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cloudyluun · 1 day ago

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London Fever | neighbour!harry

Summary: Y/N moves into a high-end London apartment building, only to discover her new neighbor is Harry Styles—enigmatic, infuriating, and entirely too intoxicating. Their tension simmers beneath stolen glances, elevator encounters, and late-night mind games. But when she tries to break free from his spell with another man, Harry finally snaps—pinning her against her door with a dangerous confession.

He doesn’t like sharing.

And now, she’s in deep.

A/N: Me, writing this: Let’s keep it light, flirty, and fun! 😊Also me: What if he corners her in a hallway and says “I don’t like sharing” in a voice that ruins her entire life?

I am not responsible for any emotional distress caused by this man. He started it.

Part Two? Oh, you’re not ready. 😈

Wordt Count: 4,4k

Warnings:

Explicit sexual tension (if that’s a warning or an invitation, I’ll let you decide)

Strong language (Harry has a sharp tongue in more ways than one)

Mutual pining & slow burn (this is torture, besties)

Jealousy & possessiveness (Harry is territorial, and it shows)

Masturbation scene (inspired by a voice that should be illegal)

Power plays & control games (who’s really in charge here? TBD)

Cliffhanger ending (because I love pain)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

"Welcome home, sweetheart."

That’s what I whispered to myself the moment I stepped into the apartment, dropping my suitcase onto the gleaming hardwood floor. The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else. Someone who had their life figured out. Someone who wasn’t running from the wreckage of a messy breakup and a mother who never thought she was good enough.

But this was it. My fresh start.

The apartment still smelled like my aunt—lavender and vanilla, soft and comforting—but the silence was heavy. I hadn’t been back here since I was a kid, when she used to let me sit on the balcony and sip cocoa like I was some high-society socialite. It was surreal to think that this place was mine now.

And it was beautiful. Sprawling windows, high ceilings, a ridiculous amount of space for one person. The kind of apartment people only dream about having in London. But right now? It didn’t feel like home. Not yet.

So I spent the next few weeks making it mine.

I painted over the muted beige walls with warm, inviting colors. Deep greens and soft creams that made the space feel less like a museum and more like a sanctuary. I filled the shelves with books I’d collected over the years, lined the windows with plants that I prayed wouldn’t die, and threw myself into decorating. Gold accents. A velvet couch. Candles in every corner. The kind of place that made you want to curl up with a glass of wine and pretend the outside world didn’t exist.

By the time I was done, it finally felt like I belonged here.

And then I saw him.

It was in the building’s lobby, late afternoon, when I ran down to grab a package the doorman had been holding for me. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, especially not him—tall, broad shoulders, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead, wearing black running shorts and a loose t-shirt that clung to his chest.

Harry. Fucking. Styles.

I nearly tripped over my own feet.

He barely glanced at me as he strolled past, his fingers brushing over his damp jawline, lost in whatever was playing through his headphones. The air shifted the moment he walked by—like he carried his own gravity, something that pulled people in whether they wanted it or not.

I swallowed hard, gripping my package like it was a life raft. Play it cool.

I turned toward the elevator, trying to ignore the way my pulse hammered in my throat. But before I could press the button, I caught him looking. Just a flicker. A half-second. But it was enough.

And I had the stupidest thought.

What if he knew my name?

The thought lingered long after I stepped into the elevator, my pulse still unsteady from that fleeting glance. He didn’t, of course. Why would he? He was Harry Styles. A global superstar. A man who had sold out stadiums and had the world at his feet. And I was just the new tenant, the girl fumbling her way through a fresh start.

Still, something about the way he’d looked at me stuck. Like a brief moment of recognition. Or curiosity.

I told myself I was imagining things.

Days passed without another sighting, and I let myself settle into a rhythm. Mornings were spent at the café down the street, afternoons arranging my bookshelves, nights curled up on my velvet couch with a glass of wine and a too-long list of unanswered texts from my mother.

I should’ve known it was only a matter of time before we ran into each other again.

It happened on a Wednesday. I had just come back from the grocery store, struggling under the weight of way too many bags, my arms aching as I fumbled for my key card in front of the elevator.

And then—a voice from behind me.

"Here, let me get that."

I turned, nearly dropping everything in the process.

Him.

Harry stood there, casual and effortless, one hand reaching out to hold the elevator door open. His curls were slightly tousled, damp like he’d just come from a shower, and he smelled faintly of something clean and expensive. His hoodie hung loose over his frame, sweatpants slung low on his hips.

My brain short-circuited for a second.

"I—uh—thanks," I stammered, stepping inside before my face could betray how flustered I felt.

He followed, standing at the opposite side of the elevator, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket.

The doors slid shut.

For a moment, silence.

Then—his voice, smooth and easy, breaking through the thick air between us.

"New here?"

I nodded, shifting the weight of my bags against my hip. "Just moved in."

His gaze lingered, traveling over me like he was committing me to memory. And then, that smirk. Just the faintest tilt of his lips before he looked away, dragging his fingers through his curls.

"That explains why I haven’t seen you before," he mused, almost to himself.

I swallowed. "Do you… know everyone in the building?"

"Not really," he admitted, glancing at me sideways. "But I would’ve remembered you."

My stomach flipped.

The air felt different now, charged with something I didn’t fully understand. He wasn’t flirting, not exactly, but there was a weight to his words. A casual observation laced with something else.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but then the elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors slid open onto my floor.

A breath. A pause.

"See you around, then," he murmured, watching me as I stepped out.

I nodded, still breathless, and the doors closed before I could say another word.

I stood there in the hallway for a long moment, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I would’ve remembered you.

I should’ve known that was just the beginning.

Because after that, I started seeing him everywhere.

In the lobby, when he’d nod in passing, lips curled in a knowing smirk. In the elevator, where the air always felt a little too thick, a little too charged. Even at the café down the street, where he’d slip in unnoticed, baseball cap pulled low, fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee.

It was like once I’d noticed him, I couldn’t unnotice him.

And the worst part? I was starting to think he’d noticed me, too.

Maybe it was in the way his gaze lingered just a second too long. Or the way his smirk deepened whenever he caught me staring.

But nothing—nothing—could’ve prepared me for what happened next.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when it happened.

Rain drummed lightly against the windows, the city still half-asleep, wrapped in a quiet kind of stillness. I had nowhere to be, nothing to do—so I took my time in the shower, letting the hot water melt away the lingering heaviness of the past few weeks.

By the time I stepped out, steam curled thick in the air, my skin flushed from the heat. A towel was loosely wrapped around my body, barely hanging on as I padded across the hardwood floor toward my closet.

I didn’t think.

Didn’t even glance at the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed my bedroom.

Didn’t consider that my apartment was directly across from someone else’s.

I just stood there, half-draped in a towel, fingers carding through my damp hair, completely oblivious.

Until I felt it.

A presence.

That unmistakable prickle of being watched.

My heart stilled.

Slowly—so slowly—I turned toward the window.

And there he was.

Harry.

Standing on his balcony, coffee cup frozen mid-air, gaze locked onto me.

A dark flicker passed through his eyes, something unreadable, something that sent a sharp, unexpected thrill straight through me.

Neither of us moved.

Neither of us looked away.

I should’ve stepped back. Should’ve yanked the towel tighter, turned around, done something.

But I didn’t.

Instead, my grip on the fabric loosened slightly, breath caught in my throat as the realization sank in—he wasn’t looking away.

His jaw ticked.

Fingers tightened around the handle of his mug.

And then, his lips twitched, just the faintest flicker of amusement, a slow, knowing curve before he finally—finally—tore his gaze away.

I exhaled shakily, pulse hammering, my skin suddenly burning for an entirely different reason.

I didn’t know what the hell had just happened.

But one thing was certain.

This… this was dangerous.

Because now, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The way his gaze had burned through the distance between our apartments. The slow, deliberate way his lips had curled—not in shock, not in embarrassment—but in something far more dangerous.

Amusement.

As if he’d caught me in a game I hadn’t even realized I was playing.

And the worst part?

I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to stop.

In the days that followed, I kept catching him looking.

It started small—fleeting glances in the hallway when we passed each other. A slow drag of his eyes up my legs, a flicker of a smirk when he caught me watching him in return.

Then there were the elevator rides, where the air felt charged, thick with something unspoken. The way his fingers flexed when they brushed against the metal railing, the way he shifted just slightly closer when the doors slid shut.

One night, I was up late, sipping on a glass of wine on the rooftop terrace, letting the London skyline blur into a haze of city lights and half-formed thoughts.

And then—I felt it.

That unmistakable pull.

When I turned, I found him leaning against the railing, a cigarette perched between his fingers, watching me.

Not just in passing.

Not just out of curiosity.

But waiting.

The realization sent a shiver straight through me.

He wanted me to notice.

Wanted me to know that he was watching—that he was paying attention.

And I couldn’t tell if that made me want to run… or take a step closer.

It all came to a head in the elevator.

I’d just come back from a late-night grocery run, arms full, juggling my keys, my phone, and a bag that was already threatening to slip.

The doors slid open, and there he was.

Harry.

Dressed in a loose sweater and sweats, hair damp, like he’d just come from the shower.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then, with a lazy smirk, he reached out and held the door open, stepping back to let me in.

I muttered a breathless, "Thanks."

The doors slid shut.

And suddenly, we were alone.

The space felt smaller. The air thicker.

I shifted my bags in my arms, but one of them tilted—a carton of blueberries slipping free, scattering onto the floor.

“Shit,” I breathed, bending down quickly to grab them.

Big mistake.

Because the moment I crouched, I became acutely aware of how little space there was between us.

How close he was standing.

How his scent curled around me—something fresh, something expensive, something uniquely him.

My pulse hammered.

I reached for a berry just as he did, our fingers brushing.

Lingering.

And then, in the heavy silence, I heard it.

A low chuckle.

When I looked up, his gaze was already on me, dark, knowing, entirely too amused.

I swallowed hard.

“Need some help?”

His voice was low, dangerously smooth, like he already knew the answer.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Because this…

This wasn’t just a glance anymore.

This was a game.

And I had the sinking feeling I was already losing.

Because now, I wasn’t just thinking about him in passing.

Now, he was under my skin.

Now, every glance, every smirk, every moment of lingering silence between us was a loaded gun—cocked, ready, just waiting for someone to pull the trigger.

And maybe I was tired of pretending I didn’t want to.

Maybe I was done pretending at all.

!!!!

Because ever since that night in the elevator, something had shifted.

The way he looked at me lingered a fraction too long. The smirk he gave me every time we passed in the hallway felt a little too knowing.

Like he was waiting for me to slip.

And maybe I already had.

Because now, late at night, wrapped in the comfort of my own sheets, I was thinking about him.

Dangerous. Reckless. I didn’t care.

I poured myself a glass of wine, the rich red swirling in the dim glow of my bedside lamp. The city outside my window was alive, but in here—my apartment, my sanctuary—everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

I reached for my phone, flicking through my playlist until I found it.

His voice.

It was intentional.

I pressed play.

The song was slow, velvet-smooth, the kind that curled around my body and sank into my bloodstream.

The first note slipped through the speaker, and instantly, a shiver ran through me.

I exhaled, letting the tension ease from my body as I slid lower beneath the covers, my fingers trailing absently down my stomach.

Soft.

Light.

Teasing.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

But God, I wanted to.

His voice was everywhere, thick with longing, smooth like honey and sin, and I let it pull me under.

My thighs clenched as my hand wandered lower, fingers grazing sensitive skin, sending a ripple of pleasure up my spine.

Fuck.

I wasn’t quiet.

I didn’t want to be.

Because some part of me—some reckless, shameless part—wanted him to hear.

The thought sent a fresh wave of heat straight through me.

I pressed deeper, my breath catching as I found just the right rhythm, matching the lazy, sultry beat of his voice.

The apartment felt hot, suffocating, like he was here. Watching. Waiting.

My body arched, chasing that edge, my own whimpers slipping past my lips, louder now, unrestrained.

I imagined his hands instead of mine. His mouth.

And that was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over me, my back bowing, my breath catching on his name.

I didn’t hold back.

Didn’t muffle the sound.

Let him know exactly what I had done.

Exactly who I had done it for.

The air in my room felt thick as I lay there, heart pounding, skin flushed.

Fuck.

What the hell had I just done?

The next morning, I stepped out of my apartment, still half-dazed, still buzzing from the night before.

And then I froze.

Because he was there.

Leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, waiting.

Harry.

His curls were a little messy, his sweatpants hung low on his hips, and that smirk—that goddamn smirk—was already in place.

He dragged his gaze over me, slow and deliberate.

My breath caught.

He knows.

I knew it the moment he tilted his head, the moment his smirk deepened into something dangerous.

And then—

"Sleep well?"

His voice was low, teasing, laced with pure, unfiltered amusement.

I was absolutely, completely fucked.

That morning had changed everything.

He knew.

And he made damn sure I knew that he knew.

The looks lingered longer. The smirks deepened. The air between us crackled with something unspoken but dangerous.

Every time we passed in the hallway, I felt his gaze skim over me, dragging heat in its wake.

Every time I stepped onto the rooftop terrace, he was there—watching, waiting, nursing a drink with that look in his eyes.

And then, one week later, fate decided to be cruel.

Because the elevator broke down.

With both of us inside.

It started out normal.

I had just gotten back from dinner—one of those “welcome to London” outings that my coworker insisted on. One glass of wine turned into three, and suddenly, my dress felt too tight and my skin felt too hot.

I just wanted to get home.

I stepped into the elevator, mind already wandering, and didn’t notice him until the doors slid shut.

Harry.

In a suit.

I swallowed hard.

I had seen him in a hundred different ways now. Sweaty from a jog. Shirtless on his balcony. In casual hoodies and ripped jeans.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

The black jacket was tailored to perfection, framing his broad shoulders. The white shirt underneath was undone just enough to hint at golden skin and a delicate silver cross resting against his chest.

He smelled like spice and cedarwood, a scent that curled around me in the small space, making my head spin.

I felt his eyes on me before I even looked up.

Dragging down my bare legs, lingering on the snug fit of my dress, pausing at the way the fabric clung to my curves.

I pressed the button for my floor.

The elevator jolted. Then stopped.

A small, dangerous silence settled.

I exhaled slowly, pressing the button again. Nothing.

My heart kicked up.

His voice, low and amused, broke the silence.

“Locked in, are we?”

I turned my head to look at him.

He was already looking at me.

I licked my lips. Bad move.

Because his gaze dipped to my mouth, and my stomach tightened.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to focus.

“Looks like it.”

I shifted slightly, the air suddenly too thick, too warm.

He leaned against the mirrored wall, arms crossing over his chest, watching me with that smirk.

Like he was enjoying this.

Like he had been waiting for this.

“You like playing games, don’t you?”

The words were soft, but they slid over my skin like a touch.

I blinked up at him, heart hammering.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

A slow, deliberate step forward.

My back met the cool surface of the elevator wall.

His scent filled my lungs, woodsy and warm, and I bit the inside of my cheek as his fingers grazed the metal railing beside my hip.

Not touching me.

But close enough that my breath hitched.

I should say something.

I should do something.

But the moment stretched, hot and charged, and I realized—

This isn’t a game anymore.

It should have been. It should have been a passing attraction, a fleeting thrill—just the consequence of living next door to someone too charming for his own good.

But the way he looked at me in that elevator? The way he let the silence stretch, let the tension coil so tight it stole my breath?

That wasn’t a game.

That was something else.

And when the elevator finally lurched back to life, when the doors slid open and I all but ran out, Harry stayed behind—his gaze heavy on my back, the weight of unspoken words pressing into my spine.

It happened a few nights later.

The storm came out of nowhere.

One second, the evening sky was a deep, velvety blue, the next, rain came crashing down, drenching the city in a relentless downpour.

I had made the mistake of walking to the small café down the street, my coat hanging loosely over my shoulders, a book tucked under my arm.

By the time I sprinted back inside the lobby, I was soaked through.

My dress clung to me like a second skin, damp fabric trailing down my thighs. My hair dripped against my shoulders, cold water sliding between my shoulder blades.

I shivered.

And then I saw him.

Harry.

Leaning against the sleek marble counter, phone in hand, a smirk tugging at his lips.

His emerald gaze flickered over me—slow and deliberate. Taking me in.

I swallowed hard, ignoring the way my stomach tightened.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he murmured, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

My pulse jumped.

I scowled, wringing out my sleeves. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t look away.

Just stood there, watching.

And I knew—this was dangerous.

Because Harry liked this.

Liked the way my breath hitched, the way my body responded to him before I could even think.

And the worst part?

So did I.

I didn’t think when I followed him.

Didn’t question it when he gestured toward the hallway, when my feet moved before my brain could catch up.

By the time I realized where we were, I was already inside his apartment.

And God, it was warm.

Dim lighting. Soft music. The scent of cedarwood and something undeniably him.

I hovered near the door, my breath uneven.

Why was I here?

He disappeared for a moment, returning with a white towel. Holding it out.

I hesitated.

Then reached for it.

Our fingers brushed.

And it was like a spark, like static curling up my spine.

I sucked in a breath, knuckles brushing his wrist as I clutched the towel between us.

His jaw tensed.

I knew then—I wasn’t the only one who felt it.

He felt it too.

The air between us thickened, pulling me closer like a current, like gravity.

He was looking at me.

Not just looking. Watching. Memorizing.

His lips parted slightly, breath steady but controlled. His hands flexed by his sides, like he was holding back.

I shivered again, but not from the cold.

My pulse pounded in my throat, something deep and primal settling in my stomach.

I didn’t stop him when he stepped closer.

