#or the metallic taste of tab

[sick-sad-little-world]

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When you go into a restaurant and all they have is regular full-calorie Coke...

(via @bearcub81212)

[geminimoonbeamx]

She’s Got Bette Davis Eyes

A/N: I'm going to be real; I miss Steve’s loser in a sailor uniform era. I’m not sure how I feel about the return of King Steve but well. Don't even get me started how much I hated the forced throat fucking that is the Duffers trying to make Stancy a thing again. Despite all that, I’m happy to have our baby boy back. 

Warnings: Smut. Road Head. Steve getting his shit verbally rocked. 

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Steve Harrington has been on like, a hundred shitty dates this month alone. He really doesn't expect his date with you to be any different. 

The movie the two of you had gone to see was garbage. Zombiethon. Literally as horrible as it sounds, you’d pushed for that new Demi Moore flick but Steve had become a bit of a movie connoisseur since working at the Family Video.

A bit of a douche too, but then like. Hadn't he always been one?  You’re contemplating why you’d accepted the date at all while he pokes at his coke float with a straw. The diner is in full rage, loud enough that it drowns out any chance of conversation- 

Steve’s corny pick up lines are lost to the hustle and bustle, drowned out by the jukebox and old team mates coming up to pay homage to the former King of Hawkins High himself. 

You’d gotten ready for this. Like, really. Taken hours primping and priming. Your hair fell, practiced and shiny. Your lip gloss gleamed in the light. The denim skirt you wore was just on the right side of slutty. This worked for you, with guys- always. And still, it seemed like Steve wanted to be anywhere but sitting across the table from you- 

And you? Yeah, you’re taking that pretty personally. 

If he thinks he’s going to get a kiss at the door and a second date after this he’s dead wrong. 

You let him ramble, about his dumb job and his dumb hair and his weekend trip to Indianapolis a month ago. All the while smiling, nodding, giving a quip and taking the cues. 

You're more than happy when the check comes in the form of the older woman with a smokers cough. You're pulling out your purse before she’s even dropped it on the table. 

“No, no, no. I invited you out, It’s my treat-” he pats at his pockets. 

You ignore him, pulling the crisp twenty out of your wallet and handing it to the woman. Nora, her name tag reads. “Here you go, keep the change” 

She smiles at you, before turning sharp eyes to Steve, muttering about how all the real men died in Nam’.  

Your pounding pavement towards his car. Funny, all throughout high school you’d yearned to ride passenger in the maroon BMW, and now you weren't too sure you wanted to get in it at all. It wasn't that much of a walk, back you your house- why had you chosen these tall ass wedges?

“I had that tab, back there. You didn’t have to-” Steve starts the engine, sounding uneasy and unsure for the first time tonight and hah. Good. Misery loves company, and you’re the petty bitch that will enforce the fact. 

“You snooze you lose” 

“Uh-” He makes a face, confused as you play with his radio. If he wants to be a dick fine, but you refuse to do another awkward car ride filled with his shitty taste in music. Megadeth it is. 

Your house is just outside of town, at least a thirty minute ride. 

At five minutes in you decide what the hell. You turn the knob, metal fading  “Quick quesh, why did you ask me out if you’re obviously not interested in dating anyone?”

“What? That’s not true. I date, all the time-” 

“Ah, so just not interested in dating me. Like in particular” 

“No, I wouldn't have asked you out if I wasnt interested in you. Dating you. Dating anyone” 

“Can I share my theory with you? I mean I did let you explain the entire synopsis of Casablanca back there so like, my turn” You get comfortable in the leather seat, wiggling so that you're leaning bag against the door, directly facing him. He’s cute, that dumb little look on his face. The confused nod. 

“So you haven't really been with anyone since Nancy Wheeler- 

“Not true” 

“Yeah you’ve dated like half the girls in this town. But boyfriend, girlfriend? Not since Wheeler. Suspicious? Kind of” 

“It’s not suspicious, I just haven't been with anyone that I wanted to take that next step with” Steve defends himself, bristling a little bit. Fuck if your going to let this go. Who cares if he’s uncomfortable? This is the most fun you’ve had all night. 

“Sure. It’s okay, I’ve done the hung up on the ex thing too- like for years. I just wish you would’ve told me” you shrug 

“Told you what exactly?” 

“That you weren't on the market for anything other than…physical relationships” you pick your brain for the right words. 

His mouth gapes, open, snaps closed. Nose scrunches and well. “That's not something I really go around just advertising. Girls aren't into that” 

“Aren't they?”’

“Are you?” He rebuts, doubtful. Hopeful, but mostly doubtful.  

Bingo. Right on the money.

You bite your cheek, trying to contain your grin as you reach over the console, your hand on Steves denim clad thigh “I think as human beings, it’s kind of fucked up to deprive ourselves of touch. It’s one of the five main senses and all that. I mean, so you don't want to get married...that doesn't mean you can't get your dick wet�� 

Steve hisses as your fingers drag, right over his fly. “Y/N”-

“Shh, just keep driving. Don't you wanna have a little fun?” you massage his bulge and reach over, because fuck it. You're in this deep already. Rejection would sting but this date had already been horrible. 

You aim for his stubbled cheek, but he turns his head last minute, his plump lips meeting yours. Fuck, this is the good stuff. The legendary stuff. High School mythology etched on the walls of the girls bathroom, whispered in reverence between friends. Steve tastes like mint, feels like sunshine. Uses the perfect amount of tongue. 

You pull away after a moment. “Eyes on the road, hot stuff”

Now why did he take you to the worst movie of all time, when the two of you could’ve been doing this all night? Boys are so stupid. Even pretty rich ones with good hair. 

You nose behind his ear, drag your lips down his throat as your fingers begin to work on his zipper, giggling when he swallows roughly. 

“All this fun’s gonna get us killed” 

“Come on, you're a great driver. Just focus, okay” you pull away, and his head leans, following without his permission. “Or do you want me to stop?” 

You spear your bottom lip between your teeth, staring at him with big bright eyes. The shadows of your eyelashes dancing in the passing streetlights. 

“That's killer, you know that? Not fair at all. If we end up in a ditch, it’s all your fault” He sighs, concedes, reaches down to lean his seat back. 

“You worry too much. But wouldn't that be kind of rad? Death by road head. We’d have the coolest gravestones ever” You whisper wetly into his ear, tugging on the lobe with your lips. 

He just shakes his head. 

Turns out a thirty minute drive is more then enough to make Steve Harrington turn into a puddle of goo. His chest heaves and he white knuckles the steering wheel as you work him over. 

It’s sloppy and crude, the squelching and gagging echoing around the car. His thighs shake and it takes everything to keep his eyes from crossing. He sneaks a peak, down at your bobbing head, at the way that your’e putting your all into it. Those little hurt sounds you keep making when the fat head catches the back of your throat, just right. He snaps his hips up, cruel. Needing to hear it just a little bit louder as you struggle. 

He can’t do this. 

“Y/N- fuck. Ease up-” 

You double down. 

Elm Drive 

He makes a wide swerve of a turn before stomping on the breaks. Your house is just down at the end of the block. 

When he comes , with a shout and his fistful of your hair, it's blinding. He feels like he’s been sucker punched in the gut, before his spine turns to liquid. 

He’s wrecked. 

And you? You’re fine. Just peachy as you pull off with a pop. Spit and cum smeared across the bottom of your face. He accepts the little peck you give him eagerly. 

You’re wiping your face clean, reapplying your lip gloss and dabbing at the corners of your teary, mascara smudged eyes as Steve tries to come back down to earth, his chest still heaving embarrassingly when you seem so…composed. 

He inches down the street, feeling a little high. He probably shouldn't be driving right now- 

When he pulls in front of your house, porch light on and quaint, you instantly grab your bag. Ready to go. 

“So I’ll um- call you? We should hang out again. Soon? Preferably” 

You throw your head back and laugh, almost meanly “That’s going to be a no from me. This was the worst date I’ve ever been on. Like ever. Lose my number, Harrington” 

You’re out of the car before he can wrap his head fully around what you’d said. No? What? The passenger door slams. 

He’s pretty sure you’re going to leave him high and dry- take the steps up to the porch and call it a night. Instead, you freeze, contemplating for a moment. Your eyes scan the street, peeled for any sign of your neighbors before your wiggling your thick thighs, reaching up under your skirt. 

“Something to think about. If you ever decide that you want to…take that next step” You grin leaning into his driver side window. Handing him the pair of baby blue panties. Still warm. Very much wet. 

Steve poor dick jumps. “I’ll take it into consideration” 

He can’t help but grin. That stupid look on his face the entire time he watches you walk the path, shut your front door behind you. 

Steve had taken out no less than a dozen girls in the last few months, everyone leaving him feeling more unsatisfied than the last. He looks at the blue lacy fabric in his hands, and thinks yeah. 

He’s pretty sure he owes you a second date. 

Welp. This was filthy. If you're interested in reading a part two of this, let me know! I think these two could be really fun. Also, food for thought. My ask box is open. 

[ishouldgetatumbler]

The inside of the batmobile was red, cushioned and dim. Controls of a dozen gently glowing shades and shapes covered the dashboard, but Batman didn't protest when Danny sat next to him.

"This is so cool!"

"Buckle." Batman protested gruffly.

Danny pulled randomly at his shoulder level, grabbing a metal tab and clicking it into place. The seatbelt hugged to him automatically, and a small red light on the console dinged green.

"What does that button-"

"Ejector seat." Batman said dryly.

Danny's hand skittered away like a startled spider.

"Really?"

"No. That's a safety light that means someone doesn't have their seatbelt."

Danny sighed.

Batman pointed with one gloved hand at a glass covered large red button surrounded with yellow and black markings.

"That's the ejector seat."

Danny laughed nervously and leaned away from the console.

"Where are we going?" Batman asked, "I have some buisiness at Vladcorp before I take you back to the manor."

"Nasty Burger. Take a right at the end of the street, then go straight until you see the sign."

Batman must have stepped on the gas, as the vehicle lurched and buzzed, before taking off, away from the breaking sun.

"It's named Nasty Burger? I thought it was a nickname!"

Danny snickered behind a hand.

"Nope. Locally famous, it's the fastest burger in town."

Batman looked at his charge skeptically.

"You wanted something fast right?" Danny persisted.

Batman turned, the vehicle smoothly gliding into the driveway.

"What would you like?"

Danny grinned.

"Nasty burger. Extra nasty sauce"

Batmam made a pained expression, but rolled down the window to the menu sign outside.

"Welcome to nasty burger, would you like to try our Deep-Dish Krusty Fries?"

Before danny could speak, Batman held up a hand. In a cool clean, super hero voice he said

"No thank you. I would like two nasty burgers with extra nasty sauce please."

They drove off, leaving a stunned cashier behind them. Danny watched turned around in his seat, facing back to Bruce.

"A bat credit card?"

Batmam grinned.

"Never leave the cave without it."

Danny snorted, and tore into his burger. The thin, viscous and brown nasty sauce sprayed across his mouth. The flavors of lettuce covered with grease and cheese that had never met a cow met wet beef before his toungue found raw onion tangled in the tomatoes.

These flavors were nothing to the nail curling taste of nasty sauce. It hit him in jaw like a boxer whose mother he'd insulted. He smacked his toungue appriciatively, before turning to Batman.

He was driving, steady on the road, with his food in one hand. He had taken a bite clearly, besides the burger missing a chunk, the seperating mixture of Nasty Sauce was drawn in a thin circle around batman's mouth.

He looked perplexed.

"Is it good?" Danny asked, worried.

Batman licked his lips, clearing his face of the sauce.

"I don"t know." He said after a moment, before biting again.

And Danny supposed that was good enough: nasty burger is an acquired taste.

Once the meal was finished, Danny asked

"What do you need at Vlad corp?"

Batman crumpled his wax wrapping paper into a ball and pressed a button on the console, creating a small opening in the center console and dropping the paper in. Danny mimiced him, and the hatch closed.

"How much do you know about Vlad Masters?"

Too much was the correct answer; half ghost, millionaire, shoots lasers out of his hands and eats caviar.

"College friends of mom and dad. Rich inventor. Ran for mayor. Adopted me via lawsuit..."

Evil, scheming, powerful, short tempered...

"And insane."

Danny ventured he knew where the conversation was going. Where he hoped it was going.

Batman nodded. "He's planning something. Something involving Plasmius, and his feud with you. I'd like to know why. If you could tell me what Plasmius holds agienst you, that would help my investigation.

Danny swallowed. The red cushions he sat on seemed to stick to his skin, and the seat belt felt like a constrictor as clung around him. He was suddenly trying to pick the ejector seat button out of 20 or more dials around the center console.

How do I hide the fact I'm a ghost?

Danny's brain froze.

"Plasmius hates me because I'm trans."

That was stupid. It was correct, but it wasn't smart to say out loud. He panicked, the situation was too prickly, and he'd picked one of the thorns at random. Sure, Vlad hated him for not being a "Real Man", but the more sensible reason to say was that he represented the life with a woman he loved and would never have.

Danny felt weak and stupid.

He wanted to punch someone.

The car stopped.

"You'll be safe with the Wayne family. They're excentric, but I'm certain they can look after you for the time being."

The door opened.

"I'll be gone for half an hour. If I'm not back, please call commissioner Gordon of Gotham PD. There are snacks and water in the glove compartment."

The door closed.

[liv0nerd101]

Thief

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Pronouns: She/they

Warnings: implied smut

Trope: Enemies to lovers 

Word count - 1.3k

A/n: I took this from my wattpad (liv_nerd101) which you should go follow :)

The batfamily had been chasing you for a while and a certain Vigilante finally catches up

Jason's pov

I jumped rooftop to rooftop chasing her. We've been after them for weeks. Ever since Catwoman stopped her career in thieving and made it official with Bruce, this Ghost has taken her place. She stole something new every night and every night managed to get away from one of us. She got away from Cass at least three times. Not even Bruce could do that. She finally stopped while she was  still ahead of me.

"You're faster than I expected Red," she yelled, "but not quite fast enough," and she zipped off into the night. The way she moved. How confident she was that no one would ever catch her intrigued me. I ran back to my bike and quickly got home. I walked to my room and took off my helmet. I pulled at one off the books on my shelf and a bulletin board dropped down. I've been tracking her more than the others. They wanted her in Arkham, I wanted her on the team. She was good. Too good to send off to live with the psychos that terrorized Gotham. I needed to know who they were.

Y/n's pov

I made it home with the diamond and rid myself of the tight costume I wore in order to stay in the shadows. I put on some sweats and a tank top and pulled out my computer. My rent was due soon so I needed to sell this diamond tonight. After a few hours I talked a guy into buying for way more than it was worth. Jeez people were stupid. He paid me more than enough to pay the next three months of my rent and probably more.

The next day I woke up to see that he had paid me and in celebration of my successful night I decided to go get myself a proper meal. I haven't eaten a good breakfast in at least two weeks so I decided to bike down to my favourite cafe after dropping the diamond off in the locker to be picked up. All I could think about was the freshly baked muffins that I could never afford and how amazing they would taste. The warm coffee. I was pulled from my mouth watering thoughts when I hit something and nearly fell off my bike.

"Shit," I heard someone say.

Jason's pov

Sucker. I bought the diamond back from her. I wasn't stupid I knew that I paid way more than it was worth. But that was the plan. There was one place I knew that she would go with that extra cash. I had been stalking her forever. She took small muffins and coffees from there constantly but never money. Of course she would go there if she had extra. So I got up early the next morning and drove to the small cafe, not bothering to grab the diamond, It was just gonna end up back in that museum and that could wait. It wasn't super busy so this should be easy. Go in, see who looks to most like her and start keeping tabs on both. I got off my bike and just as I was walking to the door someone hit me with their bike. I hit my head on a chair on the way down. "Shit," I whispered when I touched my head and looked at the blood coating my fingers. I could tell the cut was deep. These metal patio chairs were sharp as fuck. She looked down at me with a worried face.

"Holy shit I'm so sorry! Here let me- shit your bleeding, let me clean you up. You might need stitches," they reached their hand down to help me up. Same hair colour and length, similar voice, same height. This could be her. "Come back to my apartment and I can get you cleaned up please it's the least I can do for running you over,"

"Sure, why not," she smiled and helped me up. We walked to her place and they sat me down on her couch. For being a professional thief she sure didn't live like one.

"Let me go and find my stuff, just sit tight, I'm Y/n by the way," that's what she said, I heard "I lost my shit, this is your chance to see if I'm Ghost"

"Jason," I stood up and went straight for the drawers in every room. eventually I found her laptop. Jackpot. "Found it!" Shit. I put it back and rushed back to my spot on the couch. Once she stitched me up I left and went back to the manor. I couldn't have her thinking I was on to her.

Y/n's pov

I slipped on my suit as soon as the sun set and went looking for some rich white guy's business I could rob when I heard a scream. I stopped in my track and looked down from the roof I was perched on. 3 guys, one old lady with a purse that looked like it cost more than my house. I dropped down behind them. "You know, stealing is one thing but taking from a helpless old lady is just mean," All three came at me at once. I ducked under a punch from one guy and kicked the back of his knee. He fell down to the ground while I kicked another in the chest sending him back, giving me time to knock out the other one by bashing his head over my knee too many times to count. I heard grunting and groaning from behind me. I whipped my head around to see Red Hood beating the snot outta the guy I had kicked away earlier.

"Hey beautiful," he dropped the guy and walked closer to me. he was way taller than I had expected. "They get to your target first or what?"

"Ouch, I'm offended. I would never take from an old lady," I brought my hand up to my heart. He looked me up and down. "What? Like what you see?"

"Just never thought I'd ever talk to you outside of a cell," I chuckled.

"Funny, you think you can catch me," His hands reached behind his head and he pulled off his helmet to reveal his face, still covered with a domino mask of course.

"Oh hunny," His voice was deep, no longer distorted from the helmet," I know I can catch you,"

Jason's pov

I glanced down at her lips. This was all apart of my plan but god I couldn't wait for this next part. I leaned down and connected my lips to her's. She immediately kissed back I snuck my hand around her waist and pulled her closer. Her hand went up to my hair and she pulled me down. I grazed my tongue over her bottom lip and she opened her mouth. She didn't even fight for control. Ghost wanted this just as much as I did.  We stayed like this, holding onto each other until we needed air. Goddamn oxygen. They pulled back and pulled out their grappling hook.  

"My place?"

"Fuck ya," I followed her to her apartment and we came in through the window. It was dark but as soon as the lights went on, I knew exactly where I was. "Y/n?"

"What?" she turned back to look at me. "What did you just say?"

"Your Y/n, you suck at riding bikes and you love the cafe down the street," I walked up to them.

Y/n's pov

I backed into the wall. How would he- no.

"Jason?" His eyes went wide before he realized he shouldn't have mentioned the bike. We both pulled off our masks and stared at each other. I reached up for his hair and pulled him down, his lips connecting to mine once again. I dropped my mask and pushed him in the direction of my room. He pulled off his jacket but stopped mid way through unzipping his suit.

"You sure you wanna do this?"

"One hundred percent,"

[randomperson351]

Bucky cockblocking your dates - BB

Summary: After you and Bucky broke up he regrets nothing more and is counting on his ability to win you back, even if he has to scare a few guys into an early grave to do it.

Note: I'm going through a bit of a Sebastian Stan fix right now so prepare for a few of his characters in upcoming posts.

Do not repost or rewrite any of my work. Minors and ageless blogs get blocked.

Masterlist

1. "It was literally insane!" Your date across from you exclaimed excitedly after telling you what himself and his friends got up to on the weekend. You hadn't been on many dates with him but you were definitely moving forward; this was date number five. "You should so come hang out with us tomorrow it's gonna be sick!" He tried to coax you.

You smiled down at your drink and swirled the straw around while he finished his persuading speech. You had both decided on coming to a cafe for a quick get together this time. At last he finished and looked at you expectantly.

"Well I-"

"Why would she want to do it after you just spoiled the fun?" You froze at the interrruption of a voice all too familiar and lowered your gaze to the half eaten brownie in front of you.

"Excuse me?" Justin said in an indignant squawk at this random guy who'd just pitched up on his date.

"I mean Jesus, what happened to having a bit of mystery in a relationship, huh?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Justin ignored Bucky's comments.

You looked up from scrubbing your hands along your forehead and took a deep breath. "Justin, this is Bucky, my ex boyfriend. Bucky, this is Justin, my date." You emphasised, as if Bucky didn't already know that from the tabs you know he's been keeping on you.

"Seargant Barnes, actually." Bucky corrected you, glaring pointedly in Justin's direction which made you huff and roll your eyes.

"And we can help you how?" Justin's voice didn't loose the judgemental tone.

"Get lost, dickface."

"Buchanan." You warned lowly yet sharply, an expression of steel on your face when Bucky turned to face you. He relaxed a little but just winked at you all the same and turned back to Justin, jerking his head in a 'get out of the booth' motion.

"Really, and what if I don't want to get lost, dickface?" Justin stood and tried to square off against Bucky. Heavy emphasis on the 'tried'.

Bucky reached forward with his metal arm and grabbed onto Justin's collar roughly, jolting him forward so that Bucky could whisper something in his ear.

"Barnes, that's enough!" You exclaimed, but he kept talking for a few seconds before releasing Justin's collar and patronizingly smoothing over the creases he'd made in his clothing. Justin cleared his throat and bent down only briefly to grab his backpack from the floor.

"Goodbye y/n." He mumbled, avoiding eye contact and racing faster than lightning to the front door looking terribly ashen faced.

You groaned and went back to resting your head in your hands as Bucky silently slid himself in the booth opposite you that was previously occupied by Justin.

"I mean no offence when I say this, but you have horrid taste in men honey." Bucky stated as he munched on the leftovers of Justin's food.

"Clearly, I dated you." You replied monotoned.

