante found his way back to your apartment.

But, when he knocked at your door, it was silent on the other side. He growled as he knocked again and called your name. But still, there was no hint of movement from the other side of the door. After he tried again, Veracruz had a bad feeling and decided to break the door down.

He burst through your front door and shouted your name. But his face dropped at the scene that greeted him: your place was a complete mess. Your bookcase was knocked over and your curtains were ripped. Everything that was on your coffee table was now on the floor and the rug was pushed to the wall. Obviously, there was a struggle, and it made the rage build up within Veracruz again.

He shouted at the top of his lungs as he rushed out of the building. Once he was outside, he got one of his men on the phone and shouted orders at them, “Pull all our resources! Find her! Now!”

Veracruz hung up and buried his face in his hands as he shook with anger. He was about to make his way back to men when his phone rang.

“I told you every man has a weakness, Comandante,” Ceferino’s voice taunted him from the other line.

“What the fuck did you do to her, Ceferino?” Veracruz growled into the phone and gripped it so hard it almost broke.

“I have to say, this is a very pretty weakness to have,” he ignored the string of curses and threats from the comandante, “And you kept her well hidden. It took me quite some time to find her.”

“Fuck you, cabrón,” Veracruz spat, “I’m going to fucking kill you. If she’s hurt…”

“You’re going to listen to me, Comandante,” Ceferino cut him off, “You’re going to meet me at the coordinates I’m sending you so we can further discuss our deal. And you’re going to come alone,” he paused, “I hope I can find you more amenable to my agreement this time.”

The comandante let out a heavy breath as he snarled, “She better be alive. And unharmed.”

“I promise your girl is fine. She’s my special guest,” the drug lord looked over at your bound figure. He had you on your side on his bed, your arms tied behind you, your ankles bound together and a gag over your mouth. You glared at him as you tried to struggle, but it was useless. 

He didn’t give Veracruz the chance to retort as he hung up right after. He only imagined the look on his face while he sent over the coordinates as promised. Ceferino was currently in a secure location in the middle of the jungle where his people made and packaged the drugs he sold. He sat in his large, more luxurious tent with you tied up on his bed.

Ceferino moved over to sit next to you, “You really are a pretty thing,” he cooed as he brushed your cheek, “As I understand, Veracruz likes to be rough with you. I can see why, you look so delicious like this. I bet he gets off on the fear in your eyes and your stifled screams so no one can hear you. I may have to find that out for myself.”

Your eyes went wide as you tried again to free yourself, but the drug lord held you down, “It’ll be some time before your comandante joins us,” darkness shadowed his features, “But I did promise to leave you unharmed, and I am a man of my word. I can’t free you from your binds though, princessa,” he mocked you with the nickname as he pulled you to sit up, “I can’t have you running free through here, can I?” 

Through your tears you glared at him and you used your new leverage to raise your legs and stop down on his foot as hard as you could. Ceferino yelped and slapped you across your face once before he pushed you down onto your back and landed a single punch to your jaw. Your pained cry was stifled by the gag. 

You were sure how long you laid there until Veracruz walked into the tent with his gun in his hand. Immediately your eyes were on him and you tensed. You had never seen him like this before, and you could practically feel the anger radiate from him. His eyes narrowed when he noticed the bruise on your jaw and your bloodshot eyes.

“Welcome Comandante Veracruz,” Ceferino spoke in a condensing voice, “How nice of you to join us,” he crossed drew space to stand close to where you laid, “Your girl has been such pleasant company. I can see why you like her,” he caressed your cheek as Veracruz shook with rage, “A pretty gem like her needs to be kept safe. You were smart to hide her.”

You flinched and shook your head away from his hand as Veracruz took the silencer off of his gun, “You agreed to leave her unharmed,” his voice was low and he grit his teeth as he spoke, “She does not look unharmed to me.”

Before Ceferino could react, Veracruz fired right into his chest which knocked him back. He landed on the ground on his back as you screamed into the gag and shut your eyes. He glanced at you briefly to make sure you were ok before he hovered over the drug lord.

He wasn’t dead yet, but his breathing was shallow as he bled out on the ground, “That… was a mistake,” Ceferino coughed as he strained to speak, “My men will kill you.”

“No they won’t,” Veracruz stepped on the wound in his shoulder, which made him cry out in pain, “Because they’re already dead.” 

From behind him, the comandante heard you whimper in fear.

“It was a mistake to expose my weakness like this señor. When a man's weakness is exposed, he is more dangerous than ever. Because he now knows how to better defend it,” he pushed harder on the bleeding wound as he threatened the man, “You’re lucky she is here,” Veracruz leaned in closer and growled, “Because your death will be quicker than I would like it to be.” 

Veracruz still didn’t want the man to die too quickly for what he did to you, so he moved over to you and untied your ankles and used that rope to bind Ceferino’s hands above his head. He then used his gun and smacked him across his face, which made him drift in and out of consciousness. 

That was for her, Veracruz thought. 

Satisfied that the man was no longer a threat, the comandante tucked his gun away and rushed over to you to finish releasing you from your binds. You let out a heavy exhale when he tugged the gag off of your mouth and he looked at you for a moment before he pulled you in right against his body. 

Veracruz said nothing as he held you close, his arms wrapped securely around your body. You nuzzled into his chest as you hugged him back but you couldn’t help the sobs or the tears that ran down your cheeks. 

You and Veracruz stayed like that for a few minutes; neither of you wanted to break away. Soon enough, you were able to calm yourself down as he held you and your tears slowed. It was then that you realized how much he was shaking as he held you tight. And you couldn’t be sure, but you thought you heard a single sob that was not your own.

When Veracruz decided it was time to go, he silently gave your arms a squeeze and started to stand. Slowly, he brought you to your feet and that was when you looked over to Ceferino’s body for the first time. 

“Don’t look,” Veracruz spoke for the first time since he freed you.

You met his eyes for a moment before you squeezed his bicep and stepped past him to look at the dying man in the eye. Feeling more bold with Veracruz by your side, you spoke to Ceferino one last time, “You’re wrong. He doesn’t get off on my fear. And he doesn’t like to gag me.”

A fire flashed in Veracruz’s eyes at your words as he placed his arm around your waist, “I’m taking you out of here, cariño.”

Veracruz made sure you averted your eyes from the bodies everywhere as he led you out of the compound. He took you right back to his place and stood guard at the bathroom door while you got yourself cleaned up. 

Once you were back out, Veracruz took you back into his arms again and just let you decompress as you say together on the couch. You were both silent since he rescued you from Ceferino. 

“V…” you paused for a moment, “You killed all those guys? For me?”

He brought a finger to your chin to get you to look at him, “I’d kill hundreds for you if it meant you were safe.” 

You had no words because you knew he spoke the truth. Maybe it should have frightened you, but it didn’t; you were already in deep with the comandante and you knew that his aggression would never point in your direction. Instead, you just took his hand and tightened your grip on it once. He knew what the gesture meant: “thank you.” 

Veracruz released your face to let you nuzzle into his chest again as he held you even tighter. He gave you an extra squeeze as a way to say “I’m sorry” and he made you a silent promise that you would never be in danger like that ever again. 

~

Notes: What??? A Veracruz fic with no smut?! I had this idea in my head for a while though and I really wanted to write it, cause who doesn’t love Veracruz killing a motherfucker for you, lol!

Everything taglist: @thirsty-flygirl​ @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​

Pedro characters taglist:  @tintinwrites​ @ollypopp​ @starwarswh0re​ @emesispo​  @perropascal​ @shadow-assassin-blix​ @huliabitch​ @randomness501​ @absurdthirst​ @clydesducktape​ @lackofhonor​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @girlwithanewplan​  @wickedfrsgrl​  @theravenreads​ @maryan028​ @wonder-jedi​ @lilangeldevil006​ @agingerindenial​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @thewaythisis​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @the-wishmonger​

[trashyswitch]

The New Life of a Dying Afton

Michael walks himself to Henry's house, gutted and disintegrating like a zombie. Henry tries to help him as best he can, and reprimands him for breaking their personal past promises.

This fanfic prompt came up after the following question ran through my head: How would Henry react to scooped Michael? This is my take on it! However, I will warn you: it's dark, gorey and quite sad at times. Though it ends on a bittersweet note, it won't change the general tone and gore within the beginning.

So despite that: here's the fanfic.

Henry was watching TV at home, trying to unwind from his day at work. It was getting tiring trying to work the long shifts these days. It was getting painful too. Some of the mechanical engineering he did in his 20’s were starting to get to him and his physical body now. His back often ached and his right hand would grow more and more painful the longer he worked any kind of machinery. Guess you could say he’s going through the Dirty 30’s of his life. Most of the time the pains and aches didn’t come till the 40’s or 50’s! But some people are just unlucky, I guess.

Henry looked at the time on his watch and sighed as he got up and started to make himself dinner. His wife was out hanging out with a few friends, leaving him to eat dinner alone. He threw some leftover lasagna into the microwave and set it to an estimated time. While he waited patiently for it to warm up, Henry grabbed the newspaper and read it for anything even slightly interesting.

He felt like a retired person: depressed, working a small part time job and living in a small, semi-old house. It worked for what he did, but he sometimes missed the good old days. The days William was a good person with only a quirky personality to prove his eventual criminal mind. It’s strange looking back now, remembering the little things he’d do that would later make sense after killing those children. He remembered the times Will would grow numb and distant, especially after something tragic happened. Example: When Chris died. Now, Henry knew that any death was capable of changing a person.

But William...almost snapped and remained that broken way up until he went missing. He almost lost it when he found out a second Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria was going to open. Why was he the only one who wanted to throw away the Fazbear Entertainment Business for good?! Was it even salvageable after the killings and the Bite of 87?! He really wanted the whole nightmare in his 20’s to be over. But the Fazbear Entertainment was not helping him to stop thinking about it. They just HAD to try and get profit off the animatronic business. He had sadly started a chain of circumstances that he can’t let go of for his life.

Even though he wasn’t the killer, Henry still felt partly responsible for the huge mess he made of things.

Henry’s thoughts were quickly pushed aside as he heard a knock on the door. Henry looked up and looked over at the microwave. It still had a few seconds left. So, Henry stopped the microwave and walked to the door.

He opened up the door. “Hello-”

Henry shouted in horror and just about died from a heart attack right there on the spot! ZOMBIE!

Henry fell his butt and scooted himself back as the zombie held his hands out. “Henry hold on!” it told him.

IT KNEW HIS NAME?! OH NO! “AAAAAH! SH- SHIT! STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

Henry tried to kick the door shut on the crippled, dead looking thing. But to his horror, the walking corpse grabbed his ankle! Henry SHRIEKED as loud as he could!

“HENRY! Henry, it’s me, Michael!” The corpse yelled to him. “Look!” The corpse pulled out his wallet and showed him his health card with a picture on it.

“YOU- YOU STOLE THAT!” Henry tried to tell himself out loud as he looked up at the face. “IT CAN’T BE! MICHAEL’S ALIVE AND FIT, AND-” Henry words started to fade as he immediately recognized the face of the poor boy he knew so well. “I-” He took the health card from him and held it up beside the face of the walking corpse.

Holy crap...it looked EXACTLY LIKE HIM! Except, it looked like Michael hadn’t taken a bath or brushed his hair in weeks! To make things worse, it looked like something under his shirt had been bleeding heavily and staining the shirt.

Henry dropped the health card in pure shock and covered his mouth. “What happened to you?!” He asked as he started to stand up.

Tears started falling down Michael’s darkening cheeks as he reached his hands out, visibly begging for a hug. Henry quickly acted, pulling him into a worried but loving hug. Michael wrapped his arms around him as well, and started crying into his shoulder. He was mentally exhausted from everything he had just been through. He was even partially holding himself up.

Henry rubbed his back and tried to ignore the slightly ghastly smell that was coming from him. He really looked like he was rotting from the outside in. He was secretly hoping the smell was just body oil drowning his skin, pores and scalp. Strangely enough though, Michael didn’t feel moist. He felt...dry. Like super dry. Like heavy amounts of Eczema was covering and destroying his skin bit by bit.

Henry finally pulled away and cupped his purple cheeks. “You...I hate to be that kind of person, but…” Henry brought his hands to his shoulders instead. “You look like shit!”

Michael guffawed somewhat quietly and cracked a yellow, lobsided smile. “I know…” He told him.

“How did this happen? And...do you need some cream?” Henry asked, slightly laughing despite the pain and confusion of seeing Michael so distressed and disfigured.

Michael looked at the back of his own hand, and nodded. “Yes please.” Michael replied, staring at the exposed skin where his nails used to be.

Henry grabbed some cream from the bathroom and handed it to him. Michael sat down on a chair in the living room, and removed the bottle cap. While that was happening, Henry got up and headed to the kitchen to get his presumably hot food from the microwave. He checked his food, and smiled when it felt nice and warm. Henry pulled his lasagna out of the microwave, and walked out to the living room again to check on his less-than-okay nephew.

Michael was putting strips of cream onto his arm and...patting the cream onto his skin instead of rubbing it. Henry widened his eyes and blinked in confusion. That is not how you put cream on. Literally no one puts cream on like that! “Uuuuuh...Doooo you want help? You act like you’ve never put cream onto your skin before.” Henry asked.

“I’m fine.” Michael replied.

HA! That’s a laugh and a half. He is most certainly NOT okay!

“If I rub the cream on like normal, I’ll remove all the skin that’s dying. So I have to be very gentle.” Michael admitted.

Henry blinked and frowned. “Then...is it even worth the fuss?” Henry asked.

“No. But it feels nice and cool.” Michael replied.

“Would...would you rather you had a bath?” Henry asked, placing his lasagna down.

“I’ve tried bathing. But...the skin and hair just falls off and clogs everything.” Michael admitted.

Henry just about gagged at that. Gosh...Whatever happened to him, must be such a pain. He looked down at his plate and...gave it a push away from him. He was quickly losing his appetite. “So what exactly happened to you? Did you get hit with radiation? Are you dying?” Henry asked. “It sounds like radiation poisoning to me. Did you hear about that Nuclear Reactor explosion that happened in Russia?” Henry added.

Michael shook his head.

“A nuclear reactor exploded, and they predict hundreds of thousands of people were exposed to radiation. Hair falling off, skin dying out, and skin color change are all part of it.” Henry explained.

Michael shook his head. “No. I wasn’t exposed to radium. But I did get hit with a metal scooping system.” Michael explained.

Henry tilted his head. “Scooper?”

Michael sighed. “A huge device that looks like an ice cream scooper, that destroys animatronics.” Michael explained.

Henry blinked and quickly looked at him. Did he just say animatronics?!

“Wait wait wait…” Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “You didn’t get yourself a job at the old pizzeria, did you?” Henry asked.

Michael shook his head. “Circus Baby’s Pizza-”

“Oh my fucking- MICHAEL!” Henry yelled. “We talked about this! I don’t want you having anything to do with your crazy fucking father! I know it’s probably curiosity that led you to do this, but come on!” Henry reacted. “Did none of that curious cat story stick to you at all?!” Henry asked.

Michael groaned. “That was 6 years ago.” Michael reacted.

“Still! It still applies here. The cat wanted to know what was at the bottom of the well, and tried to swim to get down there. But: she died before she got to see the bottom. One small question about your father, and now look at you! Rotting right in front of me!” Henry reacted.

Michael just chuckled at that. “Hey look: I died after getting my answer.”

“MICHAEL! Death is NOT a joke.” Henry spat at him. “You of all people should know that by now.”

“It can be if it happens enough times.” Michael admitted.

Henry stood up, walked right up to Michael and slapped him across the face. Michael widened his eyes and held his hand up to his own face. “That’s for not listening to me and getting yourself scooped like an ice cream tub.” Henry shot at him.

Michael frowned. “Don’t use ice cream as an allegory. I’ve heard it plenty enough for a lifetime from Elizabeth.”

Michael’s angry face morphed into surprise. “You...you found Elizabeth?” Henry asked.

“Mm hmm...Baby’s eyes changed color to match Elizabeth’s eyes.” Michael explained. “And...she was scooped too.”

Henry frowned. “Did you find anyone else while you were there?” Henry asked.

“Besides a ballerina whose voice strangely reminds me of my mother...no.” Michael replied.

Henry sighed and sat himself down. “Come on: let’s...cover up the tub drain with a drain cover, and let’s get you a bath ready.” Henry decided.

Michael looked up at him and looked down again. Something was up with him. But...he wasn’t saying anything.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong? Or am I gonna have to guess?” Henry asked.

Michael sighed again and started to lift up his shirt. Henry gasped and covered his mouth in panic as he looked at what was left of Michael’s middle. It was just a big, rotting hole of purple with only the lower ribs to identify specifically what was missing.

“Does…” Henry almost felt the need to put his hand in between the hole. “Does it hurt?” He asked, holding his hand out.

Michael gently took Henry’s hand and led it into the hole. The moment his hand went an inch deep without touching anything, Henry pulled his hand away and shook his head in disgust and fear. “It’s okay. Look:” Michael stuck his own hand into the hole, deeper and deeper. Until, he flinched slightly from the strange feeling of his hand touching his spine and nerves. Henry yelped and covered his mouth with his fist with anxiety filling him. He was so nervous he was gonna drop dead at any moment.