Didn’t pull away when his fingers lifted, trailing up my bare arm.

I tilted my chin.

Our faces inched together, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes.

Close enough that his breath ghosted over my lips.

And just when I thought he was going to do it—just when my heart stopped completely—

He pulled away.

“Not yet.”

His voice was low, rough.

Like it cost him something to stop.

Like he wanted this just as badly as I did.

And then he stepped back.

Leaving me breathless, burning, and utterly wrecked.

That was the only way to describe it.

The heat of his touch lingered long after he pulled away. The ghost of his breath still kissed my skin, and I hated how much I wanted more.

Not yet.

The words curled around my thoughts, tightening like a vice.

He had been holding back.

Not because he didn’t want to kiss me.

Because he wanted to wait.

Because he thought he was in control.

As if this was on his terms.

As if I would sit around, biting my lip and twirling my hair, waiting for him to decide when.

I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because if I spent one more night lying awake in bed, skin too hot, pulse too erratic, mind filled with thoughts of him—

His touch. His voice. His mouth—

I was going to lose it.

So, I made a decision. A reckless one.

I said yes to the date.

Alex.

Blonde hair. Bright blue eyes. Charming, in a practiced kind of way.

He was polite. Sweet. Held doors open and paid for my dinner without hesitation.

He was everything I should want.

And yet, as he sat across from me at the candlelit restaurant, talking about his job in finance, I found myself drifting.

I stirred my wine glass, barely hearing his words, mind stuck on someone else entirely.

On emerald green eyes.

On dimly lit elevators and the smell of spice and cedarwood.

On a voice lower than a whisper, pressing against my skin.

You like playing games, don’t you?

A shiver rippled down my spine.

Not from Alex.

Never from him.

I forced a smile, nodding along as he spoke, but the restlessness inside me only grew stronger.

It ached.

And when the night finally ended, when he walked me back toward my building with a lingering glance, I knew what was coming next.

A kiss.

I should have let him.

I should have leaned in, let my lips brush against his, let myself pretend for just a little while longer.

But something in my stomach twisted.

Something inside me revolted.

Because no matter how hard I tried—

It wasn’t Harry.

And it never would be.

So, I pulled back.

Mumbled an excuse.

Stepped inside my building—

And froze.

Because he was there.

Harry.

Waiting.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the golden glow of overhead sconces, but I could still see every detail.

His shirt slightly rumpled.

His tie loosened around his throat, like he had been waiting a while.

A slow prickle ran down my spine.

I swallowed hard, pulse hammering as he watched me.

Not speaking. Not moving.

Just watching.

His gaze flickered past me, out toward the glass doors—toward Alex.

Something in his expression shifted.

Something cold.

Sharp.

Possessive.

“Fun night?”

His voice was casual.

Too casual.

But there was an edge to it. A razor-sharp tension that cut straight through me.

I lifted my chin, pushing past the sudden tightness in my throat.

I smirked. “Very.”

His eyes darkened.

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

I could feel the tension in the air, stretching tight between us.

Like a wire about to snap.

I took a step closer, tilting my head, poking at the bear.

“Why do you care?”

That was a mistake.

Because before I could blink, before I could even breathe—

He moved.

A slow, deliberate step forward.

Then another.

Until my back hit the door.

Until he was so close that I could feel his breath against my cheek.

The heat of his body just inches from mine.

The scent of spice and cedarwood, wrapping around me, making it impossible to think.

My stomach tightened, a pulse thrumming at the base of my throat.

This was new.

Harry had always watched. Always teased.

But he had never touched.

Not like this.

Not with his fingers tracing my jaw, with his body caging me in, with his lips hovering so, so close.

His emerald gaze flickered over me, slow and dangerous.

He studied me like he was memorizing something.

Like he was committing every single detail to memory.

I could barely breathe.

His thumb brushed against my cheek.

Featherlight.

A touch so delicate it made my knees weak.

Made my mind spin.

Then, his lips parted, voice dropping into something low and lethal.

“Because, sweetheart,” he murmured, tone dripping with something dark.

Something possessive.

Something I wasn’t ready for.

His fingers tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him.

Forcing me to see the heat in his eyes.

The warning.

“I don’t like sharing.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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issues4him · 2 days ago

Text

1 - STUNNED ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

ghost!rafe x shy!reader’s first meeting !

summary: late at night, you discover that rafe cameron—no longer just a painting, but is a cocky, see-through ghost. he suggests you get to know your favorite soldier a little better <3

cw: none, fluff, rafe is cocky & handsome but what’s new

the drive to your grandparents’ mansion was long, the taxi weaving through narrow roads lined with towering oak trees that had stood for centuries. the summer heat clung to the air, making the car’s leather seats stick uncomfortably to your thighs as you shifted. the open window let in a warm breeze, carrying the scent of salt from the ocean nearby, mingling with the earthy aroma of the countryside. it was a familiar scent, one that immediately brought back memories of childhood summers spent running through sprawling gardens and getting lost in the endless halls of the grand estate.

you hadn’t been back in nearly two years. life had gotten in the way—college, obligations, the subtle drift that happens when time keeps moving forward. but your grandparents had missed you dearly, their voices always tinged with longing whenever they called. so, when the opportunity arose, you packed your bags and made the trip, excitement and nostalgia intertwining in your chest as the taxi pulled onto the long, cobblestone driveway.

the mansion stood just as you remembered—grand, elegant, timeless. its towering facade loomed in the twilight, the massive oak doors standing firm like sentinels guarding the past. ivy curled up the stone walls, and the familiar sight of the balcony where you once played as a child sent a rush of warmth through you.

as the taxi came to a stop, you took a deep breath, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. the driver helped you with your luggage, and before you could even ring the bell, the door swung open.

"oh, sweetheart!" your grandmother’s voice rang with joy as she stepped forward, arms outstretched. the moment you fell into her embrace, the scent of lavender and old books surrounded you—a scent that always meant home. behind her, your grandfather stood with a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he took you in.

"look at you," he mused, shaking his head. "all grown up. feels like just yesterday you were running through these halls, getting into trouble."

you laughed, the warmth of their welcome settling deep into your chest. "i missed you guys so much."

"come in, come in!" your grandmother ushered you inside, and as you stepped over the threshold, a familiar shiver ran down your spine.

the house was just as you had left it—majestic and untouched by time. the grand chandelier overhead cast a golden glow across the dark, marble floors, and paintings of long-gone ancestors lined the walls, their eyes following you as you walked past. but your gaze instinctively sought out one painting in particular—the one that had always drawn you in.

the soldier.

as a child, you had been captivated by the portrait. the man in the painting was young but carried an air of quiet strength, his uniform crisp, his expression calm yet intense. you had spent countless hours sitting on the staircase beneath it, talking to him as if he could hear you. when you got a new dress, you’d twirl in front of him, pretending he could admire it. on bad days, you’d sit at the bottom step and whisper your troubles to him, hoping his steady gaze held some kind of silent reassurance.

you remembered the first time you asked your grandparents about him,

"who is that?" your small voice had echoed in the vast hallway, eyes wide with curiosity, pointing to the handsome man in the frame.

your grandfather had sighed, adjusting his glasses as he looked up at the portrait. "that, my dear, is rafe cameron. a young soldier from the revolutionary war. he was the son of the original owners of this house. died in battle at just twenty-two years old."

twenty-two. even then, that had seemed so young to you. you had wondered what he was like, what his voice sounded like, if he had been kind or mean. you used to imagine what he would say if he could talk back. sometimes, you even wished on stars that he would.

now, standing in the hallway once more, you felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest as your eyes landed on the painting. there he was, just as you had always known him—trapped in oil and canvas, a silent observer of time. his piercing blue eyes still held their unreadable expression, his posture unwavering, frozen forever in his military stance.

it was silly, but you smiled at him like an old friend. "hey, soldier," you murmured, barely above a whisper. your fingers traced the intricate gold frame, the cold surface grounding you in the present while your mind drifted to the past.

it felt foolish now—those childhood days spent confiding in him. but still, something about seeing him again made you feel… safe. like he had been watching over you all along.

————————

midnight found you restless.

the house was quiet, the kind of silence that only came with old mansions tucked away in the forest. you had tossed and turned for what felt like hours before finally giving up, slipping out of bed and wrapping yourself in your pearl-colored, silk robe. tip-toeing softly through the dimly lit halls, you made your way downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water.

the chilled liquid soothed your dry throat as you leaned against the counter, staring out into the night beyond the grand windows. everything felt eerily still, yet familiar. comforting, even.

glass in hand, you made your way back toward the staircase, passing the grand hallway where all the portraits hung. your feet slowed instinctively as you neared the soldier’s painting, your eyes flickering to it out of habit.

private cameron was there. silent. watching. just like always.

you exhaled softly, shaking your head at yourself. you were being ridiculous. it was just a painting.

taking another sip of water, you turned away and started back toward the staircase.

and then—you stopped.

a strange feeling settled in your stomach. something was… off.

slowly, you turned your head, glancing back toward the portrait, but the frame was empty.

your breath caught in your throat, heart hammering against your ribs. the golden frame still hung perfectly on the wall, the background of the painting untouched—but rafe was gone.

your fingers tightened around the glass in your hand, pulse roaring in your ears as you took a step closer, hoping—honestly praying—that your tired mind was playing tricks on you. but the truth was undeniable. the soldier was missing.

a chill ran down your spine, and before you could even begin to process what was happening, you felt a presence behind you. cold. close. way too close.

you whipped around so fast in fear that you nearly lost your balance, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as your back hit the wall with a soft thud.

and standing there, in the dim moonlight streaming through the windows, was him.

rafe cameron.

except… he wasn’t flesh and blood. he was translucent, his form flickering faintly, as if he were caught between this world and the afterlife. but there was no mistaking him—the sharp jawline, the piercing blue eyes, the tousled hair that somehow still looked effortlessly perfect even in death.

your breath hitched, panic rising in your chest as you opened your mouth—only to slap both hands over it before a scream could escape. if you woke up your grandparents, you’d have to explain why you were losing your mind in the middle of the night, and frankly, you weren’t sure you could even put this into words.

"okay, okay—don’t scream," he said quickly, his voice smooth and alarmingly casual. "i know this is, like, super weird for you. and…y’look like you’re about to pass out—but, hey, hey, i promise, i’m not some evil spirit. i’m just… me."

you gaped at him, pressed flat against the wall, nearly unable to form a coherent sentence.

"oh my god," you whispered.

rafe gave a sheepish, almost amused smile. "not quite. but close."

your wide-eyed stare darted between him and the empty painting. "you—you were—what—"

he sighed dramatically, running a hand through his transparent hair. "yeah, yeah. i was in the painting. long story. really long story. but uh—hey! now i’m here." he gestured to himself as if that explained everything.

you swallowed hard, still not moving from your spot. he tilted his head at you, studying you for a moment before a smirk played at his lips.

"you know," he grinned, "i was really hoping our first meeting would be less…you nearly passing out and more… i don’t know, you fawning over me like you used to?"

still pressed against the wall, your heart is working overtime to make sense of the fact that the centuries-old painting is now missing its subject—and that very subject is standing in front of you, looking way too smug for someone who just got caught being a literal ghost.

“you good, sweetheart?” rafe asks, tilting his head. he crosses his arms over his chest, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “or are you just gonna keep staring at me like that?”

you blink rapidly, mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find words that make sense. “you’re— i— what—”

rafe lets out a low chuckle. “yeah, you’re gonna have to use full sentences, darlin’. i know i’m a lot to look at, but c’mon now.”

your face burns, and you immediately glare at him, which only makes his grin widen. he shifts his weight onto one leg, looking you up and down—not in a creepy way, but in a way that makes you feel like he’s sizing you up, like he finds your reaction amusing.

“okay,” you finally manage, voice slightly wobbly. “you—you’re real?”

“well…” rafe gestures to himself, the motion exaggerated as if to say, duh. “define real…”

you suck in a sharp breath, willing yourself to calm down. “but you’re— you’re not supposed to—” you point at the painting. “you were in there. for years. my whole life. and now you’re… out?”

rafe lifts a shoulder in an easygoing shrug. “i mean, technically, i was never in there. more like… tied to it. bound, if you wanna be dramatic about it.” he gestures vaguely to the frame. “but yeah, i guess you could say this is my first official night off the wall.”

you stare at him, still overwhelmed, still reeling, but then he gives you this cocky little half-smile—like he’s enjoying this way too much—and for some reason, it makes your panic short-circuit into pure exasperation.

“you’re acting like this is totally normal,” you blurt out.

he grins. “i mean, it is… for me.”

“rafe.” his name—one you never thought you’d actually say out loud—feels foreign on your tongue. his expression flickers at the sound of it, like he wasn’t expecting to hear it either.

“yeah?” he asks, a little softer this time.

your mind is still spinning, but you take a breath, gathering whatever courage you can muster. “what happens now?”

rafe tilts his head, eyes scanning your face like he’s figuring you out. then, with a playful glint in his gaze, he smirks.

“well,” he drawls, “that depends, sweetheart. how do you feel about getting to know your favorite soldier a little better?”

a/n: he’s so cocky and full of himself—as if he’s not a literal ghost?!? lol i love writing him sm.

reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated!! keeps me motivated!!

#i rlly hope you guys like this #ghost!rafe x shy!reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe obx

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angelicchris · 16 hours ago

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hide-and-seek | chris sturniolo

in which ₊˚ chris and reader get carried away during an innocent game of hide-and-seek.

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warnings ₊˚ smut, fingering (male to female), caught in the act (kinda), dom!chris x sub!reader

word count ₊˚ 712

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“move out of my fucking way,” chris said through a laugh, as he pushed past you and matt. you were spending the night at the triplets house, and all four of your childlike amusements came crashing over your rational at 2 a.m., as you all found yourselves now playing an intense game of hide-and-seek.

stumbling slightly from the push, you and matt follow chris’ lead in racing in your own separate directions to hide from nick, who’s back was turned away from the three of you as he counted to thirty. as quietly as you could, you raced upstairs, making your way to a closet. you yanked the door open, crouching down to sit with your legs pressed up to your chest in the small dark space. just as you were trying to quietly catch your breath, the door was pried open—revealing none other than chris.

“chris, get out,” you whispered frantically, shooing him out of the closet with your hands. “fuck, no. matt stole my spot,” he told you as he shut the door behind him, crouching down to sit next to you. “yeah, well now you’re stealing my spot,” you complained. “shh,” he said, covering your mouth with his hand. the sudden silence from the two of you finally let you hear the sound of nick shuffling downstairs, searching every corner of the house. chris, however, kept his hand over your mouth, his firm grip causing a blush to crawl up your cheeks. you were suddenly grateful for the dark space, hoping that chris wouldn’t see the effect his action had on you. when he looked over at you, however, he noticed. he slowly removed his hand from your mouth, his eyes never once leaving yours. suddenly, he brought his hand that had been previously covering your mouth down to rest on your upper thigh.

as the seconds ticked by, his hand began to creep higher. you held your breath, fearing that you would reveal not only where you two were hidden, but also the desperation you felt for his hands to rise higher. your desperation, however, didn’t go unmatched, as there was an evident growing tent through chris’ pyjama pants. as you sat criss-crossed in your shorts, you attempted to stifle a moan as chris’ fingers pulled them aside. his fingers reached your underwear, pushing the fabric aside—allowing him full access to your wet core.

“you’re so wet, we haven’t even done anything yet,” chris teased, his index finger and thumb toying with your slick folds. “please,” you whispered, desperation clouding your thoughts. you released a gasp as chris’ long, slender fingers plunged into your core slowly. his fingers stretched out your inner walls, which clenched around his digits. “shit,” he whispered, looking down at your wetness soaking through to your shorts, and his growing erection on his own lap.

his fingers curled up into you at the perfect spot, causing you to let out a quiet moan. “shh,” chris said quietly, sticking his thumb from his other hand into your mouth to quiet you. you sucked on his thumb as you came undone around his fingers, your eyes locking with his. “fuck, you look so pretty, keep looking at me,” chris urged, as he helped you calm down from your orgasm. when you were spent and breathless, you leaned your head against the back wall of the closet, shutting your eyes. chris gently removed his fingers from you, causing you to gasp slightly. he popped his fingers into his mouth to savour your release, all signs of your treacherous encounter being gone.

that was, however, until the closet door swung open. nick and matt stood in the threshold, staring down at the two of you. “we couldn’t find you guys anywhere,” nick explained. it was when the two brothers noticed your laboured breathing, accompanied by the wet patch on your shorts, and the bulge protruding from chris’s pyjama pants, that they realized what you two had done. the two brothers stood there horrified—nick looking disgusted, while matt’s mouth hung wide open. “oh my God, i’m going to be sick,” nick proclaimed dramatically, shutting the closet door. chris laughed loudly at his brothers reactions. “we’ll continue this later,” he said, as he got up to check on his brothers.

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notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚

consider this me studying for biology ౨ৎ

i also dk how y’all be writing smut sm, like this shit makes me feel like i have to go confess my sins to a priest

#angelicchris #chris sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x fem!reader #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo au #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fanfic #sturniolo triplets imagines

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perdidosbucky-yyo · 2 days ago

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Amazing, incredible, fantastic, scrumdiddlyumptious!!!

“As it stands, perhaps I made the right choice by bringing you,” he said, nodding to a few older gentlemen. “I can smell their envy.”

We love a reader that can turn heads 😎😉

“You’re my date. It’s my right to touch you,” he sneered. He had no right. It didn't matter if he was an alpha and he was rich. The urge to slap him across his face was so strong your palm itched. “So, get the stick out of your ass.”

He deserved to get his nuts stomped on.