Bucky pouted a fake pout and frowned at you. "Harsh, I wasn't that bad."

"Whatever you say Bucky." You sighed in resignation as you stood and collected your bag, wrapping up the brownie and taking it with you as you began to leave.

"See you soon heartbreaker." Bucky called after you. You lifted a hand without turning and waved at him.

"Probably Barnes, probably."

2. By some miracle a guy from work had asked you on a date after the whole Justin escapade (Justin who was so unnerved by whatever Bucky threatened him with he hadn't had any contact with you since that day) and brought you to the movies.

He was a nice guy and he was cute, a win-win so far as you both sat in your seats and waited for the previews to end. You quietly chatted while they played, laughing at a few of his jokes and telling anecdotes about work when the film started so you stayed quiet.

Just as the beginning credits finished and the actual movie began, a heavy figure plopped into the seat next to you. Naturally you didn't pay any attention to it until a bag of popcorn was tilted in your direction followed by "Popcorn?" made you sag in defeat.

"James." You greeted him in a whisper, not looking over to see the smug expression on his face but focusing on the film playing instead.

"Y/n."

You said nothing afterwards in hopes that maybe he would settle and watch the film quietly since he was practically on the date with you, but no such luck.

"So Brad huh?" He lent over and whispered into your ear, still you said nothing. "I mean come on, what's he got that's so special? A premature beer gut and hair loss?"

"Shut up Bucky!" You replied harshly.

"A hideous nail biting habit and lack of an ironing board?"

"Barnes." You warned.

"No sense of fashion and loafers?"

This time you said nothing and just flung your hand out to give him a hit to the stomach, but thanks to the super soldier serum it meant that he wouldn't really feel anything.

"Hey, is he bothering you?" Brad picked up on the commotion and asked.

"Yes, yes he is."

"Lets change to the seats in front." He suggested, you nodded your head in agreement.

When reaching down to pick up your bag from underneath your seat Bucky grabbed your arm; the shock making you turn to face him as he moved closer to you.

"You know I won't stop doll, not until you give me another chance, at least to explain."

"I don't want your shitty explanations James, I want you to leave me alone." You tugged your arm but he didn't release it.

"You know I can't do that, it's for your own safety." His eyes pleaded with you to understand but you just couldn't.

"I don't care anymore." You whispered shaking your head; this time when you pulled your arm Bucky let you go and you climbed to the seats below where Brad was waiting for you, although now you weren't really in a date mood, but you could fake it for one night.

Bucky sat behind you silently for the rest of the film much to your relief, but little did you know he wasn't actually watching any of the film; he'd actually kicked his leg up to block Brad from reaching his arm over and putting it behind your shoulders.

As long as he didn't touch you, Bucky could handle it.

3. Things over the past couple of weeks between you and Brad had been going really well, which is why you couldn't understand why he had stood you up on this date.

It had been over an hour and you'd only just received a phone call from him saying he couldn't make it because he was watching a football match with his friends. You didn't even dignify him with a response and just hung up the phone, somehow maintaining a stone cold façade while you finished off the last bit of wine in your glass.

It had been a total waste of time, you'd gotten all dressed up in your favourite dress, hair and makeup done just for him not to show. And the worst part, you didn't even order anything thinking Brad was going to show. You stood from your table and put your coat on, payed the check and left to walk back home, a ball of misery and hunger.

You got about half way when the tingle in your eyes indicated how close you were to tears; however you refused to let them fall just because of a stupid date. You were convinced it was just because you were hungry and bordering on drunk from not having much to eat today.

"Hi doll." A voice interrupted your inner whinge fest and you spun around to face the one and only.

"I know you want to rip into me about my dating choices but now's really not the time okay, you can yell at me tomorrow." You told him, voice thick with unshed tears.

"No y/n, no no no, I'm not gonna yell at you. I wanted to come see how the date went, when I saw you leave I came after you, not seeing Brad anywhere." Bucky placated you, walking closer slowly.

"That's because he didn't come." You said sharply.

"What?" Bucky's face went from soft and concerned to murderous in record timing.

"Had a game to watch with the boys and forgot about our date. He didn't come."

"I'm gonna kill him." Bucky whispered under his breath, opening his arms immediately when you sniffled and tucking you safely into his unzipped jacket to hide you away from the rest of the world.

"And the worst part is I'm starving!" You began full on crying, wrapping your arms around Bucky's waist as he hushed you and gently started swaying your bodies, using his hand on your back to give you a few gentle pats.

"Shh shh, I know doll, I know, I'm sorry." He cooed softly in your ear. "Come on, lets get you home, hmm?"

You pulled back and wiped harshly under your eyes with the sleeves of your coat and sniffed one final time before nodding turning around to lead the way. Bucky walked with you, his flesh arm wrapped snuggly underneath your coat against the material of your dress, keeping you tightly against his side all the way back to your apartment.

You reached the front door and ferreted around for your keys, unlocking it and spinning to face Bucky who was looking at you with a face full of trepidation.

"You wanna come in? I have snacks." You offered. Bucky's face lit up in a smile you haven't seen in a long time and he nodded, stepping forward but catching your wrist before you both entered. You turn to face him with question in your beautiful eyes.

"On one condition, lets stop with the dating for now, okay?"

You smiled a little and agreed. "Okay."

That night Bucky made you dinner and stayed with you all night till you felt better, successfully taking your mind off of the horrible date. He carried you to bed after you fell asleep on the sofa and took your shoes off before covering you with your duvet and laying next to you (but on top of the duvet; because of his serum induced body, he literally feels like he's melting if he's under the covers).

The next morning when you woke, your bed was empty but upon walking into the kitchen you found that Bucky had made you breakfast and left you a note explaining his whereabouts.

Morning love,

I decided to let you sleep in (even though I really wanted to tickle you awake, you looked so adorable) while I ran some errands. I made your favourite, hope you enjoy, I'll be back soon.

Love,

Bucky.

If that errand happened to be kicking Brad's ass, well you didn't need to know that was the reason behind his terribly smug face when he came back 10 minutes later and greeted you with a kiss to the cheek.

[boxofbonesfic]

Songbird

Title: Songbird

Summary: When Bucky meets a young single mother with a hole in her life, he can’t help but try and fill it the best way he knows how—with himself.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Warnings: Stalking, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Forced breeding/Impregnation, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Mating Cycles/Heat

A/N: This is one of my favorites that I’ve written! Who doesn’t think Bucky’s a total DILF? This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! 

Enjoy 😘

Bucky was a realist. The likelihood that he was actually going to have a good time was looking slimmer and slimmer with every word that came from Tony’s lips. If I asked Banner, he could probably calculate the percentages for me, he thought sourly, drumming his metal fingertips against the countertop. 

 “No.” 

 “Oh come on! You’ll love it, I promise. Old timey booths, live music—pretty waitresses,” Tony waggled his eyebrows and elbowed him. “Steve even likes it!” At the mention of his friend, Bucky peered around Tony Stark’s head and gesticulating arms to fix Steve with a questioning look. He shrugged. 

 “It’s a pretty low-key place, Buck.” Bucky scowled. Christ, even Steve was in on it now. ‘Go out and get acclimated, Buck,’ he’d say. ‘World’s different, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad’. Like hell it doesn’t. As if she were reading his thoughts, Natasha piped in from beside Steve. 

 “Why not come with? Tony’s buying.” She jerked her thumb at him. “Besides… It’s either come out with us tonight, or stay in the building and definitely get a call from Fury. At least if you’re drunk, you can’t answer.” 

 Now that was persuasive. Fury had been running them ragged; recon in Syria, busting up a Hydra base in Jakarta—Bucky was exhausted. And he almost never took “no” for an answer; something he and Hydra had in common. 

 “Fine.” He lifted his hands in defeat. “But I’m running up one hell of a bar tab.” 

 When they arrived, Bucky had to grudgingly admit that the venue was everything Tony had said it would be—it was like a place out of time, right down to the cracked brown leather lining the booths. Toward the back, there was a stage, which currently housed a band. They were long past warmups, simply playing soft, jazzy tunes that weren’t a chore to listen to.

  Maybe Steve told him about the first bar.

 Just after his deprogramming, Steve had taken him out. Not that Steve could get drunk, but he’d known Bucky needed some kind of sense of normalcy. 

 It had ended with a bar fight, and a couple of broken noses—neither of which belonged to them. 

 “See?” Tony said, gesturing around. “What’d I tell ya?” 

 Bucky shrugged his hand off of his shoulder. “I like it.” He agreed, heading for the bar where Natasha was already getting a drink. “Vodka.” He’d developed a taste for it over in Bucharest, and had never lost it. The bartender poured him the drink, chucking when Bucky jerked his thumb in Tony’s direction. “He’s buying.” The air was a mess of scents—Betas, Alphas, an Omega or two. But whoever owned the place was smart—there was just enough incense burning to mellow the tangle of smells, just in case. 

 Bucky remained by the bar for his second and third drinks, but turned when the band began tuning up. Tony, Natasha, Steve and Clint were all seated in a booth facing the stage, and made room for him when he wandered over. They were moving the instruments and setting up a mic. Bucky saw the bartender begin heading for the stage, clearing his throat as he tapped the microphone. 

 “Ah, good. Thank you all for joining us this evening. Special greetings of course to some very important guests this evening—” He gestured towards their table, and the spotlight swung over, bathing their booth in light. Bucky grimaced, and ducked his head, while Tony soaked up the attention and applause, standing for a bow. He loved the attention. “So without further ado, I’ll welcome our entertainment to the stage tonight.” He held out his hand, and from behind the old-timey red curtain framing the booth, a slender, gloved hand appeared to daintily grasp the older man’s. 

 She stepped out into the light, and Bucky swore his heart must have stopped. There were so many scents, it was impossible to pick out which one belonged to her, as much as he wanted to. She had thick, black, curly hair swept into neat pin-tucked curls that were held with jeweled pins, and smooth, golden-brown skin that reminded him of honey. The train of her sleekly fitted sleeveless dress dragged behind her a little, and Bucky could hear the sound of her heels clicking against the wood. 

 The bartender hopped off of the stage, jogging back to the bar as she signaled to the band, and they began to play. Music filled the air, backed heavily by soulful piano notes. 

 And then she opened her mouth. 

  “Roxanne… You don’t have to put on that red light…” Bucky didn’t know the song—he wasn’t much for music these days—but what he did know was that her voice was mesmerizing. Low, dulcet tones that seemed to hold physical weight, caressing him, carrying his mind far, far from the daily annoyances and deeper traumas he was desperate not to think about. “Put on the red light… Put on the red light…” He found himself leaning forward, eyes locked on the stage, desperate not to miss a single thing. 

 “You good, man?” Bucky heard Clint as though he was speaking to him under water, the words muffled and far away. “Barnes?” Bucky blinked, shaking his head quickly before turning his head away from the stage—with some difficulty. 

 “Yeah. Yeah, sorry.” He apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s really good.” Bucky replied after a moment, jerking his head back toward the stage. “Does she… work here a lot?” He directed the question at Tony, who shrugged noncommittally. 

 “I think so. I’ve seen her here a few times. Why, you interested?” He grinned cheekily at Bucky, who shook his head. There was a small smile on his lips, though, because Stark was right. She continued to sing, drawing her gloved hands up and down her body for emphasis, reaching out past the antique microphone stand to gesture at the crowd. She looked relaxed up there, like she was used to it.

 Bucky sat through every song in her set. Three in, Natasha was ready to go, waving goodbye to everyone as first she, then Clint departed the bar. Tony lasted until the second to last one, sighing as he slapped his hands against the table. 

 “Well, gentlemen, I’m going to bow out. I’m sure Pepper is wondering whether I’m currently being attacked or murdered, so I’d better get home to her.” He exited the table, but headed over to the bar, sliding them his card. He waved once more, before walking out. 

 “Enjoying the show, I take it?” Steve asked, clapping Bucky on his shoulder. “It’s getting real late, Buck.” He knew Steve would be hard pressed to leave without him, but Bucky wasn’t ready to go yet. 

 “I think I’m gonna stay longer. I’ll check in with you when I get back.” He made his voice hard, authoritative; just in case Steve tried to argue. He pursed his lips, and for a moment, Bucky thought Steve might push the issue—but he appeared to think better of it. 

 “If… if you’re sure, Buck. I’m a phone call away.” Perhaps Steve suspected he was up to something— Am I up to something?—but he swallowed thickly, clapping an affectionate hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he too made his way back to the compound. It was always like this—them breathing down his neck, as though he didn’t have enough on his mind and his plate without their constant fear that he would devolve somehow. 

 He grimaced, knocking back the rest of his drink. 

 “Thank you, everyone!” She bowed, a tendril of hair escaping one of her bejeweled pins as she did so. “You’ve been great!” She smiled graciously before exiting the stage, and going through a set of doors he assumed led to some kind of dressing room area. It was clear he’d closed out the bar, patrons were leaving at a steady trickle now, and the band was packing up, the bartender wiping down glasses and turning them upside down to dry on the bar. 

 Bucky knew he didn’t have long to plan—he’d wait outside for her, see if maybe he could have a word. 

 Hopefully more than just one. 

 It was chilly outside, winter wasn’t yet ready to release the city from it’s icy grip despite it being almost March, but it didn’t really bother him much. He was used to being cold. Someone eyed him warily as they exited the bar, and he scooted a little further away from the entrance, pulling his collar up. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a wanted man anymore—he still felt like he was being watched. Tracked. 

 It was thirty minutes before she came out, and Bucky smelled her before he saw her. Incense. Her hair was longer than he’d expected, pulled back into a loose braid she’d obviously done after changing clothes, and she wasn’t paying much attention as she pushed open the door. Bucky stepped in front of her, jostling her elbow. She yelped in surprise, dropping her bag as she jumped back, a manicured hand on her chest. 

 “Shit!” 

 Bucky held up his hands apologetically, immediately bending to help pick up the spilled contents of her purse. 

 “Sorry, I didn’t mean to jump out at you there,” He lied. Bucky’s communication skills had ceased to exist, between the brainwashing and cryostasis. I just want to talk to her. He was bad at conversation, and even worse at small talk. 

 “No, no, I… I wasn’t paying attention,” She said, shaking her head as she knelt next to him, grabbing a tube of lipstick that had rolled out of her bag. He handed her a brush, and a can of hairspray that had also escaped. “Thanks.” She was prettier now than on stage. 

 “You, um. That was a good show,” Bucky supplied, cursing himself inwardly as the corners of her mouth turned upward and she giggled. 

 “Thanks. I hope I didn’t butcher any classics,” She joked, rising to her feet and dusting off her knees. “Well, see you ‘round,” She turned on her heel and headed down the street, making for the nearest train station. Bucky inhaled air greedily, gulping her scent into his lungs, memorizing it. Omega. She smelled like incense; all smoke and cloves. Delicious.

 Bucky raked a hand through his hair. What were his options? Come back every night? Learn her schedule? He kicked at the sidewalk, looking down when the toe of his boot made contact with something… soft. Bucky dropped into a crouch, squinting before a wide grin broke out on his face. 

 “Hmm.” 

 —

 He’d meant to return the wallet promptly—after all, she had to be searching for it like mad. But… He’d found himself going through it instead. There were some pictures, small ones, shoved into the creased leather pockets. They appeared to be friends, family members. Some children—those made Bucky frown. She’d appeared so young, he hadn’t considered the possibility that she might have children, be mated. 

 And even stranger, that she was an unmated Omega. 

 It was like dominoes, each brick hitting into the next; a sequence of events Bucky was powerless to stop—or perhaps he just didn’t want to. Her social media was easy to find, after all, he had her name and her address. Her account was fairly public, and Bucky spent hours poring over her posts, her photo albums. 

 She did have kids—two of them. A two year old boy, and a baby girl, barely older than an infant. Bucky went through each of her profile photos at least twice—there was no mating mark adorning the creamy skin of her throat, and Bucky hadn’t seen one in person either. 

 A conundrum, to be sure. 

 Bucky found her apartment two days later. She lived just across the Brooklyn Bridge in Carrol Gardens. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but Bucky frowned anyway as he walked through it that evening anyway. It was still dicey, especially in the dark; and Bucky wasn’t particularly fond of his girl walking it alone. 

  My girl already?

 He rang her buzzer, wallet in hand. Her last name was right next to it, in all capital letters. 

 “H-hello?”

 “Um. Hi, yeah, I found your wallet? It’s me, from the other night.” Bucky lifted his finger from the intercom, and scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face. Why was it so hard to just… talk?

 “Oh! Oh my gosh! Oh wow, okay. Thank you! I’ll be right down—” The buzzer clicked, and Bucky stepped away from it, still nervously playing with her wallet with one gloved hand. It took a few minutes, but she appeared on the steps, a sweater hastily wrapped around her shoulders as she pulled open the lobby door. “Hi!” He presented it without comment, unable to help dragging his eyes down her form. Her hair was loose, in curls all the way down to her elbows. “Thank you so much, I was freaking out.” She smiled at him gratefully. 

 “You’re welcome. Sorry I didn’t, uh, come by sooner.” 

 She waved a hand dismissively. “Look, the fact that you didn’t run up my credit cards or steal my identity is the real gift here.” She laughed. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or anything? You know, as a thank you?” 

 Bucky licked his lips. 

 “I’d like that.” 

 Her apartment was average sized, just large enough for her current needs. It was well decorated, and as Bucky closed the door behind him, he was greeted with the shrieks of an excited toddler, and the soft wail of an infant. 

 “Shoes off please,” She instructed, before dashing into the living room. “What’s wrong? Oh no, did you wake up and momma was gone? I’m so sorry,” She cooed, bending down to lift a fussing baby out of a play-pen. There was a little boy, dressed in Spider-man pajamas sitting on the couch, watching him warily. 

 “Momma, who that?” 

 “This nice man just returned my wallet, Jason,” She replied, leaning over to kiss his head. “How��s your movie?” She asked, and he jumped up excitedly. 

 “Big fights!” He said, pointing at the screen. There was some kind of… lava monster on the screen. She patted his head, and gestured with her head towards the kitchen. 

 “You heard the man, big fights.” She laughed. “Let's get you that coffee.” She held the baby girl on her hip, cooing to her as she made her way toward the kitchen. “Thanks again, you know not a lot of people would return a wallet in this city.” Bucky seated himself at the round kitchen table, content to watch her. She was quite the chatterbox, but he didn’t really mind. It was better than the yawning chasm of terrible memories that usually occupied his thoughts. Even her speaking voice was beautiful, bright like birdsong. 

 She looked good with the baby on her hip, and she moved through the kitchen one handed as though she was used to it—though he supposed she was. She was curvy, a small waist, ample hips. Bucky scented her again, his eyes dropping to half mast with pleasure. She was still breast-feeding, he could smell it. His cock twitched a little in his pants. 

 “Milk, sugar?” She asked, and Bucky’s head snapped up. “For your coffee.”

 “Both. Please,” He added, doing his best to smile charmingly. “How old is she?” At his question, she smiled down at the baby as she pushed the fridge closed with her other hip. 

 “She’s six months! Just two weeks ago, isn’t that right sweet girl?” She set the milk down on the table and tapped the gurgling baby on the nose. Bucky knew this, of course—he’d seen the pictures on facebook anyway. She sat across from him, bouncing the baby on her knee. A look of surprise crossed her face, followed by embarrassment, and she shook her head. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t even ask you your name.”

 “B—James. My name is James.” He wasn’t sure why he made the distinction—everyone else called him Bucky.

  Maybe she’s not everyone else. She’s my girl.

 “Nice to meet you James.” 

 Bucky finished his coffee, occasionally prodding her with a question or two. She was a font of personal information, and all he had to do was point her in the right direction. Jason ran into the living room and hid under the table, bringing a few toys with him. 

 “Oh, no, I’m sorry. Jay, baby—” She moved to grab him, but Bucky stopped her, smiling. 

 “It’s fine, I don’t mind.” He grinned down at the boy, who was busily making explosion noises, mimicking the fights he’d seen on television with his action figures. Boy like that needs a father.  

 Two cups of coffee and tub and tuck in later, Bucky was standing in her doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. It was intoxicating being surrounded by her scent, and watching her putter around the house, chasing after the children sparked something in him. Protectiveness? Desire? Both?

 “Thanks again for my wallet, James.” she sighed, bouncing nervously on the tips of her toes. “I think you may have restored just a little of my faith in humanity.” She joked.  

 “No, the pleasure was all mine,” He said seriously. Bucky was suddenly struck by the urge to kiss her hand, but he stamped it down. Folks didn’t do that anymore. 

 Bucky stood outside her building, and waited for all the lights to go off, just watching. 

 —

 “Where’ve you been, Manchurian?” Tony asked mockingly, though Bucky was unaffected by his tone. “Haven’t seen you around lately.” 

 It was true—Bucky had been spending most of his time making sure his girl was straight. Following her to and from her jobs, some of which were in seedier parts of town than others, making sure she picked up the kids okay, and watching her babysitter to make sure she didn’t do anything untoward with them either. 

 Just in case. 

 It had been keeping him pretty busy, but he much preferred it to sitting around the tower, waiting to be sent on missions. Tony sat down beside him on the couch in the lounge, and Bucky grimaced. 

 “Just busy.” 

 Tony smirked, elbowing him as he grinned smugly. “Busy? With who? Oh my God, is our little boy dating?” He asked with faux excitement. Bucky’s cheeks turned pink, and Tony laughed out loud, pointing. “Oh shit, you are!” Bucky groaned, dragging a frustrated hand down his face. He took pleasure, however, at the sight of the other occupants irritated faces. Natasha ignored him, flipping a page in her magazine with a sharp “snap”. 

 That night when he left the compound, Bucky headed for Queens. She was performing at some club, and as he exited the train station, he frowned. He didn’t like the neighborhood. I don’t want her here. There were men drinking on a nearby stoop, who all whistled drunkenly at any woman who passed by. He grimaced at the thought of them calling to her, making her uncomfortable… He clenched his fists and shouldered past them, heading for the venue. 