Michael removed his hand and gave Henry a smile to show ‘everything’s weird, but fine’. Though the deep red blood on the boy’s hand didn’t help much.

Henry almost shivered. “You sir...are really testing my stomach.” Henry mentioned.

Michael giggled and brought his bloody hand closer to Henry’s face! Henry shrieked and fell right off the couch! Michael bursted out laughing at the reaction, and got up to clean his hand.

“Ew ew ew ew gross- That’s the most inappropriate thing you could’ve done!” Henry reacted.

Michael just leaned forward against the sink and laughed at him. Henry’s reaction was perfect!

“Oh! OH! You wanna laugh now? Alright, you asked for it!” Henry stood right up, walked up to Michael and started tickling his ribs.

Michael yelped. “AAAHAHA! HENRY, WAHAHAIT!”

“WOW! Dead, purple, but still ticklish as ever!” Henry reacted. “Guess your death hasn’t killed off your nerves yet.” Henry brought Michael against the counter, turned him around to lean against his back, and continued attacking his ribs.

“STAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIT! WHYHYHYHY?!” Michael asked, through his strong laughter.

“Why?! Because not only did you manage to break the many rules we agreed on, but you managed to nearly get yourself killed!” Henry reacted.

Michael grabbed Henry’s hands and held them away as he tried to breathe. “Hohohold ohohon…”

“Okay, okay. Take your time.” Henry allowed him.

Michael looked up at him. “Ihihi...Why though? Why did I live after...getting scooped?” Michael asked. He didn’t wanna tell Henry about Ennard, knowing he’ll flip even more if he mentioned a sentient animatronic that wanted to disguise himself.

Henry’s looked down a little and bit his lip. “Well…” He took a moment to think of how he was gonna tell him. “The only way I can describe it...is by giving it a name. I call it ‘The Afton curse’.” Henry explained with an awkward chuckle.

Michael frowned. “...Ouch. I know my family has a bad wrap, but I’m still an Afton too.” He admitted.

“I know, I know. It affects more than just the Afton family as well. Example: my little Charlie.” Henry admitted.

Michael looked down.

“Basically: The Afton family and those who’ve known William, have the unfortunate habit of possessing animatronics.” Henry explained. “But you seem to have gone down a new option: zombifying.” Henry explained.

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “You sound like an alien conspiracy theorist.” He told him.

“I know, I know. But it’s the only way I can explain the ‘possessing animatronics’ thing.” Henry mentioned. “Also, it doesn’t exactly help that the children William killed also rotted in the animatronics.” Henry added.

Michael made a disgusted face. “Great...I’m rotting without an animatronic to hold me together. And I’m stuck with this family curse because I’m genetically linked to a killer.” Michael groaned. “I have never wanted to slap my father across the face more than I do now.” Michael admitted.

Henry laughed a little. “Don’t we all?”

Michael smiled at that. “Can we...stop talking about the ‘Afton curse’? And maybe go back to the ‘You died! Time to tickle you!’ thing?” Michael asked.

Henry laughed and was taken back. “Really?!”

If Michael could have blushed, he probably would’ve at that very moment. “I mean...yeah! I kinda feel like laughing-” Michael’s explanation was quickly interrupted by a pair of hands tickling his ribs again. “HeheheHEHAHAHAHAHA! OHBOY- OKAHAHAYHYHYHY!”

“I don’t think I fully remember just how ticklish you are. I doubt you even remember either! It’s probably been a while since you were last tickled.” Henry admitted.

“YOHOHOHOU THIHIHIHINK?” Michael reacted.

“Yes! Now hush. I wanna hear some squeals and snorts from you.” Henry ordered jokingly as he lifted one of his arms up.

“HEHEHEHEhehehe...Henry, don’t even think about it!” Michael ordered. Henry only smirked at this and wiggled his fingers really close to his armpit. Michael yelped and developed a wobbly smile with nervous giggles spilling out.

Henry couldn’t stop his evil facade from breaking. He soon dropped his wiggling hand and started laughing. “Ihihi’m nohot even tickling you!” He reacted.

Michael tittered into the side of his closed fist. “Cahahause ihihit’s the suspehehense!” He explained.

“The suspense? For something you told me you wanted?” Henry mentioned. He started wiggling his fingers again and finally touched down on the vulnerable armpit. Michael shrieked like a bat, and completely lost himself in his laughter. “Wow!” Henry reacted. “I don’t mean to sound insulting, but you sound a little like the Joker.” Henry admitted.

“HEHEHEHEY! IHIHIHIHI’M OHOHOFEHEHEHE-”

“Offended? Did I offend the son of a famous killer? Are you gonna vow vengeance on me and get him to kill those who bully you?” Henry teased.

“WHAHAHAHA?! HAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” Michael shook his head and kicked his feet wildly.

“Oh, you’re not?! Thank goodness! I would’ve been a goner!” Henry teased.

Michael kicking started to reach Henry’s belly and waist, leading Henry to grab his feet. “Hey now! Who told you you could kick me?” Henry asked.

Michael’s laughter fell into giggles once again, mixed with panting. “Sohohohohorryhyhyhyhy.” Michael told him.

“I’ll forgive you, but you gotta promise me-” Henry pulled off his socks, “you’ll never try and kick me again.” he started skittering his fingers onto his foot.

Michael threw his head back and snorted before falling into rapid giggles. “Hehehehehehehenryhyhyhyhyhy! Nahahahahahahaha!”

“Wow! You’re still able to talk after all this? Your lungs must’ve grown extra strong when you died!” Henry teased, giving Michael’s chest a couple pats.

Michael’s giggles paused, and were quickly replaced with coughs. Henry quickly let his foot go, walked up to Michael and patted his back to help him cough it out.

“Ohohow...Ow. I think my lungs are broken.” Michael admitted.

“Was tickling you a little too much?” Henry asked.

Michael shook his head. “No. I needed that. Thank you.”

Henry smiled and fluffed his hair. “You’re welcome.”

Michael’s eyes went cross-eyed when he felt a bunch of his dead hair falling down his face. It felt weird. Henry widened his eyes and looked down at his own hand:

It was completely covered in Michael’s hair.

Henry looked down at his hand, back up at Michael, back at his hand and back up at Michael again. Not sure how to react, Henry rubbed the hair from his hand onto Michael’s chest. Michael laughed at this and just took it. Guess all the zombie jokes can be made. Starting after his drain-clogging bubble bath.

[psychovigilantewrites]

Red Robin Yum

Pairing: Tim Drake/Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 5,107

Summary: Reader seduces Tim in a grocery store, hoping to see him snap. 

A/N: Special thanks to my beta reader Ms. Potato. I can post a pic of the ahem “outfit” if you guys want! 

Masterlist

Ao3

“Are you mad at me?” you heard your boyfriend ask from behind you.

Pausing for a moment before reaching for the yoghurt, you smiled to yourself.

“And why would you think that?” you turned around to face him. Tim was slumped over the handle of the shopping cart, the frown lines on his forehead deeper in contemplation than it usually was.

“Because,” he reached for the carton of milk and held it up to you, “You got normal fresh milk.”

“Well, we needed milk, didn’t we?”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” he furrowed his brow, “And you didn’t get lactose free. On purpose. You’re mad at me.”

“Go and get the lactose free one, then,” you smiled sweetly before turning away again.

You weren’t actually mad, but you thought it would be fun to mess with him a little. God knows he needs a little colour in his life.

“Babe,” he sighed, reaching for your wrist. “Come on. Tell me why you’re mad.”

“You’re the genius, why don’t you figure it out?” you snapped and crossed your arms.

Trying to maintain a deadpan expression, you watched as his eyes sharply zipped around the aisle as he recalled the events of the previous day. You genuinely enjoyed looking at him while the gears in his mind were turning because he seemed so focused.

“You were fine throughout the day and dinner,” he thought out loud, “Even up till I went to bed. Which means that you’re upset over something that happened between the moment before we slept, and the moment we woke up this morning and got ready to come here.”

“Bingo.”

“Did I accidentally kick you while I was sleeping again? I’m sorry! I can never tell when-”

“No, Tim,” you rolled your eyes, “Think harder. I thought you had an eidetic memory.”

“Not when I’m sleep deprived,” he whined. “Come on. Please?”

You could never resist his puppy dog eyes, and damn did he use that to his advantage.

“Fine,” you shifted closer to him, as close as you could without actually kissing him, causing his breath to hitch and his complexion to turn a few shades darker. Glancing around the grocery aisle to make sure it was vacant, you looked up at him and gave him a cheeky smile. “I can just show you, then.”

You had carefully chosen your outfit that day and had premeditated the whole thing. The top you were wearing was a loose-fitted off the shoulder blouse with a low neckline. All you needed to do was tug the shirt down a little further to reveal the red lacy lingerie hidden underneath.

“W-w-what are you doing?” he hissed, eyes wide in panic mode, head darting around to check the perimeter.

You grinned smugly and pulled the neckline back up. “I wore this to bed last night and you didn’t even notice.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he breathed, “I was just so sleepy, the only thing on my mind was the pillow, and--Fuck- is-- is that my…?”

In addition to the lingerie, you had stitched his Red Robin symbol on the left breast of the lacy cup.

“Mhmm.”

“And the shade. It’s...It’s exactly the same?”

“Yup.”

“Fuck,” he carded his fingers through his hair, “Why are you wearing it now?”

“Revenge, Tim,” you winked. “Come on, let’s see what else is on that list.”

“Uh, yeah,” he looked down to the piece of paper he was gripping tightly in his hand, “Aisle seven.”

As the two of you strolled in that direction, you noticed that Tim was on much higher alert than before. You suppressed a smirk.

“Fruit loops, fruit loops...” you hummed, “Ah, there it is.”

You were familiar with the grocery store, and you knew the box of fruit loops were on the bottom shelf. So you bent down, your ass graciously displayed towards Tim, and you let the hem of your top hike up your back so he could get a sneak peek of the matching red laced bottoms.

“Jesus-” you heard him breathe. “Ah, fuck.”

You dumped the box in the trolley.

“Alright, what’s next?”

“Baby,” he groaned, pulling your waist closer, “I’m sorry for not noticing you last night, and I promise I’ll make up for it, so could you please stop this? We’re in public.”

“This is what revenge looks like, Tim. Pretty, but painful.”

“How about we just go through the aisles real quick, pay, and go straight back home?” he bargained. “See, there are only a couple of items left on the list.”

Tim’s grocery agenda wasn't like the average person’s list. Instead of randomly writing down ingredients, he would divide it all by store sections to maximize convenience. He had every aisle memorized and would jot down the aisle number first at the top, followed by the groceries you would need to get at the bottom.

It was unusual, but it was definitely more efficient.

“Or I could drag you to the back exit, get on my knees and suck your cock,” you offered innocently.

He didn’t make a sound at that, but almost exactly like in cartoons, you could see how his face turned slowly red, from the base of his neck all the way up to the tips of his ears.

As cute as the reaction was, it wasn’t near the main reason why you liked to mess with Tim so much.

“Let’s just complete this list,” he huffed indignantly, “Wait- shit. See what you did? We missed something in the refrigerated foods section.”

“What is it?”

You grabbed the can of whipped cream before he could. He narrowed his eyes at you.

“Pshhhtt,” you mimicked the sound, and when he was least suspecting it, brushed the cap of the whipped cream against one of his nipples.

“Wh-what the f- stop,” he jolted.

“Pshhhtt,” you brushed it on his other nipple.

“I swear you’re-”

“Pshhtt,” you continued, but this time, you brushed it at the front of his crotch, earning an sharp inhale from him.

Then, maintaining eye contact, you stuck out your tongue and flicked it up and down in a suggestive licking motion.

He roughly snatched the can from you and threw it into the trolley with such force you were surprised it didn’t shatter. Then, he turned to you and scowled. “You’re going to regret this. A lot.”

And then he pushed the cart to the next section of his list, ignoring the delighted girlfriend he left behind.

Inside, you were gushing with excitement. Push Tim’s buttons for a bit, and you get to see his other side. You bit your lip distractedly at the mere thought of it.

“Coffee. Coffee. Coffee...” Tim muttered to himself absently, a frequent habit of his.

“Oh, no. You promised,” you scolded with displeasure etched across your features. “You promised that after pulling off the last few days- hell, the last few weeks- that you’d give up coffee for a bit so you could rest.”

“I know,” he nodded blankly, “But I need coffee for energy.”

“You don’t need energy to rest,” you argued, “You took the next week off from your day and night time activities. I even took the week off so I could spend time with you.”

“Then you’ll need coffee too.”

“What? What for?”

His eyes radiated intensity as it made contact with your own, and the corner of his lips tilted sideways into a smirk. “Did you really think you could get away with this, baby?”

He ignored you afterwards, speeding from aisle to aisle to complete the list, leaving you in a state of excitement.

You expected the car ride to be him complaining to you about how you turned him on, but on the contrary, he was silent the whole way. However, his grip on the steering wheel and the accelerating speed of the car spoke volumes.

“Tim? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grit, continuing to glare at the road. From that angle, you could see his sharp jaw clenching.

“You’re driving pretty fast there, buddy,” you pointed out, stifling a giggle.

“I’ve driven faster.”

“Now it seems like you’re the one who’s mad at me,” you smirked.

“Mad? No, I’m not mad at you,” he let out a humorless chuckle, “I’m furious with you.”

“But why?” you pouted.

“Why?” he repeated, “Why?”

Without taking his eyes off the road, he grabbed your wrist and shoved it onto his crotch.

“This is why.”

Your eyes widen at the feel of his hard erection trapped under the confines of his jeans.

He took a deep breath and put his hand back on the steering wheel. Three and nine o’clock position, per usual.

“You’re so hard, Tim,” you purred, giving him a squeeze that didn’t phase him one bit.

“And whose fault is that?” he huffed, “Now please stop. We’ll be home soon.”

“Ten minutes is not soon enough, Tim.”

“We’ll be there in five.”

Home was a nice apartment in Old Gotham with large windows, and most importantly for Gotham City, a safe garage. But despite being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, it was a very humble abode for someone of his social status.

It was one of the things you loved about Tim. He didn’t want the lavish lifestyle, just a comfortable place to work and rest.

The elevator ride up was quiet but intense, the silence making you jittery. You knew what was coming next, which was why you had provoked him in the first place.

Ding went the elevator, its doors opening.

Tim nodded at you to go ahead first while keeping the doors open, being the absolute gentleman he was.

He inserted the key to the apartment door.

You gulped.

He twisted the knob and pushed it open.

Your heart was hammering against your chest.

Taking a nervous step inside, you dropped the grocery bags on the counter and waited. You heard him close the door and lock it, and then his soft footsteps inching closer towards you.

He did it on purpose, letting his footsteps be heard, because you knew he had naturally developed the habit of walking silently- all of them did. He did it so you could anticipate his arrival, until he was just a hair’s breadth away from your back. So close that you could feel his heat radiate onto you.

And he stood there for a bit, not moving an inch. And again, it was all done with purpose. He wanted you to get nervous because he wasn’t touching you yet, because he hadn’t slammed you against the wall and kissed you hard.

You could almost feel the electricity between you, and you knew that he was just as extremely aroused as you were, if not for the hardness that was poking into the flesh above your ass.

It was like a game.Who would break the silence first?

You heard him take a deep breath, and then sigh.

“Why’d you have to go and provoke me like that, sweetheart?”

Ah, fuck, you really pushed him overboard this time. You recognized that voice. It was clear and soft, barely even a whisper, yet it was laced with a silent threat that made you start sweating.

It was a dangerous voice that Tim Drake had used, and now you weren’t sure if this was all going according to your plan or his.

“Y-you’re the one who didn’t notice me last night,” you stuttered.

“And I said I’d make up for it, didn’t I?” he drawled, resting his hands on your hips, finally touching you. “Yet, you still pushed me.”

Most people thought that Tim was the gentle, passive one in the family. Hell, you thought so yourself. And he was, for the most part. He was soft spoken and awkward, he was sweet and thoughtful.

But most people didn’t know how much he repressed himself. His frustrations and his desires, all for the sake of objectivity.

You learnt that about him the first night the two of you had sex, though catching you off guard, you were pleasantly surprised.

“So what do you have to say for yourself?” he whispered in your ear, his breath tickling.

Were you going to try your luck and push him further?

“Absolutely nothing.” Yes, you were.

“Baby...” he warned, still in that soft and soothing tone, “Are you really going to make me punish you?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” you arrogantly defied.

The moment that last word left your mouth, you felt him spin you fast to face him. And now, you were looking up at him.

His eyes were dark, his pink lips slightly parted- but he looked calm. Dangerously calm.

And that was Tim Drake. He had authoritarian control over his emotions, keeping a straight face the whole time. Calculative and cold- that is, until he let go.

It had been a while since he properly let go, and you were trying to draw out that side of him that day.

“Get on your knees,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“Now,” his eyes flashed with annoyance. So you did what you were told, and now you were eye level with his crotch, appreciating the contour of his covered bulge.

You looked back up at him.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you immediately unbuckled his belt and took his cock out of his briefs.