An intoxicating scent hit you out of nowhere, making you grip the bar as you inhaled. Plums, whiskey, sandalwood. The blended aromas had your mouth watering, and a whimper threatened to slip out. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Desire burned in your stomach. As quickly as the scent excited you, it seemed to wrap itself around you in a soothing embrace. How could a smell leave you hot and bothered and also feel like a hug?

The way I screamed like a little girl!!!! God that scent sounds fucking amazing

Fuck me, I would not be able to be cool lmao I would melt if he looked at me 😩 navy you writing queen!!

“Beautiful,”

“It is,”

“I was talking about you.”

Need I say more?

But seeing him up close, his laugh lines, and the touch of softness in his gaze, you wanted to know all about him and the life he lived.

Again... I just love your writing so much 😩 because you can learn so much in the details. He is so beautiful I can't

You held your breath when he turned your hand and ran his nose along your wrist with a small growl. It was bold, intimate, possessive, and you got impossibly wet from the action. “You smell divine,” he whispered against your skin.

NO IM NOT OK, the way I would've jumped him right then and there

He parted his jacket so he could look you over. Unlike Shane leering at you earlier, Bucky seemed to take in the details of your design with a careful eye. “You made this? It’s stunning,” he said with pride that rivaled yours. You lost your breath when he ran the back of his finger along your torso, heat spreading through your body like a wildfire. “Like you.”

He is so sweet for actually looking at her dress and even feel pride 😭

He forced your gaze back to him with a large hand. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, his thumb brushing your cheek.

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋✨🥺

“I’m afraid if I get a taste of you it won’t be enough for one night,” you said, your heart pounding as he stared into your eyes. Like he was staring deep into your soul.

He looked almost impressed with your answer. “I appreciate your honesty,” he praised, his thumb sweeping over your lips this time. “And it won't be enough. Once I get a taste of you, I won’t let you go.”

His response was chilling tbh, kinda made think some really feral thots 😂😬🙈🥵

I just love these subtle touches, they're so intimated and charged with tenderness and sexual tension 🙌🏼

The low growl Bucky emitted made the nearby guests move away, but you weren’t afraid. “Ignore it? I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. I would've fucked you right out there on the balcony if that couple hadn't interrupted us,” he said, your body hot and needy at the thought of him fucking you while you looked out at the view. “I’m lucky finally finding you didn’t send me into a rut.”

Navy you're killing me

“You may say you don’t belong here, but something inside you says you belong with me.”

Sobbing. Into. My. Pillow.

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. There wasn't even a whiff of fear, likely because he had nothing to lose. “In fact, I think you should quit your job and move in with me.

My first thought was ooof first mistake buddy but then he made it better when he offered her a studio to create her dresses.

“Why not? I know you're meant to be mine and you know it, too.” He touched your collar again, your mating bond throbbing almost to the point of pain. “You won’t need to worry about money or a roof over your head because I’ll give it to you. And a space to design your own clothes and make your dream come true.”

I WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN STRONG ENOUGH TO STOP MYSELF FROM SAYING YES TO HIM RIGHT THEN AND THERE.

Like mark me up already 🫦

Bucky held your face in his hands, leaning in so close you felt his breath against your lips. His mouth barely grazed yours, carefully teasing you with the promise of what was to come. “Just because I what?” he rasped, and you swear you felt more slick stain your already ruined panties.

he's suave and strong and dominant send help

You watched with a whine as he brought it to his nose and deeply inhaled. “Fuck…” he growled, bringing the fabric to the tent growing in his pants next and rubbing all over it in a filthy display. Watching him ruin his pants with the scent and slick of your pussy had you soaking the seat beneath you. “Spread your legs and show me that pretty cunt.”

I'm gonna need to take a few days to recover

The look on his face before he laughed made him look younger, the sound affectionate and happy. How many managed to make him laugh like that? “Does that mean you’re going to call me ‘Daddy’?”

Can't even express how much I love this part made me smile like an idiot, I want this old man to be happy and I want reader to be happy and I am so happy rn, I never knew you could get drunk on a fic🥴

Where Worlds Collide - Intro

Pairing: Silver Fox!Sugar Daddy!Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Female Reader

Summary: Your boss forces you to be eye candy for an alpha at a gala, but things take a turn for the better when you meet another alpha. Does it matter that you don't belong in his world?

Word Count: Over 9.2k

Warnings: Smut, v. fingering, possessive behavior, dirty talk, instant connection, A/B/O dynamics, talk of bonding, misogyny, unspecified age gap, insecurities, world building, choking (not our reader… yet), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: I'm pretty proud of the intro to this world, lovelies! @whisperlullaby, @targaryenvampireslayer, @tavners, here it is! Ant thanks to @queenoftheworldisdead as well. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Soft music drifted from the ballroom as you stepped into the lavish venue. You’d never been to a gala before. Your family wasn’t wealthy enough to receive an invitation, nor did your last name carry any influence. The only reason you were there tonight was because of the alpha on your arm, all thanks to your boss’s insistence that you accompany him.

It was an evening of style, grace, and luxury, and you didn’t belong.

You held your breath as you walked deeper into the ballroom, the glittering chandeliers casting a refined glow over everything. A mix of alphas, betas, and omegas socialized and gossiped, their glamorous evening wear glittering under the lights. You had designed a few of the dresses and suits, but none of the people wearing them would recognize you. The alpha you worked for always took the credit. Complaining about it wouldn’t help. After all, you’d only sound like an ungrateful omega and hundreds of other omegas would beg to take your place.

You couldn’t wait for the day you quit.

Chet’s grip on your arm brought you back to the present. “Keep quiet and smile,” he ordered, a haughty expression on his face as he led you through the place. You didn't want to judge all men named Chet, but you had pegged him as a douchebag the second he went in for his fitting and he was proving you right. You couldn't even enjoy that he was objectively handsome since his personality made him less attractive.

“I am smiling,” you said. Wrinkling your nose at the overwhelming mix of scents and expensive colognes and perfumes, you did your best to make your smile look natural. The servers looked like they were doing the same as they served everyone. It was strange how a room so enormous could make someone feel so small.

“Then keep smiling,” Chet ordered through his grin. “What you do or don’t do is a reflection of me.”

“I know,” you muttered. Because it was all about him and you were just his omega arm candy. You really should’ve demanded overtime pay from your boss, but that conversation wouldn’t have ended well.

“As it stands, perhaps I made the right choice by bringing you,” he said, nodding to a few older gentlemen. “I can smell their envy.”

You did notice a few more men looking your way. A few women as well, not hiding that they were whispering about you. Trying to hide your vulnerability, you held yourself the way you thought a goddess would. You also held yourself with pride since the dress you wore was your own design. A sleeveless black dress with a middle slit, it was bold and alluring. The glitter throughout the fabric made you shine like stars in the night sky. The finishing touch was the matching collar, a tasteful way to protect you from any alpha who even thought about marking you.

Reaching up instinctively to run a hand over your collar, you felt your heart ache. Your inner omega wanted a mark, but the thought of being tied to someone was somewhat terrifying. You respected omegas who wanted to go the traditional route by staying home and being submissive, but you didn’t want to be submissive outside of the bedroom. You wanted a partner who would view you as an equal.

Your false confidence didn’t last long when Chet’s grip on you tightened, your body immediately going stiff. You’d have to take a long shower and dry clean your dress just to get rid of his scent. “Loosen up,” he ordered.

“Maybe I’d loosen up if you weren’t digging your fingers in,” you whispered.

A shiver rolled down your spine when you heard a low growl come from another alpha. Glancing around, you didn’t see anyone looking directly at you. It probably had nothing to do with you because why would anyone care if an alpha was bossing you around?

Chet’s hold on you loosened nonetheless. “And just so we’re clear, you have no intention of sleeping with me?” he asked as an omega in a revealing dress sauntered by. Your date didn’t bother to hide how he was undressing her with his eyes.

“That’s right,” you said. You made it clear to your boss that sex wasn’t an option, and he was oddly on your side. Maybe he thought Chet could sway you if he tried hard enough. If he even thought of using some sort of alpha command on you, nothing would stop you from lashing out and making him sorry.

“Then you’ll have no problem finding your own ride home should I choose to leave with someone else,” he said.

“So, I can’t make you look bad, but you can leave with another omega?” you asked.

“You got it. You’re smarter than you look.” He tapped your nose with a condescending grin. “And here I thought you were just a pretty face.”

The prick was pushing his luck. “Listen you-”

“Chet, my boy! Good to see you!” A man interrupted, uncaring that you were speaking.

“Shane,” Chet smiled. “Always a pleasure.”

The bulky alpha shamelessly looked you over, his scent almost making you choke on your next breath. “And who might this be?”

“Pretty, isn't she?” Chet cut in before you could answer, puffing his chest out. “Doesn't say much, but I’m not exactly interested in her conversational skills, am I?”

You bit your tongue when they chuckled. Be seen and not heard. It was insulting.

“Come join me, but leave the omega,” Shane said unapologetically, taking another look at your chest. What would happen if you threw a drink in his face? “As entertaining as she would be, we have business to discuss, and we don’t need the distraction.”

“Of course,” Chet smiled, turning you toward the bar as Shane walked away. “Since he doesn't want you around, why don't you take advantage of the free drinks until I get back?”

“I’m not-”

“And not that you’d have any extra cash to tip, but it’s taken care of,” he continues, your face hot at the assumption that you couldn't afford to tip the staff. “Just behave and try not to make a fool out of either of us, you got it? Wouldn’t want your boss to hear about it if you do.”

Biting back a retort, you freed yourself from his grip. There wasn’t enough liquor at this party to get you through the rest of this evening. “Don’t worry about me, alpha. Go have fun,” you said, your eyes burning as he walked away. A few heads turned your way when your scent soured. It wasn’t enough that you had to attend an event where you didn’t belong, but your date just had to rub salt in the open wound by reminding you of such. “Fucking asshole,” you muttered, making your way over to the bar to order a drink.

Plastering a smile back on your face when you got the bartender’s attention, you ordered a whiskey on the rocks. You wanted something that would go down smooth but leave a little burn. You also preferred opting to watch the bartender make a drink in front of you instead of grabbing a glass of already poured champagne. The drinks were likely fine, but better safe than sorry. And like hell would you accept a drink from your sorry excuse for a “date” if he offered you one. He was lucky you-

No… It couldn’t be your mate.

You caught a small movement out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped breathing when you found a pair of blue eyes fixed on you that belonged to a devilishly handsome man. He leaned against the wall, his wool-blend black suit fitting his thick body like second skin. Streaks of gray lined his luscious brown hair and peppered his beard, too. He looked like the kind of alpha who would have omegas kneeling at his feet, and it frightened you how badly you wanted to get on your hands and knees and crawl toward him.

His. Mine.

Lifting his tumbler to his lips, he kept his eyes on you as he sipped the expensive liquor. You wanted to look away but couldn't as the air crackled between you. He had you under some sort of trance you couldn't snap yourself out of. As frightening as it was to have a scent hit you so strongly, a feeling like this hit you square in the chest, the thought of him staring at another omega that way nearly made you hiss because you didn't want anyone else on the receiving end of those blue eyes.

He smirked like he read your mind and pushed himself off the wall. You did whimper out loud when you realized just how large he was. Dominant, assertive, yet there was something almost playful in his smirk when he finally broke his gaze. You greedily inhaled with the hope of catching more of his scent when he strode toward the nearby balcony, smooth and fluid as a server quickly took the empty tumbler from his hand. The men at the gala were all posturing, but no one could match the confidence of that alpha.

So how were people not surrounding him, begging for a scrap of attention? Was he untouchable among those who deemed themselves untouchable? He certainly didn’t look like the kind of man who chased after anyone. No, people went to him.

He wanted you to follow him, right?

Downing your drink in one gulp, your feet moved before you could stop yourself. “I don’t need this alpha,” you whispered, the words bitter in your mouth as you followed his path. If you were smart, you’d walk the other way and not look back. Yet the thought of never seeing him again made your heart ache in a way you didn’t want to examine.

Does he know?

Studies over the years showed that not every bound pair was the same. Some couples felt the bond instantaneously like a firework exploding. Others felt it like a small burn that slowly consumed them over time. For a few, the spark took a long time to ignite. You couldn't ignore this burn if you tried.

You welcomed the slight chill in the air as you stepped onto the large balcony. It was lit up with sparkling lights, yet it didn’t take away from the stars that shone in the sky above. The alpha who caught your eye stood by the railing, alone, like he was looking over a kingdom. You felt foolish for going out there to bother him.

Steeling yourself with false confidence again, you walked over to stand beside him. You weren’t close enough to touch him, wanting to leave him a respectable amount of space. You could always use the excuse that you just needed some fresh air if he asked what you were doing.

Stealing a glance at him, you didn’t want to believe that you had a true connection with this man, that he could be your mate. No way would an omega like you be his match. Would he even want an omega like you? One with dreams to do more, be more?

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice thick like honey and the whiskey you drank. Of course, his voice would be a powerful weapon. But he wasn’t scenting you, or trying to tear your collar off, or doing anything to indicate that he felt the sort of spark you had. Maybe that was for the best.

“It is,” you sighed, looking out at the view. You couldn’t deny the beauty and how much easier it was to breathe since you weren’t surrounded by the suffocating bodies and scents. “It really is something.”

“I was talking about you.”

You whipped your head toward him so quickly you nearly hurt your neck. The flare of heat in his eyes hypnotized you again, but this time you didn’t want him to draw you in. A man of his stature, his power, he could chew you up, spit you out, and leave you a shell of yourself. But seeing him up close, his laugh lines, and the touch of softness in his gaze, you wanted to know all about him and the life he lived.

You were in so much trouble.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“I don't think I’ve seen you at a gala before. I would've remembered you,” he stated. You weren't sure what to say to that. “I’m James, but you can call me Bucky if you’d like.”

You blinked a few times. “You’re James Barnes,” you whispered, not having to belong in the inner circle to know who he was.

James Buchanan Barnes. One of the wealthiest alphas in the city, his family came from money and it was no secret that Bucky, as he liked to go by, wasn’t bound to anyone. People assumed that he didn't want to share his wealth with anyone beyond his charitable donations, or that he was either extremely picky in choosing a mate. And here he was talking to you. This was the man you thought could be your mate.

You were in way over your head.

“I am,” he said, looking at you expectantly.

It took a moment, but your name tumbled from your lips as you shifted toward him. He inhaled when a breeze rolled in and you hoped your scent got to him the way his scent got to you. The way his eyes darkened, it had. Your inner omega wanted to purr with delight.

Time stood still when he took your hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure,” he whispered, his lips brushing your knuckles. “I hope you don’t mind me being forward, but…”

“But what?”

You held your breath when he turned your hand and ran his nose along your wrist with a small growl. It was bold, intimate, possessive, and you got impossibly wet from the action. Had Chet or another alpha done that, it would've been a different story. “You smell divine,” he whispered against your skin.

You whined before your inner hackles went up, making him pull his mouth away immediately. He at least had some level of respect and sensed the shift in your stance. “How many omegas have you said that and done that to?” you asked when you had no right to feel jealous.

He didn’t look put off by your question, and he didn’t let go of your hand either. “I’ve come across a few delectable scents before, but I don’t think I’ve ever described anyone as divine,” he answered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. An intense longing behind his eyes had your knees weak. “I haven’t smelled anyone like you.”

This alpha was telling the truth, but he wasn't a boy scout either. He knew how to fuck, you could tell, and he likely broke hearts without intending to. You didn’t want to be the next victim if a quick fuck was all he was looking for.

“I haven’t smelled anyone like you either,” you admitted, grudgingly pulling away. His heady scent made it hard to concentrate. And standing close to a man who wore a suit that cost more than half a year’s rent was another reminder that you were a girl playing dress up, nothing more. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here.”

Bucky stopped you from turning away, his grip on your arms tender so you wouldn’t feel threatened. “And why is that?”

“Because I don’t belong here, and I don’t expect you to understand that,” you replied.

It was bad enough to let your guard down by following him out there, and you couldn’t let him seduce you more than he already had. You were lucky the very presence of him didn't trigger your heat. And how would your story end? He was a rich alpha, and you were a struggling omega. Was happiness really in the cards?

Your eyes widened when you heard the rumble in his chest, his scent producing a soothing aura that wrapped around you. Your lip trembled slightly as the rumble faded. Bucky could’ve let you walk away, yet he was comforting you. It made you want to cry.

“I may understand better than you think,” he whispered. Did he? Did he feel alone in that crowd of people there? “But help me understand why you feel that way.”

You rapidly blinked to keep the tears at bay. What was there for him to understand? “Okay,” you whispered back. The fact that he wanted you to talk to him meant something. “For starters, that crowd is kind of… well, awful from the short time I observed and interacted with them. They think they’re better than everyone else because they have so much, but they have no right to look down on others.”

The people in the gala simply flaunted what they had without a second thought. Being there made you appreciate your friends and their genuine interactions more. They worked hard for everything they had. They wouldn’t have anything against people born with a silver spoon in their mouths if they showed a little humility.

Bucky's chuckle surprised you. “Money doesn’t equal class, and believe me when I say they aren’t worth taking up any space in your beautiful mind,” he said, giving you a small smile. “To be honest, I came out here to get away from them because, save a select few, they're fucking assholes.”

You found yourself smiling, too. No wonder he has been standing by himself. “Is that the only reason?” you asked curiously, reaching up to touch his perfect hair simply because you could.