 The show went well, better than he’d expected given the neighborhood. He was even happier that he’d decided to come and watch—she bore no mating mark, carried no scent other than her own. Walking back to the train, late at night, alone… it was a recipe for disaster. After her show, Bucky stuck to the shadows, edging around the club until she exited. It was late, later than usual when he followed her home. As before, the men were still drinking near the club. There were more of them now, four by his count. 

 His girl was smart—she knew her way around the city, knew to keep an eye on her surroundings. He saw her posture tense before she stuffed her hands into her jacket pocket, shouldering her large purse as she kept her eyes straight ahead. There was no way for her to avoid a bunch of drunk, horny males, however smart she was. No way to avoid their lustful glances, and deep inhalations, hoping to catch a whiff of her scent. 

 Bucky narrowed his eyes, watching as they peeled themselves off of the stoop one by one, jostling each other as they called at her. 

 “Baby! You lonely?” One of them asked, laughing. She remained silent, her pace increasing as she glanced over her shoulder to see them following after her. They were all young males at that, certainly younger than him . The four of them picked up the pace, still hooting and calling at her as she approached the train station. No baby. Don’t go down there, you’ll corner yourself. Bucky thought to himself, watching as she did exactly that, fleeing down the stairs into the well lit station; which this late at night, would be empty. 

 The men elbowed each other excitedly before beginning to follow her down. Bucky caught the last one by the arm, not waiting for him to complain before tightening his grip, the metal of his hand heating. He felt a satisfying crack as the bones snapped easily, and the young man cried out in pain and surprise, crumpling to the ground. 

 “Leave.” 

 He didn’t argue. 

 Bucky continued into the station, and the three of them had surrounded her, practically slavering at the jaws. The drunkest of the three still held a bottle in a paper bag, taking a swig before offering it to her. She frowned and pushed his hand away roughly. 

 “I said I’m not fucking interested!” She yelled, attempting to push her way past them. She wasn’t strong enough, and they laughed. 

 “I like her,” Said one of the others, leaning forward to scent her. “Smells good, too…” It was then that her eyes lit on him behind them, and Bucky knew then that he would fight a million, million men just to see her eyes light up with relief and gratitude the way they did just then. They turned to follow her gaze, and frowned at him. One of them snarled, pointing an accusatory finger. 

 “Get the fuck out of her, before we fuck you up!” Bucky wanted to laugh—they couldn’t hurt him. But they could hurt her.  

 “James!” Came her soft voice, and Bucky knew he would do fucking anything to hear it again—though perhaps under different circumstances. 

 “Get away from her.” He said simply, fixing them with a glare. “I won’t ask twice.” They sneered at him, still posturing. “Move.” One of them shoved her aside to lunge at him, and Bucky saw red, catching the telegraphed punch in his metal hand, crushing the bones easily. As the man screamed in pain, Bucky brought his other hand down on his elbow, breaking that too. He dropped him to the ground as the other two watched fearfully. “Next?” 

 They fled, dragging their friend up the opposite stairs. They left a trail of curses and empty threats behind them, but Bucky wasn’t listening to that as he crossed the platform to pull her into his arms. She was shaking, and murmuring “Oh my god” over and over again, even as he pressed her into his chest. It felt so right . He heard her sniffle, and realized she was crying. Bucky tilted her chin up with one finger, and wiped at the salty tear that was making its way down her cheek. 

 “Are you okay?” He asked, and she shook her head. 

 “I thought they… Oh god. I’m so glad…. Thank you, James.” She rambled, her trembling resuming. She threw her arms gratefully around his shoulders, and Bucky caught her, unable to stop the possessive squeeze he gave her in return. “You’re amazing.” She breathed, and he felt his knees go just a little weak at her breathy, soft voice. “Amazing,” She repeated, pulling away to look at his face. Her cheeks heated, and he almost smirked at the uptick in her smoky sweet scent before releasing her. 

 “I’ll take you home.” 

 He rode the subway with her back to Brooklyn, and this time when he dropped her off on the steps of her building, Bucky took down her number too. “Stay safe.” My girl. 

  —

 “James? I didn’t know you had a dog,” She said, smiling at him as he approached. Not until a week ago, I didn’t. Bucky thought to himself, waving at her. It was a beautiful day out, just like it had been all week. Bucky had been at a loss—following her to and from shows, watching her—it wasn’t enough anymore. He needed contact, wanted to get closer. He’d thought he could be satisfied on the periphery of her life, but he knew now that wasn’t true. She’d invited him over for dinner to thank him for the other night, and it had been harder than ever to leave after that. 

 “This is Buddy,” Bucky replied, leading the retriever over. Jay ran over excitedly, bouncing on his toes, reaching through the fence. 

 “I can pet him, momma?” She smiled nervously at Bucky. 

 “Is he friendly?” 

 “Of course!” Bucky had made sure to get a family dog, one who was used to and loved children—he’d specified that at the shelter. The dog licked Jay’s hands, making loud snuffling noises as he searched for treats. Bucky wasn’t really much of a pet person, but the park nearest her house had a dog run, and dogs were much easier to come by than children. The unease on her face relaxed—she was just being careful. Bucky beamed inwardly—she was such a good mother. 

 He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted everything—it was practically providence. A family, ready-made for him to step into. He’d never thought he could ever have that, but here it was within his grasp. 

 He just had to reach out and take it. 

 Jay unhooked the fence separating them from the dog run, and began eagerly petting Buddy, who rolled over onto his back for optimal pets. Bucky produced a ball and a bag of treats from the pocket of his jeans, giving them to Jay. “You can play with him, he likes fetch.” The little boy’s eyes widened as he gripped the ball excitedly, running off to do just that. 

 She laughed, leaning against the fence as she watched. Her daughter was in a stroller, and when Bucky peeked in, she was sleeping, her little fists resting tiredly against her chubby cheeks. “He likes you. Jay, I mean,” She clarified hurriedly.

 “Oh?” Bucky asked, settling himself against the fence next to her. Her cheeks colored, and she wrapped a curly strand of hair nervously around her finger. 

 “Y-yeah. I mean, I don’t have a lot of men around so… I think he’s just excited to be around you.” Bucky smiled softly, though the wheels in his head were quickly turning. She didn’t date much—he knew that already. She’d never even been on one in the time he’d known her. What Bucky wanted to know now was where the children’s father was, if he had to worry about him coming back; trying to take what belonged to Bucky.  

 “No? I mean where’s—if you don’t mind me asking—”

 “Where’s their dad?” She asked, letting out a huff of frustrated air. She looked embarrassedly down at the ground, kicking at it with her sneaker. “He’s not in the picture anymore…” She trailed off, and for once, Bucky had to needle her for information. 

 “I mean… maybe I’m kind of old fashioned, but I can’t imagine leaving two kids like that.” He shook his head and frowned, peeking at her out of the corner of his eye to see if she’d taken the bait. She furrowed her brows, an upset expression crossing her pretty face. She had. 

 “I left him .” She said, her tone icy. Bucky cocked his head, and schooled his face into one of concern. “He, um… He wasn’t a good father. I was afraid he was going to hurt the kids.” Ah. Bucky suddenly understood. He could fill in the blanks well enough without her saying too much more—abusive. He could feel the thin metal of the gate bend in his grip as he clenched his fists angrily. Suddenly he wanted to know more about this man. Maybe where he lived… 

 “Good for you. You deserve so much more than that,” Bucky said sincerely, threading his fingers through hers as they watched her son play. God there was nothing he wanted more than this, every day. The children were still young enough that they would unequivocally see him as their father. That was wonderful enough, but the thought of getting her pregnant, seeing her swell up with their child, that was enough to bring a dreamy expression to his usually serious face. 

 Jay came running back over with the ball, which was wet and slobbery from being in Buddy’s mouth, and dropped it into Bucky’s hand. “I love him!” He declared decisively, pointing back at the dog. She laughed a little sadly. 

 “Do you, baby? Well I’m sure James will let you play with him whenever you want,” She offered placatingly, as though she knew what was coming. He began to pout, stomping his little foot impatiently in the grass. Bucky wanted to laugh. They could play all day when he finally moved them in with him—he’d already decided that much, putting money down on a larger living space outside the tower. Steve had looked at him nervously, but said nothing as Bucky had packed his meager possessions. Isn’t this what they wanted? For him to live his own life again? 

 The brownstone he’d bought was beautiful, with a backyard, close to Prospect park—she would love it, he knew she would. 

 “I don’t wanna go, momma,” he complained, crossing his arms petulantly when she called to him. Bucky dropped to a squat in front of him, grasping one of his shoulders gently. 

 “Hey, little man. You gotta listen to your mom, okay? We’ll play another time.” He said sternly. Jay’s lower lip began to tremble, but he nodded. She regarded him with a grateful expression. 

 “He’s been after me for a dog for a month now,” She whispered conspiratorially when he approached the gate again. “Thanks.” 

 “My pleasure,” Bucky replied, smiling charmingly at her. “Listen, I know we keep kind of running into each other,” He began, playing up his nervousness. “But I was hoping to do it on purpose one of these days. Let me take you out for dinner, or something.” There was a note of hopefulness in his voice, eagerness even. He felt like he’d been waiting so long, he didn’t want to wait any longer. His family needed him, even if they didn’t know they were his yet. He saw many emotions cross her face, anxiety most of all. 

  No. No. Say yes. You’re supposed to say yes.

 “I… I like you, James, but I don’t know if I’m ready to be in a serious relationship right now…” She brushed her hair nervously behind her ear. “It’s still sort of… fresh,” She said apologetically. “But you’re a very good friend, and I’m so happy to have met you.” He wanted to scream at her attempt at a consolation prize. She just didn’t know how good they could be together, how good they would be together. 

 “I understand.” Bucky replied, though he didn’t. “Take care.” 

 He watched her go with barely restrained anger. She was perfect for him, didn’t she see it? Even her kids liked him. He’d never raise a hand to her in anger, not ever —and then it clicked in his brain. That’s all it was—she was scared. It was an irrational fear; Bucky didn’t need to meet the man who’d caused it to know he was nothing like him. 

 He was nothing like anyone.

 He took Buddy home, letting him loose in the yard before storming into the mostly empty house. His bedroom was just as threadbare, save for the computer and desk in the corner. Bucky made a beeline for it, throwing himself into the chair and ripping through the drawers. 

 “Where is it…” he muttered frustratedly, rifling through them until his hand closed around the scrap of lace he’d stolen from her apartment the second time he was there. Bucky groaned, burying his nose in it as he quickly grew hard within the confines of his pants. Bucky imagined running his tongue up her slit—he was a generous lover, she would see that. God, he wanted to make her scream. He wanted to make her feel like the goddess she was, and when he sank her down onto his cock, she would shine just for him and him alone. 

 Bucky made short work of his zipper, tugging them and his underwear down his hips until the bulk of his cock sprang free. He was already leaking, thick drops of precum gathering on the tip as it throbbed hotly. He wanted her so much—and he knew she wanted him, too. Could smell it whenever she got close. He knew she was just trying to be a good mother, but fuck if it wasn’t frustrating for him. He fisted his cock fiercely, pumping it as he used his thumb to spread the thick precum down his shaft. 

 She was still breast-feeding too…. fuck. Bucky imagined sucking her swollen nipples into his mouth, soothing them from the roughness of the baby. He bet her milk was sweet… why wouldn’t it be? Her scent was. Everything about her was sweet. He wondered if she would ride him and let him watch as he slowly split her open on his cock, or if she would let him fuck her from behind so he could watch her ample ass… So many possibilities. 

 He wrapped the lacy panties around his cock, groaning loudly at the feel of the soft lace against his heated, sensitive skin. When he finally had her, he decided, she would always be full of his cum, leaking out and soaking her panties, her clothes… that that was what sent him over the edge, cursing as his cum pumped thickly through his fingers and dripped down onto the bare floor. He stayed that way for a few minutes before he moved to clean himself up, sighing. 

 He’d ruined her panties, but that was okay. 

 He knew where he could get more—her locks were easy enough to pick. 

 The red circle with the ‘x’ in it on her calendar had stumped him for a week before he ran into her at the park again. Bucky inhaled her scent deeply, greedily into his lungs, his cock hardening instantly at the foreign yet familiar smell of her heat building. She was jogging with the stroller, and Jay rode his tricycle beside her. He saw her first, and was glad he’d brought Buddy along to distract her son. 

 “Hey!” She greeted him enthusiastically, grinning as she slowed down. It was warm today, and sweat shone on the exposed skin of her back and arms. She bent over to rest her hands on her knees, panting. “Hot today, huh?” Bucky nodded, angling himself to catch another intoxicating whiff of her heady scent. He had a week—perhaps less. 

 “Figured I’d get this guy out of the house for some sun,” he said, gesturing to Buddy who was laying tiredly on the sidewalk, apparently fed up with the heat himself. She laughed. 

 “Yeah, I’m feel you. I figured I’d try and work off some of this baby weight,” She said, poking her own stomach with a frown. Bucky wanted to tell her how perfect she was, but he held it in, his eyes raking appreciatively over her form instead. 

 “Any cool plans for the weekend?” He asked nonchalantly, and she rubbed the back of her neck. 

 “Actually, my parents are taking the kids for the weekend, taking them to the beach and stuff.” She didn’t know it, but she’d just handed him everything he ever wanted. Bucky fought to contain his excitement. “I’m heading upstate to… take care of some things. It’s all pretty boring,” She said, shaking her head. “What about you?” 

 “Oh, nothing special.” He lied, leaning down to scratch between Buddy’s ears. “Nothing special, thinking of taking a drive upstate myself.” He replied. She nodded. 

 “It’s amazing this time of year up there! So pretty, the kids love it. Maybe if the battery on my behemoth doesn’t crap out again, I’ll be able to take them up before the summer’s over.”

 “Car trouble?” He asked solemnly, attempting to commiserate over a common issue. “I hate that. I’m pretty handy, I can take a look for you if you want,” He said earnestly. While normally he would want his girl driving a car in tip-top shape, Buck could feel the skeleton of a plan forming in his mind. 

 “Oh, that would be awesome. I’ve got to drive out to the middle of nowhere, and it would be pretty shitty if my car died. Again.” 

 “Momma no cussing,” Jay piped up, and she laughed. 

 “Sorry. Mom will put a quarter in the swear jar when we get home, okay? Promise.” Bucky laughed too, feeling positively giddy. And when he came by that night to look at her car, she left him to it. His sweet, trusting girl. He loved her so much it made his chest tight—he’d never felt that before, not once. 

 The tracker he’d borrowed from the tower sat easily enough just behind the engine and out of sight, while the EMP bead he’d also borrowed from Shuri’s lab molded to the top of the engine block nicely. He had a feeling she didn’t look under the hood too often, and she wouldn’t recognize the newbit of metal as foreign. 

 Bucky took her keys upstairs, knocking gently on the door before entering. She answered with the baby in her arms, and a finger at her lips as she invited him in. Bucky scented her as soon as her back was turned, suppressing a quiet moan. He was right—she was going into heat. Fuck.  

 His cock hardened a little in his pants, and he shifted uncomfortably. “You should be all ready for the trip on—what? Friday? Saturday?” He asked nonchalantly as she exited the kids’ room, closing the door behind her. 

 “Friday morning—hopefully. I’ve got like a million things to do before then, so…” She gestured around the apartment tiredly. 

 “Well if you need anything…” Bucky trailed off. She smiled at him, and Bucky felt his face go hot. 

 “Oh sure. You’ll be the first one I call.” 

     To be continued...

[gingersnaaps]

ctrl + shift + n

you should always remember to close your tabs - especially your tabs of tumblr smut, and especially around miya atsumu.

wc: 1.6k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, noncon, fingering, panty gag, finger sucking, condescension, super meta, fem!reader with internal genitals, college!au

a/n: i feel like this has been done before but i’ve had this concept on my mind for a while

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

Miya Atsumu. Star volleyball player at your college. Undeniably talented. Riddled with scholarship offers and professional opportunities. Infuriatingly attractive.

Also: a terrible group project member.

“Just lemme have a look,” he whines, grabbing at your laptop. “It’ll only take a few seconds. Promise.”

It’s a heroic task, ignoring him. It almost takes as much brainpower as doing his portion of the project for him.

Your eye begins to twitch as his perfectly-filed fingernails intrude at the edge of your screen, obscuring part of the slide you’d been working on. Technically, he should have been the one doing them, but as much of a genius as he may be at volleyball(this fact was grudgingly admitted after you’d watched him play once), he was utterly useless when it came to anatomy and physiology.

And you really, really, needed to end the semester without failing.

The cool metal of the laptop slips out of your grasp, and you roll your eyes so hard that you think they might get stuck in your head.

“Just wanted to see what you’d been workin’ on,” Atsumu says sheepishly. He’s sitting at the opposite end of your couch, legs kicked up and crossed on the coffee table, and the bright screen disappears from view as he begins clicking through the slideshow. “Not bad,” he muses. He presses a few more keys.

His face suddenly changes, a brow quirking as his eyes darken.

“What?” you snap. “Should’ve done it yourself earlier if there’s something you don’t like.”

He jumps slightly, startled by your harsh reaction. “No,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “It’s good. I like it.”

One more thing to note about Miya Atsumu, you thought to yourself: he was probably terrible at poker.

He returns the laptop to you, as promised, and hums idly as you resume working. The two of you sit in silence, but it’s not exactly comfortable - after the awkward exchange, there’s a layer of tension that hangs thick and heavy in the air. The air conditioning drones on in the background, like white noise meant to soothe, but it worms its way into your conscious mind and sits there, just noticeable enough to be irritating. Aside from that, it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Of course, he’s the one to break the silence.

“Didn’t know you were into that kinda’ stuff.”

You freeze.

“Didn’t think that a girl like you would ever be lookin’ at something so messed up.”

Panic clenches at your stomach, and you reply carefully, voice measured and cold. “What are you talking about?”

“Should really be more careful about which tabs you leave open,” he chuckles.

You scan the cluttered row of tabs at the top; there’s nothing missing. Your eyes dart around the screen frantically -

There’s an incognito window open along your taskbar.

“Rough sex, violent sex, rape? Jesus christ, sweetheart.”

You click nervously, and on the screen, clear as day, is the fic you’d been reading earlier that morning. It’s one of the blogs you frequent - normally one of your favorite places to scroll through after a nasty day - but right now, it seems almost sinister, black font on a white background staring back accusingly as your skin prickles under his gaze. You swallow; a heavy, sinking feeling squeezes at your chest, closes up your throat, makes you feel like you’re dry drowning.

He grabs the laptop back. He’s sitting a lot closer now.

“I mean, just look at this shit. You really want this, huh?”

“No, I- I don’t.” Your voice sounds foreign, far away - you feel like you’re underwater, and your denial sounds guilty even to your own ears.

His lips graze your ear, the warmth of his body spreading to yours as he slides an arm around waist.

“If you wanted to be raped, angel,” he whispers, a terrifying grin stretched wide across his face. “All you had to do was ask.”

He laughs at his clever little joke, and pulls you onto his lap.

You feel numb, paralyzed, unable to fight back or move at all as his hands glide along your inner thighs, kneading the soft, puffy, flesh, spreading them apart until you’re straddling his lap. He pulls your hair to one side and starts kissing along your jaw, rough and sloppy, sharp teeth nipping at the underside of your jaw as you shiver.

He punctuates his words with a harsh squeeze to your thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to your cunt. “I bet you were getting off t’ this, weren’t you?” he hisses. “Bet you were just dripping down your thighs, squirmin’ around ‘n moaning, fantasizing about some scary man who just takes what he wants.”

The dull, pained, look in your eyes reads like defeat to him, sending a thrill of pleasure through his veins. He’s right, isn’t he? He’s fuckn’ spot on about your little habits, your little fantasies, and he’s gonna make sure that all your dreams come true.

“Let’s do this exactly how it’s written out, how’s that sound? Follow along with your cute story ‘nd everything,” he muses, scrolling down the page. “Starts out with her - you - getting fingerfucked.”

It’s as if those words break some sort of dam inside you, a flurry of tears and sobs heaving out of your chest as his fingers trail up to your clothed clit. You squirm back and forth in his lap, ass rutting against his hardening cock. “Don’t want it,” you whimper. “Don’t make me. Please.”

“Playin’ along, angel? That’s cute.”

He peels your skirt off of you, thumbs hooking around the waistband of your panties as he pulls them off and stuffs them in your mouth. You can taste yourself on the damp fabric that clings to the roof of your mouth, spit soaking through as your whines and protests become muffled.

Fingers spread your pussy apart, sliding and squelching embarrassingly in the slick, your skin cold and exposed in the open air. As he rests his thumb lightly on your clit, he quirks his lips at the way your heartbeat thrums in your cunt, your pussy twitching as you clench around nothing.

Best part is that you like this, that you're turned on by this, he thinks. The fat, silvery, tears streaming down your face mean absolutely nothing when you’re so obviously into it.

He thrusts a long, thick, finger in, all the way to the last knuckle, the calloused pad of his fingertip brushing up against your spongy walls as your pussy contracts and squeezes him tight. “So eager,” he coos. “It’s jus’ like you always imagined, huh?”

You sniffle as the outline of his cock presses into your ass, rutting his hips against you and moaning from the delicious friction of the fabric. There’s nowhere for you to go, one large hand squeezing your waist and holding you down, the other fucking you backwards into his broad chest.

He crooks his finger; you sob, body drawn taught with pleasure, and he pushes another inside as you spasm. He’s good with his hands, unfairly good, his thumb nudging against your sweet clit in circles as his fingers scissor your walls and stretch you out so good. It’s as if you’re his little puppet, jerking around whenever he drags his fingers roughly against your g-spot, crying out through your stuffed mouth as blunt teeth sink into your neck and his tongue runs along the ridge of your ear.