He let out the tiniest sigh that anyone could have missed if they weren’t waiting for it.

His cock stood tall and proud, the tip already leaking, and you could see how it pulsated gently in the rhythm of his heartbeat, brushing against his t-shirt and staining it with his pre-cum.

You gripped his shaft-

“Wait,” he stopped you. “Safe word?”

“Carotids.”

“And when your mouth is full?”

“Tap three times.”

“Good girl. Go on. And no hands,” he instructed.

And with just that, you knew your plan had succeeded.

You shifted closer to him to position your mouth over his shaft, gently massaging it with your lips, slowly getting it wet with licks and dribbles of spit. You worked your way up from the base to the tip, then started sucking on it with the smallest pressure.

His breaths were getting heavier by the second, and you could already start to hear his little gasps.

Time to take it up a notch.

You took him in your mouth, sliding your lips down until his head hit the back of your throat.

“Hnng, fuck,” he moaned loudly.

When you first started dating, you found out that Tim had full control over his reactions to horror movie jumpscares and being punched in the face. He basically had control over a lot of normal human instinctive reactions. The one thing he had no control over, though, was how expressive he was when feeling pleasure.

You bobbed your head up and down his shaft, taking him in with finesse thanks to your many practice sessions with him while he took breaks from work. You studied his reactions closely, and got well at reading his expressions.

His eyebrows were now drawn together, and you knew that he had begun to lose himself in the feeling, so you slid his cock out of your mouth and grinned up at him.

He looked at you.

“Are you teasing me?” he asked.

“Whatever do you mean, Tim?” you smirked.

“Oh, no baby,” he shook his head, then suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair from the back of your head, “You don’t get to do that to me today. Mouth open, hands at the back, I’m going to fuck your face like you deserve.”

He shoved his cock into your mouth roughly, the sudden invasion making you gag and tear up, and started to fuck himself with your mouth, thrusting his hips while controlling your movements with the hand on your head.

“Fuuck,” he groaned, “Fuck, baby. I love it when your throat close around me like that.”

You could hear the vulgar sounds of yourself gagging on his cock. And then, like a routine whenever he snapped like he did, he jammed himself deep, forcing your mouth to go all the way down and touch the skin on the base of his cock, and stayed there while your throat fought its hardest to push him out.

“Argh, that’s it baby,” he hissed, “5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Okay, breathe, breathe.”

He took himself out to allow you to breathe, drool dribbling everywhere while you gasped for air.

“Good girl, good girl,” he wiped your tears away, “Again.”

He tapped his dick on your lips, and you opened obediently to allow him to choke you with his cock.

“Fucking- fuck-” he gasped, “5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Breathe, sweetheart.”

You panted for air, aware that you were a huge mess, as you felt your shirt get soaked.

“One more, baby. Fuck, you look so pretty with my cock down your throat. A little bit longer, okay?” he coaxed, “ 8.. 7… 6… 5…”

Through teary eyes, you tried to look up at him. You saw him smirking, his face tilted to the side to get a better view of you choking on his dick, which made you squeeze your thighs together.

“...4...3...2...1… Okay, baby breathe,” he took his cock out and started caressing your hair, “Good girl. Now open up again.”

You complied to him, letting your mouth fall open on command. This time when he pushed himself inside, he started fucking your mouth roughly again, twisting his fist in your hair until you could feel it sting, controlling the pace of your mouth on his cock.

“Fuck, baby, fuck,” he moaned out loud, “I’m gonna come inside your mouth, baby girl. Fuck, you look so pretty being fucked in the face.”

Even if you wanted to reply, you couldn’t. Your mouth was being used aggressively by him, and soon after you could feel his pace getting sloppier.

“Baby, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he breathed, “Fuck, I’m gonna- I’m gonna come-”

Tim was relatively quiet during the day with other people unless he’s explaining or contributing to something. He would add a few quips and snarky remarks, but he was never the one to fully exhibit his emotions.

But sex? He was the most vocal during sex.

He let out a low and long moan, mixed with breathy pants. Tim’s sex sounds drove you insane. It was him truly letting go.

You felt the warm splash of his cum inside your mouth and like the good girl Tim said you were, you swallowed down every last drop.

Looking up at him through hooded eyes, you gave him a grin.

“Your mouth makes me come so fast,” he chuckled, “Come up here, sweetheart.”

Your legs were shaky, and you were burning with desire and arousal, but you managed to stand up.

He pressed his mouth to yours, but it wasn’t a kiss. Instead, he shoved his tongue inside your mouth and started exploring it, as if he was trying to lick you clean.

“I love tasting myself in your mouth.”

“Tim,” you breathed, dizzy with want.

“Look at you,” he took a step back and looked at you up and down, “Such a messy girl. Your shirt is soaked. Take it off and show me what you’re wearing underneath.”

You immediately started stripping, lifting your shirt above your head, pulling down your jeans to reveal the red lace lingerie that consisted of breast cups and lace covering only the middle section of your abdomen, going down to the lace panties, that were secure with knots on either sides like a bikini bottom. For ease of access, of course.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he groaned, pulling you against him, hands squeezing your ass. You could feel his wet cock get hard again against your tummy.

A hand travelled to your left breast- where you stitched his symbol, squeezing it.

“You better burn this image in your mind, Tim,” you smirked, “For not noticing me last night.”

“The best part about having a photographic memory is that I don't have to,” he smiled, “I can conjure this image of you whenever I want. You sucking my cock, you wearing the sexiest Red Robin uniform to ever exist, and… you lying down on the bed with your legs spread open.”

You got the hint and gave him a peck on the lips before turning to head to the bedroom. Tim didn’t follow behind you, but you got on the bed anyway, lying down on the white sheets and spreading your legs, eager to fulfil his fantasy.

Touching yourself slowly, your hands traveled down to your thighs, caressing your own skin, finally going between your thighs and gasping at how wet and turned on you were.

You started to touch yourself over the lace panties, moaning at the relief of pleasure.

Lost in your own dirty thoughts, you jumped when you heard footsteps coming closer. Tim was leaning at the doorway, smirking at you with his arms crossed.

Completely naked, his hard cock bobbing against his abs.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” he chuckled, entering the room to stand at the foot of the bed proudly.

“Tim, please,” you groaned, “Need you.”

“Aww,” he cooed, “Are you begging?”

“Yes,” you whined, grinding the heel of your hand on your clit, lifting your hips off the bed. “Please, Tim.”

“Okay, since you asked so nicely.”

He bent down and buried his face in your crotch.

And then took a long, deep breath.

“Mmm, baby,” he purred, “You smell fucking divine.”

He opened his mouth and laid his tongue flat against your covered pussy, letting the heat and the wetness from his saliva consume your center.

“I can taste you through this,” he gasped, “What the fuck? You’re leaking through. And I only just touched you.”

You let out a desperate whine.

“Jesus, you really like getting your face fucked, huh?” he chuckled, fingers deftly untying the knot on either sides of your panties to expose your pussy to him. “I’m not going to eat you out. This is a punishment. I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to use this pussy. Okay?”

“Please,” you breathed.

He lined his cock to your entrance, and without warning, immediately thrusted in deep.

You yelped at the sudden, delicious stretch, appreciating the feeling of him filling you up.

“Fuck!” he cried, “Fuck, you’re so wet, it went in just like that. Fuck, baby, fuck.”

He grabbed the back of your knees and lifted them up, spreading your legs wide so he could start the brutal pace of pummeling into you.

“Fuck! Tim!” you sobbed, utterly consumed by the pleasure. Because Tim’s cock was so fucking perfectly shaped, every time he penetrated you, he was already touching your deep spot.

“Baby, your pussy,” he groaned, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you feel so good.”

“Tim, I’m going to-”

Suddenly, the euphoria was all gone. His cock wasn’t in your pussy, and he had his hand around your throat, leaning down above you.

“Baby,” he whispered in your ear with the same cold voice, “You’re not going to come until I tell you to, okay? I’m going to fuck you until I come, and I’m going to come inside you, but you’re not going to come.”

“No!” you shook your head miserably as your voice came out hoarsely, “Please, Tim, I-I can’t take it.”

He leaned back and gave you a chilling smirk, “You wanted to be Red Robin so badly, didn’t you? Well, Red Robin doesn’t beg or whine. So you’re going to take my punishment and deal with it.”

He plunged himself inside you again, hips battering against the back of your thighs as he held your legs up while he fucked you hard. You wanted to come, so so bad, but you tried your best to resist, because you knew it would be even worse if you disobeyed him.

“That’s it, baby,” he panted, “That’s a good girl. Don’t come. Do not fucking come. Fuck. Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck I’m gonna-”

You felt him spill his warmth into your pussy as he let out a loud groan. You bit your lip hard, anything to resist coming without his permission. Tim slowed down with his thrusts, his eyes tightly shut, his mouth hanging open, a thin sheen of sweat on the surface of his hard and toned body, making it glisten.

He took out his cock, and you felt his cum leak out of your hole, dripping down your ass and onto the bed.

“Mmm,” he moaned, looking down at your pussy. He then went down at your crotch, and used his thumbs to spread your pussy lips wide open, playing with his cum and rubbing it all over your cunt.

“Fuck! Tim!” you shouted because you suddenly felt his tongue on you- this time licking you up from your hole to your clit, lapping it between your folds, dipping it back inside your cunt, going to circle on your clit again.

And connecting his lips to your pussy, taking it all into his mouth.

“I love tasting myself on your pussy, baby,” he slurped, “I love tasting your juices when it’s mixed with mine.”

The way Tim ate you out was like no other. Tim was proficient in everything he did, and he tried to do it as perfectly as he could, and that included bedroom activities.

It was the way his tongue darted between your folds, knowing exactly where to apply pressure or focus more on, and the way he knew what movement you liked through his many previous experiments and exploration.

It meant that whenever he went down on you, you wouldn’t last long.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he pointed out, getting back on his knees, “Can’t have that, can we? Just a bit more, baby.”

“Tim, come on,” you pleaded, “I need to come, Tim, please.”

“Soon, sweetheart,” he answered, teasing your slick opening with the head of his cock, “Soon after I fuck my cum back into you, okay?”

You groaned. Tim was especially descriptive and eloquent in bed, which made it all the more harder to follow his orders.

He plunged back in easily, and you were full again. Full of his hard cock and his warm cum.

The angles in which Tim fucked you was also calculated, as well as the paces in which you liked to be fucked. The two of you would go weeks without sex because you respected Tim’s exigency to do the job and fulfil his goals.

But when he had his time off, it was like the sex never stopped.

All the frustrations he kept locked away would spill out during these times, and Tim being the ambitious person he is, would find a new goal to fixate on.

You.

Your weaknesses, your preferences, your kinks and your sensitive spots. He would discover so much about your body, more than you yourself knew, because he would try different techniques, different approaches, all the while remembering and silently noting every observation and filing them away in that brilliant brain of his.

And all of that swiftly brought you close to your peak not long after the first penetration.

He was pounding you hard and fast, chasing his third orgasm of the day, and quickly bringing about your first.

“Tim, please,” you sobbed as you stared at him, his mouth open to breathe in his heavy pants, his long hair messy and poking into his eyes and sticking to his sweaty forehead, his biceps rippling as he held your legs up.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he nodded, eyes closed and head thrown back, “Come with me. Come with me now. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-”

Finally, under Tim’s command, you let yourself go. You felt the approaching heat that spread from your centre and up to your chest and down to your toes, the tightness that almost paralysed your body, the white hot waves of pleasure that rippled through you.

You came hard and intense, your pussy fluttering around his cock, which was still pumping into you, drawing out every last bit of your ecstasy.

The warmth that leaked into you was accompanied by Tim’s signature orgasm noise- a mix of a high pitched whine and a low octave groan, all long and stuttered as he choked on his breaths.

He collapsed onto you with a tired sigh, lips crashing against yours as he kissed you properly this time.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Fuck, indeed,” you replied.

“I’m going to take it out.”

“Okay, slowly please- aah, fuck.”

“Mmm?”

“No, it’s just your cum. You have so much cum, Tim, Jesus.”

He chuckled and settled next to you, pulling you into his arms. You felt his cum dribble down onto the sheets, just creating an absolute mess.

“I still have more where that came from.”

“God, you’re such a cum freak,” you laughed, turning around to face him. “I’m absolutely filled.”

“You like it though,” he smiled.

“I do,” you admitted, “Feels nice and warm. Not to mention, the sight of it turns you on again.”

“Which reminds me,” he added, “Do not try to turn me on in public ever again. I do not need someone taking pictures of the CEO of W.E with a fucking tent in his jeans. Vicki Vale would sprint with that headline.”

“You deserved it,” you pouted.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry for not noticing you last night. I was tired. But you look… fucking sexy. Jesus.”

“Admit it, it was the Red Robin thing that turned you on the most, right?” you wiggled your eyebrows.

“Yeah,” he conceded, “I don’t know why. It could be the instinctual habit of humans to place a form of territorial symbolism on their partners.”

He absentmindedly moved his hand to your left breast and cupped and squeezed. “Fuck. To think that my mind gets overrun by basic animal instincts… I love seeing you in my color. Wearing my symbol. Fuck, I think I-”

“God, you’re hard again aren’t you?”

“Sorry,” he blushed, “I think I snapped again. Though, I’m sure that was your plan all along.”

“You’re the detective here,” you grinned.

“And you’re getting better at manipulating me,” he pointed out.

“Tim, that wasn’t manipulation. That was seduction,” you teased, “And it’s not that hard. You may be the youngest CEO in Gotham with a genius level IQ, but you’re still a man.”

“Fine, you asked for it,” he got up and hovered over you, “Ready for round two? I’ve got this thing in mind that I want to try out.”

“Well, how could I say no to that?”

[jalapeno-princess]

Treat You Better

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: Angst with a bunch of terribly written smut ahaha idk why I keep trying to write smut I can’t write smut to save my life

Word Count: 12.6k

Warning: Intended for 18+ audience; cheating, degradation, riding, oral (both male and female receiving) face fucking, doggy style

Summary: Mark was at the club with a few of his friends when he spots you walking in all alone. Knowing the kind of person you were, Mark was well aware that you hated the night life. You were the definition of homebody and you weren’t a fan of clubs or bars which made Mark confused seeing you making your way in to the dimly lit establishment. Not wanting anyone to take advantage of you. he finds himself walking towards you with the intentions of making sure you were safe. He then finds out that you were there to find someone to get revenge on your boyfriend Jackson with. As much as you hated the idea of one night stands and sleeping with strangers, all your rationality was thrown out the window as soon as you found out Jackson had been cheating on you with his receptionist. What started off as an innocent little dance with Mark turned in to riding him in the back seat of his car and it’s in that moment of lust that you find out Mark’s true feelings for you.

A/N: Hey guys! I’m back at it again with an extremely rushed story and I’m not too sure when I’ll have the time to write again but I hope you enjoy this story. It’s based on a song called “Soliá” by Bad Bunny which means “Used to” in Spanish. I’ve been getting in to his music a lot these days and even if I don’t speak a word of Spanish, I love each and every one of his songs (they’re actually almost all about sex hahahaha) but he’s an amazing artist and I love how he speaks out for those who can’t use their voices. If you have a chance, definitely go check him out he’s awesome and so is this song.

She arrived alone, she went out without her friends Revealed, in alcohol looking for a way out From that fake relationship Baby, I saw how you look at me I repeat it to you in case you forget it Send him a message that says To not leave you alone Because he could lose you If one day he sees you again From me, tell him to not leave you alone Because he could lose you If one day he sees you again

Mark was quick to turn his attention to you the minute you walked in to the club. Although it was extremely dark besides the strobe lights moving around, the music was blasting and almost every single person there was grinding upon one another, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to your curvaceous figure the minute Yugyeom pointed you out. 

He had to do a double take; when the younger boy nudged him and motioned towards the entrance he almost didn’t believe it was you. Everyone who knew you personally was aware of the fact that you hated bars and clubs and never understood why people would spend so much money on alcohol and having a bunch of sweaty bodies pressed up against you. 

Curiosity got the best of him; why exactly were you there and better yet, why were you alone? If anything, Mark would’ve expected you to be there with your group of friends; they were always out on Friday nights and Mark saw them every now and then but you never tagged along. Maybe they were already somewhere in the crowded room and you were going to meet them. 

There was a tiny voice in the back of his head, the one that cared about you more than he probably should that told him to go up to you and make sure you weren’t messed with by one of the drunk and visibly horny men. However, he knew not to get involved whenever it came to you. He knew that you’d never put yourself in a dangerous situation; but with the outfit you were wearing, a short, red dress that stopped right at the beginning of your thighs and hugged each and every one of your curves, he was sure you were going to be the star of the night. 

You looked extremely beautiful and Mark couldn’t find it in himself to take his eyes off of you. Your hair that was normally thrown up in a messy bun or neatly tied back in a ponytail was currently down in bouncy waves. Even from far away, he could tell that you were hardly wearing any make up and it was something he always admired about you. If he was being honest, there were many pretty girls in the club wearing outfits similar to yours and even more revealing in attempts to catch the attention of men. 