He looked at you, a mixture of lust and something soft. Standing like this you felt like a couple. “I may have wanted you to follow me, and I’m glad you did,” he said, his tone calm and casual as butterflies filled your stomach. “You’re the first person I’ve considered approaching in a long time, but you looked a bit upset when you went to the bar. I didn’t think bothering you would win me any favors.”

You exhaled. Was he the alpha who growled when Chet gripped you too tightly? “I…” you shivered when another breeze rolled in.

He shrugged his jacket the moment he spotted you shivered. “May I?” he offered.

You hesitated. Bucky had a powerful scent, and how would it look to Chet if you wore another alpha’s jacket? Chet wasn’t your alpha, but he could run his mouth and get you in trouble with your boss. It didn’t matter that you wanted to quit one day. Today wasn’t that day because you financially weren’t ready. That was the excuse you made up in your head.

But your inner omega wanted Bucky’s scent to surround you and you replied in a small voice, “Yes, please.”

Bucky carefully placed the warm jacket around your shoulders. “I know the crowd bothered you for good reason, but who specifically upset you and how can I fix it?”

“My date,” you answered. You didn't have it in you to lie to him. It also wasn't up to him to fix it.

Bucky hummed, running his hands up and down your arms. It helped warm and relax you. “What’s his name?” he asked, his eyes landing on the collar around your neck. You wondered what he would do if your mating gland was exposed, and you had to push that thought away.

“His name is Chet and he’s discussing business with some alpha.” The change in his scent was subtle. He seemed too confident to be jealous, but he didn’t seem pleased either at the thought of you being with someone else. “They were extremely condescending, and I couldn’t exactly throw a drink in their faces or put them in their place since I’m just an omega.”

Bucky snarled quietly, his eyes blazing. “You’re not just an omega,” he said. He was upset on your behalf. Was he not like other older alphas who wanted omegas to be subservient? “Maybe I should have a chat with them.”

You purred before you could stop yourself. Bucky offering to stand up for you felt better than you wanted to admit. “You don't have to do that,” you said, running your fingers through his hair again. You wanted to soothe him the way he soothed you. “Besides, I’m not really on a date with Chet. He just wanted me to be eye candy for the night.”

Bucky almost snarled again, but raised an eyebrow instead. “And you agreed to that? I have the feeling you aren’t the arm candy type.”

You giggled. He was right about that. “Didn’t really have a choice thanks to my boss,” you told him.

“Your boss? What exactly do you do for work?” he asked carefully.

He asked a lot of questions, but you didn't mind since he seemed genuinely interested. Maybe he assumed you were an escort. “I'm a designer,” you answered, smiling to yourself. “At least, I want to be. I’m just an assistant at the moment.”

“Let me guess. Your boss is an alpha, makes you do the grunt work, and takes the credit?” he mused, humming when you solemnly nodded. “And he convinced you to come here tonight because Chet is a client?”

“Something like that. It was either that or I get fired,” you laughed bitterly. “And if he fired me I’d get blacklisted, then I’d have no job, no money at all, and I’d lose my tiny apartment and…”

His nose wrinkled when you trailed off. You were so embarrassed, and you couldn’t stop your scent from souring. Talking to one of the richest alphas ever about your problems wasn’t something you thought you’d experience tonight, but that soothing rumble and smell came out again to help you breathe easier.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” he said with a touch of firmness so you knew he didn’t pity you. You could take a lot of things, but not pity.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you said, smoothing out some of the fabric on your dress and not wanting to dwell on the topic. “I actually made this,” you told him. It was silly, but you specifically wanted to hear something nice from Bucky to make you feel better, which was bad. You shouldn’t want compliments from him or want him period.

Your mind raced, the heavy weight of his gaze pinning you in place. The longer you stood there, the more you wanted him. You had to snap out of it. “You’re dangerous,” you whispered, shaking your head as his hand fell away. “I should go inside.”

He stepped back, his eyes searching yours. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you replied honestly. Some of his actions were forward, but he wasn’t pushy. He was the sort of predator who probably gently played with his food before he sank his teeth in, yet you weren’t completely afraid of the bite. “Though I’m wondering why you don’t have a date tonight. Keeping your options open?”

Maybe he really did want to live the bachelor life.

The corner of his lip tugged when you narrowed your eyes. “I come to these things to make a short appearance. That’s all,” he explained. Even the wealthy had obligations. “Unlike some alphas my age, I’m not interested in having a date for the sole purpose of eye candy. And because most of the people here are fucking assholes, I don’t usually find anyone to take home.”

“So, you aren’t interested in taking me home?” you tried to tease. If he said no, you could lick your wounds later since you’d likely never see him again. If he said yes, you… Well, you didn’t know what you’d do.

He reached out and placed his hands on your hips, pulling you close enough that you felt just how big he was. A shudder wracked your body, wanting nothing more than to have him inside you. “I’m very interested in taking you home,” he breathed.

You lifted your eyes to him, his desire matching yours. “I-”

A young giggling couple stumbled out to the balcony reeking of booze. They took a few steps forward and Bucky moved you out of the way before they could crash into you. The ferocious growl he let out made the laughter cease, but it had you purring like a bitch in heat. “Leave,” he ordered, keeping his arms tight around you. The underlying threat in that single word had the couple rushing back inside, but they had effectively ruined the moment.

“I think that alpha almost pissed his pants,” you teased to cut through the tension.

“He’s lucky he didn’t tumble over the railing,” he said, loosening his hold on you and taking in your expression. You felt naked under his stare. “You aren’t ready to leave with me just yet.”

“I’m still here with a ‘date’,” you reminded him to cover up any feelings or doubts in your mind.

Other than Bucky being wealthy, powerful, and smelling like a sinful kind of heaven, you didn’t fully know him. Something within you felt like you did, but going home with him for the night… What if you disappointed him? What if he decided he didn't want you?

He gave nothing away as he stared at you while you felt like your eyes told him everything. It wasn’t fair how in control he looked when you were close to spiraling. “Let’s go sit inside,” he suggested, finally cracking a smile when your face scrunched up. “No one will bother us, and I’d like to keep talking to you even if you don’t decide to leave with me.”

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to sit with you for a few minutes,” you said, especially if he would keep others away from you.

His hand on your hip felt like it belonged there as he guided you back inside. The scents and mindless chatter didn’t bother you as much now, likely because all you could really smell and concentrate on was Bucky. Did his kisses taste like plums or whiskey? Both?

He brought to a corner near the bar, far enough away from the mingling crowd that you still felt a bit of privacy. You kept his jacket around you though the room was considerably warmer than it was outside, not quite ready to give it back to him. “Drink?” he asked, angling his chair so that his knees were touching yours. There was no table in front of you. Anyone looking would see how close you were.

“No, thanks,” you said. You already downed a glass of whiskey and your head was spinning thanks to him.

You felt his gaze on you for a full minute before he spoke again. “Your ‘date’ isn’t the reason you’re hesitating to leave,” he said, scratching along his beard. You bet it would feel wonderful between your thighs. “Is it me? Am I too old for you?”

You had to laugh. “You’re a gorgeous silver fox, so that isn’t the problem,” you said. Beneath the suit you knew he was in great shape, too.

He smiled a gorgeous smile, appreciating the compliment. “So it isn't my age. Do you think I won’t treat you well?”

“I know you’ll treat me well,” you answered, avoiding his gaze. You knew that in your core. “But I’m afraid of what happens in the morning.”

He forced your gaze back to him with a large hand. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, his thumb brushing your cheek.

Everything.

“I’m afraid if I get a taste of you it won’t be enough for one night,” you said, your heart pounding as he stared into your eyes. Like he was staring deep into your soul. “And it isn’t fair that you have that kind of power over me.”

It wasn’t a matter of if with him, but when. “You couldn't possibly want me for more than one night,” you said. He knew you were just a struggling designer’s assistant and didn’t run with this crowd. You lived in different worlds.

“I’m going to want you every night.” He tilted his head when you shifted in your seat. “You feel it, don't you?”

You feigned innocence when he held your gaze, your heart racing. God, he had felt it. Was it an explosion, a slow burn, or something else? “Feel what?”

Bucky smirked, not at all fooled. “That you’re my-”

“Don’t say it,” you begged. Speaking the word would make it real and it wasn't something he could take back. “Because if you don’t want that or me, we can just go our separate ways and ignore it.”

He hadn’t marked you, and you hadn’t claimed him either. You didn’t know what it would feel like to have his knot, so you couldn’t possibly miss it. And neither of you would have to depend on the other. You could walk away with as minimal damage as possible, and you’d find a way to remain whole. So would he.

You thought the same about your heat. “Bucky-”

“Our scents call to each other. We call to each other,” he said, placing his hand on your chest. How did your heart feel fuller from his touch? “Tell me you didn't feel a connection when you caught my scent and looked at me.”

“I felt something,” you admitted.

“And it compelled you enough to follow me outside, to open up to me,” he said. You couldn't deny that. “You may say you don’t belong here, but something inside you says you belong with me.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? Scare you?” you asked. Having mates could be wonderful, but what if he wanted that pull with someone who wasn’t you?

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. There wasn't even a whiff of fear, likely because he had nothing to lose. “In fact, I think you should quit your job and move in with me.

You looked at him like he suddenly grew another head. “Quit my job and move in with you?”

“Yes. Your boss doesn't deserve to have you as an assistant, and you wouldn't have to pay rent if you stayed at my place.”

You didn’t attempt to laugh off his request since he was completely serious. “You realize that sounds insane, right?” you added. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary though. Some couples who took their time building their bond still moved in right away.

“Insane would’ve been marking you the moment I saw you and dragging you home the way some alphas do,” he said.

You bristled. “It’s too soon for you to mark me,” you said, even as your mating bond throbbed.

“Don’t worry. I won't mark you tonight,” he assured you. Hurt crept up for a split second before he ran a finger along your collar. You visibly trembled and realized that he did want to mark you. He just wasn’t doing so tonight out of respect for you. “But you can still be mine in every other way until that day comes.”

You opened your mouth to argue. He hadn’t marked you, but you still felt owned. “You really think people want you with an omega outside of your tax bracket?”

“You think I give a fuck what they think?” His handsome face twisted in a scowl as he looked around. “And if they even think about insulting you, I’ll ruin them. It’s that simple.”

“It isn’t that simple,” you said.

It sounded too good to be true, and nothing in this world was free. “I have my rent. If I break my lease-”

“I’ll pay what you owe.”

Your rent was probably pocket change to him. At least you didn’t have a roommate you’d have to worry about. It was always too risky to rely on someone else to help with bills and utilities. “And all that in exchange for what? Being your whore?”

He snarled, and you were delighted to hear that sound. “Trust me, doll, you may want me to fuck you like a whore, but I’ll treat you like a goddess. Like my equal,” he replied, his promise touching something deep inside you and drowning out most of your fear.

You just wished the remaining would fade away.

“I want us to be equals, but do you realize that you’d have all the power until I get my designs off the ground, right? I’d have to rely on your money, your roof over my head,” you said, swallowing the small lump in your throat. Did he realize what he was asking of you? To push aside the small amount of pride and independence you had? “I’ve done fine on my own and to have to depend on you is something else altogether.”

You hoped he at the very least realized how vulnerable you were right now by opening up more.

He looked vulnerable, too, as he moved closer. “I know it’s a lot to have to depend on me, but with me you wouldn't have to do this on your own. My finances don’t mean I have power. You’d have power, too,” he said. You wanted to believe you would. “In fact, I think you’re the only person in this entire city who could bring me to my knees. That’s power.”

You smiled a little. Could you really bring him to his knees? “As flattered as I am that you want to take care of me, do I have to decide tonight?” you asked. He was saying all the right things, and it was tempting, but there was so much to figure out beyond the living arrangements.

“We can discuss it more tomorrow if you’d like,” he said, looking around as you let out a breath. He had no doubt in his mind that you would spend the night. “Have you seen your date?”

You looked around, too, not at all worried when you spotted him. A complete contrast to how you felt at the beginning of the evening. “He’s…” You gestured to the bar where Chet was flirting with the loosely dressed omega from earlier and staring right down the front of her dress.

Bucky growled and swept his eyes over you, no doubt catching how you pressed your thighs together from the sound. A growl really shouldn't be that sexy. “Not a very faithful alpha, is he?”

“Well, he isn't my alpha, remember?” you pointed out. Someone like Chet would never be. “My boss only ‘suggested’ that I go with him tonight, and I made it clear I wasn't going to sleep with him.”

There was another hint of a growl before he smiled. “Wait right here. I’m just going to tell the young pup that you’re going home with me.”

You gripped his arm as he tried to stand. “Easy, old man. I didn't say I was going home with you,” you teased, knowing full well you were in fact leaving with him.

“Old man?” he smiled.

You shrugged. “You called me ‘doll’, which sounds like something an old man would say.”

“I think an old man is exactly what you need.” His eyes flashed with a deliciously dark promise that he was right and you’d enjoy every single inch of what he’d give you. “And you didn’t explicitly say you'd go with me, but we both know I’ve swayed you to go to my place.”

“You alphas are so cocky.” You refrained from rolling your eyes since he was right in this instance. “But maybe I should just stay here a bit longer and make you work for it since you want me so badly.”

He chuckled. “You’d rather stay here? Fine by me,” he said, leaning in close. “I’ll just slide my hand up your dress here and now and feel just how wet you are for me. I doubt anyone would notice if I made you come on my fingers. They’re too caught up in themselves.”

Your eyes closed when he touched your thigh. “You think I'm wet for you?”

“I know you are. I can smell it. Can practically taste it. You’ll let me taste you, won't you?” he purred, and you could only tremble as his hand moved higher, your legs parting to give him more access. “In fact, why don't I drag your ‘date’ over and let him watch while I lay you out and feast on your cunt? Show him what you'll never give him a taste of?”

You weren't sure if the pool of arousal was from the thought of Bucky eating you like a starved man, making that sad excuse for an alpha watch while he got you off, or both. You wondered what it would be like to taste yourself on his lips. “And why would you let him see what I look like when I come?”

He seemed to consider your question. “That’s a good point. He shouldn't see how you look when you come.” Bringing his hand to your face, your breath hitched when he caressed your cheek with such care. “But you’ll never have to hide that beautiful expression from me.”

“Hey!”

You pulled away from Bucky in time to see Chet storm over. “Shit,” you whispered when he furiously looked between you and Bucky. You were shocked smoke didn't come out of his ears.

“What the hell are you doing? I said enjoy the free booze, and do not embarrass me. You can't even follow a simple instruction,” he snapped. You refused to bare your neck when he showed his teeth. He wasn’t going to embarrass you either. “The only reason you can even step foot in this place is because of me. You fucking sl-”

Bucky was out of his seat before you could blink, his hand wrapped tight around Chet’s throat and cutting off the remainder of his insult. A few patrons gasped and stopped to watch as Chet clawed at Bucky's hand, but no one stepped in to help. The anger that poured off your alpha was enough to deter anyone from getting involved. And you were loving every second of it.

“She’s my mate,” Bucky said through his teeth, making Chet’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Biology may say you’re an alpha, but you’re nothing. And I’m tempted to crush your windpipe for insulting her.” He squeezed harder and smirked when Chet wheezed. “When her boss asks how the gala went, you’re going to sing her praises. If you don't, I’ll hunt you down and make sure you can never knot anyone ever again. And that’s just the start of what I'll do to you.”

It was almost humiliating how turned on you were by Bucky's dominant display. You thought you’d be an omega who wouldn’t want an alpha acting like, well, an alpha, yet his defense of you meant a lot. “Bucky.” You stood up and smiled when he looked at you, his anger shifting to something softer. “You can let him go.”

Chet fell to the ground and coughed once Bucky released him. Your alpha bared his teeth with a snarl and Chet showed his throat like an obedient dog. It was clear who the top alpha was.

“Apologize,” Bucky commanded. Not only did Chet cough out an apology while avoiding your gaze, a few others said “sorry” as well. That was how powerful this man was. And you wanted him more than anything.

“Thanks for the free booze, Chet. And don't worry about me getting a ride home. I think you should worry if that omega still wants you after your… performance,” you smiled, linking your arm with Bucky’s. “Have a great night.”

There was no need to fake your confidence as you and Bucky walked out together. It didn't matter at the moment what they thought of you. All you could think about was how Bucky defended you, and how he called you his mate. It was out in the open. He…

Oh, God.

“Thank you for defending me, but you do realize you just told everyone that I’m your mate, right?” you whispered. That gossip would spread before the night was over.

“Is that what I did?” he asked, smirking when you hissed and glared. “And you don’t need to thank me. He had it coming.”

The smirk was still on his handsome face as the valet brought his car around. What the hell were people going to say? He didn’t care what they thought and neither should you.

“Listen, Bucky, just because you…”

“You better get me off before we get to your place,” you said instead of finishing your original statement because you truthfully forgot all about it when his lips touched yours.

Your insides tinged with more heat and desire when he nipped your bottom lip. “You better say my name when I get you off.”

“Should I say Bucky or James?” you smirked.

“Bucky. Reserve the name James for when you’re upset or extremely serious,” he winked, thanking the valet before helping you into his vehicle. You had never been in a car this nice.

“And you won’t mark me tonight?” you asked once he got up, touching the back of your collar to make sure it was still secure.

“We still have a lot to figure out before I mark you,” he said, leaning over as you sighed in relief. “But before we go…”

His mouth landed on yours, both strong and soft as he took possession of yours. The entire gala could've gone up in flames and you wouldn't have noticed since all you felt was him. You tasted his hunger when his tongue plunged inside, and there was a hint of desperation, too. He was starving for you and you moaned, deepening the kiss to show that you were just as eager.

You panted when he broke the kiss. “Don’t make me regret trusting you,” you breathed, your eyes once again giving everything away.