“You’re makin’ a mess, pretty girl,” he murmurs, watching in delight as you flush with shame. “Dripping into my palm and all down your thighs, just like the girl in the story.”

You turn your head, trying to look away, but he grabs at the hinge of your jaw and forces you to meet his gaze. It’s taunting, cruel - he looks so pleased with himself as he fingers you until your thighs start trembling, walls clenching erratically as pleasure builds and builds.

His grip on your face turns tight, pressing bruises into your skin as you cream and gush around his thick digits. The orgasm crashes down on you in waves of pleasure, his fingers fucking you through it with constant probing and circling and stimulation.

His nimble fingers pluck the panties from your mouth, soaked with drool, and tosses them aside onto the floor. “Open up,” he says, prying at your mouth.

Your jaw goes slack, falling open, too tired to put up a fight as he shoves his fingers in. You’re not sure there’s much of a point. You suck sloppily, tongue laving around his digits, cleaning your cum off of him as he shoves his hand in deeper, making you gag and retch, and he moans loudly at the sight. You look so perfect - his precious little angel choking on his fingers, eyes watering and body trembling as you do everything he makes you.

You’re shivering when he withdraws his fingers with a pop.

He helps you put your clothes back on, wet panties sliding across your skin and leaving trails of shining slick. It sticks and clings to your pussy, makes you feel all filthy and used, and bile rises in your throat. Goosebumps ripple down your thigh at the sensation of cool air.

Atsumu nuzzles at your neck, fingers patting at your spent pussy, his tenderness almost mocking, and clicks back to the slideshow you’d been working on.

“Let’s save the cock for after you get us the A, hmm?”

[sweeterthanthis]

Where the Wild Flowers Grow - Part Two

Pairing: Dark!Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

Summary: To ease the boredom of living in such a small, fruitless town, you have a habit of putting yourself in reckless, often illegal, situations. That is until the town Sheriff decides to teach you a lesson you'll never forget. A lesson that will change you both, forever.

Warnings for this chapter: Abduction, forced restraints, mentions of alcohol and sex, mention of rehab, spoon feeding, teasing, angst, mentions of murder and prostitution, slight degradation in a non smutty sense, masturbation, and the infamous Pepsi cup. 18+.

Word Count: 2.7k

Series Masterlist

A/N: Thank you @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for looking this through for me and to @dreamlessinparis for being one hell of a cheerleader.

All my works are 18+. If you click the read more tab, you are agreeing that you are 18 or over, have read the warnings and take responsibility for your own media consumption. I do not consent to having my work translated or posted anywhere else.

The pounding in your head makes you wince, your pulse thrumming in your eardrums as you let out a low whine - cold floorboards digging into your side, and a chill running through your bones. 

Your mouth is dry, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth and the sour aftertang of liquor burns through your taste buds. It’s a regular occurrence for you to wake up like this, but as your eyes flutter open and a sharp pain shoots through your ribs, the clinking of metal shakes you from your hungover state, panic rising your veins as you take in your unfamiliar surroundings. 

A tattered, taupe couch sits just a few feet away from where you lay; flecks of dust shimmering in the sunlight that seeps in through the gap in the moth-eaten drapes hanging from the rail above the dirty window. 

You don’t recognise it. Even with your brain still addled and the remnants of bourbon still lingering in your veins, you know you’ve never been to this place before. Sitting up, the tightness around your waist and the clattering of metal chain links against hardwood alerts you to your restraints. Terror rushes through you, your pulse rising and lungs burning as you struggle to breath steadily. 

You reach beneath the white, button up shirt you’re wearing - one that most definitely doesn’t belong to you - and your fingertips meet the cold, harsh, thick metal wound snugly around your waist. 

Wiping your heavy eyes with the back of your hand, you follow the chain links, stare fixed on the cast iron radiator attached to the wall behind you. 

“What the fuck,” you mutter to yourself as you shuffle yourself to face the wall, planting one foot against it and tugging harshly on your restraints. Your throat is hoarse, and you swallow down the lump that forms in your throat; frightened tears welling in your eyes. 

You open your mouth to call for help but before you can get a sound out, you're alerted to the door opening behind you - the thud of heavy boots making the floorboards creak beneath their weight as you slowly turn your head. 

"Well, well, well. Look who's awake," he hums, kicking the door shut behind him and taking a few steps forward. Sheriff Bodecker had always unsettled you. He didn't react to you the way most other men did, and that irked you. "S'pose you got a hell of a headache, dont'cha?" 

He stands there, dressed pristine in his uniform, a carrier bag hanging from his left hand and the other resting on the curve of his waist. You can just about make out the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth as he stares down at you, head cocked to the side. 

"Is this some sort of joke?" You spit, licking your dry, cracked lips. Shuffling to face him, your back against the wall and your knees tucked up against your chest defensively, you try to figure out why on earth this is happening to you. 

"Do I look like I'm laughin'?" He asks. It's rhetorical, of course. You close your eyes, blowing out a heavy, achy breath as you try to recall the night's events. 

You remember being at Mary Lou's house. You remember Arvin, his body looming over you and his tongue against your throat. 

You remember him. 

His rough, forceful hands gripping your wrists, the handcuffs, and the cool relief of the backseat window against your forehead.

But that's all you remember. 

"Where's my dress?" You pipe up, straightening out your shoulders and watching as he makes his way to the tiny kitchenette in the corner, setting the bag down on the counter and reaching inside for its contents. 

"Ain't surprised you don't remember," he mumbles, resting both hands against the counter and staring right at you. "Sorry state you were in, spilled your guts in the backseat of my cruiser. Damn thing still fuckin' reeks a'it this mornin'."

He disappears from view then, and you take the opportunity to try and wriggle free of the chain wrapped around your waist - fingers wrestling with the stainless steel padlock that secures it in place. 

"Wastin' your time, Flower. Ain't gonna get that off, no matter how hard ya try," he calls from the kitchen. He sounds amused and it makes your blood boil. 

"You're a sick fuck, you know that? This how you get your kicks, Sheriff? Kidnapping young girls and chainin' em up like a goddamn animal?" You shout back, giving up your struggle and trying to figure out just how far the chain would stretch if you tried to make a run for it. 

Truth is, you wouldn't even make it to the front door. The realisation has you huffing in irritation, a stray tear rolling down your cheek and soaking into the cotton of the shirt covering your chest. 

"Gonna be spendin' a fair bit'a time together," he tells you, coming back into view as he rounds the kitchen counter and walks towards you with a small bowl in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. "Best you call me Lee. Get enough'a that 'Sheriff' talk down at the station."

You gawp at him, unable to comprehend exactly what it is that he's alluding to. He can't possibly mean that he's going to keep you here. He's just teaching you a lesson. He has to let you go. He's a police officer. 

"Y-you can't do this. You know you can't hold me hostage here. My parents-"

"Your parents," he grits out, crouching down in front of you and shoving the water bottle against your chest. "Yeah, they're real pleased I managed to get ya into that fancy rehab clinic a couple'a towns over."

He laughs at you as your eyes widen, heat rising in your cheeks as his words sink in. 

"Told ya I was gonna straighten you out, turn you into the good girl I know ya can be. You think I was kiddin'?" Lee asks you, one brow cocked, seemingly amused by the defeated look on your face. "Now, open up."

"I don't know what your fuckin' problem is, Lee, but you won't get away with it. Arvin will-" 

He cuts you off again, scooping a spoonful of what looks to be porridge out of the bowl in his hand and shaking his head with an exasperated sigh. "Russell? You think he's gonna come runnin' to find ya when you don't show up at some deadbeat's house tonight? Think he's gonna be heartbroken? Or d'ya think he might just get some other hussy to suck his dick for him instead?"

You try not to let it show, jutting your chin out in defiance as he raises the spoon to your lips, but his words hurt. They pinch at your heart and send a wave of nausea through your body. They remind you of what you really are, and how people perceive you. 

Especially Arvin. 

“We both know he ain’t comin’ afta you. So be a good girl and open up,” he coos condescendingly, nudging the tip of the spoon against your lips. 

You can barely eat breakfast at the best of times, let alone when your stomach is churning from trepidation and the remnants of the alcohol that sits heavy in your gut. Lee grunts, frustration growing, forcefully parting your lips and shoving the spoon between your lips. 

It’s instinctive, the way your teeth bite down against metal - the gooey, plain taste of oats against the roof of your mouth. You stare into his eyes, defiant in your actions, challenging him with a level of disrespect that he’s clearly not used to. 

“Girl, you better swallow this shit down before I make ya,” Lee fumes, the look on his face almost comical. The whole situation is downright ridiculous. You can’t figure out what his MO is, have no fucking idea where you are or why you’re chained to the radiator like a disobedient pet. But most of all, you’ve got no idea why he’s insisting on feeding you. 

If he thinks so little of you, why isn’t he just letting you starve? 

There’s still a lingering sensation of fear within you, but his actions thus far haven’t felt threatening. If anything, they’re confusing as hell. Contradictory, even. Is this what he meant when he said he was going to straighten you out? Make sure you eat three meals a day and stay hydrated? You highly doubt it. 

Despite the throbbing in your skull and the nauseous butterflies in your belly, you relax your grip on the spoon, closing your lips around it and taking the oats into your mouth; swallowing them down and immediately opening your mouth wide, an air of sarcasm oozing from you as you show him your empty mouth. 

“Good girl,” he purrs, ignoring your attitude and scooping up another portion and raising it to your lips once again, “see, you can do as you’re told once in a while.” 

His words send a fresh rush of frustration through you. He’s babying you, and you fucking despise it. You want to bait him, want to get under his skin the way he’s getting under yours. 

You remember him pressed up against your back the night before, your hips wiggling against his stiffening cock when he fought against your pathetic struggle to get out of your predicament. An idea pings into your mind, like a lightbulb going off amongst the fog. 

“You know,” you start, taking another mouthful, batting your lashes and gulping it down, “I can be a real good girl, Lee. If you take these chains off, I can show you.” 

Your tone is sickly sweet, soft and deceptively eager. The last thing you want is to have him touch you like that, but your body has worked better than any other tool at getting you out of difficult situations in the past. Why shouldn’t it work this time? 

Lee says nothing, instead staring over your shoulder at the wall behind you as he feeds you - but you’re determined to get a rise out of him. 

“You ain’t married, are you Sheriff?” You ask him, resorting back to his official title and snaking your tongue out from between your lips, licking the underside of the spoon before closing your mouth around it again. You take your time, humming as you feign your delight at the lumpy concoction sliding down your throat and dragging your lips back, slowly, watching as his eyes flicker to your mouth and then back to the wall. “Must get real lonely sometimes, mustn’t it? I can help you with that, ya know? Could show you what I can really do with my mouth?” 

He shuffles slightly, and you smirk when you realise why. You want to taunt him, tease him about the stiffness in his pants; but you don’t. Instead, you decide to play on it; attempt to use his subdued excitement to your own advantage. 

Shuffling, you prop yourself up on your knees, reaching for the spoon in his hand, never once breaking eye contact with him as you bring it to your mouth, letting your eyes roll back just a little for effect as you lick it clean - suckling at it lewdly and letting a low, throaty moan echo from your throat. 

Lee’s jaw twitches, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, and it only encourages you further. This might actually work. You just need to break him enough to take the chains off. You know you’re faster than him. Proven it plenty, the amount of times you’ve ran from him in the past. 

“C’mon, Sheriff,” you whine, arching your back just a little, the cotton shirt slipping down to expose the bare flesh of your shoulder, “let me show you. Promise I’ll swallow it all down, m’real good at that. I’ll let you put it wherever you-” 

“Eat your goddamn breakfast. I got somewhere t’be,” he barks, letting the bowl drop down next knees and rising to his feet. You’re frustrated, raging inside that your usual tricks were falling on deaf ears. Even if the outline of his cock was wholly visible beneath his slacks, readjusting himself with his palm before turning on his heel and moving to leave. 

“Wait!” You yell, scrambling forwards on your hands and knees. “You can’t leave me here like this! Please, don’t leave me here. I’ll be good, I swear it.” 

“You wanna be good?” He almost snarls, looking back over his shoulder at you as you nod frantically. “Then eat your fuckin’ porridge and drink your goddamn water. I’ll be back tonight.” 

You watch him walk towards the door, and he doesn’t look back this time. You panic, your heart racing at the thought of being left behind, forehead clammy as your pores begin to seep with sweat. 

“What if I need to use the bathroom? What am I supposed to do? Sit in a puddle of my own piss ‘til you decide to come back?” You persist, hissing when the chain pulls taut behind you and digs into your flesh. 

Without even so much as a look your way, he hooks his boot around the black bucket that sits next to the couch, kicking it back towards you with his heel as you watch it roll towards you in disbelief. 

“I’ll see ya later, Flower.” 

You lose it then, yanking at the padlock dangling by your side, screaming with rage when you hear the door slam shut and the lock twist. “You fuckin' asshole! You’re sick! I swear to fuckin' god, you won’t get away with this!” 

“Fuckin’ brat,” he grunts, spitting into his palm and wrapping his hand around his painfully hard cock. 

Lee’s not blind, not as resistant to your loose ways as he’d have you think. 

He remembers the night he caught you screwing Tommy, the local mechanic, up against the wall of the garage one hot, summer night last July; remembers the way your breathy little moans taunted him, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh as he watched you get fucked. 

“Fuck,” Lee splutters, dragging his closed fist up and down his meaty length with vigor at the thought of your soft, inviting lips wrapped around his dick - thinks about the sloppy noises you'd make, and the way you’d hum around him. 

With so much pent up frustration dwelling inside him, it takes him just minutes to bring himself to the brink, reaching for the empty Pepsi cup in the passenger seat and trembling as thick ropes of come splatter against the inside of it, a feral rumble vibrating through him in satisfaction of his release. 

Guilt wells in his gut for what he's doing, but not enough to go back on his plan. For years, he’s sat back and watched you unravel. Seen this situation, and where it ends up, plenty of times before. 

Lee still remembers the day his Sister was murdered. They didn’t exactly have the closest of sibling relationships, but it twisted him up inside to watch her perish like that. He’d warned her, over and over, that the company she kept was no good. Told her that selling her body for a few dollars a time wasn’t worth the gutter she’d end up in eventually. 

He just didn’t think it would actually happen.

Not to Sandy. 

Lee made a promise to himself the day they buried her. Told himself he wouldn’t stand back and let a pretty, young thing like you destroy her own life through boredom and resentment for this shitty town. 

He bided his time, waited for the perfect moment to knock some sense into you. Truth is, he could give two shiny shits about the party at the Fowlers’ house last night, but he knew for sure that you’d be there.

The only thing he looks back on with regret is that he didn’t get the chance to knock that Russell boy’s teeth down his own throat for leading you further down this vapid path in the first place. 

Tucking his softening cock back into his zipper, Lee tosses the cup out of the window, wiping the sweat from his brow and twisting the key in the ignition; the cruiser’s engine rumbling to life. 

Looking back in the rear view mirror, eyes fixed on the locked front door, he pushes down the guilt, and slowly pulls away.

With your parents taken care of and the seclusion of the rundown, old fishing cabin by the lake; there was no way his plan could be thwarted. 

He was going to make you see sense.

Whether you wanted to or not. 

A/N: I no longer have a tag list, but if you want to keep up to date with what I post follow my sideblog, @sweetersficlibrary, and turn on alerts to be notified whenever I post something new 💕

[retrievablememories]

milkis | johnny

pairing: johnny x reader genre: angst, hurt/comfort word count: ~860 warnings: a kiss. some general angsty feelings a/n: a small drabble born out of me frantically romanticizing my own despair. plus my mom recently bought milkis. cheers 🥂🤪

--

“the new year will be here soon,” johnny says. there’s an air of mystery to his voice, an element of unknowing that feels very fitting for the year ahead.

“i know,” you respond, your tone coming off bland compared to his. you know he’ll probably notice the lack of enthusiasm, but you don’t care for the pretenses tonight.

you’re both sitting on top of your dorm’s roof, where you are definitely not supposed to be but have climbed up anyway—as you have done many nights before this one. none of the RAs have spotted you, and you’re both far enough into the shadows to be fairly obscured from view. you wouldn’t care if they caught you anyway (what will they do? kick you out?), but you just don’t want to hear johnny try to make up a lackluster excuse for why you were up there in the first place.

"what are you wishing for next year?” he asks.

“something better,” you say. thinking back to the chaos of the past year, you’re almost afraid of what next year will bring. afraid to hope for more.

he chuckles at that. “isn’t everyone wishing for that?”

you squeeze the tab of your soda can underneath your thumb, tracing the metal grooves of it. you listen to the carbonated drink swish around the inside of the can at your slight movements, your mind just barely tethered to the present conversation. “maybe not everyone, actually...but most people, yeah.” and then, to keep the conversation going, “what are you wishing for?”

johnny thinks about it for a minute. “i want...” his voice wavers in uncertainty, though you don’t understand why. he’s always confidently given you his new years resolutions and wishes in the past. “happiness.”

the smile you give isn’t a gleeful expression, but it is somewhat amused. “i thought you already had a lot of that, despite everything.”

“i know, but not just for me. for everyone around me. i want us all to be happy.” again he seems uncertain here, like there’s something else he wants to say but doesn’t. you’re not in the frame of mind to attempt to pull answers out of him, so you simply nod and take another sip of your drink.

“it’s a very generous wish,” you murmur, tapping the can against the roof. a moment of silence passes between you two.

“give me a taste, please,” johnny says abruptly, his eyes dropping to the apple-flavored drink in your hand. you hold it out to him, uncaring if he wants it all or only some; you’re almost done with it anyway.

“not like that,” he says. you look at him and meet his eyes, which are already examining the side of your face. johnny’s never been one to shy away at eye contact, and even now he looks at you intently, as if his gaze itself is sketching you to life.

johnny’s eyes focus on your lips, and you understand what he wants. he leans in with a careful movement, and you follow his lead to meet in the middle—because in all your melancholia, this feels like a good idea. if it gets you to feel something, it’s a good idea.

you sink into him and allow him to consume you in that moment, pouring into your barren soul. you try not to think about how needy you feel; the only thing that really matters now is the wetness of his tongue and the soft texture of his lips. his hand is just barely touching your face, his thumb resting lightly on your cheek, but that one touch is dense with your yearning for more.

“tastes good,” johnny murmurs, licking his lips after he pulls away. then he takes the can from your hand to drink it straight anyway. you look back towards the sky as the fireworks suddenly start going off to mark the beginning of the new year, and you blink slowly as the wind brushes across your face and stirs your hair, thinking about what just happened.

“happy new year, y/n,” johnny whispers, crushing the empty can in his hand.

“...happy new year, johnny.”

“let’s have many more happy ones. together.” the last word is delivered emphatically; though he doesn't say it explicitly, there’s little mistaking what he means. you just hope you’re right about this.

you turn your head to look at him again, and his expression reflects sentimentality—the tiny upturn to his lips, the wistful quality of his eyes. he puts a hand on your shoulder, which evolves into him wrapping his arm across both shoulders, tucking you close into the side of his body.

you lean into him before you can even think about it, his body heat appealing to your frozen senses in the same way that the darkness of night appeals to a nocturnal creature.

“i’d like that,” you say, turning your face into his chest and hearing his heart throb beneath your ear. you grab his other hand, feeling his knuckles and the small scars on them—a hand you’ve touched a hundred other times in other contexts, the shape of it inscribed into your cache of memories. “let’s enjoy our time.”

[pumpkinpot]

Dazai x Artdealer!Reader

Ayo, this is my piece made for the under ground January collab. 

Synopsis: You are a black market art dealer that owns a neutral ground speak easy. Dazai was an informant in charge of your whereabouts during his time in the mafia, but after years of a secret relationship he disappears one day to join the ranks of the ADA leaving you behind. Tonight is the first time in years that he has found his way into your bar. 

CW: Afab reader. Sex. Coercion maybe? Oral. Snowball. Mafia themes. IFYOU ARE NOT 18+ PLEASE DO NOT READ. 

.

It was surprisingly easy for Dazai to leave the Port Mafia. His affiliation was a contrived accumulation of power trips and death. The ADA wasn't much better, but it was easier for him to get away virtually unscathed when it was time for consequences. 

What was hard though is leaving these spots. There were few of them and even fewer now that being a turn coat was becoming a more viable option of employment. 

Neutral grounds. Clubs, cafe's and hotels were mixing affiliates could come to do business without the worry of treading enemy territory. Besides booze and naked dancers did make the pain of a deal taste slightly less like a death sentence.

This was Dazai's second favorite of all the neutral zones. He says second because its frequented far less.

The Ossuary. 

It was a sick joke, but most of the people who visited were just so, so it made sense. The speakeasy was the result of your organizations dealings in historical artifacts. When You’d heard of the possible live entombment among the other paranormal histories you’d taken such a liking to it you’d turned it into your very own catacomb bat cave. So here it dwelled like a secret grave for lost souls to find there way to. 

Dazai couldn’t readily place why he was there. He’d avoided it since cutting ties with the Port Mafia because even among rivals a turn coat was a rat and he hadn’t the energy to defend his reasoning for abandoning the mafia. But even so, he didn’t want to face you. 

The two of you were on opposite side of the figurative diurnal criminal clock now and furthering connections could be dangerous for both of you. Not that he had much worry of himself, but he didn’t want the ADA beginning to look into your activity.

So why was he whispering the passcode to the outside bouncer and descending the steps to your club? 

He slid through the heavy metal door into the yellow light of the red brick and cedar speakeasy. You were behind the bar tossing bottles into the air before glugging ounces into mixing cups. 

You nodded along with something someone was saying, likely a connection in a new art piece that had caught your eye. See you weren’t technically an organization leader. You were a black market art collector and sometimes dealer. It was displayed everywhere. On every stretch of wall you’d covered in priceless painting and artifacts. You owned this place to, “show pretty art and make good drinks for sad people.” Your words not his.