However, you didn’t even have to try to look as sexy as you did; it just came natural for you. From the moment you were introduced to one another, he noticed that you weren’t one to care about your looks or what you wore. You cared more about your job, your personality and your desire to help others rather than your appearance and what people thought about you. In his eyes, you were the most beautiful girl he’s ever met both on the inside and out. 

He wasn’t used to seeing you so dolled up. You were always so shy and modest. If you weren’t wearing your scrubs for work, you’d either be in jeans or sweats and even then, Mark would find himself staring at you in awe of your beauty. But seeing you with your breasts and ass on display for the first time since meeting you over two years ago was driving him insane. This is his favorite look on you so far. Before he could process what he was doing, he found himself walking towards you; he didn’t even feel the need to tell his friends where he was going. 

All he cared about in that moment was going up to you and finding out what you were doing there. The closer he got to you, he could feel his heart racing. This was a mistake; he couldn’t stop the gut feeling that you were upset with him and you had every right to be. Yet it didn’t stop him from tapping on your shoulder once he finally made it over to where you were standing. As soon as you turned around and a soft smile rose on your face, he released a breath of relief. He’s been beating himself up about the entire situation for the last couple of months. 

When he first found out that your boyfriend Jackson who just so happened to be one of his closest friends was cheating on you, he wanted nothing more than to find you and tell you the truth. Sure, they’ve been friends for over ten years and he’s only known you for two, but he knew cheating was wrong especially because you didn’t deserve it. Everyone and their mothers knew just how much you loved your boyfriend. You gave him everything and more on a silver platter. Whatever he needed, you got for him or did for him without complaining. Your sole purpose was to take care of him and make sure he was both happy and healthy. 

Mark was always envious of Jackson. Not only was his younger friend more outgoing and very friendly on top of being very muscular and athletically talented, but he had you. When Jackson first told their group of friends that he was in a relationship, none of them could believe it. Jackson was the definition of a fuckboy. All throughout high school and college, he was infamous for sleeping around with almost every girl in their grade. There was even a rumor that he hooked up with everyone on the cheerleading squad and although it wasn’t confirmed, Mark wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that it was true. Jackson was a crowd favorite; all the guys on campus wanted to be him and all the girls wanted to be with him. 

That’s why he couldn’t believe Jackson was ready to settle down and commit himself to one girl. The first day he met you stayed in the back of his mind for the last two years. He was quick to pick up on how soft spoken and introverted you were. Probably because he was exactly the same. It was obvious that you and Jackson were the complete opposite of each other and the longer Mark got to know you, the more he felt like you deserved better. 

In the beginning of your relationship, Jackson was such a gentleman. He was quite the romantic; took you on cute dates, bought you flowers, opened doors for you and always pulled out your chair. He was also very vocal to his friends about how much he loved you and how he thought you were the one. Never in a million years did any one of them think that Jackson was going to find someone that made him want to change his playboy ways, but you did and they still had a hard time understanding how. 

Unfortunately, temptation got the best of him once a new receptionist was hired at the company Jackson was working at. Being the overly friendly person he was, he’d start small talk every now and then with her, but then it grew in to more and one night he found himself fucking her up against the wall in one of the storage rooms. 

He knew it was wrong, and he never hated himself more than in that moment knowing that he cheated on you; the only person whose ever meant anything to him but he couldn’t find it in himself to stop. Nor did he want to break up with you no matter how much he knew you didn’t deserve it. Two months in to his affair, there was one night he went out with Mark, Jinyoung and Youngjae to a bar and he got a little too drunk. 

Only four shots in, he began going in to explicit detail about his little dalliance with the receptionist and it took every bone in Mark’s body not to jump across of the table and sock him in the face. How could he do that to you? He told the guys that he had no intentions on giving you up because you were the best thing that’s ever happened to him yet he talked about his coworker as if it was the most normal thing to do. As if there was nothing wrong with fucking someone behind your back. 

Jinyoung tried his best in keeping Mark calm; he was the only one that knew of Mark’s feelings for you. Mark knew it was wrong to develop feelings for his best friend’s girlfriend, but it was inevitable. You radiated such a bright and positive energy. Although you were always to yourself, even when you went out with their group of friends, Mark was one of the lucky ones who got to know how you really were. You were very passionate about your job; as hard as being a nurse was, you loved helping people in any way possible. 

He got to spend time with you every now and then if he went to Jackson’s place and since the two of you both worked at the hospital, you’d eat lunch together every so often and sometimes you hung out even without Jackson being there. It was in those moments; watching your eyes light up as you talked about your love for cake boss, seeing you practically stuff your face with ice cream and hearing on you talk on the phone with your mom that Mark found himself wishing that he could be more than just a friend. He wanted to be the lucky guy that loved you. 

Mark has never felt this way about anyone before and you weren’t even his to be fond over but here he was, mentally beating the shit out of Jackson and wanting nothing more than to rip that dress off of you. During one of your lunches together just a few weeks ago, you expressed to Mark that you felt as if there was another woman in Jackson’s life. 

First it started off when he started contacting you less and you understood that he was busy, but so were you and yet you made it your priority to make sure he was eating all his meals on time and getting enough sleep. Then came the excuses as to why you couldn’t hang out together and the cancellation of dates. You confirmed his infidelity when you were over at his place one day and found a thong in his hamper that obviously didn’t belong to you. When the first tear fell when you were explaining everything to him, Mark could physically feel his heart sink to his chest. 

The confession was at the tip of his tongue, but it wasn’t his place to tell you no matter how badly he wanted to. It had nothing to do with his loyalty to his younger friend, Mark was willing to drop his entire friendship with Jackson if it meant getting to be with you. But he didn’t think he should be the one to relay the devastating news, which is why he confronted Jackson and ended up giving him a black eye almost three days ago. They ended up getting in to a heated argument with Jackson confronting Mark about having feelings for you and Mark telling Jackson to let you go. 

Jaebeom and Yugyeom had to practically rip their older friend off of Jackson or they were sure he would’ve sent him to the hospital. Your boyfriend might have been more muscular, but Mark was physically stronger. For someone with such skinny arms, he could throw a punch. 

“Hey, what are you doing here? You’re not alone are you?” He was trying his best not to look at you up and down, especially because now that he was closer to you he had a better look at you and your breasts were ready to pop out of your dress. Jackson was an idiot for cheating on you. Not only were you breathtakingly beautiful and right now you looked lethal, but you had the biggest heart and Mark felt like you deserved the entire world and more. He wanted to be the one who got to experience your love. 

Jackson no longer deserved it; no longer deserved you and Mark didn’t care what happened between the two of them anymore, he was going to make sure you left Jackson for good. 

“I came here by myself actually. I really don’t know why you guys come here so often, this place is bullshit. But I think you and I both know why I’m here. I don’t see him here, he’s with her right now isn’t he?” Although you looked eerily calm, the words bitterly fell from your mouth and Mark could feel his chest tighten at the realization that you now knew of your boyfriend’s affair. 

“Y/n—“ you put your hand out in front of him and shook your head. You were there to get drunk and had every intention to end up in bed with someone later that night. If Mark were to say anything to try to defend Jackson or if he were to lie, you’d probably decide that you made a mistake in coming to the club and leave before the night could really start. You may have considered Mark a good friend, but you had a huge feeling he knew his friend was cheating on you and didn’t feel the need to inform you. His loyalty was with Jackson or so you had thought. 

“I’m here to have a good time and to find a reason to move on. Don’t worry about me Mark. I’ll be fine. I’m a grown woman, I can take care of myself.” 

When Jackson first asked you out over two years ago when he met you at one of his trips to the emergency room, he found himself falling for you faster than he’s ever done with any girl. There was something about you that was different; that stood out from all his one night stands and flings that never lasted longer than a month. To your surprise, you had a few friends that knew who he was and they informed you of what he was like; how much of a womanizer he was and how he never dated anybody. 

You told yourself you didn’t want to get involved with him and that you wouldn’t allow someone like Jackson to take advantage with you, but being the kindhearted person you were who tried so hard to see the good in people, you allowed him to take you on a date which led to many more throughout the course of your relationship. Jackson both told you and showed you with his actions just how much he loved you and loved being with you. You were excited knowing that out of all the girls he’s been connected to, that you were the one who ended up changing his ways and that you were the first girl he’s ever been in love with. 

Everything seemed to be going so well in your relationship and you couldn’t be happier. However, as soon as he began growing distant towards you, you couldn’t help but feel like there was a reason behind it. 

Hearing that you were there alone worried Mark; especially because he saw the way a lot of the men in the club were looking at you with so much lust and fervor in their eyes. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he knew a lot of the guys probably had the same idea in mind and he cringed at the thought of someone taking advantage of you. You were extremely vulnerable in that moment and for you to come to the conclusion that you wanted to go to the club with the intention of letting one of these disgusting and undeserving men get to take you home later on made his skin crawl. Which is why he didn’t find it surprising when he began following you to the bar with every intention of keeping an eye on you. 

“Mark, I said I can handle myself—“ the glare he sent your way was chilling, but it also excited you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find Mark attractive. In fact, there were some days that you considered him better looking than your own boyfriend. He had the softest heart shaped lips, the prettiest brown eyes with the cutest little mole underneath his right one, a well-defined, sharp nose and such a breathtaking smile. 

Whenever the two of you talked, you could never keep your eyes off of him. But it wasn’t just his charming good looks that had you swoon over him. It was how gentle he was; how he treated you like you were the only girl in the entire world. How he looked at you with so much admiration and adoration. How he made you feel important; made you feel things Jackson never made you feel once in your entire relationship. Since you were so in love with Jackson, you never got to admire Mark in that way. You were so blinded by love, that you failed to pay attention to your surroundings. 

That was until you found out Jackson was being unfaithful; then you began seeing Mark in a different light. You started falling for his sweet words; how he would compliment you on something only he would notice. When you colored your hair a lighter shade, he wouldn’t stop going on about much the color change brought out the color of your eyes and made you even prettier than you already were. Not even Jackson would notice things like that. He always made time for you, put effort in checking up on you and told you the lamest jokes to make you laugh. These days you’d hardly ever receive a hello from your boyfriend. 

The more time you spent with Mark, the more you began losing feelings for Jackson. You also finally came to the realization that you deserved to be treated the way Mark treated you. But Mark was off limits. There was no way you could be anything more to Mark than a colleague at work and someone who was dating his friend. You hated cheaters and the idea of cheating made your skin crawl, but you wanted to get back at Jackson for doing it to you. 

Although you didn’t think he even cared about you or what you did anymore, you wanted to hit him where it hurt. When you took your first shot of tequila, you hated how strong it was and how it burned the back of your throat, yet you found yourself downing two more and right before you could take another one, Mark grabbed it from you and downed it himself. 

“Hey, slow down. Take it easy, the night is still so young y/n.” You rolled your eyes at his comment and began looking out at the dance floor. The patron was starting to kick in and you wanted to let loose. 

“Hey Mark?” He saw the glint in your eye and he knew whatever you had on your mind couldn’t be good, yet he found himself humming in curiosity. 

“Dance with me?” 

Today she wants to dance all night long, eh She is almost single I don't introduce anyone to her, that make her bothered Total, at the end of the night she has what she wants The moon already indicated to her She posted something on her story, someone got mad Her song played and she dedicated it She says she wants to do it with me good, huh Let the windows fog The girl is grown up, how can someone scold her Don't ruin her night, huh The Kardashian is no longer for Kanye There have been many disappointments, eh Lies from all of these assholes, eh Once again they failed her She would give it a chance, but she ran out

Mark should’ve said no. There were red flags going off in his mind, but he didn’t seem to care. At all. His friendship with Jackson was nonexistent at the moment and he didn’t want you dancing with a stranger with evil intentions. You were oblivious a force to reckon with, but at the same time being quite the lightweight, you were already a bit tipsy and Mark knew you wouldn’t be able to handle yourself if he did end up leaving you all alone. 

Heat rushed to his face when he felt you reach for his hand and intertwined it with yours. Your fingers were fairly smaller, but your hands fit perfectly with his. As soon as you made it on to the dance floor, you wrapped your arms around his neck and began dancing. A soft giggle fell from your lips when you noticed how timid and flustered he was being so close to you. He hesitantly placed both his hands on your upper back but they didn’t stay there for too long. With the courage you didn’t think was possible for you to have while you were sober, you brought his hands down to your lower waist and continued to move your hips gracefully to the music. 

“Don’t be such a hardass Mark. If you’re gonna dance, do it right.” Oh he was hard all right. He was hard as soon as he saw you over twenty minutes ago. It was inevitable for him to get so turned on by you. He’s had a crush on you for almost two years now and here you were, smiling up at him while swaying back and forth to The Weeknd. After a couple of moments, Mark finally let loose and allowed himself to dance along with you. He never wanted this moment to end. You looked so free; so in your element and he wanted you to always be this happy. 

He craved to be the source of your happiness and he knew he would treat you the way you deserved to be treated. The two of you were in your own little worlds that you failed to notice that his group of friends were looking directly at you and everyone but Jinyoung were so confused. Why was Mark dancing so freely with you knowing that you were his best friend’s girlfriend? Did he not feel the least bit of weird knowing who you were and that it was wrong for him to have his hands so close to your ass? 

None of them said anything about it though and they were all still so upset with Jackson to want to tell him what was going on so they all pretended like they saw nothing. The next song was a little more sexual, and you didn’t even think as you turned around and began grinding on Mark. Your mind was too clouded with alcohol to realize what you were doing could jeopardize not only your friendship with Mark but his friendship with Jackson. However, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

Feeling his hands make their way down to your hips as he helped you gyrate your ass against his hips sent chills down your spine. As the song continued to play, your movement became more rough, causing Mark’s pants to tighten even more than they already were. He was hard as a rock and on the verge of coming by the feeling of your plump ass rubbing against his cock. Once this song was over, he was planning on excusing himself to the bathroom to fix the huge problem in his pants but not before bringing you to his group of friends so that they could keep an eye on you. 

You however, had other plans. The hardness against your ass caused the coil in your stomach to tighten and you could feel the wetness between your thighs growing when Mark started to thrust upwards. When he brought one of his hands up to your chest and cupped one of your boobs, you released a soft moan. At this point, all your sanity was thrown out the window and before you could process the entire situation in front of you, your lips were on his. 

The kiss was rough; you barely gave Mark any time to prepare before smashing your mouth against his and he knew he shouldn’t be taking advantage of you since he was aware that you were inebriated, but he couldn’t help himself. He’s dreamt of learning what your lips would taste like and feel like molded against his own and now that he knew, he wasn’t going to be able to get enough. His hands playfully squeezed both your ass cheeks before cupping your face in his palms and deepening the kiss. It was rough; your teeth began clashing against his and both your tongues fought for dominance. 

Mark felt as if his entire body was in flames; but at the same time he felt like a bucket of cold water was thrown on him and woke up each and every cell in his body. To his dismay, you pulled away to catch your breath and before he could reconnect your lips together, you went on your tip toes and whispered in his ear. 

“Let’s get out of here.” He felt embarrassed at how eagerly he nodded in agreement and followed directly behind you as you made your way towards the exit. His mind was too busy being filled up with the thought of what the two of you were going to do that he didn’t even think about letting his friends know that he was leaving and he didn’t even think he could make it back to either of your places. He wanted you now. Even if it meant taking you up against his car in the middle of the parking lot. Once you both made your way to his truck, he headed straight for the back seat with every intention on fucking your brains out. You didn’t even have to say anything; although he wished he asked you what you wanted to do first. 

He wanted to make sure the two of you were on the same page, but before he could speak up, you were pushing him down on the chair and reconnecting your lips together. You brought your hands up to both his cheeks and kissed him like your life depended on it. Although he was kissing you so passionately and intensely, you could feel like he still wanted to be gentle with you and the idea made your heart flutter. 

“M—Mark.” With the way he was looking at you with an unfamiliar look in his eye that looked like a mix of adoration and something you couldn’t put your finger on, you wanted to show him just how much he meant to you. You took one of his hands and brought it down to your extremely soaking pussy. “Fuck me. Now.” His eyes widened in shock and he didn’t think you of all people; the shy and gentle y/n who had a hard time telling patients bad news because her heart was so big who also couldn’t tell the barista in the cafe that her order was wrong was capable of having such a dirty mouth on her. He felt his resolve slowly coming to it’s end at the feeling of how wet you were and he was so close to just saying fuck it and taking you right then and there in any and every position possible. But being the gentleman he was who cared about you, he wanted to make sure that you were doing this for all the right reasons. 

“Are you—are you sure about this y/n? I don’t want you doing this because you want to get back at Jackson. Honestly it might even be the alcohol talking for you and I don’t want you doing something like this while you’re not in the right mind. Knowing you, you’re probably wanting to do it right now because you’re vengeful and want to hurt Jackson the way he did with you, but I don’t want you to regret this—“ you placed a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth to get him to stop talking before sliding his index finger back and forth along your entrance; collecting all your juices that he caused when he pressed his hard on against your ass. 

“I want this Mark—I’ve wanted you for quite some time. I came out tonight to get fucked by a stranger so that Jackson and his infidelity no longer clouded my thoughts but now—now I want you to fuck me so hard that I can’t walk for the next week. I’m not drunk at all, I sobered up the minute I felt your erection graze my ass. You—you’re all that I want Mark. Please—fuck me.” 