His nose bumped yours affectionately as he dragged his lips to your forehead. You didn't expect such a fond gesture from him, and you had to bite your tongue so you wouldn't blurt out how nice a kiss to the forehead felt. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, sealing the promise with a kiss against your skin.

Your heart felt full, and your inner omega wanted to shout with joy. “Take me home then.”

Bucky sped off a moment later, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. Your core ached as you looked at him, giving you a chance to once again take in his profile. The saying of aging like fine wine probably rang true for him. You imagined he was always good looking, but he was both rough and refined thanks to his age. People who said perfection didn’t exist clearly never saw him before.

“You like what you see?” he asked.

“I do, but you know that,” you answered, his jaw clenching when you pulled your dress up to reveal your legs. “And didn’t you promise to get me off before we got to your place?”

The sexual tension that had been building up spiked, and you sensed his need to claim you in some capacity was rising to the surface. “Give me your panties,” he ordered, giving you a sharp look. “Now.”

“You’re bossy,” you smiled, pushing your dress higher. He swore under his breath when you gripped your underwear and slid it off, your slick practically dripping from the flimsy fabric. No one ever got you that wet before. “But I kind of like it.”

He chuckled, licking his lips. “You like it because it’s me,” he pointed out, snatching the underwear out of your hand once it was within reach. You watched with a whine as he brought it to his nose and deeply inhaled. “Fuck…” he growled, bringing the fabric to the tent growing in his pants next and rubbing all over it in a filthy display. Watching him ruin his pants with the scent and slick of your pussy had you soaking the seat beneath you. “Spread your legs and show me that pretty cunt.”

You trembled when he took his eyes off the road. Pulling your dress over your hips, you obediently spread your legs and let him get a good look at what would soon belong to him. “You like what you see?”

“Just wait until I tie you to my bed and get a real look before I fuck you. It’ll be a shame to wreck something so pretty, but you’ll thank me for it,” he replied, looking back at the road as he sped up. Oh, you’d thank him over and over. “Touch yourself, but don’t put your fingers inside.”

Bringing your hand between your legs, you gasped at how sensitive you were. It was like you were in heat, but fully aware of your surroundings. “Like this?” you asked, moving your fingers along your folds.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his gaze darting between you and the road. You hoped one day he’d fuck your throat while he drove. “Now give me your hand.”

You presented your glistening fingers to him, giving him the opportunity to grip your wrist and suck the wet digits into his mouth. You felt his mouth water from your taste, the groan of arousal in his throat making you shake. He didn’t stop until he licked your fingers clean. “You taste just as divine as you smell,” he said, releasing your hand and reaching over to cup your mound. “And I need more.”

“I need more, too,” you moaned, his palm rubbing your clit and building that ecstasy within you. He teased your dripping hole with another finger, but didn’t push inside yet. You arched your hips, trying to get him to breach you. “Please.”

“That’s a good girl saying please,” he praised, finally pushing a thick finger inside. You clenched around him so tight, your body wanting more. “Fuck, you’re tight. And wet. Made just for me. Imagine how good you’ll feel once you’re stretched around my cock.”

“Want your cock,” you moaned, opening your legs wider. “Want your big cock inside me.”

“Yeah, you do. You want my big, bare cock in your soaked cunt,” he said, pushing another finger in, your slick coating them. You didn’t let anyone fuck you bare before, but you’d let him. “You want my knot, too.”

You moaned, an image of you on your hands and knees flashing in your mind, Bucky’s strong hands pulling you back to meet every thrust until he locked your bodies in place. You could practically feel his teeth sinking into your neck to fully seal your fate. Or would he make love to you, linking your fingers together and kissing you with care as he tenderly pushed his knot in? It didn’t matter. He’d give you everything, and you wanted it all.

“Are you hard just thinking of fucking of me raw?” you moaned, the need to rip the top of your dress open to reveal your breasts strong. No… If your dress was going to get torn to shreds, he could do that himself. “Coming so deep inside me you’ll drip out of me days later?”

The next growl he let out was inhuman, his fingers curling until you cried out. “My good little omega has a dirty mouth on her,” he smirked.

“I do have a dirty mouth. You should fuck it sometime,” you smiled sweetly before your mouth fell open, his expert fingers fucking you deep. Talking dirty to him helped stamp down your emotions a bit, but they were threatening to surface the more he touched you. “Bucky.”

“That’s it. Say my name. Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded. Your back arched, gripping the leather seat until your hand ached. Your body certainly knew who owned you. “Tell me who’s going to take care of you.”

You bit your lip to hold back your whimper, your heart pounding out of control. No one took care of you. No one wanted to until tonight, and you hadn’t wanted that either.

He stopped moving his fingers, keeping perfectly still as you hissed in frustration. Was he really going to build you up and not let you finish? “Tell me,” he demanded again, gentler this time.

Your eyes burned, but you swallowed your pride. Again. “You, Bucky,” you whispered, trusting that he’d be an alpha of his word. “You'll take care of me.”

He cooed when you whimpered, slipping a third finger in and moving them again. “That’s my girl. My good omega. I know that wasn’t easy for you to say,” he praised, so proud of you. Part of you was proud of yourself, too. “Do you need to come?”

“Yes!” you cried out, desperately trying to ride his fingers as the pressure grew. You were so close. Just a little more…

“Then do it. Get that slick all over my hand and seat,” he said, pushing against your bundle of nerves once more as your body locked up. “And say. My. Name.”

Waves of pleasure rolled through you, colors blurring your vision as you cried his name. Your eyes rolled back as the squelching sound of your cunt filled the car, his fingers helping you ride it out. You were drowning, unable to breathe until you broke through the haze. You felt ruined already by his fingers. Oh, his cock was going to destroy you.

“Fuck, that’s it. Give it to me. That’s my good girl. Can’t wait to feel that all over my cock.”

He only removed his fingers when you whined and licked your essence away with a low moan. The beautiful bastard still looked so put together, and hadn’t swerved once while he drove. “Holy shit,” you exhaled, your walls still fluttering. The orgasm took the edge off while leaving you wanting more. “Did I… soak your hand?”

“You did,” he confirmed, your face hot. “Fuck, I’m going to need an entire weekend to eat your sweet cunt just to start,” he said, flashing you a smile. “And you make very pretty sounds when you come.”

You managed a smile as you slumped in the seat, your dress still bunched around your waist. “What do you sound like when you come?” you asked breathlessly.

“You’ll find out,” he promised.

You trembled again when he put his hand back on your thigh, your hand immediately covering his. You needed his touch to ground you, but didn’t want to say so. “I just realized something,” you said once you fully caught your breath.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“If you’re my mate but you haven’t marked me yet, and you plan to pay for… well, everything for me for the time being,” you said, a laugh bubbling up when you saw that your window was fogged up. You drew a little smiley face, making you laugh more before you glanced at him. “You’re kind of like my sugar daddy.”

“Don’t push it, old man,” you giggled. Though if anyone could sway you, it would be him. “Why don’t we just stick with ‘alpha’ for now?”

“That and Bucky,” he suggested, turning his hand so your palm rested against his. “I like hearing you say my name, doll,” he added in a whisper.

“I like saying your name, Bucky,” you said, your brows furrowing. “But who came up with that nickname?”

He chuckled again, your skin tingling when he lifted your hand to kiss it. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Yes, I do,” you said.

He stole a glance at you. Through the heavy scent of your orgasm, you detected joy seeping from him. It made you feel happy, too. “Okay,” he smiled, running his thumb along your hand. “I got the nickname a long time ago…”

You twisted more in your seat to face him as you listened, lost in his voice and smile. There was so much you had to learn about your alpha. His likes and dislikes. What he would be like before, during, and after his ruts. He had a lot to learn about you, too. You wouldn’t give up on your dream of becoming a designer, and accepting his help may not be such a bad thing.

And maybe accepting the fact that you had a mate to depend on wouldn’t be such a bad thing either.

So, what do we think so far? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#Carrot's fic recs

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stxrsniolo · 14 hours ago

Text

🪧⠀┈⠀ the butterfly's shadow ⠀⠀𓂃

warnings: brace yourselves, for the path ahead is lined with shadows: this is angst, where hearts might break and tears might fall. read on, but know that healing might be needed after.

the room tonight was a cave of shadows, the only light a sickly yellow sliver clawing its way through the crooked blinds, slicing across the floor like a jagged scar.

chris slumped on his bed, legs tangled in a mess of rumpled sheets that smell faintly of sweat and stale energy drinks, his wild mop of hair sticks up in chaotic spikes, like a storm’s been raging through it, or inside him.

in his hands, he clutches a weathered teddy bear yanked from the shelf, its fur matted and patchy, one button eye dangling by a thread, glinting faintly in the gloom.

normally, his voice would ricochet off these walls; booming laughs, absurd impressions, the kind of noise that’d make matt groan and nick cackle until his sides hurt, but tonight, it’s a fragile thread, raspy and frayed, unraveling into the stillness.

the house felt like a tomb, with nick and matt lost to their dreams in their own rooms, and for once, chris didn’t stumble in to flop across their beds, poking and prodding until they shoved him out with sleepy curses.

at 21, he’s still the kid triplet, the last-born, the tornado of joy who never stops spinning; except tonight, he’s barricaded himself here, door locked, a silent scream in that choice alone.

"okay, little guy," chris croaks, holding the bear up by its stubby, threadbare arms, its limp body swaying like a hanged thing. his usual lopsided grin is gone, replaced by a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a ghost of the goofball he plays so well. "you’re stuck with me tonight, alright? beause i’m cracking open, and it’s all spilling out, and everyone’s asleep: nick, matt, the whole damn world, and i’m choking on it while you’ve been up there on that dusty shelf for what felt like forever, staring down at me while i’m bouncing around like some caffeinated cartoon, all loud and stupid and happy; the baby triplet, the one who came last, trailing after nick and matt like a noisy shadow, the guy who’s always flapping his gums, flitting from person to person like a manic butterfly, lighting up rooms with dumb jokes and too much energy... that’s me, or it was."

his laugh is a brittle shard, snapping in the air, and he grips the bear so hard its stuffing bulges under his fingers, threatening to burst.

his knuckles gleam white, stark against the faded brown fur. "i’ve been faking it, buddy, stuffing this... this rot... down deep where no one can see, and it’s like a black tar pit in my chest, bubbling up, stinking of misery, and it’s swallowing me whole tonight. i didn’t even go mess with my brothers, and you know me, i’m that idiot who still crashes their rooms at 21, kicking their mattresses ‘til they yell, giggling like a five-year-old with a sugar rush, but not now. i dragged myself in here instead, shut that door, and it’s like the walls are growing teeth, leaning in to bite. the air’s thick, pressing on my ribs ‘til they creak, and every breath tastes like ash."

his voice dips, a trembling whisper, and he pulls the bear close, pressing his forehead against its matted head. its fur smells faintly of mildew and forgotten summers, a relic of softer days. "i thought i could keep it together, understanding everything. it’s this smug, towering thing, like i’m some king on a throne of bullshit, pretending i’ve got it all mapped out, and explaining it? that’s just my nerves spitting out words like shrapnel, because if i stop talking, i’ll hear it: the quiet where this hurt lives. that’s why i ramble ‘til my throat’s shredded when i’m with people, slurring through the haze, my tongue tripping over itself. am i joking? am i bleeding out loud? i don’t know, i’m a clown with a cracked mask, and i can’t tell if they’re laughing with me or at me."

tears welled up, glittering like shards of glass in his blue eyes, and he swiped at them with a shaky hand, leaving a wet smear across his cheek.

his laugh turns sour, dripping with venom. "i don’t trust a damn thing anymore; not my own head, not my brothers’ snores down the hall, not the floor holding me up. it’s like i’m teetering on a ledge, wind screeching past my ears, tugging at my shirt, daring me to jump."

"but what if i do, huh? what if it’s just a gaping maw down there, all jagged teeth and freezing black, ready to chew me up and spit me out? i keep wishing this... this ache, this clawing, twisting thing in my gut, wasn’t mine. like i could rip it out with my bare hands, fling it into the dark, and scream, ‘take it back!’ but it’s stuck, bear. it’s welded to me, and i’m so damn tired of hauling it around."

he rocks the bear now, a slow, desperate sway, his voice splintering as tears carve hot trails down his face, soaking into the fur. "why’s it so cold all of a sudden? like the heat’s been sucked out of me, and i’m just this shivering husk, bones rattling under my skin, the room’s a meat freezer, the shadows curling up the walls like frostbite creeping in."

"i used to be a wildfire, you know? nick says i’m a riot, nate calls me a walking party, everyone expects me to blaze through, all noise and light... but tonight, i’m ashes, smoldering out, figuring out how to stitch myself back together and it’s like climbing a mountain of broken glass, every step slicing deeper, blood pooling in my shoes."

"i’m losing, man, i’m slipping, and it’s all pouring out here because i can’t face them, so it’s you and me, little bear... just you and this soggy mess i’ve turned you into."

chris buried his face in the bear’s damp fur, his shoulders heaving as sobs rip through him, raw and guttural, muffled against the plush.

the teddy’s button eye finally gave up, popping off and rolling across the floor, lost in the dark, a tiny casualty of his collapse while the room stays silent, the bear sagging under the weight of his grief, the only witness to the boy who’s always been a supernova, now flickering out in the dead of night.

╭ ❝ my dears, i truly cherish the affection you show through your reposts, and for that, i’m grateful; however, let us be unequivocally clear: my narratives are my sacred domain, not to be borrowed/reshaped without my consent

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒ㅤ: ㅤ @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz @mattswifeyy @mattswifeyy @oopsiedaisydeer @v4lsturn @pair-of-pantaloons @idkwhatthisevenislol @sturn777 @whore4mattsturniolo @mattchalattee @madifilipowiczisthebest @fratbrochrisgf @sturniolo101 @ivysturnss @mattsatellite @sturnsblogs @izzylovesmatt @allisonclairee @m4gz-png

╰ ★ in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist.

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atsevenam · 3 days ago

Note

hii, wanna req for song matchup!! song : smoke by jaehyun color : grey group : boynextdoor thank youu! looking forward to what you're gonna whip up ^^

cw. suggestive

the soothing r&b music fills the whole building, not enough to blast your ears but enough to set the sensual mood through the drunken groups of people that are on autopilot. you were in the kitchen with some of your friends from college, having the time of your life finally interacting with them after so long.

as you were holding your friend’s weight on your shoulder who talks his ass off about something his ex did, your eyes moved to the common room trying to find your boyfriend that decided to tag along with you tonight despite not knowing anyone here because he was in a different university. you wonder where he ran off to.

you didn’t mind when leehan wanted to tag along since you’d appreciate his company and an opportunity for you to introduce him to your friends. you came to the party hand in hand, when you came across your friends leehan blended in well, quipping some comments here and there while staying glued to your side.

but after a while as your group started growing, leehan starts to be less touchy. usually leehan is open for PDAs but tonight he seems to be distancing himself from you for some reason and then completely excusing himself from the circle after your former roommate starts recalling all of your friends' adventurous college life.

you tried to come along with him but he insisted that you should have fun and he just wanted some fresh air and after reluctantly letting him go, you never saw him for another few hours. and here you are, stuck in place due to your friend clinging onto your body because he drank too much.

“-and i got food poisoning because of it! isn’t that right? right?” your friend keeps nudging you to answer him but everything goes deaf as your eyes finally find the familiar brown top leaning against the wall in a corner.

you grab the arms that were wrapping your body and throw them onto your other friend on the side, “take care of matthew.”

weaving through the sea of drunk people, you finally managed to get to your boyfriend. “where were you? you were gone for a long time.” you take a hold of his hand but he didn’t intertwine them like he always does, which made you more confused.

“let’s go home, okay? i think it’s already late.” still not answering you, you drag leehan out of the building with his arm around your shoulders and his head buried in your neck, you take a note of the smell of alcohol from him.

as you were trying to open the passenger door of your car, leehan slams it shut and spins you around. his hand flies to the handle of the backseat door and pushes you down onto the cushion seats as soon as it opens. baffled by the quick movements, you try to sit yourself up by propping your elbows but leehan was fast swift to hover over you.

“sweetheart, is there something wrong?” you cradle his face with one hand, concerned with his odd behaviour tonight. your concerned eyes meet his confused and mixed eyes, slightly bleary.

“...everything’s fine.” you have finally heard his voice after hours of avoidant. “you don’t seem fine to me, sweetie. tell me what’s wrong.” you hold his face still so he’s forced to stare straight at you.

leehan was silent at first, letting his head fall onto your neck, he mumbles into your skin but you can’t hear the words clearly despite being near your ear. “speak properly, angel.”

“...i didn’t know that the guy who used to like you was coming…”

with that, you cup his face with both hands and bring his face close to yours, “you mean matthew? baby, he was my roommate, of course he was coming.” you were still confused with leehan’s avoiding gaze.

and then it clicked, a smirk took over your face.

“were you jealous, angel?” your boyfriend turns his head to the side in embarrassment and that’s all the answer you needed.

you pull him down and catch his mouth in yours, the taste of alcohol sticks onto your tongue. leehan’s body slowly relaxes onto you, surrendering himself to the gentle passionate kiss as he weakly grips the collar of your shirt. the kiss gets more intense as your hand slips under his hoodie, cold hand roaming around his upper body while you deepened the kiss by pushing his nape with your other hand.

his squeaks unceasing as you start roughing him up, trailing your mouth from his jaw to his neck and to his collarbone while his mercy is on your hands. pulling back from the out of breath man, you admire the work you did, red blotches adorning the pale skin.