The port mafia had little to no interest in you, but given the monopoly they had on crime dealings in this city they felt the need to keep an eye on all smaller operations. 

When approached by Mori to send in an informant once a month to assess your threat level you’d agreed with little to no resistance. You just liked art. So Mori put Dazai in charge of keeping tabs of you. 

Initially Dazai had thought it a slight on Mori’s part. He was an executive who was usually in charge of murder cases and dangerous criminals, but he did as he was told. Your first interactions with Dazai were pretty standard. You’d make him a drink as he sifted through your ledgers, and he’d be on his way, but as time went on he found himself trying to find excuses to stay longer.

He’d ask you to explain how you made his drink, knowing full well it was bourbon and cinnamon. He’d ask what was it about Hieronymus Bosch that you liked so much and why you would only use low voltage bulbs in your bar. 

Over the course of months his visits became frequent and long, some extending all night in your upper level apartment above the bar. He taught you how to make an omelet in his underwear and you’d help him rewrap his bandages in the morning before sending him off with an expertly made cup of coffee. He still blames you for his caffeine addiction. 

He’d even brought Odasaku in to meet you a few times before everything fell apart. If Dazai was honest with himself, given a few more months, he could have loved you. Past tense didn’t taste right, but he wasn’t admitting anything else tonight.

His eyes followed down your arms to the white ink highlights of your tattoos catching under the black lights of the bar and how if he squints he can catch a glimpse of the rib piece beneath the hem of your tee shirt that extend to your back. He'd spent so many hours memorizing all of the art on your body. Tracing them with his fingers, tongue, coating them in-

he interrupts the thoughts with a clear of his throat. Was he just going to stare from afar or was he actually going to go talk to you?

What would he even say?

He sifted through multiple small talk sentences punctuating them all with, no. So he got up from his place in the corner turning on his heels to the door and hitting someone smack dab in the chest with his nose.

He backs up ready to apologize before he sees who it is . Tink. The thickskulled fuck you hired as a lapdog. He was so proud that he'd landed a single hit on Dazai when he was in his earlier year of the mafia and hasn't been able to since, still even now, Dazai could see the smugness in his smirk.

"Dazai," he hisses, "or is it rat now?"

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d been called. Even Kunikida had come up with better names than that, but it was the preferred honorific for turn coats. 

“Call me what you want, duplicity looks good on me, you’re still just a dog.” Why was he engaging? 

The smile melts off Tinks face immediately replaced with a twisting scowl. “She’s not going to want to see you now turncoat. Not now that you’re a cop.”

The thought had been tugging at him, but so was if he was even going to speak to you. “I’m not a cop dog, I’m a detective. Art dealings aren’t on my radar.” 

Dazai attempts to step around the building of a man, but Tink sticks out an arm. “She’s busy.” 

“As am I.” 

Dazai stuck both of his hand in his pockets waiting for Tink to move his arm. when he doesn’t Dazai allows tonight’s frustrations to bubble to the surface. 

He takes a step back looking at Tink under low lashes. He punts the man in the back of the knee forcing him to kneel. Dazai had intended to stop there, no one in the club sparing him a seconds glance, but Tink winds a hand back hitting Dazai across the top of his head. 

Dazai’s vision blurs only a moment before he focuses the buzz onto Tinks side. He bring a knee into Tinks ribs extending his leg up to beneath his chin. Tink tenses with an hmph before falling back into a table. As he does he grabs Dazai’s bolo tie pulling him over the lip with him.

As the table tipped all chatter died with the shatter of glass all eyes snpping their direction. A painting likely more valuable than the titanic Toppled off the wall landing in a puddle of brandy. 

Three people lifted the painting before paying Dazai or Tink any mind. You inspected the art before releasing a thick sigh. 

The entirety of your attention falls on Dazai at once and he feels as though his insides may crumble into ash. 

“Dazai?” 

“hey," he says with a crooked smild, "you look-”

“Get up.”

He does so dusting broken glass off his waistcoat and straightening his bolo tie. Alcohol soaked his bandages, but he doesn’t think that is the reason chill sets into his bones. 

Your eyes follow his movements with synthetic disinterest. You cared that he was here. 

“Am I being investigated now?” You ask delegating Tink to begin cleaning up. He does as he’s told shooting Dazai a sour look like a younger sibling whose just been blamed for breaking moms favorite vase. 

“No,” Dazai says, grasping for an excuse for why the hell he was here. 

“Then why are you here?” 

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He holds up a palm, blood and booze muddling the bandages across his palm and wrist. 

“Jeeze Dazai,” reaching for his hand. “let’s uh- come on.” 

You lead him away from everyone up the stairs to your apartment. He followed as if he didn’t know his way. As if he hadn’t spent all his spare time in your kitchen for two years. 

You swung open the door to the dark flat flipping on main lamp and handing him a pair of sicorrs. “Cut off your,” you wave your hands his wounds. “and I'll look for some disinfectant.”

He does as you say staying in the entrance of your home. Everything looks the same as it was the last time he was here aside from a few new paintings. He looked over your table a list of invoices with pictures of books on them near a pile of decrepit spines. 

“You’ve started dealing in books,” Dazai says lifting the cover of a dusty old leatherback. 

You don’t answer continuing to sift through your first aid kit. You hated home perfect he looked in your home. How he seemed to just belong in an art gallery. You kept your gaze low. 

“You know the ADA is in the market for a book it’s a-” 

“Stop talking,” you say, ripping open a fresh roll of gauze with your teeth. “here, do it yourself.”

You toss the roll at him towards your empty kitchen. He holds in a few seconds just stunned. He’d never heard such sting in your voice and if it hadn’t invaded his own ears he’d deny you had it in you. 

“I’ve never known you to be so venomous Belladonna, something on your mind?”

“None of your concern, please just finish so I can get back to the bar.” You say, “and don’t call me that.” 

He undoes his sleeve cuffs and begins clipping the wrapping off his arms. He piles them in strips over the table keeping his eyes on you as much as possible. When he's dont he washes his hand in your kitchen sink grabbing the new roll of gause you'd given him. From his wrist us was also soaked but he'd worry about that later when he had attention to spare.

You're still faced away from him, arms folded over yourself. Your hair is longer now too, almost to your elbows.

He takes a brave step forward. “I’ve been calling you that for years, why should I stop now?” 

“You haven’t seen me in years Dazai.” 

His last name sounds odd in your voice. Like an artist name you hadn’t yet learned to pronounce. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard your voice, but it had been even longer since you’d addressed him so formally. 

“The name is still yours,” he says, taking another step. “Belladonna, look at me.” 

“I do not have time for you right now,” your wrung your hands in front of you. “please just hurry.” 

He expends a bare hand forward letting it sit in the air for a second before resting it on the curve of your hip, grazing his lip across the back of your neck. “Please look at me.” 

“Why are you here,” you ask again, your voice faint. 

“Because I missed you.”

“That’s definitely not true.” 

He nods, keeping in movement as you turn. “Yes it is love.”

He pulls your forehead to his, his nose brushing yours. Every one of your muscles screams for you to back up. to leave him there to tend to his own wounds and then he’ll disappear again. 

You knew that to be true. That he would disappear, and you wanted so bad to commit him to memory now, knowing it would hurt so much later. 

His hands massage up your arms taking hold of your hands. He tries to lace his fingers through yours but your muscles tense your palms shut so he holds your fists keeping you as close as you’ll allow him. 

as the seconds pass your resolve begins to dent allowing him to slowly work open your clenched fists lacing his fingers between yours. 

“So I take it you missed me too,” he whispers, the corners of his lips pinching into a small smile. 

“Dazai,” You say attempting to back away, but he slips his arms around your waist pulling you against him. 

“Don’t pull away yet.” 

You look up barley able to keep his eyes. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m being mean?” He echoes, smoothing a bit of hair from your face. “How am I being mean?” 

You catch his hand shooshing it away from you. “I need you to be honest with me.” 

“Belladonna, I’ve never lied to you.” 

“then tell me why you’re here, and stop calling me that.” 

“I missed you, I have no other motive-”

“After three years with no contact you’ve just decided on a Sunday that you miss me?” 

“I never stopped.” 

“Then why haven’t you come back?” 

You’ve broken from his grip taking a steps distance between you. He wants to explain, but his excuses taste sour. “After Odasaku died, I had to leave the Port Mafia, and after I was picked up by the ADA I didn’t think you would want to see me.”

“Didn’t think I wanted to see you?” your brows knit as you shake your head. “I loved you Dazai.” 

Every bit of him shattered. He reaches for you again tugging you into his embrace. “I’m sorry.” 

He can feel the anger under the tenseness of your frame, the hurt between your shaking bones. He wanted to pull it from you the way he does peoples abilities. It felt wrong in that moment to tell you that he loved you too. Not after so long away. 

Your body doesn’t melt into him like it used to. He’d remembered the days when you’d drape yourself over his shoulders and pepper him with kisses before finishing the bandages around his neck and how soft your eyes were when you looked at him. Now you had a hard time even being in his presence.   

“Osamu, please, just-”

He didn’t let you finish before leaning forward puzzling his lips between yours. He didn’t want you to tell him to go. He smooths his palm over the back of your neck, the other slipping around your waist. 

Every part of him wanted you. He wasn't about to make it this far, just to turn away now. So he pressed his luck. When your lips parted he slipped his tongue between your teeth tasting your favorite brandy. 

He tasted like old coffee and sugar. Just as you’d remembered him. You tugged on the flaps of his coat. 

You wanted to push him off and yell at him for his abandonment, but fuck did he feel good. Your body responded just as he knew it would. despite the time away you knew each others bodies the way a sculpture knew clay. 

Your fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt as he tugged off your tee shirt. He ground his hips against your thigh your fingers pinching his belt buckle rocking just so.   

He kissed down your neck, shoulders and collarbone your body arching to meet his lips. He held onto you like at any moment you might slip away though that was more truth for him.

You undid his belt with shaking fingers and when he reaches for you he sees hes shaking just as badly. “Love,” he moans, caressing your face, but you don’t pause. “Belladonna.” 

Your own mouth explored him too, suckling at his jaw and down his chest. you were to his waist now. The feeling was faint over his bandages and he wishes he’d have taken the time to finish cutting them off before engaging you. 

Still you don’t cease undressing him until he pinches your chin. He says your name more firmly and you look up from the place on your knees. “You don’t need to do this. Let me take care of you.”

His pants were around his knees, and you leaned forward planting a kiss between his thighs. “let me touch you, please.”

It would be right to protest, but your touch across his bare thigh pulls a chill from his soul he’d been harboring for far too long. 

He leans against your counter, palming himself through his boxers. your lips play across his fingers eagerly as he springs himself free. 

Your warm breath sends a chill down his spine as you adjust on your knees. Your lips parted allowing just his head to slip across your tongue. He’ll be lucky to make it two minutes looking as you do with his cock between your teeth. His palm found hold in your hair as you hollow out your cheeks, swirling your tongue around him.

His head falls back as his thighs tense with the intense pleasure. its been too long since he felt this good. Since he felt you.

Your palms wrap around the back of his legs, pulling him deeper down your throat. That was it. The pressure builds until it becomes blinding. He has no time to warn you before he’s spilling his thick cum across your tongue.

Before you have the chance to swallow he pulls you to him. “Give it to me.”

He licks your lips prompting your to open. you do as your told his cum spilling out down your chin. He kisses you messily allowing it to run between you. He laps up the seed nearly ripping the button off your pants as he works them off your waist. 

He folds them over your thighs, kissing any part of you he can reach as he undresses you. He waists no time, pulling your legs up over his hips. He lines his still slick cock up lowering you onto him. 

A violent shiver waves over your body as he stretches you open. He turns around leaning you against your sofa’s armrest. 

He starts slowly, allowing your body to adjust to him before wrapping his arm around your waist and rutting into your roughly. 

“Fuck,” he moans, “fuck Belladonna.” 

His empty balls slap against you with ever thrust. He pulls your thigh over the curve of his right arm pounding deeper. He swallows your moans like breaths of fresh air. 

The overstim brings stars to his eyes, but refuses to end it before he feels your orgasm. He keeps a rhythmic pace spreading open your cunt lips between two fingers finding your clit easily. He plays with you exactly how he knows you like. 

Your moans become nothing but broken whimpers and he holds you to him, keeping pace with your body. “let me feel it baby. Cum on me.” 

 It takes less than a minute later before your muscles tighten and he feels you pulsate around him. His name falls in broken syllables off your tongue and fuck if he's ever heard something so sweet.

You grind your hips against his riding out your high. He trails kisses across your shoulders.

You feel him soften inside of you, but he doesn’t make a move to pull away, instead lifting you off the sofa to cradle you in his arms. He carries through the threshold of your bedroom laying you down on your bed.  

“One isn’t enough,” he whispers into your ear. 

He massages your leg as he kisses down your body until he’s on his knees as the foot of your bed. Coiling a palm around your ankle he pulls you to the ledge biting your inner thigh. “I need at least two more from you Belladonna, can you do that for me?” His eyes find yours as he uses his tongue to spread you open.   

.

He lays facing you as morning sun details thin strips of sun onto your wall. your eyes flutter under the spell of a dream, hair is still a little damp from when you two had moved to the shower last night for your last round. 

He debated going to get breakfast, but didn’t want to miss this sight, or worse you woke up as he was out and you think he’s left again. 

When he looked at the tapestry that was his past life, you were there woven in a wax enforced thread right beside Odasaku and Cuuya, but his new life--

Kunikida, Atsushi, Ranpo-- They would love you. Kunikida would appreciate your attention to detail, Atshushi would like your humor and Ranpo would love reading you like a good book. You felt like one in a funny way. Moral compass of a YA Antagonist, but had the personality of the side character everyone wishes had more screen time.

He didn’t know how he was going to explain your dealings, but maybe that wasn’t for him to explain at all. He just knew that he wasn’t letting go again. 

A/N: Ayo I hope you liked this collab. If so, I have a few more I’ve done with this group on my  Master List

[stardustbarbarians]

Honey, You’re Familiar

A Daniel Wagner / Samuel Kiszka fic

Summary: Sam catches Daniel in a lie.

Tags: blood, slight angst, getting together, fluff, vampires

A/N: I wrote this at 2 am because @ofthecaravel gave me an idea and it wouldn’t let me sleep. So yeah, enjoy this. Title taken from Hozier’s From Eden. Also special shout out to @mintysammykiszka and @t00turnttrauma for gassing me and this fic up, I love all of you so much.

Words: 2.2 k

+++

Daniel wiped blood off his chin with the heel of his palm, a devious grin on his face as he looked down at the body he just drained, his sharp fangs dripping of that crimson ichor that sustained him. Feeling satiated, he tipped his head back and gazed at the moon, a satisfaction in his veins that one could only experience after having a full meal. 

Realizing that he was wasting precious time escaping the authorities, Danny cut his moon bathing session short, wiping all the blood from his lips off and cleaning his hand with his tongue. 

He walked back to the hotel, making sure he wasn't going too fast to arouse suspicion.

Giving himself a good once over, Danny walked into the lobby free of any blood. The only evidence of his crime was the sweet metallic tang coating the inside of his mouth, but no one would be able to find that. Well, maybe one person might, but he wasn't likely to snitch on Danny. 

Daniel walked into his shared hotel room, spotting Sam messing around with his black and red bass as he sat on the bed closest to the window, the sheer white curtains billowing with the summer wind. 

"Did anyone see you?" Sam questioned, not even bothering to look up from watching his fingers play the chords and tabs he wanted to hear from his beloved instrument. Danny was expecting that question, he also knew how to deal with it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he deflected, trying to make his way into the bathroom to wash away the evidence with his toothbrush. 

"You've got some blood on the corner of your mouth, Wagner," Sam smoothly replied, continuing to strum his bass, the buzz of the strings just barely audible. 

The drummer stopped dead in his tracks, his heel off the ground from trying to step into the washroom. He'd been caught red handed - well, red lipped in this case. The hum of the bass guitar ceased, Sam setting it aside and getting up from his spot on the mattress. 

"Are you still gonna try and deny it?" The bassist pressed, walking to place himself between the vampire and the door to the sink. He crossed his arms over his chest, a slightly disappointed look in his eyes as he took in Daniel. 

"You're bluffing," Daniel retorted, his eyes tracing the features of his best friend. Normally anyone else who had come this close to him would've been shaking in terror, fearing for their lives. Hell, even the twins still flinched when Danny got too close too fast sometimes. But not Sam; never Samuel. 

He should've seen it coming. Daniel, immortal Daniel who had lived through empires rising and falling. Daniel, who had witnessed the birth of modernization and all its flaws and perfections. Daniel, the creature who had come to learn human nature from sheer amount of experience and interaction with them; he thought nothing could surprise him anymore. 

Oh, how wrong he was.

There he was, utterly baffled by the man in front of him. He should've known better than to hold Samuel Francis Kiszka to the same standards and assumptions as everyone else.

Without any warning, Samuel leaned forward and captured the vampire's lips with his own.  It was clear he was on a mission, his tongue searching the caverns of Danny's mouth, a soft whine slipping past his lips that only someone with supernatural senses would've been able to detect. Daniel was overwhelmed by the utter taste of Sam, the warmth of his skin, the energy he possessed, and just over all everything that made him Samuel. It was over before Danny knew it, Sam's tongue grazing against his fangs before he detached, resting their foreheads together as Sam panted. Danny would've been at a loss for air if his lungs functioned anymore. 

“Blood," Sam managed between breaths, "I tasted blood."

"You gonna try and gaslight me and say that I'm imagining it, or whatever?" Sam continued, his own grip on Danny's curls getting tighter. 

"No," Danny blurted out under his breath, “no I'm not.”

The hum of night was the only sound in that room, that and Sam's vitals thumping rapidly in order to keep him alive. But only Danny could hear that.

The vampire heard the click of Sammy's throat as he swallowed, the human pulling away so that he could look Daniel in the eye. He needed to look at him, he needed to.

"You know you could've just asked me instead of risking your life out there,” Sam reminded softly, his voice wavering with emotion. And there it was: the reason Danny had lied to his best friend. He didn't want to worry him and all he managed to do was panic Sam anyway. 

"I know," the drummer replied, hanging his head in shame.

"Then why didn't you?" This time, the waver in Sam's voice was from anger. Daniel felt the human's grip tighten even further. If he were still human, he would've been in a lot of pain.

Daniel took a moment to reply, trying to compose his thoughts without making him sound like a cliche and also one of the worst movies he's ever seen in his entire life.

Sighing, Danny decided to just go for it, rip the bandage off to quote an old adage. "Because I wouldn't be able to stop."

Despite sounding like none other than Edward Cullen himself, Sam was struck by the words his best friend admitted to him. Unable to stop? He was afraid of killing Sam?

"Oh, shut the fuck up with your vampire angst, you walking cliché," Sam criticized, pulling away from Danny's grip. He wore a face of disbelief as he leaned against the wall next to the bathroom door, his arms crossed and his leg propped against the wallpaper.

"I tell you that I'm afraid of taking your life and you call me a cliche?" The vampire asked, making sure he was understanding what just happened. His tone was steady and low; dangerous almost. He ran his fingers through his raven curls, a nervous habit of his he was never able to kick from his time as a human.

Suddenly with a point to prove, Daniel grabbed Samuel by the throat and pinned the bassist against the wall, his other hand pinning both of Sam's hands above his head. The once serene calm and quiet of the night was replaced by the rapid thrumming of Sam's heart as fear courses through his veins. Danny heard it kick up a notch as he used the grip on the human's throat to tip his head to the side and expose the vulnerability of the skin there, mesmerized by the pulsing of his best friend's jugular as it jumped up and down. The lightning fast rushing of Sam's blood was filling Danny's ears as he leaned in and lightly pressed his fangs against the tempting vein.

"Where's that blasé attitude now, Sammy?" Danny purred into the human's ear, feeling the goosebumps rise under his grip on Sam's skin.

Sam didn't respond, only letting out a small whimper at the drummer's words. He swallowed again, the feeling of his Adam's apple against Danny's palm just another reminder of the dichotomy between the living and the immortal. 

Daniel took that as an involuntary admission of Sam's terror, too stubborn to voice it aloud. The vampire chuckled darkly, "Goddamn right, you should be scared of me," he growled.

"Not fear," Sam blurted out, his breath shaky as he inhaled.

Not fear

It resonated in Danny's mind for a moment as he tried to understand what Sam was trying to tell him. If he wasn't afraid, why was his heart racing? Why was he releasing hormones that Daniel's unnatural smell could detect? Why was he breathing so shallow?

It hit the vampire like a freight train. 

Not fear- 

He slotted his leg between Sam's legs.

-Arousal

"You're-you're not scared?" He asked, that predator attitude all hit removed from Danny's demeanor. He kept his grip on Sam, continuing to pin him to that wall. There was no reason for this other than the fact that he just couldn't seem to let go. 

"Far, far from it, baby," Sam admitted, his hands squirming against Daniel's hold on his wrists. 

"But... I've killed people." It was so quite, so small. It was clear it wasn't something the vampire was proud of. He knew it was in order to keep himself alive, but why did his life matter above those he's slaughtered over his life to maintain it?

"And? That just adds to it," Sam argued, his voice strained and high pitched as he was slowly losing the brain functionality in order to hold a coherent conversation. 

Daniel was truly taken aback. That was twice in one night that Samuel was able to bewilder a man who had seen a large chunk of humanity unfold before his eyes.

"I could kill you." Once again, Danny pressed the front of his fangs to the pulsing jugular of the man in his grip. His teeth were aching to slip into that thriving vein despite having just returned from feeding. They yearned with unfettered desire to know the sensation of marring Sam's perfect and otherwise untampered neck. It was the first thing he noticed upon meeting Sam, it wasn't just their fans who appreciated that feature of the bassist.