You didn’t care how desperate you sounded and you felt ashamed for sounding so needy, but you’ve dreamt about having sex with Mark on numerous occasions and now your dreams were going to become a reality. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice baby girl. Lay down for me, I’m gonna make you feel so good. Gonna let you know how much I’ve been wanting this—how long I’ve been wanting you for. Gonna eat this pretty pussy of yours and then I’m gonna rearrange your guts. Understand me baby?” 

You let out a soft whimper at the term of endearment. Only then did you process his words and your heart speared at the idea of him harboring feelings for you. There were a few times that you felt Mark held some kind of feelings for you. You don’t buy a donut every single day; their favorite donut to be exact for someone you considered just a friend. You don’t stay at work for an extra hour waiting for someone you considered just a friend to finish work so that you could take them home yet Mark seemed to do that for you almost every single day. 

If his shift ended before yours did, he’d wait for you no matter how long he had to wait for just so he could take you home. You questioned his feelings for you so many times, but you kept lying yourself by saying he did all those things because he was a good friend and wanted to take care of you for Jackson’s sake. Mark placed you down gently before placing his knees on either side of your hips. He left a chaste kiss on your lips before slowly making his way down your body. He started off at your neck, licking and sucking on the soft and delicate flesh. 

You let out a breathy moan when you felt him bite down all but gently on your nape and you were sure it was going to leave a mark but you were more than excited at the thought of him giving you a hickey. After loving on your jaw and neck for a few minutes, he made his way to your breasts and kissed both of them lightly before practically yanking down the top part of your dress, exposing your beautiful mounds and he grunted when he saw that you weren’t wearing anything to protect them. 

“Fuck—do you have any clue how fucking beautiful you are y/n? And how intimidatingly sexy you are? Do you have any idea, how many eyes were on you tonight? This dress—you knew exactly what you were doing when you put this dress on tonight didn’t you baby? Mmm, you like that huh? Like me calling you baby don’t you y/n? Your tits are so fucking huge and so pretty. Who knew you were hiding such a beautiful rack under all those stupid scrubs. I’m gonna take good care of you tonight—gonna make you feel so good. Jackson will be nothing but a name by the time I’m done with you tonight. Now sit back and enjoy the ride baby.” He engulfed his mouth around one of your breasts before massaging your other one and toying with your nipple. 

The feeling of him loving on your chest was such an indescribable feeling. His mouth was warm against your perky breast and whimper fell from the back of your throat when he brought your nipple in between his teeth. He continued his ministrations for a couple of minutes, flicking and nipping at one of your nubs while twisting and pinching on the other. Your hands absentmindedly made their way in to his hair and you couldn’t help but tug on it as he fastened his movements. When you felt him groan against your mounds, probably because of the grip you had on his hair, you sighed in content. He pulled his mouth off of your breast in order to show love to your other one but not before informing you exactly how much he enjoyed sucking on your tits. 

“How does it feel for you y/n? Feel good? You like how my mouth feels sucking on these pretty titties of yours don’t you? Because I know I do. Just give me a couple of minutes to spend on your tits then I’ll make my way down to your cunt. Okay? I’m gonna take my time with you tonight—gonna show you how perfect you are and how you don’t deserve anything but the best.” 

Although the two of you were doing something so naughty, you couldn’t help but smile at his sweet words. However, when you felt his tongue licking circling around your other nipple before completely taking whatever he could fit inside of his mouth, your lips formed a small “o” at the feeling. During your relationship, you and Jackson had sex multiple times and you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t a good lover. He was great in bed. 

Not only was he rough, but he was also very naughty and always whispered the dirtiest things in your ear while he pounded himself inside of you. However, he was more focused on himself; he’d always expect a blow job every single time the two of you had sex but he never ate you out unless he was in the mood. Another thing you could do without was the fact that he only cared about whether or not he came. There was nothing wrong with him wanting to make sure he reached his orgasm, you just wished he be more adamant in wanting you to receive the same pleasure. 

The way Mark was taking his time learning each and every curve while showing love to every one of your body parts made your head spin. It was one thing for him to say you were beautiful but it was another thing for him to prove it with his actions. The longer he spent on your breasts, the faster warmth grew between your legs and as much as you loved breast play, and you loved the feeling of Mark’s mouth sucking and nipping on your chest, you needed his mouth sucking on a different body part of yours soon or else you were going to lose it. 

“M—Mark.” He pulled his mouth off before looking up at you with his cute little doe eyes. 

“Yes baby?” You reached for his hand and brought it down to your core, cupping it all but gently so he could feel just how wet your pussy was. 

“Please—touch me—eat me—fuck me with that pretty mouth of yours. Do anything Mark please—“ he giggled softly in to your neck at how submissive you were acting. How could someone sound so cute while begging for head? Even if the two of you had yet to do anything really, he knew he wanted to have you again and again. As many times as he possibly could. Thankfully Mark didn’t seem to be the teasing type; he made his way down to your thighs, pulling your dress down and taking it off completely. 

“Fuck—how can you—you can’t be real. Shit y/n, I know I’ve said this countless times already but you’re so fucking sexy.” Soft kisses and a couple of love bites were  left in his wake as he gently grazed his hands along your sides. Once he finally made his way down to your entrance, he left multiple kisses on the inside of your thighs. Absentmindedly, your hands found purchase in his hair, gripping softly when he blew a cool breeze against your core. 

“Such a pretty pussy—so so pretty—“ He took no time in licking a strip along your clit. His tongue was firm and solid as he lapped up all of your juices. Both feeling and hearing him hum against your cunt tightened the coil that was building up in your tummy. He continued his licks but didn’t take too long before he brought your clit in between his lips. The feeling of him nibbling and sucking against your nub felt like heaven. To add to your pleasure, Mark pressed a sloppy kiss at your core and leaned himself away from your cunt so he could bring two of his fingers up to your entrance. 

“Wanna feel how tight you are for me y/n—wanna see if you can handle me later—you already taste so good baby, let’s see how well you take me. I wanna see the effect my tongue is having on you.” Countless moans began falling from your throat and you could feel your eyes roll to the back of your head once you felt his fingers make their way in to your tight walls. One of your biggest weaknesses were Mark’s fingers. You always found them so long and skinny. Whenever the two of you ate lunch together, you’d take notice how pretty his fingers were as he’d write something down or whenever he played video games, you’d watch as his fingers would flick at the controllers so swiftly and you’d find yourself wanting to know what else his fingers were capable of. 

Having him scissor you open while continuing his attack on your pussy with his tongue was driving you to the brink of insanity. Whenever you’d find yourself daydreaming of what making love to Mark would feel like, you always imagined it to be an otherworldly experience and as you have his face buried in to your core, you couldn’t help but feel as if it was even more than that. His pace with shoving his fingers in and out of you was relentless. And God, the feeling of his teeth grazing against your over sensitive folds would forever be etched in to the back of your mind. 

“Mmm—Mark—so so good—I’m almost there—f—fuck.” Your wanton moans and breathy curses only drove him to go harder and you couldn’t stop the screams that filled his car. It was getting too much for you to handle and with the way Mark was grinding himself in to the chair to get any friction against his extremely hard and painful erection, you knew you weren’t the only one losing your sanity. 

“Let go for me baby.” Those five words did wonders for the burning sensation in your chest and soon you were practically seeing stars. Mark literally fucked the shit out of you with just his fingers and mouth alone. Your spine tingled with excitement at the idea of what he was capable of doing to you once he did both of you a favor and penetrated you. He looked up at you with the most adorable smile once he licked you up entirely and you couldn’t help but giggle at how he looked so adorable with your essence all over his face. 

“Come here.” You didn’t have to ask him twice; he quickly got up from off the floor and connected your lips together. His kiss was more softer this time and it gave you the chance to really take in the beautiful man hovering on top of you. After years of having an internal battle with yourself; trying to lie to yourself saying you only appreciated him because of his devastatingly good looks and how nice he was towards you and that there was no way you could possibly have any feelings for him whatsoever, you came to the conclusion that you’ve always harbored feelings for the older boy. And that says a lot seeing as how you were sure you loved Jackson with your entire being. 

When he began to grind himself against your naked sex, you broke out of your thoughts and released an erotic whimper; one that went straight to Mark’s pants. The rough material of his skinny jeans against your sensitive nub was something you weren’t used to, but it was a pleasurable soreness you couldn’t get enough of. 

“Take off your pants. Now.” If this was under different circumstances and he had the normal amount of patience he usually did, then he would’ve laughed at your impatient demeanor. He would’ve also teased you and went against everything you were asking of him just to mess with you. But since this was the first time he got to have his way with you after pursuing you for the last few years, he was just as excited as you were. Breaking away from you for a few seconds, he yanked his shirt off not caring if he were to ruin it or not and pulled his jeans off, leaving him in just his underwear. Your mouth watered at the sight of his dick imprint against his briefs and you took no time in reaching over to palm him over the thin material. Seeing him bite his lip at your touch made your cheeks warm and before you could continue your ministrations, he ripped your hand away and sat you up. 

“You’re gonna ride me like the filthy slut you are. Then you’re gonna suck on my cock. Am I clear?” There were so many times you’d find yourself wondering what Mark was like behind closed doors. You got to see him interact with patients every now and then and he was always so sweet; so patient with them. Your personalities were practically mirrored each other’s, which is why you found it hard to believe he had such a dirty mouth on him. Although you hated the idea of men degrading women, you loved hearing him say such erotic and naughty words. You nodded in agreement, closing your legs together at the thought of finally becoming one with Mark. 

Sometimes you wondered what life would’ve been like if you were to meet Mark before Jackson. Sure, the last two years with Jackson were some of the best years of your life so far, but you couldn’t stop the tiny voice in your head telling you that Mark was so much better for you. You began to worry at what was going to happen after the two of you finished your love making session. Did he really want you like he claimed he did? Or was he just having sex with you to have sex? You didn’t want to ruin your time together before it could really start and looked up at him while dragging your finger along his well defined body. How was he so ripped for a x-ray technician? When did he have the time to work on his body knowing that he worked 40 hours a week with overtime? 

“You’re so hot.” It came out a whisper, but the giggle that fell from his lips made it aware that he heard it and your cheeks grew red in embarrassment. He placed a soft kiss on your nose and placed some of your hair behind your ear so he could get a better look at you. 

“Stop being so cute. It makes it hard having all these vulgar and filthy images of what I plan on doing to you right now.” After playfully pinching your butt and a couple of stolen kisses later, he pulled off his underwear and threw it somewhere on the ground. Your breath hitched at the sight. Not only was he long, but he was also very thick and you had to take in a big gulp when you realized how he was going to vehemently stretch out your walls. Noticing your blank face, he couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong and he hated the thought of rushing you. You were his best friend’s girlfriend for God’s sake. 

This was all happening too soon. You came out tonight with vengeance on your mind and he knew it was wrong to be an accomplice; to be the one you fooled around with but he didn’t care anymore. He was aware how unethical it was to lose a friendship of over ten years for a girl he’s known for two, but you weren’t just some random girl. You were the love of his life and once the two of you were to call it a night, he was going to try and see if you were willing to take things further in your relationship.

“Everything okay y/n?” You didn’t realize that you must’ve been blanking out and you nodded quickly while flipping the two of you so that he was laying against the seat and you were on top of him. 

“You’re just—um—yeah.” He looked at you in curiosity before placing his hands on both of your ass cheeks and kneading them all but gently. 

“I’m sorry—I didn’t quite get that y/n. I’m gonna need you to speak up if you plan on sinking on my dick at all tonight. Don’t hide from me baby. I want to see the real you. The you that no one else gets to see. Be loud for me y/n.” A soft sigh fell from your lips before bringing your hand to his face and bringing his cheeks in between your fingers. 

“Your cock is huge and I can’t wait to feel it inside of me. Is that what you wanted to hear? Don’t lie, you want me to ride you just as much as I want to so even if I didn’t admit it you—“ The forceful kiss he smashed against your lips got you to stop all together. 

“I’ve wanted to fuck you the minute I’ve met you. Well—I mean I wanted to do a lot of things with you. I wanted to kiss you at the most randomest times of the day, I wanted to hold you and to be held by you. I wanted to beat you in halo and have you take out your anger from losing on me in bed. I wanted to take you out on cute little dates and have you meet my family. Everything Jackson got to do, I wanted to do it. I hated seeing the two of you be all lovey dovey knowing that I had feelings for you—have feelings for you. I still can’t believe we’re here right now and I’m just seconds away from burying myself balls deep in that tight cunt of yours. You mean a hell of a lot to me y/n. I’ll take good care of you baby—not just right now. If you’ll give me the chance—I’ll treat you the way you deserve. I’ll give you my all—everything I have. I’ll never give you a reason to question your worth. You’re so fucking perfect y/n and you’re all I could ever want—need in my life.” 

You didn’t even realize you were tearing up until he brought his fingers up to your cheek to wipe away a stray tear. He ran his thumb across your bottom lip and you playfully brought it in to your mouth, seductively sucking on it to get a rise out of him. When you first found out that Jackson was cheating on you, you were quick to blame yourself for not being good enough. You began to feel like you weren’t enough for Jackson. Not pretty enough, funny enough, smart enough, sexy enough. You felt worthless and you were afraid that any man would get tired of you and move on to someone more exciting; more thrilling who did more than baking new recipes she saw on the food network and reading romantic novels in her free time. 

Mark however, in less than an hour made you feel like you were the most beautiful girl in the entire world. Like you were an ethereal goddess on this hell forsaken earth and he’s always treated you this way. It just took so long for you to finally come to that realization and now that you did, you knew that you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life loving and being loved by Mark.

“Take me Mark. I’m yours.” The growl that came from the back of his throat sent you in a frenzy. For someone who had such an adorable and extremely contagious high pitched laugh, it was hard to believe that he had such a deep and raspy voice. Whenever the two of you had shifts early in the morning, you were lucky enough to hear how hoarse and rough his voice could get and it was extremely attractive. Now that it was being used in such a sensual and lustful atmosphere, you couldn’t be more turned on. 

“Wait—y/n, I don’t have a condom. Fuck—“ you gave him a smirk before taking his cock in your hand; you grazed your thumb against his slit and spread the precum around the tip before cupping his length and dragging your hand along his girth. Watching him throw his head back while biting his bottom lip in attempts to keep in his moans and grunts gave you a huge amount of confidence you didn’t think was possible. In most of your love making sessions with Jackson, you let him dominate you every single time. It wasn’t like he gave you much of a choice though; he made it aware that he never submitted to anybody. 

Seeing Mark; completely putty in your hands was a sight you’d never get over wanting to see. After giving his cock a few pumps, you lined him up at your entrance; gliding his tip along your folds to collect some of your essence from earlier as lubricant. Neither of you were prepared for the delicious stretch once you finally sank down on him. Your walls were so warm; so tight and so wet and Mark knew he wasn’t going to last long. He could come right then and there if he really wanted to but he didn’t want to seem like a loser who came in less than three minutes no matter how crazy you were driving him. 

The two of you moaned in sink and he immediately sat up; not being able to physically stay away from you. He wanted to be as close to you as he possibly could. His chest was warm against yours and the feeling of his heartbeat made you smile against his neck. 

“I’m on the pill if you’re okay with that.” He nodded quickly and smashed his lips roughly against yours. 

“You feel so fucking good—so fucking tight—I’m gonna need you to do something soon—ride me y/n. Fuck me like you hate me baby—I wanna see those tits bounce for me.” You took his arms off from your waist and shoved him back down to his previous position. As much as you loved the feeling of his arms wrapped protectively around your body, you wanted to watch his facial expressions as you bounced on him. He looked at you with so much lust in his eyes; seeing you so forceful and commanding made his dick twitch. You grabbed tightly at both of his wrists and pinned them above his head before you got off of him and sank back down. His cock was throbbing at this point and you were sure he was probably suffering not being able to do anything about it for the last hour. 

Feeling his cock glide perfectly against your tight, velvety walls was mindblowing. He began meeting your thrusts roughly, shoving himself as far as he could go in to your pussy that this position allowed him to. Mark may have been underneath you and readily allowed you to take the lead, but he was a power bottom. He couldn’t help himself; you just felt so good each and every time your ass sank down and clapped against his abdomen. Sure, he already thought you were so beautiful, but having you there with your hair a tangled messed, your otherworldly figure naked and bare, breasts bouncing, sweat building up on your body with your skin glistening and your face reacting to each and every pump of his dick against your core, Mark felt like this was when you were the most beautiful. There was nothing he loved more than hearing his name fall from your lips the rougher he thrusted himself in to you. Skin on skin slapping filled up the car and the windows began to fog. 

“M—Mark—fuck me—“ he giggled softly and cupped your cheek with his palm as you continued bouncing on him at a fleeting pace. 

“Isn’t that what I’m doing baby? Fuck y/n—you feel so good. I love being buried in this tight cunt of yours. Tell me y/n—whose making you feel so good. Whose cock is stretching you out so well huh? Fucking say it y/n.” You placed one hand on his chest while bringing the other one to wrap around his neck. He gasped at your movements and you could tell it wasn’t something he was used to, but he didn’t do anything to stop it nor did he seem like he wanted you to pull away. 