“you’re the only one who stole my heart and i never want you to give it back.”

#I_HEART_VINYL #boynextdoor #bonedo #boynextdoor x reader #bonedo x reader #boynextdoor leehan #bonedo leehan #leehan x reader #leehan imagines #boynextdoor imagines #bonedo imagines

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s1e1lar · 2 days ago

Text

“The Hollow Watchers” Various creepypasta’s x youtuber!reader

A/N: Hey… how yall doin? Pretend i didn't disappear for like a month.

word count: 1,122

CW: female reader, guys i don't think there’s anything crazy in this chapter

⛧°.⋆༺🦇༻⋆.°⛧

Your head snapped toward the heavy metal door on the other side of the room, now slightly ajar. A shadow moved just beyond it. Then your eyes landed on the figure standing a few feet away—rummaging through the drawers of a desk, documents scattered carelessly across the surface.

At first glance, he looked like a Christmas elf. But the longer you stared, the more that assumption crumbled. He was dressed like Link from The Legend of Zelda,(you silently thanked your roommate for those late nights she forced you to play), but his tunic was frayed at the edges, stained with dirt and something darker. His once-white tights were ripped, his boots scuffed and worn. The belt around his waist was loose, hanging as if it had been hastily fastened.

And then there were his eyes.

Thick, inky black goo dripped from them, trailing down his cheeks like tears. It oozed slowly, too thick to be water, too dark to be anything natural. Your stomach twisted at the sight, an instinctive wave of unease washing over you.

Then he looked up.

“What the fuck is wrong with your eyes?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

The elf—if you could even call him that—snorted. “Well, hello to you too. Maybe fix your own mascara before coming for my appearance, bitch.”

A chill crawled up your spine. The casual, almost playful way he spoke didn’t match the way he looked. You swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the way your pulse had picked up.

“What… what are you looking for?” you asked, grasping for something—anything—to pull your attention away from the black sludge seeping down his face. Your voice came out steadier than you expected, but your fingers curled into your palms, nails pressing into your skin.

For a moment, he just stared at you, the corner of his mouth quirking up like he knew exactly why you asked. Then, slowly, he turned back to the desk and resumed rifling through the drawers.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

You blinked at him. Wouldn’t you like to know? That was his response? With everything going on—his bizarre outfit, the actual black sludge leaking from his eyes—he was sticking to childish comebacks?

Your lips parted, ready to fire one back, something about his commitment to both cosplay and poor hygiene—

But before you could get a word out, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

A chill pricked at your skin. They were slow, deliberate. Not rushed, not hesitant. Just coming. Whoever it was, they weren’t in a hurry, but they also weren’t stopping.

The elf stilled, his hands still buried in the drawer. His expression twisted, caught between exasperation and mild panic.

Then the figure entered.

Dressed in all black, they moved with a quiet confidence, their boots thudding softly against the floor. A deep blue mask covered their face, sleek and featureless, except for two dark eye holes—holes that, to your horror, were also weeping thick, inky sludge. It slid down the mask like tar, disappearing into the fabric of their collar.

The elf shot him a look, half-guilty, half-defensive. “Okay, before you start—this is not my fault. Jeff hid my remote, and I swear I’m gonna put everything back where it goes.”

The masked figure didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t even bother with words. He strode past, heading straight for a cabinet near the far wall. You couldn’t see what he grabbed—his body blocked your view—but whatever it was, he moved like he knew exactly where it was supposed to be.

You glanced between them, your mind racing to catch up. Jeff? Remote? The absolute casualness of it all was making this worse. Like this was just some weird domestic dispute instead of an objectively horrifying situation.

“What the hell is going on?” you finally asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The elf sighed dramatically, slamming the drawer shut and turning toward you. He leaned against the desk, arms crossing over his chest in a way that was meant to look casual, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

“So, missy, you were sneaking around one of our bases,” he drawled, tilting his head with an exaggerated smirk. “Which is, you know, kind of a big deal. Usually, we don’t let trespassers just waltz around all willy-nilly—”

He paused, tapping a gloved finger against his chin as if reconsidering. “Well, actually, I would’ve voted for the ‘willy-nilly’ approach, but the boss took an interest in you, sooo—”

“Ben.”

The voice cut through the air like a blade. Deep, smooth, and commanding, it held an authority that made your breath hitch. There was no anger in it, no raised volume, but the weight behind the single word sent a shiver down your spine.

The elf—Ben—visibly stiffened. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place, though now it was forced, stretched a little too wide.

“Right,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shutting up now.”

Your heart pounded as you turned to the masked figure, whose attention was now fully on you. The inky sludge continued to seep from his eye holes, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He stood still, unreadable, the silence between you stretching too long, pressing in from all sides.

Then, slowly, he took a step forward.

Ben let out an exaggerated sigh, pushing off the desk with a lazy stretch. “Welp, that’s my cue,” he said, rocking back on his heels before flashing you a lopsided grin. “See ya later, EJ. Sorry for the mess.”

The way he said it, though—mocking, insincere—made it clear he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. He didn’t even glance at the scattered papers or the half-open drawers as he strode toward the door.

EJ.

Your brain latched onto the name like a lifeline, but before you could even begin to process it, Ben was gone, slipping through the door with a careless wave.

And then it was just you and him.

EJ took another step forward. You fought the instinct to shrink back, your breath catching as he loomed over you. He didn’t speak, didn’t make any threatening gestures. But then—slowly, deliberately—he lifted a single gloved finger and pressed it against your shoulder.

It wasn’t rough. Barely even forceful. But the message was clear.

Sit down.

A shiver rolled through you. You hesitated for a second too long—just long enough for the pressure of his finger to increase slightly. Not a shove. Just a reminder.

Heart hammering, you stepped back and let yourself sink onto the nearest bed. The mattress dipped beneath you, the old springs creaking softly.

EJ said nothing. He simply stood there, silent and unmoving.

Watching.

#creepypasta #slenderman #fanfic #eyeless jack #ben drowned #slender mansion #slenderverse #ticci toby #jeff the killer

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gwen-tolios · 3 days ago

Text

The Hansel House

“Don’t pay attention to it,” Cody whispered as they waited for the bus.

Emily tried, but the house crept closer and closer in the corner of her vision. She squeezed her older brother’s hand and resolutely looked up at the CTA signage.

The bus was late, as usual, but they always tried to catch the one before they needed to get to school on time. The only thing predictable about Chicago traffic was that it happened, but at least buses were only a little delayed in the morning. Things were worse after school.

Emily bounced up the steps of the bus, swiping her Ventra card. Cody forced her into the one open seat and stood before her. Under his elbow, she caught a glance of the candied home before the bus slid away from the stop.

The biggest surprise about their current situation was learning that the Hansel House was real.

Emily knew things were tight at home. Pancakes had been dinner every night this week. Beans and toast the week before. More than once, she’d heard her stepmother and father hiss at each other in the bathroom. She wanted to send at least one child to their mother; Dad argued against it every time.

Dad worked hard, Emily knew. Between his job at the convenience store and Grubhub delivery on a bike, Emily rarely saw him. Her stepmom worked hard in a different way, fixing clothes and cutting coupons and managing bills. “Kids,” she’d mutter under her breath, “Always making giving me a headache.”

Every time Emily heard her parents fight in the bathroom, her dad put up less and less of a fight. Last night, Emily couldn’t hear him through the wall at all.

And now the Hansel House had come.

🍫🍭🍬🍫🍭🍬

Emily daydreamed about the House at school. Like the story of Hansel and Gretel, the house had been constructed of sweets. The walls a rich, soft gingerbread. Windows panes of dyed sugar glass with crossbeams of thin, twisted black licorice. Underneath them had been flower boxes made of pink macaroons, holding pastel blue and yellow panna cotta in the shape of flowers. The door was a sugar cookie, with the handle a giant, wrapped bonbon, the filigree of the plate surrounding it tempered chocolate. The stoop had the glaze of peanut brittle.

Worse had been the mail slot, overfilling with wrapped candy. One wouldn’t be missed, and pulling out a pixie stick quickly shouldn’t cause it all the fall. It’d been so long since Emily had a piece of candy. Why use bread money for a bit of chocolate?

Throughout the day from the corner of her eye, she’d see the Hansel House. In the bathroom mirror, out the blacktop below her classroom. Nothing so clear as that morning, but the flash of brown wall and buttercream outlined roof tiles. The chimney smoke might have been cotton candy.

When Cody met her on the sidewalk outside of her elementary school, she looked at him with wide eyes. “It looks really good,” she admitted.

Cody took her hand. “That’s the point,” he said. “If you walk in, it’s not her fault.”

🍫🍭🍬🍫🍭🍬

The story went that once upon a time, Hansel and Gretel had a mean stepmother. So she took them to the woods and left them there, whispering under her breath. “I don’t need children, I need money!” The children never returned, and she found two intricate pieces of jewelry washed up in a nearby stream.

The schoolyard tale was that when your parents don’t want you, they’ll sell you to a witch who uses cookies instead of bricks for walls. Once you saw the house, it was only a matter of time. The witch ate the kids, or sent them away, or turned them into lollipops. No one knew, except that it was a trade. The witch got kids, the parents got coin, and the cops wrote you were a runaway. For adults, nothing bad happened.

The whisper in Emily’s dreams was the sound of a lullaby and the soft ding of an oven. An invitation to come sit and eat. She pictured the outline of a person, short and round and huggable. There were no words in her dream, but she heard them all the same. I want you here.

It was a better statement than what she’d heard through the wall that night - I want them gone.

🍫🍭🍬🍫🍭🍬

Cody watched at his feet as they walked to the bus stop. Emily did the same, pressing close. She wondered if he’d dreamed of the Hansel house too, if he asked his fellow 6th graders the schoolyard tales.

They didn’t talk the entire morning. His goodbye hug at the school was tight. “I’ll see you after school, okay? Promise.”

She couldn’t tell if he was making it or asking for one. Emily nodded either way.

The Hansel House continued to haunt her. It looked different today. The black licorice window grilles had transformed into red ones. The macaroon flower boxes are now stacks of Oreos, the filling expanding to serve as plaster. The house transformed from gingerbread to sugar cookies, the roof frosted with the same thick, pink, cloying spread of the cookies her classmates sometimes brought to share. Sprinkles cover the entire roof.

The whispers from last night fill her mind instead of her teacher’s attempt to explain adding fractions. Her stepmom’s commands to get Emily and Cody out of the apartment and live with a mother who didn’t want them either. Her dad’s lack of protest. The witch’s promise of a seat at her table.

The Hansel House changed to match the rare treats she savored from classroom birthday parties and displays she had been told to ignore on shopping trips. The witch wanted her to be happy.

The witch wanted her.

🍫🍭🍬🍫🍭🍬

That night, after a dinner of pasta and canned sauce, Emily heard no noises while she lay in bed next to the bathroom wall. Their stepmom had glared at them when they got home, asking why they hadn’t stayed out. Their dad had been home for dinner, a rarity, and asked about their days at school, and then, for the first time since his second marriage, asked if they missed their mother.

Emily listened to the shower as someone got ready for bed. Their steps as they went to the front door to lock it. The snick of the other bedroom door closing.

Dad hadn’t come to say goodnight.

Emily rolled over to look at her brother, awake in his bed. “What does the house look like to you?” she whispered.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you really think she’ll eat us?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it, Emily,” he snapped.

She flinched at his tone, burying her face in her pillow. Sniffed.

“Oh, Em, I’m sorry.”

In a heartbeat, he was at her side, brushing hair from her neck. She turned to look at him, tears in her eyes. She hadn’t cried in months, what was the point? But she was only in 4th grade, and there was a witch’s house after them, and their parents didn’t want them, and the candy was so, so tempting -

Cody jostled her from her thoughts by sliding into the bed. It was tight with the two of them, but Emily appreciated the closeness of her big brother. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in tight.

“Home might suck,” he whispered in her ear. “But the rest of the world doesn’t, right? You like school?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

But it didn’t compare to the warmth in her stomach every time she thought that there was someone in the world who wanted her.

Even if that someone was a witch.

🍫🍭🍬🍫🍭🍬

The Hansel House got closer every day, built more and more to her liking. Sometimes it was small enough she saw it under a classmate’s desk. Other times, the sugar house was so big it loomed and Emily could look past the thin butterscotch windows to the shadowed shape inside. To the woman, beckoning.

The House continued to feature in her dreams, the witch saying over and over again she wanted Emily to visit. Once, she woke up, arms reaching for the candy doorhandle, to find Cody already awake. He stared out the window of their bedroom.

“Are you looking at the House?” she whispered.

“Go back to bed, Emily.”

Instead, she crawled into his. He held her close, not quite big enough to surround her but almost. Together, they stared out the window. The stories said Emily’s mouth should water at the sight of treats, but it was her heart that craved the house.

Even if the witch only wanted them for dinner, as dinner, that was still a sort of wanting Emily craved.

Especially when, almost two weeks after she first saw the house, they arrived from school to find the door of their apartment locked.

Or rather, that Cody’s key no longer worked.

Emily looked up at her big brother, turning her back on the Hansel House behind her. He stared at the lock, shiny against the grungy door.

“They’re not supposed to do anything,” he muttered. “If parents do something, it might be their fault and we’re no longing just missing kids.” He stared at the key in his hand.

Emily smelled cookies baking.

“We can stay here until dinner?” She suggested. The hallway was safe. Their dad and stepmom had to come home eventually.

“Good idea, Em. I’m sure they just haven’t had the chance to give us a new key yet.” He set a timer on his watch. Knocked every twenty minutes. Emily sat on the floor and tried to do her homework. None of the neighbors, returning from work, invited them in.

The Hansel House distracted them both. Cody repeatedly tapped her math homework, pulling her attention from the sugar cookie building. He stared at a book, eyes unfocused and teeth gritted until his timer went off.

Dinner came. Went. His knocks went unanswered, and even though Emily was only nine, she knew neither of her parents were coming.

“Cody,” she whimpered. “I’m hungry.”

The smell of cookies changed to baked bread and something more savory. Emily’s stomach rumbled.

The Hansel House, which had been creeping down the hallway all evening, was an inch away. She could rock her foot and hit the steps, formed from chocolate pebble gravel. She could pick out a speckled piece. Pluck out a lollypop flower. Snag an Oreo from the top of the flower box. Peel off a licorice strip if she stood and reached.

Warm light flittered through the butterscotch windows and the door opened.

Cody gripped her hand tight.

The witch stood there. No warts. Her hair wasn’t even fully grey. She wore a frayed green dress with a cream apron. Flour dusted her arms and her face was full of smile lines. She looked warm and welcoming.

“Come, children. Dinner’s ready. I’m so excited to have a meal with you.”

Emily turned to Cody. They had a choice. They could sleep in the hallway. They could have a last meal.

“Maybe it's poison,” Emily whispered. “That can be quick.”

“Don’t joke.”

“I promise,” the witch said, “You’re both welcome here.”

Emily was tired of sitting on the floor. She was hungry. Maybe the witch would eat her, like birds eating worms in the food chain, but she seemed kind and her house warm. They were being invited in and that felt much better than being locked out.

She stood, tugging on Cody’s hand. When he resisted, Emily looked at him as her stomach growled. He leaned his head against the apartment door to look at the new, shiny doorknob, before standing to his feet.

“Together, okay?” He held out his hand.

Emily took it and they walked up the two steps into the Hansel House.

🍫🍭🍬🍫🍭🍬

Despite living in a house of sweets, the witch served them savory pot pie, beef Wellington, roasted parsnips, and buttered buns. It's been ages since Emily remembered having meat for dinner, and she ate until her stomach pressed against her jeans. Cody indulged too, piling his plate twice.

Somehow she found room for dessert - an apple pie heavy with cinnamon and a thick, flaky crust.

As far last meals went, Emily couldn't complain.

The witch hadn't said a word all dinner, other than encouraging them to eat. It was only after Cody put his fork down after his second piece of pie that she spoke.

“Welcome to the Hansel House. While I'm happy to have you, I'm sorry about your parents.”

“What about them?” Cody asked.

“They don't love you enough,” the witch said. “And I'm sorry for that fact. Every child should have their parents’ love.”

Emily reached under the table to grab Cody’s hand. “Are you gonna eat us now?”

The witch gave her a sad, but kind smile. “No.”

“Then can we go back?” Cody asked.

“No,” the witch said. “Do you really want to?”

Emily bit her lip. Cody had his thinking face on. After a moment, he squeezed Emily’s hand.

“We shouldn't.”

“No,” the witch agreed. “But I understand wanting to return where you’re not wanted.”

“You're a witch who kidnaps kids.”

The witch laughs. “I knew I should have introduced myself before dinner. My name is Gretel. I'm not a witch, but me and my brother, Hansel, killed the witch who used to own this house. My stepmother encouraged the witch to take me and my brother, and after we shoved her in the oven we knew we couldn't go home. Our parents didn't want us.”

Emily wished she could crawl into Cody's bed and feel him wrap protectively around her. She settled for moving her chair closer, their knees touching.

“So you stayed here together,” Emily guessed.

Gretel smiled at Emily. “You get that choice too. You can stay here, with me, Hanzel, and the other children. We love company. Or, you could walk through the back of the house to my garden. It's a bit of a maze, but it has the opposite magic as the house. The house finds and welcomes children, the garden makes them lost forever. I've never seen any of those children again, but the story is that Gretal’s Grove will open up into the arms of someone who will love you.”

“Like, new parents?”

“Yes. Adults ask Hansel to take children away and ask me to provide them. I don't know how the magic works, I'll admit. I'm not a witch. But the house and garden answer those wishes.”