"Once again, adds to it," Sam repeated, his patience wearing thin. Daniel was torturing him with this grazing of his fangs against the human's neck. He was so close to just outright begging Danny to bite him, but he knew that if he took that route he would never get what he desired. Sam was so close he could taste it.

It was finally dawning on Daniel; Sam really and truly accepted who he was, all of him. The pretty parts, and the one he hid from the rest of the world. Sam dug through the mud and the trenches to unearth all those ugly flaws and treated them with nothing but unbridled and tender affection. He didn't just overlook them, no Sam held them close to his heart and nurtured them and allowed them to know love. It was too much for Danny. He felt a mix of love, pride, acceptance, and lust swirling in his mind. 

In the end, it was the lust that won out when Daniel gazed upon the flush and pleading face of the human in his clutches. He as begging Danny to do something, anything to Sam. He was willing  to take whatever Danny was going to give to him at that point and that was enough to make his fangs ache.

"I'm going to bite you," Daniel warned, his voice gone husky as it all dawned on him.

"I thought you'd never ask," Sam replied, a bratty bastard to his core. That quickly vanished when the vampire finally sank his fangs into the human's neck, the pain stinging and harsh but welcome.

The both of them let out noises of pleasure; Sam from the knowledge and experience of finally having his fantasies coming to fruition and Daniel from pure ecstasy of his best friend's taste. 

It only lasted momentarily, Danny detaching himself before he reached a point where he couldn't pull back. It was a dangerous road that he just veered down, one that he now knew had no exit ramp. He'd had a taste of Sam, he knew the tang of his best friend's blood, and he knew immediately that he wouldn't be able to live his life without at least one hit from Sam a day. He was hooked, the claws of yearning and addiction sunk deeply into Daniel just from that one sip.

Sam was also ruined, seeing the affect that his blood had on Daniel. He saw the way his pupils were blown, his nostrils flared slightly and his eyes unable to be ripped away from the spot on Sam's neck he just tapped. Even though he didn't need to breathe, Daniel was nearly gasping for air, his chest rising and falling in large motions. Sam could feel the blood steadily but slowly seeping from his puncture wounds, the rivulets inching their way to stain the white button up he was adorned with. Danny was also covered in blood, but not his own. His lips were stained with Sam's blood, the corners of his mouth dripping with it. It was too much for Sam to know that that was his own.

"You're a messy eater," Samuel commented, out of breath and with a tired but wide smile. "Only when I get a taste of something I can’t resist,” Danny replied, mirroring Sam's smile

The vampire heard the human's heart stutter just a little at that, causing him to smirk. Leaning forward, Daniel licked Sammy's neck clean of blood, his saliva sealing the would he left.

"That's handy," Sam remarked after he felt no wound on his neck. 

"You can say that again," Daniel agreed, reminiscing on the times where he had gotten out of a few vampire hunts by erasing the evidence with that trick.

"Thank you, Sam," the drummer spoke after a beat of silence, "for accepting all of me."

“I wouldn't have you any other way than the way you are currently, Daniel."

+++

A/N: Zara and Karou keep asking for a part two, so maybe that will happen as well. Thank you so much for reading! (also please feel free to make as many twilight jokes as you want it gives me a good laugh)

Taglist:

@doodle417 @sammykiszkasunusedshoes @jmks-housewife @ageoferin @alwayssotiredbutneverofyou @etoilesnoor @ascendingtostardust @godlygreta @s0livagant @gretavanflowerpower @morganic-goods @dannythedog @baguettejuliette @fan-girl-97 @gaby-gvf @age-of-nyahh @mzbrightside @myownparadise96 @xserenax-13 @sammysvanfeet @loofypoofy @chalametpwk @seventieswhore @razorbladekiszka @kdarling1 @capturethechaos @unfortunatelykristin @welightthefire @gretavanfleas @sammiejane22 @satanplayshisfluteforhim @starsasone @mintysammykiszka

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[cyn--ical]

Alone Together -Chapter Two

summary: a summer of bestfriends struggling to stay bestfriends, obsessively sweet boyfriends, ride or die girlfriends, over-protective brothers and comically serious kook/pogue rivalries

authors note: sorry this is a shorter chapter and a lot of exposition but I do love a slow burn :') lmk if you'd like to be on the taglist!

Chapter 2: Bug

A whispered breath filled the moonlight covered room, its tiles illuminated with bright white light melting away into the flood of soft yellow hues.

She breathed, something -someone had her holding her breath all night.

Bathrooms had a wicked way of making you feel ten times more drunk than you really were and Y/N felt her head swim -spinning, as she shut the door behind her.

Her thoughts caught in a ripe tide, she couldn’t escape them.

Being without him felt like those rare moments where you’re able to swim up for air, being with him felt like the current pulling you back and no matter how hard you kicked, it just kept dragging you down deeper.

No, it wasn’t supposed to feel this way, to be this way. They weren’t supposed to end up like this; the way all kook and pogue relationships ended up. They were different -at least thats what she’d told herself. But maybe they’d always been this way, maybe it had just happened so gradually, so slowly, she’d never realized she was drowning. No, she whispered to herself stubbornly, it doesn’t feel like that.

Y/N shook her head, she couldn’t keep thinking about this; not now when her mind was whirling on its own. She didn’t need to make it worse by going in circles with questions she had no answers to.

She walked over to the bathroom sink, placing her hands on both sides of the aged porcelain, she took in a deep breath and let out another long sigh.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the number of toothbrushes that lined the counter.

blue-John B, green- Pope, yellow- Kiara, pink- Sarah, purple -me, red -JJ and a black one now tucked away in the corner -dad

She furrowed her brows as she felt the tears well up, “I miss you dad” she whispered “I wish you’d come home”

Y/N wiped her fingers across her eyes, afraid that if she didn’t stop them soon, she’d never stop.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, the sound violently loud, echoed off the tiles pulling her back from the waves of nostalgia.

30 unopened messages, 15 missed calls

Make that 16 she said turning off her phone silencing the incoming call.

She slipped her hand into her pocket, pulling out the ring tab she’d saved earlier.

Y/N wondered what kind of hopeless romantic -or idiot had come up with the idea that snapping off this small, random thing would determine the first letter of your soulmate, she wondered what kind of idiot or hopeless romantic would believe in something like that.

She closed her fingers around it and pressed the metal tab into her hand leaving its indents imprinted on her palm.

I hate you

Y/N unclasped the sliver necklace she never took off and slipped the ring tab into it, before quickly securing it back around her neck. She didn’t like how vulnerable she felt without it.

The metal made a soft tsk as it fell into place just behind the small purple butterfly pendent.

Bug -thats what her dad had called her.

They’d been his bird and his bug. She’d been 3 when she’d declared that butterflies were the bestest and prettiest bugs -Big John hadn’t had the heart to tell her otherwise. Besides, once her mind had been made up you couldn’t tell little-miss-know-it-all-Routledge nothin’.

Gosh dad, you’re really haunting me tonight, she smiled as she struggled to keep the tears at bay.

She turned on the shower, steam filled the room. She slipped out of her clothes and stepped in. The hot water welcomed her cool skin.

She let the tears roll down her cheeks then, tasting the dying salt on her lips. She cried harder, wrapping her arms around her shoulders holding herself. The continuous rain of water hitting the plastic curtain drowned her out.

--------------

His mood had been palpable, his hair disheveled, his jeans marbled with the traces of white powder his fingertips had tried so quickly to wipe away.

"I just need you to need me back, I just need you to choose me” his voice desperate, pleading, he’d sounded so lost at first.

"I do, how can you not see that? Rafe I’ve put you over everything; everyone -I’ve chosen you over my friends, my brother” Y/N’s voice trembled, exhausted. She’d lost count how many times these words had fallen on deaf ears.

She took a step towards him, wanting to hold him; wanting to kiss away the doubt, the pain.

"Don’t, I can’t breathe when you’re near me, I can’t stand you being here with me, pretending its me you want and not him” his tone had changed, his words laced with bite and bitterness.

She did her best to ignore him, “I don’t wan’t anyone else”

"Is that why you kissed him" he sneered.

“What?” frustration seeped from every word, every micro expression she made.

"At Topper’s party, I saw you with him, you’re always with him”

She couldn’t mask her confusion and it only seemed to fuel him. She’d swear she hadn’t been to a party at Topper’s but a summer of mixing drinks meant nothing but blurred photographs and blacked out memories. But no amount of alcohol could ever make her doubt who he was referring to.

“I didn’t kiss him, I wouldn’t” she said softly.

His blue eyes darkened. Grey; a storm raged behind them. “Don’t lie to me” he said his voice low and steely.

“You know you really should’ve been more careful sweetheart, hanging around Sarah all those years, looks like the lying, cheating, slut has rubbed off” he drawled, his voice dripping with malice.

He'd made the most delicate thing he called her sound like the ugliest word in the world. It stung -it left pinpricks all over her body and set her alight.

“I can’t do this anymore Rafe, I hate pushing my friends away, I hate having to choose between you and them, but you know I do it anyway, I do it for you and I’d do it for you all over again if you would just trust me, just this once, please, because…I love you”

He’d wanted so badly to trust her, to believe those words she said so gently even through her anger. But he couldn’t, his mind raved with defiance. Even with the drugs daring him to give in, he didn’t, he couldn’t believe her.

It broke her, that blank stare.

“It doesn’t matter what I say does it? it doesn’t change anything for you. You’re just scared Rafe, you’re just scared and you push and you break and you hurt me and you find any excuse to shut me out because you’re just scared. Because you’re a coward. It's sad and pathetic and I care about you but I can’t make you trust me and I can’t keep asking you to. It kills me to see that you can’t accept that you’re worthy of good things, that you always have to find a way to ruin it because you can’t let yourself feel, not even for me” Y/N's voice cracked, her heart sunk into her lungs and drowned in her tears -the heaviness weighed on her.

He’d stared at her then, stared through her.

“You’re right, it doesn’t change anything, but I’m not the one that ruined things. I should have known not to waste my time on a pogue. You’re that one that can’t hack having good things, nice things. Its just hardwired into you, you pogues ruin everything you come across, you’re not worth it, my fault not realizing it sooner but you’re just like the rest of them -a waste of space, an insignificant little bug"

taglist: @bjrmaybank

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

Material Mech Chp. 3: Shotgunning Shenanigans (or How to Disgust Your Oil Snob Boyfriend)

This time around, it’s about Megatron being the equivalent of a wine snob while Optimus drinks like a frat boy. This chapter was inspired by my post and this lovely fanart the post inspired. 

AO3 link here and link to Chp. 2 on tumblr here!

🍷🍻 🛢️

"I'm going to preemptively apologize for this," Blackarachnia said, setting the oil barrels down in front of them. "I know I messed these up." 

Sentinel and Optimus eye them cautiously. From the outside, they looked like normal oil barrels, her writing scribbled on the side numbering each barrel and giving a list of safety warnings. She had heard Sentinel was being sent to them as a connection to Cybertron and Ultra Magnus, a task he made abundantly clear he loathed. After being talked out of murdering him, Blackarachnia had a better idea: to DIY refine oil. 

Back in the Academy, she had gotten hold of instructions on how to refine crude oil and with the prices of the local bars being exceedingly high, she figured it was worth a shot. She refined four barrels in all and got Sentinel and Optimus to try it with her. 

And unfortunately for all of them, her lack of access to proper facilities resulted in her refining it wrong and getting them all sick. 

"I still think this is you trying to poison me," Sentinel grumbled as he eyed the labels. 

"The numbers don't mean anything, you aft," she snapped. "They're just a way for me to keep track of them." 

He continued to look unconvinced and she sighed. "Would you feel any better if I told you Bumblebee numbered them?" 

"No, because I really don't trust him," Sentinel replied, but reached out and grabbed the barrel labeled 1 regardless. 

"Lucky for you, I don't tell him what they were being used for," she said, grabbing the barrel labeled 2. "Although he did say to avoid the barrel labeled one." 

She smirked as her joke made Sentinel instantly go pink in the face and put his barrel back. He snatched the barrel labeled 3 and Optimus rolled his optics as he picked up the one Sentinel had returned. 

"Alright, so its been refined using a different method this time, by separating by boiling point and then using a catalyst to finish the reaction. I tossed in some beryllium and mercury to expand the flavor palette but I didn't get a chance to taste it before aliquoting it into barrels so I have no clue what it tastes like," she admitted, drumming the tips of her digits against the top of the barrel. 

Optimus and Sentinel shared a concerned glance before the former said, "Is it gonna make us sick?" 

She shrugged. "I hope not because I did my calculations wrong and made twenty barrels." 

"Twenty?" Sentinel shouted as Optimus groaned and let his helm come down to rest on the top of his barrel. 

"I never claimed to be good at math, just science," she said as she grabbed the tab at the top and peeled it back. To her credit, the smell that hit them was a faint sweet one, likely the beryllium. 

The two mechs did the same, their barrels matching the scent of hers. Optimus looked down at the oil, finding it to be a rich black with a shining swirl mixed in. It looked like any other can of oil he had before. 

"I cannot believe I'm doing this," Sentinel muttered to himself. 

"On three," Optimus said. "One, two—" 

They all knocked back a mouthful at the same time. It hit Optimus’s glossa and he could feel himself wincing in anticipation. He still remembered how bitter and gritty the batch she had made in the Academy had been. 

But instead, he was surprised to find it to be smooth, metallic, if too sweet. It wasn't something he would find himself regularly drinking but he also didn't dread the thought of getting another barrel. He stared down at it in surprise. 

"It's not bad," Blackarachnia said, swirling her barrel. "It's not great, but it's not bad." 

"It needs more beryllium," Sentinel said, going back in for another swig. 

"It doesn't need more beryllium," Optimus objected. 

Blackarachnia takes another sip before answering, "I can make more after we get through the other seventeen barrels." 

The other barrels stayed stashed in the officer bar, hidden away under the counter next to the kegs of high grade and cans of additives. Throughout Sentinel's stay, they would retrieve one or two before debriefing or after long meetings or battles. Unfortunately, a huge issue they encountered that Blackarachnia hadn’t accounted for was that the longer the oil sat, the worse it began to taste. 

“I don’t know if the beryllium is reacting with something or if the mercury is, but it’s starting to taste bitter,” she said after draining a barrel and chasing it with high grade to flush out the taste. 

“It tastes fine to me,” Sentinel said, sipping at his.

“Good, you can have the remaining five barrels because I am tapping out,” she said as she tossed the metal into the trash shoot. 

Optimus found that at least the sweetness was starting to fade but it was getting harder to swallow. He didn’t even bother drinking it slowly anymore, instead chugging it as fast as possible. 

The last five barrels sat in storage behind the bar, untouched for another decacycle, in part because they’d gotten a fresh shipment of high grade in. Then he's in there with Blackarachnia, who's complaining about an experiment failing for the fifth time, and Sentinel, who half listens half reads documents from Cybertron, all while destressing from a long solar cycle.

"And the worst part is we can't even figure out why it's crystallizing! We have to heat it to start the reaction but even when we let as little solvent as possible escape it still crystallizes! And we don't want crystals, we want a homogenous solution! Oh, what's this?" She disappears behind the bar, diving down to grab at something before popping back up with one of the barrels of oil. "Did we not finish this?" 

“I guess not,” Optimus said. 

She carried all five over to the table, nearly dropping them on Sentinel’s datapad despite his protest. “New goal. Finish all of these off so I can make more. Or at least have more room for high grade kegs.” 

“These are terrible though,” Optimus complains as Sentinel grabs on, pops the top, and takes a swig. 

“Tastes okay to me,” he says, swirling it. “A little stale.” 

“Drink up,” Blackarachnia commands as she makes herself a drink behind the bar. 

Optimus grimaced as he opened the barrel and took a gulp. Time had made it worse somehow and he could feel gritty leftovers on his glossa after he swallowed. Even with a large gulp, he still had about two-thirds left in the can. 

The door opening made them all look over in surprise as Megatron walked through, a datapad in one servo, a stylus in the other. He gave them all a curious look as he said, “Apologies for the intrusion.” 

“My liege, you’re not intruding on anything,” Blackarachnia said as she walked back to their table. “We’re just trying to finish up the oil I had synthesized. Would you like some?” 

She knew what his answer would be and got a twisted delight out of the way he sneered at the barrels as he walked by to sit down at the bar. “No, I prefer to get mine from reputable refiners.” 

“Good idea. It didn’t age well,” Optimus said, wincing through another gulp. “I’m better off shotgunning it just to get it over with.” 

Blackarachnia and Sentinel exchanged a look they hadn't given each other since their Academy days. Optimus, who had been turned away, would have identified it immediately as the smile they gave each other before doing something royally stupid. He would normally see it and shut it down but given that Megatron was the only one to see it and had no clue what it meant, their plan could proceed without hindrance. 

"You know, your record in the Academy was six clicks," Sentinel says innocently. 

"I think you could beat that," Blackarachnia added. 

And Optimus, after a long solar cycle and with half a barrel of oil in his system already, simply replied, "Okay, bet." 

"What are you about to—" Megatron asks but cuts himself off as he watches Optimus grab a barrel off the table and hold it horizontally. Sentinel hands him a metal blade without having to be asked. Megatron’s optics go wide in an indescribable horror as Optimus punctures the side of the barrel near the bottom, puts his mouth over it, pops the top, and chugs the whole thing down in one go. 

“Nine clicks,” Sentinel announces as he crushes the empty barrel in his servo. “Better than most but still not the best.” 

“Why did you—” Megatron tries to ask. 

“Do it again,” Blackarachnia dares him and the smirk on her face says she knows that her leader had tried to interject. But she wouldn’t let him as she was having way too much fun watching him and his expensive oil tastes shrivel up in disgust at Optimus’s shotgunning. 

The mech says nothing as he grabs another barrel, stabs it, puts it to his mouth, pops the top, and chugs. 

Megatron can only watch in absolute disgust at the whole affair. He knew he had a different drinking style from most with a palette far more refined than the average mech. Oil, to him, was a luxury one should indulge in and for whom spending precious credits on subpar quality oil was obscene to even consider. His oils were expensive and complex and as such deserved to be sparingly sipped. Of course, lower quality oil, especially if slapped together in a lab by someone who likely didn't actually know how to make it, couldn't be sipped. But why one would waste their time on something so crude was beyond him. 

He snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of Optimus crushing the barrel and asking, "Time?" 

"Seven and a half clicks," Sentinel said. "You're getting there for sure." 

"Last one!" Blackarachnia smiled as she pushed the final barrel on the table at him. 

Before Megatron can reach over and pull the barrel out of his servos, Optimus is already shotgunning it. He crushes it as Sentinel exclaims, “Six and a half clicks!” 

Megatron opens his mouth to object to this whole affair when the alarm sounds, making them all jump in shock. His comm crackles to life, three different officers screaming in his audials about a Quintesson ambush attack and a downed space bridge. Optimus must have gotten something similar as he stumbles to his pedes, Blackarachnia and Sentinel also rising and rushing to the door. 

“Battle stations, now!” Megatron announces, following them and catching Optimus before he collides with the floor. He hoped the drinks he had consumed so quickly wouldn’t affect his performance in battle. 

…

As it would turn out, drinking three and a half barrels of oil in about a quarter of a megacycle and having beginner-level flying skills did not mix well. Combine that with panic and enemies shooting at them and Megatron spent the beginning of the battle carrying an impaired Optimus around and the last half helping him aim. 

Once everything was said and done, with enemy blood drying on his claws and dust covering his previously pristine paint job, Megatron was looking down multiple debriefs, planning meetings, and cleanup and repair that would last the next decacycle at least. But they had to stay on the planet for a bit longer which allowed him a moment to rest before getting back to the ship. 

Combatron was known for their crude oil deposits and refineries, something Megatron wanted to try before they left. Although he had been thrown through the front window of a nearby bar during the fight, it was otherwise in good condition. The owner paused her sweeping long enough to pour out a flight of oil and explain each. 

“These were separated using a high temperature while these were separated using lower temperatures. These used a catalyst and these used high pressure. We added mercury to these and chromium to this one and iron flakes to this one.” 

Megatron appreciated the flair, and that she had taken the time to decant all of them, amid the chaos and wreckage. Realistically speaking, he should have only purchased one, but given they had just gotten a victory and wrecked most of the colony’s capital city, he could go to splurge a bit and stimulate the economy. Plus the way the femme’s optics lit up at his order made him feel like he was doing some good.

He finds Optimus sitting on the edge of a walking bridge, groaning and holding his helm, sprawled on his back while his legs dangled over the edge. He glances at Megatron as he walks over and moaned, “Never let me drink and then go into battle ever again.” 

“Want to take the edge off?” Megatron offers as he sets one of the barrels he bought down next to Optimus. 

The mech grimaced at the sight of the oil but sat up and took it anyway. Megatron could already see him raising it up like he had the previous barrels. He reaches out and puts his servo over the top, glares at the mech as he scolds him, “Sip it, you heathen.” 

Optimus rolls his optics in response as he pops the top and begins sipping it slowly. He hums in appreciation. “It’s really good.” 

“Excellent,” Megatron says, sipping his own. “I bought five barrels of it.” 

“Frag yeah,” Optimus replies. 

They sit there for a bit longer, sipping oil, looking out over the wrecked city, watching others move about. If it wasn’t for the weariness in his chassis and the medical crew that rushed past them, this could be akin to a relaxing trip. 

When the two suns start to set and their barrels are empty is when Optimus climbs to his pedes, groaning at the pain in his knees. 

“Told you that you messed up your knee landing,” Megatron teases as he rises as well. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Optimus replies, accepting his extended arm to lean against as they walk back to their shuttle. They make it halfway in comfortable silence before Optimus asks, “If you’re such an oil snob, how did you know shotgunning was?”