“You Mark—you. And only you. Your cock feels so good—you’re so—ugh—fucking huge—“ right as you were about to continue, a noise interrupted the two of you and you wanted to ignore it, but you knew exactly what—or who it was. 

“What is that?” You groaned before looking around for your phone. You had no clue where anything was at this point; your mind was so set on having Mark fuck the living shit out of you so you didn’t care about anything else. “Nothing, ignore it. Keep fucking me.” His hands cupped both of your breasts and playfully flicked both your nipples before continuing to massage them. Unfortunately, your phone went off again and this time, Mark grew curious as to who might have been calling. 

“Maybe you should answer it. It must be important if they’re calling a second time.” You looked towards the ground in search of your phone and rolled your eyes at the caller id. 

What perfect timing he had. “It’s Jackson.” The frown that rose upon Mark’s face made your heart sink; he didn’t understand why he was so bothered. He was the one with his dick inside of you at the moment, so what did it matter if Jackson was calling? His grimace didn’t last long when an idea immediately popped in to his head. 

“Answer it.” You looked at him in disbelief. Did he really think you were going to answer your boyfriend’s phone call while you were currently riding another man? He had to be crazy; but the devilish grin on his face said otherwise. “You heard me y/n. Answer it. Answer him while I fuck you. Let’s see how much of a good girl you really are.” It was risky, and you were afraid your cover was going to be blown as soon as you said hello. But you didn’t care anymore. If Jackson were to find out what you were doing right now and who you were doing right now, then so be it. You were already having such a hard time controlling your moans and stifled cries of pleasure, what more now while talking on the phone with your boyfriend? 

“Hey—what’s up?” Mark looked at you with an unreadable look in his eye but deep down you knew it couldn’t be good. 

“What am I doing—I—uh—I’m working out—yeah—f—fuck—hmph—sorry, there’s this one squat that’s—so fucking hard—“ he lifted you off of him in one swift motion and flipped the two of you so that you were lying on your stomach and he was hovering over your back. Out of all the positions, doggy style was his favorite. Mark couldn’t count on his hands how many times he pictured you on all fours as he fucked in to you with no mercy. He didn’t even give you any time to prepare before inserting himself back inside of you. Jackson had to be an idiot for not even thinking that you were currently fucking someone else. Your moans were that of pleasure, not pain. 

Mark’s pace was relentless; he was practically in jack rabbit mode pulling out and pushing himself inside of you at a pace that was driving you closer to the edge. He found his way in to the crook of your neck and left a few wet kisses there. 

“You—you wanna come—over? Right now? Oh, um, I’m actually really tired—FUCK—sorry I just stubbed my toe—I’ll probably take a shower and go tO BED FUCK—“ For some reason, knowing that Jackson was on the other side of the call heightened Mark’s desire to want to hurry up and reach his orgasm. Something about the fact that the two of you were so close to getting caught aroused him even more. You didn’t even have the chance to continue before Mark yanked your phone away and threw it back on the ground. If you weren’t so focused on your release, you would’ve been mad at the lack of care he had for your expensive technology. But you could feel your orgasm building up and it was all you wanted at this point. 

“He talks too much—you’re supposed to be focused on me—how do you think he’ll feel knowing that his best friend fucked his girlfriend doggy style? You like this position don’t you y/n? You like how it feels getting your back blown out. Love the feeling of your beautiful ass clapping against my navel? Love being on your knees like the dirty girl you are. I hope you know once we’re done in here, I plan on taking you back to my place and having you again. I’m never gonna get enough of you y/n. I love—I—fuck I love you so much ahhh shit—“ his creamy, warm liquid filled up your body in deep, rushed squirts. You couldn’t put in to words how full you now felt and you didn’t know if it was because he filled you to the hilt with his cum, or because he just confessed that he loved you. 

Being the insecure person that you were, you couldn’t stop the tiny voice in your head telling you that he said it in the heat of the moment. There was no way he could love you. He was Mark Tuan; one of the most popular and sought out bachelors in your entire hospital. Every nurse, receptionist and medical assistant had eyes for him and you couldn’t blame them. He was gorgeous and you were sure he could get anyone he wants; especially someone without baggage from a toxic relationship with someone he called his best friend. Mark could do so much better than you. 

Although you could tell he was tired, he continued his thrusts inside you while bringing his hand down to your clit and rubbing on it to help bring you to your orgasm. He wanted you to feel the euphoria he was feeling since you milked him dry of everything he had and rode the living hell out of him. Before you knew it, you were soon seeing stars and coming a second time that night in less than an hour. Jackson, and any one of your previous boyfriends could never get you to come even once the entire duration of your hookup. Your heart warmed at the idea of Mark wanting to make sure you were having an equally amazing time as he was. 

He was the first man who seemed genuinely interested in making sure that you were taken cared of and as selfish as it sounded, you craved to have another chance to be one with him. Once you both reached your highs, he turned you over and gently placed you down on the seat before plopping himself on top of you. Usually you would complain about how sticky and sweaty your partner was after sex, but something about Mark was different from everyone else. You wanted to be as close to him to be able to feel his heartbeat. 

The one that was practically beating against your chest like a snare drum. He leaned back to take a good look at you and stole one kiss from the corner of your mouth while brushing some stray hairs away from your face. “That’s my pretty baby. Such a good girl y/n. I can’t—that was—fuck. You are ethereal. I know I told you to fuck the life out of me but shit—I didn’t think you’d actually do it. I’m gonna need to have you at least three times a day.” 

You let out an exhausted giggle while tracing some patterns on his back. No matter how tired you were though, watching him stare at you like you were some marvel, like the person who set the solar system in the sky made you want to show him what the idea of making love to him again did to you. “Mark. I want to suck you off.” The fit of coughs that fell from the back of his throat was unexpected. In his past experiences, Mark never forced a girl to ever do something she didn’t want to do. One of his favorite parts of sex was receiving head, but he only wanted his partner to blow him if she wanted to; not because she felt like she had to. However, hearing you confidently confess that you wanted to give him a blowjob made his heart flutter and he could feel himself getting hard again. 

“God y/n, you’re too good for me. I can’t wait to fuck that pretty mouth of yours.” He was quick in pulling himself out of you; the whimper that fell from your lips at the absence of him inside of you made him stifle back a laugh but seeing you sink to your knees was a sight that Mark would’ve never thought he would ever see in his 27 years of existence. You put your hair up in a makeshift ponytail and brought his dick in to the palm of your hand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think penises were ugly. Genitals in general were extremely ugly; but something about Mark’s made your cheeks warm and your core throb. Was there nothing wrong with this man at all? It was obvious he was God’s favorite. 

You spit on the tip of his cock to lubricate him before you began pumping him from the tip of his cock down to his balls. You brought your thumb against the side of his length and slowly glided it back and forth. Then, after what felt like hours to Mark, you placed a kiss on the tip before wrapping your mouth around it. The feeling of your tongue circling against the head while you ran it in between his slit made him want to pull his hair out. You barely got to do anything and he felt like he was overstimulated. You lowered your hands to both of his balls and began fondling them while completely engulfing his dick with your mouth. You tried to take as much of him in to your mouth as you possibly could. 

His tip hit the back of your throat with each and every thrust and you could feel tears building up in your eyes. It hurt; your mouth was already opened as wide as it could possibly go and Mark lost himself in how amazing it felt. Your mouth was warm and tight; just like your cunt and he was enjoying the feeling of your teeth grazing along his veins. 

“Fuck y/n—you’re swallowing me so well. Your mouth—fuck your mouth—so warm—so wet. You look so pretty like this; with my cock down your throat. Even prettier with it buried in your soaking pussy. Do you think I could—would it be okay if—I face fuck you? Sorry baby—it’s just too much. Don’t hesitate to tell me if it hurts okay? I just—fuck I can’t wait to feel you choking on me.” He allowed you some time to prepare and to get in to a comfortable position. When you gave Mark the okay, he reached for your ponytail and gave it a light tug. 

“Wait Mark—before I start, I want to try something.” The question was on the tip of his tongue, but stopped altogether the minute he felt you bring one of his balls in to your mouth; roughly sucking and grazing it ever so softly with your teeth. You didn’t spend much time on his balls, you wanted nothing more than to feel him fuck your mouth but you wanted to show his body the same amount of love he was showing to yours. After nipping, sucking and fondling both of his balls, you brought your mouth back on to his cock and let him control the pace and tempo of his thrusts. He placed one hand on the back of your head as the other yanked at your ponytail. You could feel your jaw working pretty hard on swallowing him and you could feel saliva falling from the sides of your mouth; but the moans, animalistic grunts, and compliments of how good you were blowing him made the pain worth it. 

Not too long after you began sucking on his cock, your phone started to ring again and you had a fear that Jackson put two and two together. At this point, you didn’t give two shits if he were to find out. Matter of a fact, you wanted him to find out. You would even take a picture of Mark’s dick down your throat if you could. Even if Jackson no longer loved you, his ego would surely hurt if he were to find out you slept with his best friend and if you told him that not only was Mark more well endowed, but that he was a much better lover than Jackson could ever be. You were in shock when Mark picked your phone up with his foot and glared at him for doing so, but in even more shock when he answered the phone. 

“Hey man—it’s Mark. Y/n can’t talk right now, my cock is shoved deep down her throat and we would like it if you would stop interrupting us I’m trying to bust a nut in her mouth right now. Bye.” Your eyes widened in shock at his words; not only did he confess that you were blowing him, but he said it so nonchalantly. Like getting sucked off by your best friend’s girlfriend was something natural that happened every day. You pulled your mouth from off of him and looked at him in awe but all he did was smirk and give you a noncommittal shrug. 

“What? It was gonna come out sooner or later. Don’t act so surprised, you weren’t all that inconspicuous when you were riding this cock while talking to him. Oh you’re exercising all right—clenching your tight pussy on my cock—they call that kegel if I’m not mistaken. Now, be a good girl and take me back in to your mouth.” You playfully rolled your eyes at his command and wrapped your lips back around his cock, taking him as deep in to the back of your mouth as you could. Whatever you couldn’t fit, you wrapped your hand around and began pumping him; the sounds that fell from his lips were so heavenly. 

Never in a million years would you have ever thought you’d find yourself on the floor of Mark’s car with his dick down your throat but you weren’t complaining. He continued to thrust roughly inside of your mouth, trying his best not to hurt you too much but you just felt so good. Watching as you hollowed your cheeks as you continued bobbing your head up and down brought him so much pleasure. There was so many things he wanted to do to you and with you. Face fucking that pretty little mouth of yours was always at the top of his list and he still couldn’t believe it was happening. Feeling you choke on him as he continued ramming himself inside of you is what finally got him to break and to your delight, he released his load in your mouth. You milked him of everything he had and made sure to leave one more kiss on his tip before pulling your lips off with a loud pop. 

“Damn—Jackson really fucked up didn’t he? Fuck—you can’t be real. You suck dick like your life depends on it. I always knew you were a kinky little shit. You were made to suck my cock y/n. That was incredible—you were—wow. I can’t even tell you how much I loved that. I always knew sex with you would be an experience but I wasn’t prepared for that.” 

You let out a soft giggle, but your mind was filled with so many different thoughts. He told you he loved you while he was buried inside of you. Did he really mean it? Or was he having a mental breakdown and wasn’t able to think of what he was saying? But he also mentioned on having you again and that he’s dreamt of having you like this for a while, so that had to mean something right? 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours? You’re spacing out y/n.” He reached out for you and brought you on to his lap while running his fingers along your ribcage. Mark knew you long enough to learn the meanings behind your different mannerisms and he could tell something was on your mind. He was going to make it aware that he was telling you the truth earlier. Taking care of you and your happiness was his new main priority. All he ever wanted to do was to be the main reason behind your breathtaking smile and contagious laughter. He wanted to remind you every single day of how you were the most special person in his life. No matter what this was going to do with his friendship with Jackson, he was going to let it happen. 

“Mark.” You looked up at him with curiosity in your eyes and nervousness in your chest. “You said you love me and that you wanna take care of me from now on. Did you—um—do you mean it?” You brought your attention to the ground; not quite prepared for his answer. If this was a spur of the moment kind of thing, you were screwed in more ways than one. Not only were you newly single, or at least had every intention on breaking up with Jackson now, but you didn’t want to lose your friendship with Mark. You were mad with yourself for letting your carnal urges take over, but he was allowing it to continue. He could’ve stopped you the minute you began grinding your ass against his crotch, but he made it aware that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. His lips were warm against the corner of your mouth; he began placing feather light kisses all around your face until reconnecting your lips together. 

There were times in your relationship where you no longer got butterflies from kissing Jackson and that’s when you knew there was a chance your relationship was going to go downhill. Kissing Mark however was a completely different story. Your body felt electrified. His kiss ignited a fire in your bones and you couldn’t stop wanting to kiss him. 

“I meant every single thing I said y/n. I love you—I’ve been in love with you for longer than I’d like to admit. I um—I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an asshole or a bad friend—I’ve actually been single this entire time because I’ve only ever had eyes for you. Pathetic right? I’ve been pining after my best friend’s girlfriend from the beginning of their relationship. I just—I’ve always thought the world of you. I always admired you; your determination, work ethic, your kindness, generosity, intelligence—you’re the most astounding person I’ve ever met. I knew you were out of Jackson’s league when he first introduced us to you and the more time I spent with you, the more I realized that nobody really deserved you. Not even me. I don’t know how you feel about me, but I can only hope by the mind blowing sex we just relinquished in that you have some kind of feelings for me. Even if this was a brief lapse of judgment on your part, I hope you realize that you deserve so much more than what Jackson can give you. I’m sorry for not telling you of his infidelity earlier, but I wanted him to tell. I can promise you I’m not hiding anything else from you and if you give me the chance, I’d love to be yours y/n.” His confession sent your head spinning and you didn’t think you could form the words to show him how much he meant to you and how excited you were to take things further in your relationship. Seeing that beautiful smile of yours that he loved so much light up your face made him mirror your expression and placed a soft kiss on your nose. “I’m taking that pretty smile of yours as the answer—“

“I love you too. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have any feelings for you. I think I always felt something toward you and only now did I realize that it was love—I knew it was wrong to like you while I was in a relationship so that’s why I tried my best to ignore all the romantic thoughts I’d have of you. I just—I didn’t think I deserved you. You did so many things for me—things that Jackson didn’t even do for me and I couldn’t help but thinking that I was with the wrong person. Just a few months ago, I started wishing it was you whenever I kissed Jackson or whenever we had sex. Every time he held my hand or pulled me in to his embrace, I’d pretend it was you. I always felt this connection with you and sometimes I’d mention inviting you over to Jackson’s every now and then so I had an excuse to see you. You know when I found out he was cheating, I had this crazy idea of getting back at him and this naughty fantasy of fucking you in my bedroom and having him walk in on us would replay over and over in my head. I’d love to be yours Mark. It’s all I ever wanted. Things would’ve been so much better if I met you on my own in the hospital before I met Jackson, but let’s not worry about it. We’re together now, that’s all that matters. But Mark—what about Jackson?” He let out a scoff. 

“What about Jackson? Fuck him—wait don’t. I’m going to be the only man you fuck from now on. I lost all respect for him when I found out he was cheating on you. How could anyone in their right minds do such a thing to you? You’re the most flawless being in existence and his dumbass took advantage of you. Now his karma is going to suffer watching me take care of you in the ways he failed to. Maybe we should go and make that fantasy a reality right now? There are so many ways and so many places I plan on taking you in baby. You’re mine y/n and I’m going to make sure everyone in your building knows it once I’m done with you.”

[caranfindel]

Fic: The whirlwind is in the thorn tree

wincest | about 3000 words | R for language and adult themes | characters: sam winchester, dean winchester

synopsis: My first and probably last stab at Wincest. No actual sex, just post-coital angst.

Flowers in the Attic is a cheesy gothic novel featuring four children who are locked in an attic by their scheming mother who hopes to hide their existence; the oldest son and daughter eventually begin an incestuous relationship.

The title is from "The Man Comes Around" by Johnny Cash, which I never heard until recently but am now obsessed with.

. . .

Part 1: Dean

It doesn't start with romance or lust. It doesn't start with that little flash of bare skin visible above his jeans when he raises his arms (it makes you crazy and you don't know why; you see him shirtless all the time but for some reason that little strip of skin that isn't meant to be showing just brings you to your knees). It doesn't start with you staring at that perfectly sculpted spot at the base of his throat and finally setting your mouth to it and marking him up the way you've dreamt about for years (you've bruised him when you were sparring, and you've battered him in anger, but you've never left a mark for the purpose of saying hands off, he's mine and oh, what you would do just for the chance). It doesn't start with you too drunk to keep holding it all in and Sam too drunk to say no (you would never, you would never).

It starts with terror. Pure balls-to-the-wall terror that you're about to lose him. A horribly fucked-up hunt where you almost die, but more importantly, you almost watch Sam die, and you stumble into your motel room, both still out of breath, still not quite sure what happened out there, and you're checking him for injuries and every breath is a silent mantra, I almost lost you, I almost lost you, and nothing is enough, you want to crawl under his skin, you want to open him up and cradle his heart in your hands to make sure it's still beating, you're holding him tighter and tighter and he's clutching you just as tight, looking into your soul with those big wet eyes and saying “Dean, Dean," like your name itself is a prayer, a request. A plea. Whatever he is pleading for, you will give it to him. And it turns out the only thing he wants is all of you.