Cody scooped Emily up and placed her on his lap. She barely fit, but it allowed them to whisper.

“What do you want?” Cody asked.

That the Hansel House never followed them. Or their parents hadn't gotten divorced. Or for anyone to want to keep her. She would eat bland rice every day if she got a goodnight kiss from a mom who cared.

“I want a mom,” she admitted. A real one, who didn’t leave. Who would always want them, no matter how much they ate. “Do you want one too?” Because if Cody didn't, they could stay. She wanted him the most.

The longer they sat at the table, the louder the chatter of other kids became. The house morphed around them, honey trap no longer needed, and Emily watched the sugar cookie walls turn into yellow paint.

Cody brushed the hair from her forehead. “A mom sounds great.”

He buried his face in Emily’s head for a hug, then looked at Gretel. “Which way to the grove?”

“You would have been welcome here,” she said while standing, “but I understand. We all want love. This way.”

Emily and Cody followed, clasping hands. She snagged a bun from the table, just in case, and they walked through a large room filled with kids ages two to seventeen listening to Hansel read a book. Gretel led them outside to the edge of grass around the house, coming to a step before two trees whose branches tangled to form an arch.

“Good luck.” Gretel leaned down to pull them both into a warm hug. “I'm glad you left before something worse happened, and I got to give you a meal.”

“Thanks,” Cody said.

“Yes, thank you,” Emily repeated.

Gretel handed her a bag of candy for the road and then they were off, stepping into the woods. It was nothing like the organized blocks of Chicago, but there was a subtle similarity. Tall structures soaring above them, tangled roots that mirrored sidewalks in need of repair. They followed not quite a path, but an obvious gap in the trees they could easily walk between.

Emily had the sense that just ahead, around a thick oak or a collection of dry shrubs, there’d be what she was looking for. Sometimes there were flashes, like the flick of a scarf, other times intelligible whispers from the dry leaves.

She clung to Cody, and he started singing. “Ninty-nine bottles of pop on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of po~p.”

Emily joined in, trying to relax. There was no reason to be nervous, the woods held no threat, and she trusted Gretel’s Grove to follow the right person, just like the Hansel House had followed them.

The trees got thinner. More ordered, like they’d been planted. They morphed into the walls of a hedge maze, and Cody and Emily walked into too-bright sunlight, nearly colliding with a couple walking through an English garden.

A tall, thin Asian woman and a well-built white woman, her head equal to the Asian woman’s shoulders. The four of them stood blinking at each other.

“Are you lost?” the white woman asked, her voice heavy with an Eastern European accent.

At the same time, Emily stuck out the small bag of rock candy Gretel had given them. “Do you want one?”

“Oh,” the Asian woman gasped.

Her partner turned to her, but the taller woman simply looked at Cody and Emily, hand to her mouth, tears beading at the corner of her eyes. “They’re ours.”

“What?”

The Asian woman recited a poem Emily didn’t know. “Gretel filled her dress with crumbs to lay a trail but now the woods are where she’s from. Children need a path to follow, so lay a stone in Gretel’s Grove and they’ll carry it through the wooded hollow.”

“You did not?! That’s real?”

The Asian woman gestured frantically toward Emily and Cody. Emily wanted to press into Cody’s side, but if Gretel was right, this was the mom she wished for. The mom who wished for her.

“I’m Emily. This is Cody.”

The Asian woman crouched to look her in the eyes. “I’m Miranda, and that’s Jackie. Welcome to our life.”

She opened her arms. Emily dove into them, pulling Cody with her. He put up no fight, falling into Miranda and allowing Jackie to wrap her arms around them both.

It was a little cold, and a little bright, and Jackie’s hair started to tickle Emily’s nose. But the hug felt a million times better than sitting on the floor outside their old apartment.

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

Chicago’s Grimm is a collection of urban fantasy stories inspired by Grimm’s Fairy Tales set in Chicago. Join my Ko-Fi ☕to get early access to stories, otherwise follow the Chicago's Grimm tag.

#Chicago's Grimm #gwen writes #fantasy fiction #short story #original fiction #fantasy #chicago #fairy tale #writeblr #writblr #writing community #tumblr author #hansel and gretel

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nepja · 4 months ago

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my pod really likes to catch on the corners of the wainscoting

had to do an early change because it pulled too hard and started leaking ):

#the corners of it stick out from the wall corners #there's no doorways in the dining room it's just open #so I've always been bumping into it and catching my shirt and/or sleeve(s) on it #now my pod catches too sometimes when it's on my arm #t1d #omnipod

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eligejtor · 2 years ago

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daily dose of serotonin granted, life once again have a meaning

he is so djshxushsbdh cute. Cute. I admit it. Now let me rot in hell.

(btw too young to fall in love was one of their best aesthetics dont even try to talk me out of it)

#literally where is this photo from i need to know #gonna print it out and stick it on the wall next to my bed so it'll cheer me up every day #motley crue #80s metal #80s bands #80s glam #nikki sixx #80s music #80s rock #i swear theres somethinf about him #im thirsting over men who could be my grandpas #he is hot and cute at the same time dream combo honestly #eligejtor music corner

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daemonbrain · 1 month ago

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Part 2

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone.

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter.

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty.

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job?

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley smut #ghost cod #ghost mw2

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evandore · 5 months ago

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thinking about reorganizing my room to potentially fit more shelving to display more dolls...

#it would mostly consist of moving my bed away from two corners of the wall onto just one and sticking out into the middle of the room which #eugh #but if it makes more room...

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screampied · 5 months ago

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✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, husband nanami, cunnīlingus, fīngering, dirty talk, talking through it, squīrting, praise, mdni.

husband nanami who loves to rub his wedding ring against your sopping folds so your pussy always remember who it belongs to.

“she’s so pretty,” he’d whisper against your soaked entrance, feeling you throb against the silver band that wraps around his thick finger. nanami’s breath was airy hot, it fans against your slick heat and makes you intake a single sharp breath. you’re languidly laid back against the cushioned mattress, openly gawking at him merrily playing between your legs. “you’re prettier though sweetheart,” and you shudder, feeling his balmy lips plant a single kiss against your cunt. “mmh,” and a cobwebby string of sap drags out to stick onto his lips at the sloppy contact. nanami continues to rub his pearly band up and down your slit slowly, maneuvering enticing circles against your pulsating clit as he feels you writhe. “how’s it feel, my love?”

“don’t—stop, ‘ken,” you whimper, fishing a hand through his shaggy blond strands. dimples crease near the corners of his lips as he smiles, flicking his tongue against your poor twitching nub. “fuck, r.. right there, more.”

nanami lets off a breathy chuckle and the air that exits from his lips aerates onto your drooling folds. you’re soaked, and as his lips hungrily latch against your clit, he gives it a romantic french kiss. “whatever you want, wifey,” he purrs, such tease dripping underneath his tone. pretty lashes of his flutter shut as his right hand remains right between your thighs. nanami feels your cunt throb even faster once the frigid ring repeatedly smears against your pudgy folds. up and down, he’s gradual and slow — feeling his own dick in his slacks twitch at the sounds of your sloshing cunt bounce off the walls. “my, my, seems like our girl’s still got quite the mouth on her today.”

your legs struggled to stay pried open and he found it so cute. it was just the way your body would always respond to him, he knew exactly how to make you squirm and shiver. with a soft smile, nanami spreads your plump folds apart with two fingers—giving it a soft succulent suck.

“mmh,” and his eyes close before opening again, admiring how much your pretty pussy resembles a blooming flower. “aw, sweetheart. you’re looking away from me, don’t do that,” and his voice was a tauntingly deep rasp. it was husky, and as he’s prodding a lengthy finger against your slit, you whimper.

“eyes on me, eyes on kento—hey you,” and his voice lowers the exact moment you meet his lust filled gaze. butterflies swarm through your tummy and you gulp, feeling your chest tighten. at that moment, you throbbed and he felt it right against his flat tongue. “good girl.”

“k- ken.. ngh,” you whine, locking your quavering legs around his neck. nanami’s teeth gingerly nip at your tender folds as he inserts his ring finger inside of your saturated cunt. you quickly squeeze and clamp around his digit that’s slowly pumping itself inside. the band of the ring tickles around your tender skin and your legs grow weak. “ ‘m gonna c- cum again, kento—fuck.”

bringing his lips toward your sensitive clit once more, he gives it a few passionate kisses. aa his eyes close—he’s so into it. nanami’s imagining it’s your lips he’s kissing, swirling his tongue around and sucking at your pulsating nub. he could almost taste you.

glossy glimmering strings trail down the crevices of his lips and he hums, sliding in another finger. “hold it, sweetheart. hold it for me,” and his voice was husky, baritone hiding underneath each word he spoke. nanami’s soft fawn eyes flicker back up toward you before he gives your cunt a playful encouraging pat. “can you do that? be a good girl ‘n wait a little longer?”

“kento—hngh,” you whimper out, feeling your back arch against the velveteen pillows that sink beneath your weight. the air felt substantially thick as you’re getting closer and closer, and your ears started to hear nothing but pure white noise.

nanami’s fingers were insanely long, and he’s twisting them both around inside of your pussy in mouthwatering clockwise circles. “fuck, fuck,” and he chuckles, feeling you grab onto his hair.

messy blond tresses of his tangle within your fingers as he slowly guides his tongue up against down against your cunt. so sweet. as he’s multi-tasking, each time he delves his digits in and out, you feel a shortness of breath. his fingertips waste no time at reaching your g-spot and that’s all it took for you to nearly lose it. “ah, so squirmy today,” he purrs as the button tip of his nose brushes against your soddened folds. “go ‘head then i guess, honey. you can let got f’ me. ‘s okay.”

“k- kento.. oh my goddd,” you moan, slouched back against the cushioned mattress. it’s as if time stood still. everything felt carnal - your pupils were blown and you found yourself gnawing on your lip. you knew your orgasm was coming but like always — you were never prepared.

it comes in waves, roiling crashing waves that made your body succumb once the waters hit. the ‘water’ being your cascading slick that drenches nanami’s entire mouth from the chin down. you gush out abruptly as your legs still wrap around his face, letting off the most melodic shrilling whine.

“there we go, that’s it princess,” he whispers, still having his lips attached to your honeyed cunt. by now, he’s slipped out his fingers but presses his ring finger right back against your convulsing clit, rubbing it back and forth . .

the squelches that left out of you were loud, and he can’t help the curving smile that spreads against his lips. “there she goes,” he softly says, staring as you succumb to your long awaited orgasm. it felt like shockwaves ran through every spasming vein in your body as you leisurely grew limp. he’s still between your legs, and he licks his pink lips with an even hungrier grin.

“mhm, sweet as always, honey,” and you moan, watching nanami bring his ring finger up to his pursed lips, the same finger that was just buried deep inside of your pussy only a few seconds ago. within a blink of an eye, it disappears into his mouth as he licks the slick of you right off, his tongue gliding across the wet insipid band of his ring that drips with your sap. “you always feed me so well.”

“k- kento.” you moan, the stickiness between your legs making you pulse even more. nanami hums, glancing down underneath you and at the soaked sheets — creating a damp grey spot with how you made quite the mess from his tongue and he simpers.

pressing his thin lips together, he gives your sopping cunt one final kiss. “shhh, i know baby. i know,” and as you’re still trying to catch your breath, nanami goes back to eating you out. like the starved man he was. but this time, he’s spelling out letters with the pointed tip of his tongue. not just any letters though - he’s spelling out those same seven letters he asked you the day he got down on one knee — marry me?

“hng, don’t stop kento, please,” you whimper, your sensitive folds making you continuously heave irregular breaths in and out. his tongue curls all around, rummaging through each part of your gripping pussy before he sucks hard, earning a squeak from you.

“don’t plan on it,” he whispers, wrapping his mouth around your clit. nanami was still slow and gentle nonetheless—and it doesn’t take long before he’s already starting to get pussy drunk. a sleazy grin compresses against both corners of his lips as he continues to spell out those letters with his tongue. the salacious zigzags and curls he forms with just the tip of his tongue makes your toes curl and as you give him one more yank by the hair, he hums.

“mhm. already proposed to you, so why not propose to this pretty pussy too.”

#★vegasbaby.#i have feelings for him #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #female reader #jjk imagines #aggnm

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catchastarorten · 2 months ago

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—Sleep well.

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho x fem!reader

Summary: Gi-hun suggested that the group took turns staying on watch in case the other players attacked, him and Jung-bae stayed up while you and the others napped, Dae-ho took his place beside you to rest with you.

Content: fluff, cuddling(?), you head-butting him in your sleep lol, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not really proofread, sorry!

Word count: 808

You were tucked into the corner with your group—Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Young-il, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee. Trust was a rare thing in the games, but the six of you managed to stick together, watching each other’s backs through the brutal rounds.

The weight of exhaustion clung to you, but Gi-hun’s paranoia kept your eyes open longer than you would have liked. He wasn’t wrong, though. The fear was palpable.

Your group pulled a couple of mattresses off of the bunks, arranging them as best as possible. One was dragged and laid flat against the wall, the others shoved under bunk frames for some semblance of protection.

“Is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there.” Jung-bae asked, sliding a mattress to Gi-hun, who shoved it under a bunk frame.

“Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us.” Gi-hun said, his eyes focused and his voice steady. “The prize money still goes up if we kill each other. It’s a part of the game they designed.”

You exchanged a look with Dae-ho, who sat cross-legged beside you, holding onto some blankets and pillows. He had been your shadow ever since Red light, Green light. Always sticking close, insisting on protecting you in this place after seeing the way you froze during the first game—when he told you to stay behind him closely so you could use him as a human shield.

“We need to take turns keeping watch after the lights go out.” Gi-hun muttered, sitting down at the foot of the bunk beds, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “I’ll take the first watch.”

The lights flickered out not long after, leaving the only source being the giant piggy-bank hung on the ceiling that was glowing dimly.

It was after a while when Jung-bae rolled out lazily from under a bunk and plopped down beside Gi-hun, the two of them speaking in hushed voices.

You laid down on one of the mattresses, wrapping the thin blanket around yourself. Dae-ho settled beside you not long after, and though you weren’t expecting it, his hand brushed against yours as he shifted to get comfortable, and you were sure you saw his face flush before he hid it, which barely worked, to be honest.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbled, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll fight them off if they try to come over here.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best way. Dae-ho had a knack for looking out for you since you met him in the games, even in the little ways—giving you his portion of food, stepping in when someone got too close. You hadn’t known him long, but there was this easy warmth between the two of you.

Within minutes, you were sound asleep.

Dae-ho’s soft snores filled the small space you both shared. Exhaustion had gotten the better of him, just like it did to you. His arm had draped protectively over your side in his sleep, his presence a cocoon of safety.

Gi-hun and Jung-bae sat near the bunks, their attention now drawn to the sound of soft snoring. Both sets of eyes landed on you and Dae-ho, curled up together on the mattress.

“They’re out like a light,” Jung-bae remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You know, seeing them like that... it reminds me of when we went on strike. We were occupying the factory, and management told us to come out. They said anyone who came out voluntarily would be let off the hook and receive more severance pay.”

Gi-hun stared into the distance, as if recalling what happened.

“You were sleeping beside me and you were talking in your sleep. ‘Mom, I’m hungry, give me some food.’” Jung-bae made an exaggerated crying face, and Gi-hun gave him a glare as Jung-bae nudged him with his elbow, smirking.

Their voices echoed, and soon enough, soft laughs filled the quietness.

Jung-bae chuckled again, louder this time. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The noise had reached you, and you stirred slightly. Dae-ho, still asleep, curled closer to you instinctively, his arm tightening around your side. His movement caused your head to shift slightly, and without warning, you head-butted him in your half-asleep state of grogginess.

Dae-ho furrowed his brows, a soft noise escaping his lips as he shifted again, burying his face into the crook of his arm. You tugged the blanket over your shoulders, muttering something incoherent before nestling deeper into the mattress, falling right back asleep.

Jung-bae stifled another laugh, his shoulders shaking with the effort. Gi-hun gave him a glare, but a faint smile was already tugging at the corners of his mouth too.

“They’re like kids,” Jung-bae whispered, his tone fond.

“Let them sleep. They’ll need it.” Gi-hun shook his head and sighed softly.

#kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #dae ho x reader #player 388 #squid game #dae ho #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #squid game fanfic #squid game fic #squid game imagine #kang daeho #kang daeho x reader #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #player 388 x reader

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ceilidho · 1 month ago

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fig. 1. hand in dog mouth | Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader

MASTERLIST · AO3

The first time he smells her from inside the woman's locker room, it brings him to a halt. The human voice in his head grows dimmer and dimmer until it ceases to make a sound.

or: the forced mating omegaverse au

tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Omegaverse, Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping, Heavy Noncon/Dubcon Elements

“Fuckin’ gym isnae giei’ me a free month even though ah have tae drive tae practically the other side o’ the country tae get a decent pump in.”

“Mate, I can’t understand you when you get all worked up,” Gaz sighs on the other end of the phone, probably pinching the bridge of his nose. A lot of their conversations end up that way, one of them quickly losing patience with the other until the call abruptly ends.

Johnny drops his gym bag in the back and slams the car door shut, rounding to the other side to get in on the driver’s side.

“Ah said, they aren’y refunding me fer the month even though the other location is on the other side o’ town. That’s a half hour back ‘n forth,” he gripes. The call switches to bluetooth a couple seconds after starting the car, Gaz’s exasperated voice coming from the speaker instead of his cell.

“Don’t you already get a discount?”

“That’s jus’ fer bein’ a vet. This is completely different. It’s gonna be closed fer a month fer renovations. Ah cannae do this fer a whole month.”