“I came online and was raised in Tarn. I don’t know what it’s like now, but it wasn’t a refined place when I was there,” Megatron said. “Also, I’ve been to bars with Strika. Her record on a tun of oil is twenty-three clicks.”

Another brief silence before Optimus said, “I could beat her.”

“I prefer you online and without major damage to your processor and internals so please, if not for the sake of your own health, for the sake of my sanity, don’t do that,” Megatron scolds him, but there’s no malice or anger in his voice.

Optimus laughs. “Don’t worry, I won’t. Not until I get my tolerance a little higher.”

Megatron just chuckles as he rolls his optics. He could refine the mech’s tastes. Not any time soon, but he could do it.

...

Author’s note: I feel obligated to put a disclaimer on this chapter since oil and high grade is essentially alcohol. Don't drink alcohol if you’re underage, have a health condition that alcohol could worsen, and if you choose to drink, please pace yourself, drink responsibly, stay hydrated, and do not drive under any circumstances.

Also, if you're unfamiliar with drinking culture, two terms I want to explain really quickly:

"Shotgunning" = a way of quickly consuming a canned alcoholic beverage to get drunker faster; generally seen as uncouth, not something you do in an actual bar, usually only done by with terrible tasting cheap beer at house parties.

"Flight of oil" = based on a flight of beers, which is multiple different beers served in smaller glasses to allow someone to taste different beers without getting drunk. Generally done at breweries or bars that brew their own beers to allow the brewers to showcase their work. Not really done with mass-produced beer you can buy at a store.

[winsmoke]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲

Ten wants to know what you taste like.

⊹ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.6k ⊹ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 female y/n x astronomy partner Ten ⊹ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 college au, smut ⊹ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 semi-public fingering, cum tasting ⊹ 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 request | disclaimer | masterlist

　“Wanna be partners?”

　Ten had climbed over four rows of seats to get to your perch at the top of the lecture hall. Foot stuck in his ascent up the last row, Ten’s embarrassed grin spread his slim jaw impossibly wide, closed teeth holding in his simmering anxiety. It was his second time asking you, to say he was nervous would be an understatement.

　“You have so many other friends,” you reminded him dismissively. Wedging your astronomy textbook between your laptop and a box of saltines, you yanked the tabs of the two zippers up the chain to meet each other, sealing your backpack closed.

　“They’re all disposable,” he replied without hesitation.

　The corners of your lips wobbling slightly, you turn away from Ten, clenching your jaw to contain your smile.

　“Fine,” you grumbled. You refused to show that you had been charmed.

　Tapping the contacts app in your cell, you clicked on the plus sign in the upper corner, typed ‘Ten - astronomy,’ and reluctantly extended the phone down to him. The muscle memory in his fingers betraying him, Ten forgot to prolong your rare attention while entering in his number, handing you back your phone seconds later.

　Texting your name to Ten’s new contact, you licked your lips before leaving the lecture hall for your next class. Stunned by this unexpected development, Ten stood in dazed elation for a minute.

　“Thanks,” Ten called breathlessly, long after your departure.

　Having caught a glimpse of your tongue wiping over your bottom lip, Ten brushed his own tongue over his lips. Realizing his ankle was still wrenched between the backrest and the seat, Ten found difficulty in freeing himself, his feet heavy with satisfaction.

　You began observing Ten during lectures. You noticed that he always had a straw between his lips. On Mondays, he typically chugged a venti Americano through a dented green straw, perhaps gnawing away his sleepiness. On Wednesdays, through a metal straw of an opaque tumbler, he took furtive sips of water (you assume), his eyes alert on the professor. And on Fridays, he would take leisurely drinks from a milkshake but you could never figure out the flavor because on Fridays his eyes always wandered up to you.

　As partners, your project was to observe the moon three times a week and distinguish the phase it's in. As the two of you met at odd hours, chasing the moon to calculate the Sun Hour Angle and Moon Elongation, the discrete glances continued. Disguising attraction with calculation errors, the two of you found excuses to drag your ten minute meetings into thirty minutes.

　On one particular Friday, Ten had reached his breaking point. The manager of the ice cream parlor he frequented had broken her hip and closed the store for her surgery. It was the one day Ten came to class without a straw between his lips. And he was thirsty.

　Although the two of you had done your best to assuage your temptations by continuing to sit four rows apart, today Ten boldly came and sat in the seat beside you. With few students making the effort to come to Friday lectures, the auditorium was at 10% capacity which consisted of the overachievers sitting eagerly in the first few rows. In your usual seat in the back row, the two of you were alone.

　Ten wore a loose black tank that accented the lean muscle cupping his shoulder. Matching his top with black jeans, his overgrown hair curtaining his eyes completed the look.

　You didn’t greet him when he sat down, letting yourself take cautious peeks while he pretended to scroll through his Instagram feed. Hyperaware of Ten’s movements and fixed stare, you pulled the seam of your dress further down your thighs, the object of his gaze.

　“No drink today?” you asked casually, training your eyes on the powerpoint at the front of the auditorium.

　Ten tensed slightly, startled by your sudden voice. He had intended on spending the class stealing looks at your freshly lotioned skin but your words threw him off. You were good at concealing your desire but your question hinted that you had been watching, same as him.

　Absentmindedly tucking his phone into his back jean pocket, Ten’s eyes finally meet yours. Pupils dilated with desire reflected one another. You tried – really tried. You trailed your gaze around his hairline and slender jaw, the small freckle below his right eye and chin, even his piercings got crumbs of your attention. But his lips – you couldn’t look away. Faint lines that hadn’t been smoothed over by his chapstick encrusted his lower lip, and a delicate curve defined his cupid’s bow. His lips almost looked empty without something between them. Five seconds could have elapsed, or five minutes. You searched each others’ faces for something that couldn't be found without touch.

　“QUESTION,” the astronomy professor boomed, breaking your trance, “Can humans walk on Jupiter?” Pointing his clicker at a trembling freshman in the front, he eagerly corrected her squeaky guess.

　Refocusing on the lecture, you quickly copied down the notes projected on the screen, pencil quivering slightly between your fingers. But Ten wouldn’t let this pass after this silent exchange of honesty.

　Swallowing quietly, Ten leaned over the dividing armrest. “I want to drink you,” he admitted, letting his tongue lightly fondle your earlobe.

　Blinking slowly, you tried ignoring his anxious breathing below your ear. Warmth blooming below your stomach, you slowly uncrossed your legs and shifted your jacket over your lap. Your pencil didn’t freeze when he placed his hand on your bare knee.

　“You have to get me wet first,” you murmured, jotting down your professor’s distinction between jovian and terrestrial planets.

　Ten’s hand tapping impatiently against your knee, he wondered how far you would let him go. “Can… can I make you cum?”

　“Fingers alone can’t make me cum,” you sniffed.

　“Maybe...”

　Ten’s cold hand shifted to the warm skin below your knee, making your leg winced from the cool sensation. Massaging shallow circles into your inner thigh, his calloused hands scraped gently against your soft skin. Ten’s fingers were slow but heavy against your flesh, groping especially hard when shaky puffs of air emerged from your lips. Hovering his head above your shoulder, Ten carefully absorbed all the small noises you emitted. Liquid pleasure beginning to trickle onto the cushioned seat, your eye lashes flickered as you strained yourself to pay attention to your professor.

　Steadily lowering his hand down your thigh, Ten stopped short when he brushed over your bare folds. “Fuck...”

　“What?” you heaved softly. Your heart suddenly squeezed, all your insecurities flashing to the front of your mind.

　“Nothing… um, you’re wetter than I thought,” Ten muttered, easing your worries. He rested his head on your shoulder so his arm could fully extend down to your center.

　Although Ten’s main grievance had been his lack of milkshake, your lack of underwear was what was making his mouth go dry.

　Sweeping his tongue at the base of your neck, Ten harshly sucked the skin while rubbing his pointer finger up and down the curve of your clit. Suppressed whines and hip wiggles signaling your impatience, Ten sharply submerged his finger into your pussy. The top edge of the chair dug into the back of your head as your hips uncontrollably slid further down the seat. Adding his middle finger next to his pointer, you clenched around his digits in temporary discomfort. Slowing and shallowing his movements, Ten brought his free hand back to your clit, forcing you to relax your squeezing through his strokes.

　An intense warmth leisurely flushing between your legs and cheeks, you released a breath, indicating your preparedness. Curling his fingers ever so slightly against your slimy walls, Ten’s lips matched his fingers’ urgency as they suctioned rings of bruises into your neck. Throughout his skillful movements, Ten’s eyes never left your dripping entrance, wanting to watch your fluids pool onto the red seat covering.

　His fingers deeply swallowed inside your folds, Ten began thrusting against particularly sensitive areas. Whimpers of satisfaction gradually leaking from your parted lips, Ten mercilessly propelled his fingers down to his knuckles. A groan liberating itself from your throat, the lurid noise echoed loudly in the auditorium. Stilling his hand but keeping his fingers buried, Ten guiltily shot his torso upright, bringing his other hand to the upright muscle between his legs.

　Your professor squinted up towards the top row – you looked like an oversized doll in the distance. “Something wrong up there?” he called with agitation.

　“I’m good! K-kicked my sh-shin,” you responded, a searing warmth coating your face in embarrassment and pleasure as Ten resumed pumping two fingers in and out of your core.

　As the professor returned to his lesson, you clasped your hands around your mouth to prevent yourself from sharing any subsequent moans with the class. Tugging one of your hands away from your face, Ten led it to his groin. Instantly grasping his hardened length through his jeans, you roughly dragged your hand up and down. Hiding his face back into your neck, Ten bit his ragged breaths into your skin as he continued pummeling your hole with two fingers, letting wet, squishing sounds vaguely ring across the lecture hall. As his teeth raked over your fresh hickies, your grip hardened around Ten’s dick, as if the compression would allow you to sink past his jeans. Your hasty strokes betrayed your desperation for release.

　“A-almost t-there…” you whimpered as Ten rubbed at an angle and depth that made your thighs tremble.

　“I’ll see you all on Monday!” the professor announced, snapping his laptop closed as Ten yanked his fingers out of you and into his mouth.

　“H-huh?” you asked dazedly, blinking hard.

　Slinging his backpack onto his shoulder, Ten quickly stood and strode towards the door. Stopping at the exit, he stared back at you, a finger still between his lips.

　“Can you send me your notes? I was a bit distracted during class.”

[sableseb]

Dirty Disco

Harry Styles x f!reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: smut, rough & quick, choking, grinding, slight name calling, use of drugs, slight peer pressure

tags: @meetmeatyourworst​ @greeneyedblondie44​

a/n: This is a request that wanted a story based off the photo below! To the person who wanted this, I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it.x

The club is in full swing. Hot, sweaty bodies pressed against one another, music vibrating the dance floor, and couples occupying each darkened corner. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than right here. You craved a night out. And what better place to go than one of the most elite nightclubs in New York? 

You squeeze your way into the mass of people to join in on the sleazy dance floor behavior. You let the music take over your movements. Hips winding against a man’s, chest pressed against a woman’s and completely lost in the feeling of the erotic nature of being between two people in such a compromising way.

Suddenly, you couldn’t feel anyone against you. Until, two hands pull you in close from behind to rub himself to the beat against you. You had it in mind to turn around and tell this asshole he couldn’t just touch you as he pleased and maybe even smack him for good measure. But, all those thoughts left as soon as they entered when you meet a pair of eyes that are the prettiest shade of green you’ve seen, complemented by the mop of brown hair.

You find yourself wanting to be smacked by him. He chuckles at the way your mouth is slightly agape, obviously expecting to see an ugly weirdo with grimy hands. Instead, you got the most handsome weirdo with grimy hands. And that made all the difference. You get your mind straight and turn back around letting him guide you against him.

You grind against one another to the music shaking the walls. The smooth material of his pants feels good against your heated skin. He’s taking his time with you, moving your ass against his hard on he got when he first laid his eyes on you in that mini skirt and shirt that’s barely keeping your chest concealed. 

Grasping the hem of your skirt, you lift it up a bit and bend over to give him a glance of your perfectly plump ass straining against the black mesh. You gasp as his hands move from your hips to palm the firm flesh. You wanted to feel those rings everywhere. The cool metal excites you even more.

After letting him have his fun for a moment, you straighten back up to lace your fingers through his thick hair and pull him against your neck, backside still moving along with his front. You feel the hot puffs of air he’s emitting and it sends shivers down your spine, straight to your aching heat. His hands wander up your torso to rub and grab at your chest causing you to arch forward in his grasp.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” 

His voice catches you off guard for a moment. His accent is thick, annunciations as slow as honey dripping from the comb. 

“Looking for an escape is all.” you reply next to his mouth, trying to catch a taste of him.

He spins you forward and leans in close to your ear, lips grazing the shell of yours as he says, “I can help with that if you're interested.”

If he didn’t catch your attention before, he surely has it now. He’s tall and lean, clad in a tight vest that showcases his firm chest with a cross resting upon it. Tattoos splattered all along his tan skin. This man is trouble. Lucky for you, trouble is exactly what you’re looking for.

“How can you help?” you question with a glint in your eyes.

He smirks and takes your hand to lead you away from the dance floor. The music is but a low vibration in the back room you find yourself in with a man who’s name you don’t know. You don’t want to know it, you’re not here for formalities and neither is he.

It’s dark with hues of red from the low lighting. The leather couch looks expensive...and so does the glass table with bags of illegal substances littered across it. Now you’re nervous. You’ve never done any sort of drug. But, the man pulling you along and whispering lowly in your ear, “It’ll be fun. I got you.” is very persuasive. Especially, when he looks so appealing. 

He places you next to him on the couch, the leather sticking uncomfortably to your heated thighs. You watch as those long fingers reach for a bag with little white squares in them. He digs one out and places it upon his tongue, he leans in to you, waiting for you to get the hint and take the tab from his mouth.

You’re hesitant, but that mouth is calling to you. You tangle your tongue with his, slowly kissing him in the process. He grabs the back of your head, deepening the kiss. His taste is addicting. Alcohol mixed with something sweet, you almost forgot you took the acid...almost. You pull away with worry etched in your features.

He takes notice and chuckles. “Such a good girl for me, you know that?” He takes another tab for himself and downs it. It’s always exciting to share this experience with another. It’s really exciting though, when his companion is a figure from a wet dream.

You can feel your body loosen and mind clear, your present and not all there at the same time. The man to your left closes in on you. His smell hits you harder than before, dark and musky with a hint of something floral. You pull him against you, leaning back so he can cage your body with his.

He looks at you thoroughly this time. The way your eyes have already dilated, the way your chest is begging to be released from that ridiculously tight shirt, and especially the way you lick your lips, almost like you’re tempting him to ruin you. And you were doing just that, tempting.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, genuinely curious. He would hate to have to rush you to the hospital.

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him flush against you. He lets out a groan from the abrupt contact of your center against his front. Pulling his head down to meet yours, you whisper against his lips, “I’d feel better if you were inside me.”

He’s caught off guard for a moment, not expecting you to be that brazen. Drugs can work wonders on a person’s mind. Who is he to deny your request? He couldn’t even if he tried, not when you have him pressed so firmly against you and you start rocking against him.

The moan he lets past his lips is a sound that makes you wetter. The need for this stranger is so great that you don’t even care about the foreplay. You need him inside you now. He picks up on your urgency and makes quick work of his tailored pants. He releases himself from the confines of his underwear as you kick yours off your heeled feet.

He pushes the tight fabric of your skirt up past your hips. His eyes feast on how wet you are for him. Your arousal is already pooling against the leather of the couch. 

“Please.” you beg. “Just fuck me.” 

He pushes his dick against you, using your wetness to cover his shaft for an easy in. The sensation of him finally pushing in has you seeing colors. You aren’t sure if it’s the drugs or how good he fills you up. But whatever it is, you want more.

Seeing you whimper and writhe underneath him unlocks the primal urge to have you brain dead for his cock. He picks up his pace, your chest bouncing with each snap of his hips. He can’t stand not seeing your bare flesh moving freely, so he rips your shirt down the middle. 

You gasp at his roughness. Before you could let out a whiny, “Hey,” he latches onto your breast. Licking and biting while his hand preoccupies the other. Grabbing and pinching till you didn’t know what to focus on, him pounding into you with no abandon or the way his wet, hot mouth and calloused hands are working wonders on your sensitive nipples.

“So responsive.” he groans between the valley of your breasts. “What? Nobody ever fuck you this good?”

The blood rushes to your face. His words egging on your inevitable climax. You’re speechless as he keeps hitting that spot inside you that has your abdomen flexing and toes curling. The only sounds coming from you are the high pitched moans he’s pulling from you.

He doesn’t like how loud you’ve gotten. His hand flies up to your throat. The rings feel nice against your heated pulse. Until he starts squeezing. Your eyes go wide and your sounds seize, but your cunt latches down on him harder than before.

“My pretty girl likes being choked? That’s right. Take it you fucking slut.” he says through clenched teeth. 

And take it you do. His pelvis keeps kissing your bundle of nerves as you buck up towards him. His other hand that’s not restricting your breathing finds your clit, giving you even more pleasure than before. The warm feeling creeping up your neck, the way your ears ring, you know you’re cumming as your legs tremble around the man between them.

He let’s go of your throat in time for you to let a scream of pleasure escape. Your orgasm triggers his own and he’s fucking you deep into the couch to get as close as possible to you. He has to prop himself up on his hands so he doesn’t crush you as his high washes over him.

You both lay in silence for a few moments, just enjoying the euphoria from the sex and drugs. He pulls out of you and helps you into your panties. As you stand, you can feel his spent pool in the fabric. Making you horny all over again. 

“Round two at my place?” the words leave your mouth before you even process them. You just want this man in every position possible. A grin makes its way upon his features. He places his hand in yours to help you through the club and out into the cool night air.

[spinster-sisters]

Criminal. khj

TW: Violence kinda, weapons kinda, illegal stuff obviously, exhibitionism, marking, posesiveness, gang? au? possibly, I honestly dont know what this is.

WC: 6k

I normally dont do summaries but I got a funny one:

You and your boyfriend escape a bank robbery.

-

The toe of your shoe clicks against the marble floor as you tap your foot. Across the room, high up on the wall there is an analog clock ticking down the seconds. It’s getting late, and the bank teller couldn’t be going any slower. Only two people ahead of you now.

You check your phone for the fifth time in the past 10 minutes, no update. Must not be running as late as you thought. You shift your weight to your other foot only to start taping once again. Ok sure, you weren’t late, it doesn’t mean you like how long this damn lady is taking.

The line moves up as the teller begins helping the next person. You attempt to swallow your impatience as best you can, pulling out your phone again to quickly slide between apps, but the longer you stand there the louder the ticking of the clock seems to echo around the room.

Looking away from your device, you take another look around the room. Nothing has changed since you came in. In between the doors and the lines, there was a seating area filled with two uncomfortable-looking couches facing each other and a coffee table between them. There were still 3 tellers sitting at their desks, 10 customers in line counting you. Two in the first line, three in the second, yourself, and two others in the last. About as busy as you would expect at this time of day. But the waiting still sucked.

Finally, you hear the teller ask “is there anything else I can help you with?” And you know that soon it will be your turn at the window. Pulling out your phone again you shoot a quick text.

[ it’s my turn next, hopefully, I’ll be out of here soon ]

1:24pm

Just as the woman in front of you steps away a notification dings on your phone.

[ See you soon ;) ]

1:25pm

You sighed at your boyfriend's message, thinking the winky face was a bit on the nose for your taste. But Hongjoong liked to tease.

Dropping your phone back into your pocket, you look up just as the teller motions you forward. The click of your shoe against the tile seems almost deafening in the quiet room as you step forward, trying to mask the small smile Hongjoong’s message had given you.

“what can I help you with today?” The lady at the counter-question with subdued chirpiness. Clearly, she has had a long day, already ready for it to be over. The thought made you wince.

“Hi, there seems to be a problem with the direct deposit on my account. My last paycheck didn’t go in.” You start, placing both hands on the counter.

The teller nods, with mock understanding, clearly just an impulse for years of customer service. Somewhere outside several car doors slam, but no one inside seems to notice the sound.

“Could I have the number of the account?” The teller asks, placing both hands on the keyboard and frowning at the screen, prepared to type whatever comes out of your mouth. You don’t have time to say it.

All the lights on the monitor suddenly shut off. The woman helping you looks taken aback for a second, looking over to her coworkers only to see them doing the same. The hairs on the back of your neck shoot up as nerves build in your stomach.

The next thing happens so quickly you barely register it. The glass door slides open and a metal canister flies into the room. Acting on instinct your hands fly to your ears, your eyes screwed shut, and you drop to your knees. Even with your ears covered it does little to silence the ear-splitting bang that rips through the room. It sends the rest of the room's inhabitants to the floor seconds after you, either from shock or from the disorienting mix of light and sound that came from the small device.

Flashbang.

Your heart jumps up to your throat. You open your eyes but did not let your hands drop just yet. The ring was still sounding in the room, but the blinding light had gone. Just as the last of the ringing fizzled out the doors slid open again.

A group of masked figures took confident strides into the room. Your eyes searched the street behind them, looking for anyone who might notice what’s going on. There was no one. Your stomach dropped again. The others in the room finally seemed to be regaining their hearing and sight, only to shriek when the men came into view. Swallowing your nerves you do a headcount of the patrons. Three tellers, ten customers including yourself. All adults, no children. That was good, children would cause problems.

After assessing the situation and taking a few deep breaths, you look over to the group of men who were starting to spread out around the room. The more you looked at them the more frightening they appeared. Each of the men were were dressed head to toe in black with a mask covering the bottom half of their faces, but even as you sized them up you avoided looking at their eyes, drawing attention to yourself now would be stupid.

Every one of them carried a gun. But as they fanned out across the room only one had it pointed. The same one that spoke.