Which is convenient. Because the only thing you want is all of him.

. . .

But then comes After, and you have to face what you've done.

When you wake up (his arm is still flung over you, it's so wrong, it's so wrong), you quietly crawl out of bed and hurry into the shower. There is no water hot enough to scrub you clean, no soap strong enough to wash away your sins (watch out for your brother, it's your most important job). When you give up and turn off the water, you realize you didn't bring any clothes to change into, and you sure as hell weren't wearing any when you fled into the bathroom. There's nothing you can do but wrap a towel around your waist and hope he's still asleep.

He's not. He's sitting up in the bed you shared. His hair is a tousled mess, a silky brown cloud, and your fingers twitch with the craving to be tangled in it again. He doesn't look disgusted, or repulsed. He looks… hopeful. Like he hasn't caught on yet that you are a monster.

(He will be the death of you.)

(He is your reason for living.)

You sit on the other bed and try not to stare at that hickey that you finally managed to put at the base of his throat. (There are other marks. Don't look at them either.)

He speaks first. "Look, I know this is some crazy Flowers in the Attic kind of shit—"

"Oh, this is so much worse than Flowers in the Attic."

"Why?" His brow furrows. "Because it's gay?"

Which stops you in your tracks, because of course that's not the problem. But also because you haven't even thought of this as gay. It's not that you're interested in guys. You're not thinking about random guys when you jack off in the shower, or when you can't fall asleep, or when your life sucks and your heart hurts and you need an escape. It's not guys. It's not anyone else. You've chased a lot of tail over the years, trying to convince yourself otherwise, but it's just Sam. Only, always and forever, Sam.

But now he's looking at you like you're some kind of monster, like being a homophobe is somehow worse than being a sick bastard who wants to fuck his little brother. So you quickly say "No, dammit, you know that's not it."

"Then what? Why is it worse?"

And it's not fair that Sam is both your victim and the priest who will hear your confession; it's not fair that you're going to have to say the thing that will make him hate you, make him walk away from you again, but, well. Life stopped being fair when you were four years old. He would have figured it out anyway. He's too damn smart not to eventually realize whose fault it all is.

"It's worse because I raised you, Sam. I did this to you. I made you want this."

"What?" Sam's voice goes up an octave, incredulous. "You're saying you groomed me?"

"Not on purpose! But yeah, subconsciously, I must have done something! I must have screwed you up somehow. Otherwise, you wouldn't… there's no way you would have…"

"Slept with my brother? So there's no way I would have wanted to have sex with my brother unless someone snuck into my brain and planted the idea there? Someone must have made me want it? Is that what happened?"

Oh, Jesus, Sam just needs to stop talking, because he's making it worse. Yes, obviously you planted that idea in his sweet, trusting little head. Who knows when or where or how, but obviously you did that. Obviously you took him, the brother you were supposed to watch out for, you took his innocent love for you and twisted it into something awful and self-serving.

But he's not looking at you like he just realized what a monster you are, like he finally saw the darkness you've managed to hide all this time. He's smiling.

"You're an idiot," he says. "But okay, let's say you're right. Let's say the only reason I would want to have sex with my brother is because someone raised me wrong. Someone screwed with my head when I was little and made me want this. Then who did it to you?"

No, wait. That's not. You stare at him, mute.

"If you raised me to want this," he continues, "who did it to you? Dad? Is that what was going on, all those times you guys went off on a hunt and left me at a hotel? Dad spent the whole time convincing you that at some point you were going to have to throw me on the bed and have your way with me?"

"Dammit, Sam, that's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny, Dean. I'm just trying to show you how ridiculous it is to blame yourself. No one made you want it, and no one made me want it. It's just a product of our fucked-up lives. There are no victims here."

Is that possible? You want (so much, so much) to believe it. But even if he's not your victim, he still has to see how wrong it is. You've ripped your heart wide open and he's staring right at its dark, festering core. Surely he sees that.

"It may be a victimless kind of fucked up," you say cautiously, afraid to break whatever spell has been cast. "But it's still pretty fucked up."

"I'm not saying it's normal," he says. "You and me, this is definitely not normal. But we left normal behind a long time ago. We were never gonna have that. And this is something we do get to have."

Oh, okay. Sam can't have normal, so he's settling for Dean Winchester, the world's shittiest consolation prize. Well, that's the only part of this that makes sense. And you're not too proud to accept that role. You look at the carpet (you can't look at him) and nod. He will leave you again someday, when he does find normal, but for now? This is enough. This is still more than you ever thought you'd have. More than you deserve.

Sam throws back the covers. He is still very, very naked. Bruised from the hunt, and bruised from what happened after the hunt. (And so goddamn beautiful. He doesn't even know.) He gets out of bed and sits next to you. Not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. When you do finally force yourself to look at him, he smiles at you again, that fond smile that stabs you right through the heart. You would give anything to have him sitting next to you, smiling that smile at you, for the rest of your life.

"You know," he says, "all those years I spent chasing normal, it was because I didn't think I could have what I really wanted. This, Dean. You and me. This is what I want. I wouldn't trade it for normal. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

If that's true. Oh God, if that's true.

"So," he continues, "maybe we just appreciate it. Maybe we hold onto it. I mean. Only if you want to."

Only if you want to. Like there's anything you want more. Sam is offering you all you've ever wanted, and all you have to do is reach out and take it.

You've lost the ability to speak, but whatever words you came up with would surely fuck it all up anyway. You take his hand and entwine his fingers in your own. He squeezes. You squeeze back. It's just one more in an endless history of wordless conversations, but it's the most important one you've ever had. You both sit there quietly for a minute, and you are very aware that you are wrapped in a towel and he is naked and you're holding hands and… it's not weird. It's okay. It's better than okay.

"You know," he says, "the most disturbing thing about all of this is that you just admitted you read Flowers in the Attic."

You have to clear your throat before you can answer. "It was a book? I saw the movie on TV once, when I couldn't sleep."

It's a lie. He knows it's a lie. He was there with you, that awful winter in Nebraska, when Dad dumped you at that weird old house for a couple of weeks and the only thing to do was pick through the pile of ragged paperbacks some teenage girl left behind. He knows you read it. He doesn't know you got to the incest scene and tossed the book away, no, no, I would never do that to him. I would never. He doesn't know you picked it up again, later, hoping it had a happy ending.

He knows you're a liar. He knows you're twisted and wrong. He loves you anyway. And maybe you don't deserve it, but you'll take it anyway, and hold onto it for as long as you can.

Part 2: Sam

Something about almost losing Dean puts everything into perspective. And yes, you almost died too, but it's hard to see your own death as comparable. Dean's near-death is what matters, the thing that paints everything in stark black and white.

There's no time to talk, no time to wonder, no time to check each other for injuries and try to figure out how you escaped this time. He shoves you into the Impala and speeds away from the scene, and you stare at his (beautiful) profile and think I can't do this any more, I can't die and not tell you how I feel, I can't let you die without knowing what you mean to me, I can't do it, I won't.

But it's not the first time you've told yourself that, or the second or third. And you know you'll fail, in the end, as you always have. Except. Except that when you finally make it into the room you're both still a little panicky, still having a hard time catching your breath, hearts pounding, and he says are you hurt, are you hurt as he paws at you, and then holds you tight and won't let go (you don't want him to, oh God you don't want him to) and you grab him, hold him just as tight and this is it, this is the moment, use your words, dammit, but all you can do is keep repeating his name like an idiot and you finally just kiss him and it turns out neither of you needs words after all.

. . .

Dean's hasty exit wakes you, and your heart leaps panicky into your throat for a minute. You fucked it up, he's running; all those years you held your feelings in check and now you've fucked it up and he's running. But he simply rushes into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He showers for a long time, which gives you time to think about what to say. Because you know he's going to be freaked out. You know he's going to say this is wrong, this is bad, we can't do this again. But there is no going back now; you can only go forward. You salted and burned just brothers last night. The only option now is brothers plus whatever this is. You'll have to make your way through whatever objections he has.

When he finally comes back into the room, every speck of his normal bravado is gone. He looks frightened and guilty (and beautiful, so damn beautiful, with the morning sun peeping through the flimsy curtains highlighting him in gold, picking out each eyelash as if God himself were directing it) and your heart melts like it always does. You are so fucked.

He clutches the towel wrapped around his hips tightly, and you're pretty sure the only reason he hasn't already put three layers of clothing between you and him is because in his hurry to get into the the shower he didn't take time to grab his armor. So, yeah. He's freaked out. It's okay. You'll talk him down (there is no choice, there is no other option) and it will be okay.

But it turns out you are not at all prepared for what his real objection is. Not at all.

You could tell him the truth. Yes, you made me want you. Just by being you. By being beautiful and brave and smart and funny and strong and exasperating. You made me love you in a way you are not supposed to love a brother, just by being you.

Or another truth is this. You think you were grooming me? When I was thirteen? When I was a gangly, clumsy, morose little barely-a-teenager? Because that's when it started, Dean. It wasn't anything you did. You weren't grooming me, you were busy chasing anything in a skirt. I had just turned thirteen years old and all I wanted was you.

But there is another very important truth, which is that you're both kind of irreparably fucked up. And this is possibly a silver lining to that. The fact that you're fucked up the same way, together.

"I'm not saying it's normal," you tell him. “You and me, this is definitely not normal. But we left normal behind a long time ago. We were never gonna have that. And this is something we do get to have." He has to see that, right? He has to understand that you two cannot measure yourselves by other peoples' yardsticks.

His reaction is to withdraw a little bit. Does he not believe you? Can he not tell, even now, that you love him so much it burns? You have no choice. There is no going back. You get out of bed and sit next to him. "You know, all those years I spent chasing normal, it was because I didn't think I could have what I really wanted. This, Dean. You and me. This is what I want. I wouldn't trade it for normal. I wouldn't trade it for anything. So, maybe we just appreciate it. Maybe we hold onto it. I mean. Only if you want to."

You gave him an out. You pray he doesn't take it. He doesn't. Thank God (or no, probably not God), he doesn't. You sit next to him, naked as the day you were born, and he doesn't flinch, doesn't lean away, doesn't say no, Sam, this is weird, this is bad, this is wrong. He just looks up at you like he's dumbfounded, but in a good way. And then he takes your hand. He's clasped your hand thousands of times, shepherding you across busy streets as a child, hauling you out of freshly dug graves as an adult. But this is the first time he's actually held your hand, and it feels like something greater; like a vow.

You need to change the subject pretty quickly, before you make a goddamn fool of yourself.

"You know, the most disturbing thing about all of this is that you just admitted you read Flowers in the Attic."

Dean's voice is hoarse. "It was a book? I saw the movie on TV once, when I couldn't sleep."

It's a lie. You know it's a lie. You made sure he saw you reading it, and you watched him pick it up after you were done. You had a thousand imaginary conversations where he said what did you think about that book and you said siblings locked in an attic for years, all they had was each other, it makes sense that their relationship would transform into something else, it wasn't hurting anybody, and after all, incest is only taboo because of the risk of birth defects, and many civilizations actually encouraged marriage between siblings, it's not really a big deal, and he said exactly, especially in a situation like that where they're literally in their own little world, and I've been thinking, and then and then and then.

None of that happened. What happened was he turned 18 and then 19 and then 20 and grew more and more maddeningly insane and reckless and beautiful and you realized that either he was going to die, or he was going to keep breathing but remain forever out of your reach, and either way you couldn't live like this any more.

But now he's sitting on the bed next to you, almost as naked as you are, holding your hand.

"You want to get some breakfast?" he says.

"I would love some breakfast. Let me shower first."

He gently swats you on the back of the head. "Go on then, Princess. Wash your pretty pretty hair."

The knot of fear that's been squirming in your stomach since you woke up quietly unclenches. And for the first time in a very long time, you think everything might be okay after all.

[unfortunatelysirius]

UNEXPECTED | Regulus Black, Marauders Era

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」

Request // Regulus finds something unexpected—at a Slug Club dinner party, with a girl named Y/N L/N.

「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」

Sorry if this sucked.

        LOVE.

                Even the word itself felt like a promise. It could come like a metaphor, as gentle as misted rain, or it was a broken idea, radiating animosity that maimed worse than misplaced surgical lesions. Some folks went their entire lives without knowing it, feeling it, getting the chance to embrace and relish it—while others did indeed get a taste only for it to scorch like too-hot coffee. A funny little thing, love was. As scary as it was delightful.

        Regulus Black didn’t know much about love. He only knew bleak sun—and a yearning that churned his stomach like butter. If he let his thoughts wander off too far, they’d explore territory too disturbingly foreign he’d have no choice but to retreat. His parents taught him discipline and obedience, but “love” was a rare occurrence; truthfully, the only person who ever even had an inkling of understanding for it was his brother Sirius, and the bastard left Regulus to bleed under the ripe moon. He knew what hatred felt like, same with spite, same with betrayal, same with repulsion.

        Then he descended on the path weary travelers couldn’t cross.

        It all started at the start of his fifth year, getting worse from there. He began noticing the Gryffindor who never stopped challenging professors and requested an extension on nearly every Charms essay. Who always wore an untidy uniform with the shirt untucked, cloak rumpled, and two different stockings. Who could be more quiet than a fairy’s whisper but the loudest personality in the room. Who once punched Giovanni Rivera, some snob in Hufflepuff, so hard in the nose he stayed slumped unconscious by a knight in the open dungeon corridor for an entire night.

        He noticed you.

        It was entirely accidental. Regulus was not someone to dive head-first, always treading the shallow end before walking into riptides that couldn’t be foreseen. He was caution in a world of chaos. He didn’t want to know the definition of “love,” even though he thought that was what he felt for Sirius. Brotherly love. The love someone had for another that protected them, provided for them in times of need. Then Sirius was labelled the family disgrace, shunned by Orion and Walburga; the perfect little Slytherin son, Regulus shunned him too. Regulus lost that feeling and failed to find it again, even in his circle of friends that mocked tainted blood and wanted more than meager lives. They aspired for a Wizarding World cleansed of impure magic; Regulus wasn’t sure what he wanted.

        He quickly became lonely. As the days turned to months then years, he preoccupied himself with his studies—working diligently to fabricate a living lie like he had any future outside of the Dark Lord’s bidding. He envied Sirius for breaking from the family so soon, forcing Regulus into a compromised position; their parents scrutinized him more carefully now and expected more than he would have had to provide if Sirius was the pride-and-joy firstborn they could have turned into a great ally, rather than an adversary.  Regulus hated it, hated that whatever he liked and the little joys he had in life were useless now that he had one reason to live. There was little to his life except growing up to be part of the Dark Lord’s army. Regardless of anything, he did know what he hoped for. The only thing that truly, truly belonged to him was his hope. It was different from his aspirations, as even those were polluted by conditioned hate.

        He watched you frequently. He watched you curse his own brother, Sirius, for calling you a suck-up. He admired your appearance, from your Y/H/L Y/H/C hair to your facial structure, the effortless way you stood and walked, the kindness in your expression when guiding none-the-wiser first years. You were the same year as him, fifth year, and an entire breed of your own. Regulus didn’t know when he began falling for you. Well, the idea of you. You encompassed freedom, and fuck if Regulus didn’t crave freedom. He wanted to see himself careless, able to act out and be himself inconsequentially. This was an impossibility he loved to consider, like a dreamer in a room of realists. His parents expected the most out of him and in his crystal ball, all that laid in wait was the Dark Mark etched in his skin. Death and destruction. His head dark and heavy. It wasn’t happiness that killers strived for—it was pleasure. Power, too. Regulus knew he was different from the others. He had to hide it and fight every inch of himself that wanted what Sirius had. Freedom.

        Regulus wanted to unleash every idea, every desire, every unspoken dislike. A brave heart scratched from under his skin, itching to have a say.

        Sirius was the courageous one, not him.

        He stuck to watching from afar.

-

        You hated Potions class. You hated parties. You hated Slughorn. Most of all, you hated Slug Club parties. Dammit, you hated your life.

        “Why did you drag me here, Lily?” you complained for the umpteenth time, fidgeting in your Gryffindor-red attire. You didn’t even like this shade of red. It was one of those colors you got tired of after seeing at every waking hour. All the assholes that prided themselves in the House the Sorting Hat bellowed, uniquely chosen for them… bleh! Dawning red and gold, parading around in Gryffindor scarfs bought for a bargain. You couldn’t be bothered. Lily had begged that the two of you go in a matching set, as one of your good friends. You never envisioned yourself agreeing. Fucking Lily, conniving you into wearing a dress like looked like it was sewn from a red Christmas stocking and attending a Slug Club party.

        Lily smiled innocently. “You owed me a favor!”

        A favor. You wracked your brain for any situation you’d been a part of where Lily offered her help. As your honorary big sister and a sixth-year prefect, she was the one calling for damage control whenever you did something warranting of punishment… and you didn’t want to fulfill your duties as a serious student. She chastised you at your worst but boosted you up too. Your best consisted of her praise and affection. You loved her, yes, but you didn’t love what owing her favors implied. It always wound you up in some unlikable predicament, such as this godforsaken party.

        “I don’t owe you shite,” you grumbled, pinning your eyes on a table of refreshments over by the door. You belatedly noticed a figure standing by it. The air went still and silent, your blood pulsating like a gushing river of red. Your eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. Regulus Black was sharply—no, impeccably dressed, standing with his glossy dark hair in a neat do and his gray eyes watching the floor indifferently. When he got too close to looking at you, you quickly turned away. Lily was already raising a brow. “What? I don’t.”

        “Yeah, okay,” Lily said amusedly. As she reopened her mouth to remind you of your every last unreturned favor and escaped week of detention, she spotted something over your head and a look of horror struck; you gauged this by the way her eyes bulged at the sockets. “Oh, Merlin—why the bloody Hell is he here? I’ll talk to you later, Y/N. Try to have some fun.”

        She retreated like a squirrel from a hound, her body launching at the occupied Slughorn over half a room away. As she was nearly there a bulk dressed in black dress robes followed, at a tame pace compared to Lily’s. You knew it was James only by the unruly mess of black hair you saw from his enrobed backside profile.

        You rolled your eyes and snuck another glance at Regulus. He wasn’t looking your way.

Try to have some fun, my arse.

-

You were here. Regulus didn’t know how, but you were. He hadn’t calculated what he’d do if you attended this party, not knowing you were a member. He assumed you weren’t, a rash assumption by all accounts, and that costed him. He didn’t want to be dogged by the thought of you all night, and now that your presence was mere feet from him, his mental duties seemed like lost causes. The burning urge to stare at you, consequences be damned, was incinerating—and control failed him left and right. Fucking hell.

Regulus filled a drink for himself. A punch of some kind. He drank it in one go, hoping the taste would eliminate you from his mind. If it were bad enough he could instead be hounded by his throbbing throat, gagging like no tomorrow. That would be better than this.

The punch didn’t work its magic. He looked again at you and calculated the inevitable penalty of making an approach.

        Cursing his luck or lack thereof, he felt less inclined to drown himself in the punch bowl upon the appearance of a bloke he had in Potions, Terrence something. He was a Ravenclaw know-it-all, but he was Pureblood. He could go overlooked conversing with the fellow. Regulus was a master of mimicry and had his haughty Slytherin performance down pat.

        The bloke asked too many questions and was evasive on topics Regulus had no interest in discoursing, but he was a well-welcomed distraction. Or ill-welcomed. Regardless of the reception, Regulus’s ambivalence towards you transitioned to an annoyance towards Terrence. Annoyance, that he could work with. He felt it most days. It was familiar territory. A stroke of olive on a canvas of emerald where you were lavender.

        It worked. It worked until Terrence bid a hasty farewell, trailing after some quiet, expressionless brunette from Slytherin.

        Regulus subtly scowled. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at you, surreptitious in a way he remembered from parties he went to hosted by well-known Pureblood families. You were in mid-conversation with some Gryffindor he knew from a mutual class the three of you shared. It was a bloke whose mouth seemed too keen on keeping a conversation going and hand was swaying too closely to your waist. Regulus’s eyes hardened without his meaning to, and before he knew it, his feet were in complete control; he walked to the two of you with renewed purpose.

-

        You were ready to unleash your inner ugly. Random people kept coming up and trying to talk to you, each of them more mentally-taxing than the last. First there was Cornelius, an absolute walking disaster, then there was Dave, who went on tangents without checking to see if you were listening. Then Kala, then Paisley, then Travis. Finally, there was Justin. Justin was a compulsive flirt. You politely tried to get him to fuck off, but he just wasn’t catching the hint or acknowledging your blatant apathy in what he had to say. He wouldn’t understand discomfort on the part of his conversational partner if it slapped him in the face.

        It was like a blessing and a nightmare when Regulus Black, wearing a cold expression and marginally more perfect up close than he was from a distance, appeared.

        “Can I borrow you for a moment, L/N?” he asked, something off about his voice. Your eyes narrowed. If you had to garner a guess, you’d say he was straining to maintain a calm disposition, truly angry. The cold in his expression was cracking, giving way to heat. Had he noticed your wandering eye and wanted to clarify with you that he had no interest except to exterminate your muddy self from the Wizarding World? You were unsure; it was a common ideology among extremists, the hatred of non-Purebloods, but Regulus didn’t give off that ambiance. He didn’t feel like a future monster.

        “Sure,” you said, sneaking a glance at Justin. Justin’s face wasn’t aggravated at the interruption, just confused that Regulus Black had been the one to interrupt. Regulus kept to himself usually… and he hated anyone who wasn’t pure of blood, supposedly. “Sorry to cut this chat short, Justin. I’m sure there’s plenty of other birds to talk into a stupor around here…”

        Justin’s eyes lit up, disregarding the annoyance in your voice. “You’re right! Thanks, Y/N.”

        You raised your eyebrows at him but bit back a less subtle remark, following Regulus when his hand prompted you at the shoulder.

        “So, what was that back there?” you boldly asked, trying to avoid smirking. It was almost adorable, the way he swooped in and rescued you from a dolt. He couldn’t have approached you just to chastise your invasive stare or threaten you with death. You were taking a chance in assuming he came to save you the burden of dealing with Justin Doley’s bland chatter, but you didn’t care. You really didn’t. It was a sweet gesture if that were his true intention, but a niggling suspicion refused to believe it was. “Thank you, by the way. I was ready to lock my knees just so I could escape.”

        Regulus’s face blanched, a tinge of hot pink flooding his cheeks. His brows made a cute little furrow that gave the impression of a natural unibrow. “Why would you lock your knees?”

        “When you lock your knees, the blood stops circulating and can lead to fainting,” you said. Now you smirked. “Trying to avoid an answer? I’m hurt.”

        He frowned at you. “I’m not trying to avoid anything. It was nothing. You looked uncomfortable…”

        “I was more annoyed than anything,” you said, a correction you weren’t obligated to make. Seeing Regulus squirm was a pleasure on its own. He would already squirm, caught willingly communicating with a Gryffindor, but you had a tendency to go over and beyond in putting others on the spot. It made you a childish shade of giddy both inside and out, not that he would be able to tell. “You don’t have to keep talking to me, you know.”

        “Oh,” Regulus said but didn’t move. He stayed rooted where he was, watching you with a piercing gaze. Now that you were close enough to reach a finger across the distance and graze those gaunt, knife-sharp cheekbones, you ogled him. You knew he was gorgeous from the brief times you interacted and the long, solitary moments you took to dissect him outside lessons, but being so close and with no time limit, you took a chance. Your chance was a rescue mission disguised as a private discussion.

        A smile tore at your lips. “You clean up nice,” you said, your ogling session finished. You could stare at Regulus much longer than you deemed appropriate and actually did, but he was a moment and moments had the ability to pass you swiftly by. In this case, he’d leave without you getting to properly know him. Opportunistic as you were, you wouldn’t let him leave without taking what you could.

        Why would you even want to know him? you asked yourself. He’s probably a Muggleborn-hater. The heart wanted what the heart wanted, try as you might to logicize.

        Regulus frowned. “Thanks,” he said. He hesitantly snaked his eyes up and down your figure, stopping on your neckline. A beautiful necklace with your favorite gemstone adorned it, a gift from a Muggle relative. He cleared his throat aggressively. “You do too.”

        He’s a shy bugger, isn’t he?

        You inched closer, moving on a whim and putting your hand on his arm. Your fingers tightened around the material of his sleeve. He drew closer, like it was instinctive, and your eyelids fluttered as you basked in his perfumed, intimate proximity. You’d regret advancing on a Slytherin, especially one as admired and esteemed yet dark and dangerous as Regulus, but he just had this air about him. Like going from an altitude that took your breath away to one that had enough air to burst you at the seams. Like a butterfly with clipped wings, a scorpion without its stinger. He was tempting, but beautifully broken.

        I know. I just know.

        “When you came over, I thought you were going to confront me on how I haven’t kept my eyes off you all night,” you murmured. You met his gaze evenly, ignoring your pounding heart and fluctuating nerves.

        Regulus froze immediately. “What?”

        “Oh, did you not notice? Silly me,” you said, flaPping a hand like it never mattered in the first place. Truth was, your thoughts were frozen and fixated on his ignorance—ignorance you had just given a reality check. There had been no point, absolutely no hidden objective, in admitting your inability to overlook Regulus. Yet you had—and now he was staring at you like you had turned the color orange and horns magically sprouted from your head.

        Then, like a switch went off that had full control over Regulus’s emotions and the way he expressed them, he smirked. It wasn’t a full smirk, just apparent enough you noticed it. All the tension contorting his face flattened, leaving him like he was relaxed, the opposite of how he looked mere seconds ago. Always the skeptic, you stared at him with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing him from head to toe. He didn’t lose the smirk, his arms crossing over his sleek robes in a devil-may-care fashion.

        “Presumptuous of you to think I ever notice you in the first place,” he said, in that pompous voice you were used to hearing from Sirius’s favorite Slytherin, Severus Snape.

        You laughed at his audacity and, hearing the music change tone and tempo, reached out a hand. You forgot your wit and lost all possible responses to give his arrogant retort. “Dance with me, Black,” you said softly, “before your brother comes to ruin my night, like the prick he is.”

        Regulus raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t deny you. He interlaced his fingers into yours and his free arm, moving at whim and ease, came quickly to your side, enveloping your waist in a delicate embrace. A formal embrace that bespoke of the distance between you, the invisible rift. The dance he swept you in was unfamiliar, but it was simple enough that you could match his pace without tumbling over your own feet.

        You felt everyone staring, but nothing mattered more to you than the feeling of his hand on your waist and the deep, unreadable waters of his foggy gray eyes. He was an enigma that swept coast to coast, tainting the sand with his attendance but leaving wild imaginations to run rampant wondering why he was there, what he did, who he was. Everyone knew of him, but no one knew him. You couldn’t deny you also didn’t know him. Really, you knew nothing about him except that he was a Slytherin in your year, the younger brother to Gryffindor’s infamous playboy, and a supposed Pureblood extremist. You were curious, though, and wanted to know all the dismissive facts that made up his mind and crafted a mental narrative even you found ambiguous. He had consciousness, and there was no way in Merlin’s sodding Hell he was a host to someone else’s thoughts, opinions, and interests the way so many other future killers seemed. Every now and then he showed you something unusual—a mannerism individual to him, words you recoiled back at hearing from his mouth. After he smirked at you and accepted your demand to dance, you lost yourself in the shock of his dismal composure cracking at the folds.

        You never really believed in love.

-

        Regulus never really believed in love.

-

        But if you wandered too far into the bittersweet fantasy of happy endings…

-

        Regulus could get lost.

-

        The song changed again; slow and calm it became. Pressing your cheek to Regulus’s chest, you let the soft fabric of his dress robes sway you into an admittedly false sense of security. The hawk eyes following your every move disappeared with every cyclic step Regulus took. You were hypersensitive to his heartbeat now. It pounded against your cheek like a drumstick, a vibrato of epic proportions. You felt delirious with delight, yet a piece of you was stuck to the path your half-conscious feet made through the slow dance. It’s like you left a trail, and you’d have to pick up the pieces once Regulus became sick of your pathetic antics.

        “Are you asleep?” he asked amusedly, his chest vibrating against you. It rattled you enough to awaken some semblance of nerves.

        “No,” you said, shaking yourself out of the daze. You pulled back from him, bridging enough space to look him in his eyes. He had beautiful eyes a silly girl like you could get lost in. Any girl really. They were pools of fog made of spring mornings and forest hues. You just wanted to kiss his eyelids. What a strange desire, but you felt it all the same…

        Regulus blinked and you were drawn back in the moment. He had said something.

        You hummed in question, your eyebrows raising.

        He shook his head, his face flattening until it was expressionless. “I have to go,” he said. You knew what lies looked like. He was a good liar, but you were a better observer. “I have a matter to discuss with Slughorn.”

        You laughed. “That’s too bad,” you said, voice coming out like a purr. Your hand rose until it settled on his chest; your fingers curled around his robe, until fabric was fisted and cupped into a swirl. “We could have had some fun.”

        “No,” Regulus said firmly. Almost too firmly. His hand jerked up to meet yours and his larger fingers interlaced yours, tugging in an attempt to prompt your release. Your refused to let go. “Y/N.”

        “I like it when you talk all authoritative,” you said teasingly.

        His face blanched and it was enough of a shock to make him lose all incentive to fight the good fight. You took this chance and drew him in, his feet stumbling in a clumsy attempt to regain balance. “Y/N, I—”

        “What are you so afraid of?”

-

        Regulus was afraid of a lot of things. He was afraid of what his parents would do if they figured out he didn’t despise tainted blood the way he was raised to. He was afraid of his peers shunning and scorning him for being caught dead with a Half-blood. He was afraid of losing himself in the moment just to sate his deadened hope and watching you get killed in the crossfire of his foolish, self-indulgent mistakes. He was afraid of many things.

        He would never dare utter those fears aloud.

-

        You watched the conflict flit across his face, erasing itself seconds after.

        “What?” you innocently asked, noting that he had gone stiff. You were unaware to how deep his issues ran. You knew from Sirius’s running mouth that Pureblood households were devoid of tender moments and affectionate caresses. You wanted to imagine an alternative for them, but Sirius was a hellish hailstorm when honest; his feelings were subjective, but his experience was likely to ring alarmingly true. Regulus was quiet and allowed things to fester, so no one would ever know how he felt.

        He looked at you now, a lock where his mouth was. No key in sight. His eyes were piercing and unquestionably inscrutable.

-

        He had to leave before he lost control of his mouth. He couldn’t afford to involve you in his mess. He was a hurricane and you were summer rains. He would destroy you.

-

        “I have somewhere to be,” Regulus said, no room left for an argument. His arms disappeared from around your waist and he tore his eyes away, like it was physically painful to do so.

        You grabbed his wrist before he could melt into the dancing crowd. “Regulus, wait,” you said. You hated the way you sounded. You didn’t know him, but you felt strongly anyway, like he mattered more to you than was plausible for a girl and boy from two separate worlds. You couldn’t explain why you cared; you just did. He hid himself under the pretense of a rich, spoiled Pureblood who stood above the rest. He was hypnotically beautiful and bathed in greens and silvers. He was brilliant in ways Gryffindor House could only aspire to be.

        Regulus didn’t respond to your plea. He stared at you, waiting briefly to hear what you had to say.

        You didn’t have anything to say. You had something to express—and words weren’t always the best at expression.

        You reached up to his face and palmed his cheeks, finding little skin and mostly bone. His cheekbones jerked underneath your grip. His eyes went slightly wide, like he disbelieved you had taken physical initiative with him. Your fingers didn’t dig or tear at his skin, nor did you impulsively decide that you had him in your grip and now was the time to hurt him. You didn’t want to hurt him. You wanted to show him that he didn’t have to be risk-aversive; he could fall clumsily into risk with you and the two of you would make it work. As long as he felt this bizarre, unnatural connection same as you did.

        You’d find out.

        You pressed yourself flush against him and drew your lips until you were a breath away. Then you kissed him.

        The room and its occupants disintegrated, leaving only Regulus and you. Regulus dissolved into putty. His arms went around you again, one of them circling your waist entirely and a hand gripping your hip tight like letting you go would mean you never came back. His lips were soft if slightly chapped, moving against yours like they belonged there; there was no hesitation, no anxious energy. Regulus had lost himself in the moment, same as you. He wasn’t a Pureblood and you weren’t some Half-blood Gryffindor who had spent half the night pinning after a Slytherin who would keel over dead before wanting you. Regulus was different, and you hadn’t failed to sense it.

-

        Regulus abruptly remembered his place and pulled from you. Your eyes were still fluttered shut, and it took several seconds before you noticed he was no longer wrestling with your lips.

        You stared. Regulus wiped all emotion from his face, refusing to let you know he wanted a second kiss. You were not a good deceiver and every emotion you felt showed on your face, from confusion to lust to apprehension.

        “That should not have happened,” Regulus murmured, glancing around. There were people staring; even some of your Gryffindor friends, like Lily Evans and Marlene Mckinnon, were aghast, eyeing the two of you like you had just committed a murder.

        “Why?” you said confrontationally. “Did you regret it?”

        Regulus glanced at you but didn’t say a word.

        You could feel your heart plummet to your gut. “Yeah, okay,” you said, shaking your head. You knew he was being dishonest, but that didn’t stop you from feeling hurt at his blatant favoring of his reputation over a chance at this… this relationship. You jerked out of his slackened grip.

      You fought tears as you walked away.

-

        Regulus watched you go.

        He knew what it felt like when towers crumbled and empires fell, as it happened frequently. His life fell apart more than it came together. He missed you the moment you left but he knew this was for the better. That kiss had meant more than Regulus would ever admit. He felt the connection and he knew there was a future that would happen if he allowed it, if he chose not to intervene. He was the inhibitor of a lot of good things, but he would rather see himself drown than another person swallow their breath underwater.

        So he stared at your retreating back, wishing things were different.