“Anyone not on the ground better get that way. We don’t have all day.” The voice that spoke was calm but had a clear edge. The tones meaning ran clear in your ears as much as everyone else’s, calm does not mean forgiving. You kept your head down, trying your best to sink into the shadows trying to avoid drawing attention to yourself, that’s what people always said to do right?

You heard a few thuds as the few people in the room who remained standing dropped to the floor. None of the other patrons or staff said a word. Thank god, fighting would make this much more difficult.

“Great, now I want everyone’s hands on the ground in front of them. Try to call anyone and one of us will put a new hole in your head, so why don’t we make this easy and nobody make a sound.” The voice continued in that same tone. Your eyes shot up to make sure everyone was following orders as you placed your own hands on the cold tile next to your bare knees, they were already getting stiff and you hoped this would be over quickly.

A few of the men began walking through the people on the floor, hands on their guns but not drawn, checking just as you did that everyone was behaving. As one of the taller ones drifted toward your spot you stared at the same tile a few feet ahead of you, matching the other patrons around you.

You heard the heavy thuds of footsteps as they paused in front of you, just for a moment. You felt the gaze burn into the top of your skull as you stared forward, holding your breath.

“You don’t look nearly scared enough.” The new voice spoke, completely nonchalant. The next moment, a heavy leather boot pressed down onto your hand, crushing it against the tile. You winced and let out a small cry as pain shot up your arm. It stung as he dug his foot harder onto your hand. Both hands started to shake as the pain built, the knot that had formed in your chest from the moment the flash-bang fell through the air tightened till your breath became choked and shaky. Suddenly the pressure was gone.

“Much better,” the voice all but giggled before moving on.

You took a heaving breath as soon as the boots left your field of vision. You felt sweat start to form on your brow bone. You looked up again. A few terrified faces of other patrons looked at you with fear, clearly expecting that the man was going to blow your head off.

The man who spoke first stepped forward and motioned to the middle teller who was watching petrified from behind his desk, head barely peeking over the edge.

“You,” he started again, taking long strides across the room, walking within a few feet from you on your right side to the opening that led behind the counter, “Why don’t you show me to the safe?” He asked, voice still disconcertingly cordial. The teller gapped for a moment, and the man tilted his head expectantly. The teller stumbled to his feet, eyes not moving from the shiny gun trained on him. He did little more than gesture vaguely for the man to follow him before they both disappeared behind the doors that lead to the back of the bank, 2 of the other men followed behind him.

The room was stiff with tension. For the patrons at least. All of you seemed to be holding your breath, but the men could not seem calmer. Their postures were relaxed, many of them had their arms crossed over their chest or were leaning against furniture. None of them even had their weapons drawn, but they were still visible. Enough to keep everyone shaking with fear with their heads down. It was bizarre but effective for the time being.

Your head was absolutely swimming. Trying to keep notice of the positions of everyone in the room, taking shooting glances around for a few seconds at a time, checking the faces of your fellow hostages. Everyone knows in situations like this it’s best to just comply, you sure fucking hoped the others knew that as well. You tried to lead by example anyway. And then there were the men. You didn’t dare look any one of them in the eye, knowing what kind of consequences that would bring. But you tried to keep tabs on them. They weren’t moving much in the few minutes since the three men disappeared with the teller, but any slight movement they gave was noteworthy into your mind. You had to keep things under control.

The minutes ticked on in almost complete silence, save for the one man who was humming of all things. How could they possibly be relaxed right now you did not know. The sound was harsh against your ears for how gentle it was, it kept distracting you from your thoughts.

The thought in question was a dangerous one. Your back was beginning to ache from being hunched over and your palms were sweating uncomfortably against the marble. From where you sat against the furthest teller window you were blocked from the direct view of every robber by either furniture or walls. What you wanted to do was risky, any slight movement on their behaves would land you in their line of sight. That was an opportunity for anyone who could take it.

You need to text Hongjoong. He needed to know what was going on. You watched the men carefully for the next few minutes, looking for any sign that they might start looking around, but they all seemed perfectly content in their places. With a shaking hand, you slowly began reaching into your pocket. You managed to pull the device out without anyone noticing, but as you slid it into your lap and under your shirt one of the other patrons saw, and their eyes shot wide open. Shit.

They looked at you with frantic, pleading eyes that screamed call for help. They were looking too obvious. You swallowed and shook your head, trying to get them to look away, but they didn’t.

“Heads down,” a deep voice called. Both you and the other patron snapped your eyes to the floor, but after listening for a few seconds it didn’t sound like anyone was moving toward you. You were still blocked from view. With a shaky breath, you slowly pulled the phone out. Unlocking it silently, you pressed on the messages app.

“Well, what’s this?”

Dread shot through you. The man had reappeared from the back, slinking quietly to your side somehow without you noticing. Your head shot up to look at him as he stood, barely 5 feet away from you staring down at your phone. The entire room's attention was now on you. You felt your blood freeze in your veins as the eyes above the mask narrowed into a glare. You didn’t even move to hide the phone, you didn’t move to do anything. You just sat there, staring dumbly back into his eyes. You heard the distant sounds of fear from the hostages and soft chuckles from the men.

The bag he had slung over his shoulder was tossed to the nearest member of his crew, the two that had followed him into the back of the back reappeared, took one look at the scene, one shaking his head before they both carried on out the door with the three bags.

A hand shot into your hair, grabbing it by the roots and pulling you to your feet. Your scalp burned, the pain was so sharp and sudden your eyes screwed shut and you lost Yoruba balance. Disoriented, you let out a shriek at the pain and if it weren’t for the grip on your head you would have fallen right back down. The phone was ripped from your hand. The man slid his hand from your hair to grasp the back of your neck firmly as he looked over the screen. When your eyes opened he was scrolling through the messages from half a moment before laughing a full and wicked laugh.

“Texting your boyfriend? How cute.” He all but cackled. He observed your face, your eyes hard and pricked with tears, and he giggled again. Shoving your phone into his pocket, he motioned to the others before pulling you towards the door. You stumbled over your legs multiple times, letting out cries and hisses as you went but doing little to resist.

The other hostages, let out distraught sobs but you blocked them out, their sympathy would do nothing for you now.

You were pulled out of the building at the same moment the sound of engines roared to life. In one quick glacé you saw that the street was still deserted.

Your back was slammed against the wall of the bank, just out of view of those inside and the barrel of the man's gun was trained on you. You shut your eyes tight.

You heard a bang. And the wailing cries of the hostages inside.

Then familiar lips crashed onto yours. It wasn’t really a kiss, more of a peck. The man's lips moved against yours for only a few seconds, so little you had no time to react before they were gone.

You opened your eyes. His mask was pulled back up, and he had taken a step back. His gun was already holstered at his side.

You didn’t have to see the bottom half of the man's face to know he was smirking. You pushed yourself off the wall and glared at him. At that moment two cars pulled out of the parking lot, one stopping directly in front of you. With a huff you pushed past the man who you could almost guarantee was still grinning.

Opening the door you slid into the backseat against the far window and crossed your arms over your chest. Seconds later the man got in and closed the door. And you were off.

“Come on your not actually mad are you,” he giggled, pulling down his mask.

“You damn near pulled my hair out Hongjoong! Of course, I’m mad!” You spat. You heard the two in the front seat chuckle.

“Oh don’t think you're off the hook Yunho. What the fuck was that? Since when was breaking my hand apart of the plan?” You hollered, kicking your foot against his seat. This only lead to more giggling. You resiliently stared forward, not looking at to boyfriend. He didn’t seem bothered by this in the slightest. Hongjoong slid across the back seat to wrap an arm over your shoulder that even in your rage you didn’t have the heart to shake off.

“But it’s not like I was lying! You looked way too calm. If any of them had looked at you it would have been obvious something was up.” Yunho defended, gesturing with the hand, not on the steering wheel.

“Come on, darling. You know we have to make it believable. I can’t have my best spy get their cover blown because I’m too gentle with you.” The arm around your shoulder tightened, urging you to look at him. Finally, you turned to him, smiling at you so brightly you’d think you were on a friendly road trip.

“Besides, I thought you liked it when I pulled your hair?” Hongjoong said with a cheeky wink. At that Wooyoung howled with laughter from the front seat. You blushed crimson and promptly reached your foot over to kick his seat as well.

“Oh shut up. You were going overboard and you know it.” You grumbled with much less enthusiasm. Hongjoong smiles softly at your pout before leaning back in his seat, giving you a bit more space. Comfortable silence lasted only a few minutes as you drove on before Hongjoong spoke up again.

“Why did you pull your phone out anyway? That was dumb, even if you are on our side.” He asked, fingers rubbing circles comfortingly against your shoulder. You sighed.

“Because the rest of the boys fucked up.” You replied plainly, but still easing into your boyfriend's touch. Both Yunho and Wooyoung made offended noises from the front seat, but you carried on.

“The way they were positioned was wrong. There were blind spots, several actually. You’re just lucky I was the only person in one. I figured I should let you know in case it became a problem.” You continued.

“Hmm,” Hongjoong muttered. While he heard the sound of your voice, you doubted he was listening, as his hand instead taken to playing with your fingers in your lap.

“Isn’t the whole idea of having someone undercover on the inside, so they can tell us where the blind spots are?” Wooyoung asked from the front seat, still clearly offended at your statement.

“I told Yeosang, it’s not my fault you guys planned to take him in the safe this time instead of keeping him in the lobby like always.”You shot back. But even that was half-hearted. Your body really did ache after being hunched on the hard ground for 10 minutes without moving, and the comforting touch of your boyfriend's hands made you melt into the seat, all the tension and worrying about ways it could go wrong eased off your body in waves.

You all could talk about how it went and what needed to be tweaked next time later, right now you just wanted to rest. Hongjoong pulled you against his chest by your shoulder sensing your quick drop in energy.

Just as you were about to doze off a thought popped into your head.

“Hongjoong?”

You could feel the hum he gave in response against your cheek, telling you to continue.

“Are you sure you should have pretended to shoot me? I mean, best case scenario local police add murder onto our rap list. Worst, they find out you have a man on the inside. Either one is bad.” You murmur into his chest. Your group had never killed before as there had never been any need to, and it wasn’t something that any of you really wanted to do.

“That’s only a problem if they catch us.” He replied. Sounding, as always, perfectly certain of himself.

-

Living like this had its pros and cons, much like anything else. The main con being having to drive long ways away for jobs, just as a way to keep yourself safe. Which sometimes meant pulling over on the side of the road at any ditch or shitty motel for the night before getting back to your homes.

As your vehicles pulled into a run-down motel about a mile off the main highway, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had gone into the lobby parading as drunk college students on a road trip to rent the rooms for the night. Needless to say, it had been a long day, the other boys meandered to their rooms and probably fell asleep the moment their heads hit the pillows. But not you.

You had been patiently waiting on the hood of the car you arrived in, for the moment Hongjoong got back. And when he did reappear and the others disappeared, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to go lay down as quickly as they did.

As the crunch of their footsteps on gravel faded till they were indoors, you turned your head upwards to the sky. It was late at night and in the middle of nowhere like this, you could see millions more stars than in your home. Hongjoong kept his place, leaning on the car hood next to where you sat, looking up as well but not at the infinite sky like you. No, he was watching your face.

You don’t know exactly how long you sat there, looking up at the sky but you know your neck had begun to ache when Hongjoong finally pulled himself onto the hood of the car next to you. You naturally came to rest your head on his shoulder, still looking up at the stars, but now in your peripheral vision, you could still see Hongjoong studying your expression carefully.

“Something on your mind?” You ask in a quiet voice, still looking up. Hongjoong stirred, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. You tear your gaze from the stars to look at him. The moon cast a pearly light on his face that in your eyes made him glow.

“Sometimes I think I ruined you,” though his words were serious the giggle he gave at the end showed he had no real remorse. You still scoffed.

“I was a criminal long before I meet you Kim Hongjoong, don’t go thinking you

drastically changed the course of my life.” You reply in a dry tone, even if he was joking, it was still a point you wanted to drive home. He had no reason to be guilty with how you turned out, you were probably safer with him and the others than where you were before. He laughed at you again.

Hongjoong laughed at everything. And his laugh was one of the best things about him. Looking at him now, it gets harder and harder to imagine what your life would have been like without him.

“Babe, you were a petty thief, I turned you into a serial bank robber. I consider that pretty drastic.” He shot back, reaching up to pretend to fix your hair.

“If it wasn’t you, it would have been somebody else, and between us? I’m glad it was you.” Your words came out slightly more sentimental than you had anticipated and when Hongjoong fell silent next to you, you promptly blushed and turned back to the stars.

You and Hongjoong very rarely spoke about stuff like this. Even if neither of you would ever admit it, the truth of living life like this is that all it takes is one day, one mistake, for the family you created and the life you live to come crashing down around you. The span of a few minutes could be the difference between running off into the sunset and quite literally never seeing each other again. And after the slight hiccup, you had today that only you had noticed at first, that thought was at the forefront of your mind.

So basically you liked to live in the moment.

It was quiet for a few minutes, him watching you and you watching the sky. There was a very slight breeze in the air, but the summer air was made it more of a gentle cool wind than an uncomfortable chill.

“It’s getting late, you should go to sleep,” Hongjoong muttered. Quieter than his usual quip.

“I slept in the car.” You replied easily. Which was true, and while that nap had been anything but restful with the constant bumps in the road, he didn’t need to know that.

“Oh well, here I was trying to get you in bed but I guess you don’t want to.” He sighed, regaining some of the playfulness from earlier while running a teasing hand up your spine. It gave you shivers, but you had no desire to give in to him so easily.

“Who says we need a bed?” You ask matter of factly. Turning to give him the same wink he had laid on you earlier in the day. Jobs like the one you did today always put you on edge, no matter how many times you did it. Unlike the rest of them, it took you hours to fully relax and admit safety enough to let your guard down. You would never call Hongjoong carefree, but he did have a habit of trying to jump you the moment you were a safe distance away. Hongjoong leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Are you asking me to take you on the hood of this car? Because trust me, darling, I would.” Shivers his your spine once again, but you weren’t quite down bantering yet. You turned your head away from him to look at the beat-up old motel and the deserted parking lot you sat in. Motioning to it all you replied.

“Is this the most romantic place you could find?” You ask, each word oozing with how unimpressed you were by the scenery. At that Hongjoong placed a finger under your chin and tilted your head up to look at the millions of shining stars once again. You could feel his next words before they came.

“I don’t know, I think I did a pretty good job.”

It’s true, looking straight up and nowhere else gave the impression that you were sitting on the top of a mountain, the entire world below you and nothing but heaven above. Cheesy, but effective.

Hongjoong accurately assumed your silence meant he had won. Pushing you by your shoulder till your back hit the cool metal, your eyes stayed trained on the sky above. Your legs hung over the front of the car, pushed up only slightly till you lay with most of your body on the hood. Hongjoong’s moonlight face still hung in your peripheral, hanging over you slightly.

You stared straight into the sky as Hongjoong slung his body over yours, trapping your hips to the metal with his own.

“Please tell me you're not going to be super dramatic about this?” You as with your last dreg of defiance. He smirked at you.

“Babe, this is going to be the most dramatic moment of your life.”

And with that, Hongjoong leaned down over you, connecting your lips with a heated kiss. Your arms automatically slung around his neck, pulling him closer. Your breath hitched almost immediately, feeling all strength leave your body as you melted into the kiss. Hongjoong took time to switch between a long slow-paced drag of his lips across yours, to nipping and sucking gently at your bottom lip as he pleased. The air no longer seemed like a necessity, when staying like this forever got more and more appealing.

Running his lips down to your jaw you almost rolled your eyes when you felt Hongjoong suck a rather impressively sized hickey right onto the underside of your jaw. It would perfectly match the fading ones that dotted your collar bones and the base of your neck, though the placement of this one would be much more visible.

Hongjoong’s hand took hold of your waist, slipping his fingers under the hem of your shirt and pushing it to bunch up over your chest, exposing you to the cool night air. He hadn’t removed it completely, but nonetheless he leaned back to admire. The ghost of a smirk wormed its way onto his lips as he ran his soft fingertips along the marks he gave you.

Staring at the ones lower on your stomach, trailing up your body with feather light touches. Your eyes screwed shut when he brushed over the ones on your breast. The bra you had been wearing today was nothing special, if not a little plain, but you could barely stand the heat of his gaze as it traveled up your body along with his hand.

Eventually, he reached the newest addition to the collection of purple splotches on your body. Cupping your cheek with his hand he urged your eyes open.

“I go through all this work to get you out under the stars and here you are with your eyes closed. That’s rude of you.” He stated with an exaggerated frown.

“It’s rude to tease,” you tried to sound as playful as him, but it came out as more of a whine. He giggled at you and carried on.

“I’m not teasing, I’m admiring. Now let me continue or you’ll get nothing.” He replies sternly. The mood suddenly shifting as the sparkle in his eye shifted to a darker hungrier look. You gulped slightly before letting your head fall back against the metal to stare up at the sky again. You felt Hongjoong’s mouth on your body again. His warm lips giving new life to some of the more faded marks on your chest. The cool air suddenly felt incredibly hot as your boyfriend's hands ran up and down your sides, occasionally stopping to squeeze whatever flesh he could grasp. Each time pulled another sound past your lips, although you did your best to muffle them.

“You look so pretty like this baby,” he remarked, barely pulling away, “I want to hear how pretty you sound too.”

It wasn’t spoken like a command, but you took it as one. Letting your mouth hang open in a moan when Hongjoong took one of your breasts in his palm, kneeling it slightly before pulling your bra down just enough to free it. He wasted no time in dragging his tongue over your nipple, then sweeping back down to suck a mark directly on the underside of your boob.

Your legs clenched together as he worked, the small amount of friction it gave in your shorts only served to drive you to more extremes when you rolled your hips against his. You groaned startlingly loud at that, the sensation of his hard dick pressing against your core even through the denim of both your pants pulled wetness from your core quicker than you would ever care to admit.

Hongjoong pulled away with a laugh, sitting up straight to look down at your already keening expression.

“Calm down baby, we have all night. No need to rush.” He chuckled at you. Despite his words, he took almost immediate action, running his hands up your bare thighs till his fingers hook on the waistband of your shorts. He pulled them down, but only just enough. Slipping his hand between your legs to cup your heat, while palming himself over his jeans. You whined again and clamped your legs around his hand, holding it in place. Despite your body’s subconscious efforts, he slid his finger over your cunt through your damp underwear.

Under any other circumstances, it would have been incredibly embarrassing how wet he made you from just touches to your body, but at the moment all you could think about was how desperately you wanted him to continue.

“Your soaking wet already, it feels like cheating with how quickly your body reacts to me.” He mutters, pressing two fingers against your hole, with nothing but a thin scrap of fabric keeping them from pushing inside you.

“Hongjoong, please fuck me. I’m begging you.” You groan, rolling your hips against his hand repeatedly. He broke out in a wide smile.

“I like the sound of you begging. Do it again for me.” He commands, voice laced with honey. You took a shuddering breath, turning your eyes to meet his with a pleading look.

“Please, I need you to fuck me.” You beg with all the desperation you have.

“Oh course baby, all you had to do was ask.” He lilts, tilting his head to the side with a sickly sweet smile.

Hongjoong pulled his hand from your core, which left an unhappy feeling in your stomach. But he used said hand to assist in pulling his dick free of his pants which spurred your legs even further apart. Your hands had been hanging uselessly at your side since this all began but as he leaned over your body once again, staring straight down into your wanton face, your hands flung themselves behind his shoulder to hang off of him.

Hongjoong pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, running it through your folds twice, watching as your face shifted from bliss to desperation each time he almost slipped in. And of course, he laughed. But that was the last bit of torture he gave you before sinking into your cunt.

Your synchronized groans sounded throughout the empty parking lot when he finally filled you to the hilt. And with his own patients starting to run as thin as yours he wasted no time in pulling out and thrusting again.

Your back arched more each time he pushed into you, feeling him stretching your walls and brush against the most sensitive spots inside you made your toes curl. And as he began to build pace his deep pants and groans rang in your ears.

He was doing anything but going fast. Long hard and deep thrusts shook your body in a steady rhythm. Your nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt and your mouth hung open as he fucked into you.

“Come on baby, you're not that far gone already are you?” His voice carried a teasing tone, but his own breath had gone shaky. You both stared into each other’s faces, watching each other’s expressions shift with bliss at every thrust. You were moaning and whining freely now. Words have failed you.

You felt the muscles on Hongjoong’s shoulder strain beneath your fingers, and with your orgasm fast approaching your nails practically clawed down his back. Hongjoong hissed above you, but the action did nothing but spur him on.

“Your gonna cum baby? Gonna cum already on my cock? How desperate you must be, to let a criminal have his way with you like this.” He growled the words down at you. His words shot to your core, making you clench around him, with a whine you forced words past your lips.

“I don’t care, just want you.” The words were barely a whisper. But the effect was the same. With a ringing cry, you came undone underneath him. You shook and threw your head back, staring directly into the stars above you. Your body moved of its own accord, but that was all beyond you. The only thing you could think about was the look on Hongjoong’s stunning face as he came hovering above you.

You both basked in the feeling of waves of pleasure rolling over your bodies. Continuing to grind against each other subconsciously as you rode it out.

The cool air returned with a nip. Hongjoong had all but collapsed above you. As you came back to reality the cold metal of the car suddenly felt so comfortable you could fall asleep right there. You felt your eyes being to drift shut.

“Oh no baby, I’m taking you to bed for real this time.” Hongjoong chuckled, pulling himself up to look down at you again. He gave a small smile at your pout.

“Your pretty cute for a dangerous criminal.”

You gathered up the last of your strength to hit him on the shoulder.

-

and this my friends is why I dont make a habit of writing longer things, they just get away from me.

I meant for this to be a short hot sexy lil thing and it turned into this long ass sappy thing