“Hey, I know where you live. Aren’t there other gyms around that you could go to instead?”

“Are ye out o’ yer fuckin’ mind, Gaz? Ah’m no’ payin’ ten quid fer a fuckin’ day pass when ah already pay out the nose fer a membership.”

“No need to get mad at me, mate, I’m just giving you suggestions.”

“Well, keep them tae yerself if they’re all that bad.”

“Okay, this has been a great chat. I hope you blow a tire on the way there and try calling me for help so I can ignore it.”

The call ends with a loud beep and Johnny barks out a laugh as he reverses out of his spot, looping out of the lot and onto the main road.

He takes the highway because most of the slush and snow has long been cleaned off, though his wipers pump back and forth furiously to keep the snow flurries from sticking to the windshield. That already sets the tone for his evening. He nearly gets in an accident twice on the way there, everyone losing their ability to drive the second the weather is even slightly bad.

He should just be lucky his gym even has another branch. They could’ve left him high and dry for the month, forced him to go to one the other gyms in his neighborhood that don’t offer the same range of weights and veteran’s discount.

Worse, he could’ve been left with no choice but to use Gaz’s guest pass to his exorbitantly overpriced luxury gym downtown. Even the thought makes Johnny shudder. It could always be worse.

It’s so much more than just the drive that he hates about the other location. Like the first time he came here months ago when an appointment on the other side of town made him think it would be more convenient to pop in rather than heading back home for his workout, the parking lot is packed when he arrives, and he has to circle the lot twice before a spot frees up.

The gym is similarly packed when Johnny walks in, and his mood darkens as he scans the weight section for a free bench. None in sight. Just meathead after meathead lining the far wall, huffing and puffing with each rep, dumbbells scattered around.

Headphones slipped on and music loud enough to make his ears ring, he heads to the treadmills instead. Better to just start his workout like usual and hope for the best.

The air stinks of sweat and hormones, alpha pheromones wafting through the gym and leaving not a corner untouched. It’s one of the reasons he prefers the location closer to his place—convenience aside, his location is mainly frequented by betas and omegas, the odd alpha not having much of an impact on the overall vibe.

It’s not that he doesn’t have plenty of alpha friends (Gaz being just one of them), it’s just that sometimes he likes being the biggest, meanest thing in the room. Keeps him in line. Keeps him from being the stupid shit he is ninety-nine percent of the time, as Gaz would say. He likes to be the only one posturing.

So he doesn’t relish being forced to work out with a million carbon copies of himself. It’s nothing Johnny isn’t used to at least—a decade in the military and a lifetime of contact sport before that had been enough of an education in coexisting with other alphas—but it leaves him on edge, muscles bunching up until his shoulders are nearly up to his ears.

Running loosens him up. Distracts him from the urge to sink his teeth into something tender and shake until it bleeds.

A brisk walk to a light jog to a full on sprint. Tongue suctioned to the roof of his mouth, sharpened canines throbbing. The most natural state in the world—legs pumping under him faster and faster, the faint memory of bare feet on a cold forest floor turning over loose soil with every stride. The steady pound of his feet against the ground rumbling through him.

It’s a pale imitation of the real deal, but the taste of salt and rust on the back of his tongue keep him grounded. The beast in his chest rumbles its approval.

When a bench finally frees up, Johnny has to dash across the gym when he sees another alpha nearby eyeing his spot. He reaches the bench a few seconds before the other man though, slinging his sweat-drenched towel across the seat to claim it as his. The alpha hovers for a tense second, face screwed up in anger and nostrils flared like he might put up a fight for it.

Do it, Johnny almost growls, teeth itching. Try it and see what happens.

Lucky for both of them that the other alpha knows when to cut his losses. He shoulder checks another alpha as he stomps back to the leg press machine and nearly starts a whole other fight, but that’s none of Johnny’s business.

He cringes when he finally looks down at the bench only to find someone’s back outlined in sweat. Entitled shitheads at this gym can’t even be bothered to clean up after themselves.

The noxious miasma of alpha stench would make his eyes water if he weren’t so used to it. Pungent and sharp, like gargling brine.

A month can’t go by quick enough.

He leaves feeling worse than when he came in. Shoulders tight with tension and irritation crackling through him. Doesn’t even bother throwing a halfhearted see you later to the front desk workers on his way out. The height of rudeness. Not even rude so much as just not him; Johnny likes to talk, he likes to be friendly with the staff. It speaks to the anger riding high in his blood that he can’t even pretend.

To make it worse, his car is covered in snow when he makes it back, forcing him to spend an extra five minutes cleaning the shit off before he can finally leave.

It’s untenable. He can mind his ego for a paycheck, but on his own time his patience curls up into a ball in his chest and goes to sleep. It’s not a question of if he’ll lose his temper but when. Inevitable. His pugnacity has always been his downfall; his Achilles’ heel. Always cutting himself down on a sharp tooth.

The rosary beads dangling from the rearview window sway with the car when he takes a tight turn.

“Ah ken,” Johnny mumbles to himself, silver cross glinting under the stoplight. “Ah can do a month. Ah can keep it together.”

The next couple of times are just as bad. It’s always crowded during his preferred usual time and it always stinks, like the staff know they’re fighting a losing battle trying to keep the place clean so they don’t even try.

The sorry fuckin’ state of this place, Johnny thinks in revulsion, sneering down at yet another machine damp with sweat from the guy before him. It takes him a minute to wrestle down the impulse to chase after the other alpha and drag him back by his hair before shoving him face down into the puddle of sweat on the seat he left for someone else to clean up.

Only the threat of being permanently banned keeps his temper in check. That can only last for so long though.

It’s gotten to the point where he seriously considers taking Gaz up on his offer to come with him to the gym downtown. He’s a danger to himself and others here; a walking time bomb rapidly ticking down. Each day, something new tests the limits of his patience, like when he comes in one crowded afternoon only to find all of the lockers taken, the locker room stuffed to the brim with alphas and a few straggler betas.

He sits in his car with the heat on for an hour until the gym clears out, steaming enough to fog up the windows. Nearly turns right back around when he enters the locker room to find it absolutely demolished—damp towels strewn about, shower water all over the floor, and stinking to high heavens of sweat, body odour, and piss.

There’s still a dent in one of the lockers from the brief loss of his temper. He doesn’t cop to it, but he makes a point to only use the lockers on the other side of the room from then on.

He’s desperate enough to join Gaz at his fancy downtown gym all of one time, but the facilities there are so serene and sterile that his skin crawls the moment he walks in. Soothing spa music echoes through the three-story gym (no, wellness centre, the staff correct him at the check-in desk, and Gaz has to kick his bad knee to keep Johnny from howling) and verdant green plants grow from pots placed around the facility.

Like working out in the jungle, he thinks sardonically.

“How can ye even concentrate here?” he asks, aghast, staring at the group of limber, flexible bodies stretching and straining in a group yoga class behind a nearby glass wall. He licks his lips.

Gaz rolls his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“Ah’m no’ gonna get kicked out for breathing too loud, am ah?”

“If anything, you’re gonna get kicked out for public indecency,” Gaz sneers, looking down pointedly at Johnny’s open hand inching towards his crotch. “Can you chill out, mate?”

“It’s no’ my fault! They’re arching their backs ‘n pushing their tits out. Ah shouldnae have to look at that when ah’m tryin’ tae work out.”

“Would it kill you to not run your mouth off for five fucking minutes?”

Johnny mimes zipping his lips and then follows Gaz downstairs to the locker room, where the wall-length granite sink and infrared sauna make his eyes nearly bug out of his head.

To no one’s surprise, he doesn’t go back. Gaz doesn’t ask him again either.

An appointment one day pushes his schedule back a couple hours and he shows up later than usual, his teeth clenched tight the whole drive over because he expects the worst. Double the occupants, double the meatheads.

But when he pulls into a near empty lot, the knot of tension in his chest loosens. Only a handful of cars, and most of them are parked near the take-out place at the other end of the complex.

It’s practically a wasteland when Johnny walks in. A few people here and there, but otherwise deserted. Only a single person posted near the free weights.

Even the locker room is more palatable. Freshly cleaned and stocked with new towels. All of the showers have been scrubbed down and dried, the curtains tucked behind the holdbacks and waiting for someone to use them. It’s like walking into a brand new gym.

“Yeah, this is kind of the sweet spot,” a staff member tells him when he rocks up to the desk to ask about it. “We get a lot of alphas that come here right after five, so when it empties out around nine, we have the cleaning staff come in to sanitize everything.”

“Well shit,” he laughs, pushing back from the desk and lacing his hands behind his head. “Guess yer gonna see me more often.”

True to his word, he starts showing up later and later, the streetlights plump and gold when he swerves into the parking lot and parks in the middle of two spots purely because he can. There’s a new bounce to his gait, a pep in his step.

It fucks up Johnny’s schedule for a bit, but it’s well worth getting home well after midnight if it means that he gets the gym to himself. No one to complain when he groans and pants through each rep, sweat dripping from his face and body onto the floor, weights slammed against the mat with a loud thud every time he finishes a set.

(In truth, he’s no better than the alphas that plague the gym during the evening hours, but he’s long made peace with being a hypocrite.)

For a moment, it seems like life will at least be bearable until the month is over and he can go back to training at his regular gym. All he has to do is wait it out.

When it first catches his nose, he splinters down the middle.

It happens when Johnny’s on his way out for the night, muscles warm and only slightly sore, the kind of soreness that’ll dissipate by the time he flops into bed. It’s later than usual—closer to one than twelve, and he’ll feel it in the morning when he’s forced to get up at his usual hour—but there’s hardly anyone else in the gym and for that, it’s worth it.

The strap of his gym bag digs into his shoulder as he tosses a hand up on his way, saying goodbye to the beta manning the front desk on his own. A shame that he’s stuck on his own all night. It would drive Johnny crazy to be stuck at work with no one to talk to—it’s one of the reasons that he followed Gaz into private security when they both got out of the service.

He turns around, about to step out of the gym, when a peculiar smell tries to sneak past him. A slippery thing, silverfish quick and just as conspicuous.

He catches it though. Hunting dog with a purebred snout, he sniffs it the second it wafts under his nose and goes ramrod straight, egress forgotten.

The door to the women's locker room is closed, but he can smell the faint traces of the omega’s scent clinging to it. She must have touched it on her way out. Must have placed her palm against the door and shoved. The alpha beneath his skin that wears his face stills as well, everything vanishing into the singular nature of the scent emanating from the locker room door.

In twenty-nine years, he’s never felt so—

(unmoored, untethered

sinking into it like a stone, not coming apart but unraveling altogether—)

He breathes in again and it’s fainter now, but he can still smell it. Candy pink frosting, so sweet that his teeth hurt and his dick throbs. Juicy like a ripe peach waiting for his teeth. It wafts from the women’s locker room, so subtle that it’s clear that whoever it belonged to is long gone. He must have just missed her, an hour separating them at most.

It’s like nothing he’s ever smelt before. No omega in heat has ever made his head spin like this, every inch of him attuned to a single scent. Even slick on his tongue has never made him feel like this, rut thundering through his bones and snapping him into a new shape.

The hunger shifts from his throat to his stomach, settling in deep. And the beast under his skin that wears his face opens its maw, ropey strands of spittle stringing between its teeth.

“Hey man, you good?”

Johnny blinks, looking over his shoulder to find the guy at the front desk frowning at him. It snaps him out of whatever spell he’d been under. His alpha recedes beneath his skin again, hungering but quieter.

“Uh…” he clears his throat, pulling the strap of his bag back up onto his shoulder from where it slipped down. Gives the guy a thumbs up. “Yeah. Sorry—lost my train o’ thought.”

The employee stares at him for a beat before mumbling, “Okay…” under his breath and looking back down at the computer.

Johnny stares at the door for another few seconds before finally leaving.

He sweats all the way home. Worries, wonder, and woes. Blinks and suddenly his exit is next, another car behind him honking when he changes lanes abruptly without signalling. Haud yer wheesht, he thinks and flips the other driver off for good measure.

At home, he paces the length of his house thinking about that omega’s scent until it’s time for bed. Then he tosses and turns until his sleep grows profound and swallows him whole like Jonah. Into the belly of the beast. Nothing to do but let it spit him back out like a peachstone.

Then morning comes and his jaw clicks when he yawns and his bad knee hurts.

But worse than the snow pelting his windshield on the drive to work and worse than the cold stinging his face when he parks and stops for his morning coffee is the memory of that smell.

It’s not as if he doesn’t have any experience with omegas. Despite growing up under the thumb of four alpha sisters, Johnny’s been popular with omegas his whole life. His history with them is an assortment of sordid trysts and quick flings, good enough to scratch an itch but not enough to make him want to bite and keep.

Sticky, messy, syrupy ruts spent buried between an omega’s soft thighs, gorging himself on slick and pussy; nudging his cock against pillowy lips and then thrusting down their throat, hand palming the base of their skull to hold them in place.

It’s always been like that though. One and done; a couple days at most to work through the worst of his rut and then out the door, a messy kiss for the road before whistling his way home. Johnny’s good for that. A romp in the hay, a roll in the sack. Generous with his fingers and mouth and cock.

He’s never craved an omega like this though, never fevered like he fevers now. Itched like his skin was turned inside out in his sleep.

Waking up in the middle of the night panting, the covers under him drenched with sweat and his knot throbbing in his hand, already swollen and aching. Fisting his cock until he has no choice but to roll over and bury his teeth into his pillow, humping the mattress frantically until he comes, eyes watering with the force of his orgasm.

No tonic for this ailment. It simmers in his blood, infatuation decocting into full blown obsession.

Brontide as leitmotif and it rumbles in his ears.

Wandering through the city punch-drunk, always waiting for it to catch his nose somewhere else. In line at a salad bar, always a head taller than everyone else (which he’s still getting used to, which is still a strange new fact of civilian life); at a local venue with Gaz for a concert, scenting the air for any sign of them; seated at the back of the coffee shop across the street from the gym, eyes trained on the door.

Waiting. Always waiting.

And, hungering like a starved dog.

Saliva pooling in his mouth when he thinks of what it’ll be like when he finally has them under him, desperate and cloying and wet.

Other omegas smell sickly to him now, off somehow. A facsimile of what he knows is out there waiting for him. He’s not down for a quick fuck anymore. A hand on his chest and doe eyes blinking up at him makes him shudder now, grimacing down at the omega trying to compete for his attention when out there there’s—

His omega.

Just for him. Made to take his knot and clench around it and squeal when he pumps them full—

Hishishishishishis.

So he shrugs her hand off and sends her on her way.

Johnny spends weeks trying to line up their schedules—his and that elusive omega’s whose scent still permeates the gym even though he never actually sees them in the flesh—to no avail. Even though he’s there waiting at the gym nearly every day, they must stagger their visits. Worse, they seem to come at irregular hours; some days, Johnny shows up and though he can smell the omega’s scent, it’s flat, stale. Like they’ve been gone for hours, ages. Only the oil from their hands still embedded in the dumbbells on the rack.

He doesn’t even care if anyone’s watching when he brings one up to his nose and breathes in.

Then abruptly, the scent disappears, and with it, his soundness of mind.

A week gasping for air, flopping belly up. Breathing in nothing, not even the old, stale scent of his omega because they’re gone suddenly without warning. The first couple of days are manageable only because he doesn’t notice it at first, used to his omega taking a couple days off at a time to rest and recover, but then two days stretch into three. And then into four.

Johnny’s long thought of himself as wild and self-reliant, not accountable to anyone or anything apart from himself. It takes four days to obliterate that notion.

On the fourth day, he wakes up and his agony crawls out of his mouth on spindly legs.

It follows him to work and back, an ache between his shoulder blades and a gnawing, wretched hunger for something he can’t have because it’s beyond his grasp. Smoke now, lost in the ether. He drives across town before and after work, hoping that they’ll suddenly reappear and set his mind at ease, but the gym only smells of alpha funk and his own souring mood.

Too long without it. He’s nothing but a shell of himself in its absence, without the scent of his omega to calm him down, and it makes Johnny realize that he wasn’t doing well on his own before but just barely surviving. Barely keeping his head above water.

Ghost hauls him out of a bar by the scruff of his neck on Saturday night when he almost starts a fight, and only sinking his canines into the other alpha’s forearm calms him down. He slumps forward in the bigger man’s hold and whines when Ghost strokes a hand down his back and murmurs something vaguely soothing in his ear, his words muffled by the mask. He even lets Ghost drag him back home and curls up on his couch until a balled sock hits his head and he slinks into Ghost’s bedroom, dragging his feet the whole way.

His longing is excruciating. Pathetic. Like a dog with its own empty bowl in its mouth begging for scraps.

Gaz still calls every day because they’ve been joined at the hip since they first met almost a decade ago and it’s not long before he picks up on the shaky note in Johnny’s voice, stilted conversations becoming wholly incomprehensible. Even Price calls him towards the end of the week to ask if he’s doing alright. No, sir. Yes, sir. Ah’m fine, sir.

“Was it Gaz who snitched?” Johnny gripes, cutting a side-eyed glare at the alpha on the bench next to him curling sixty pound weights and groaning like he’s getting sucked off at the same time. Still no sign of his omega.

“Well, it wasn’t Simon.”

That makes him snort. Last time he tells that traitor a goddamn thing about his life.

Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. It makes the world seem fetid and bland, and he looks out at it through dull eyes, anger kindling inside. Makes his stomach cramp like there’s nothing in it. It takes the sheen out of an oil spill, leaving only the mess and rot behind.

And then suddenly it’s back like nothing happened, stopping him in his tracks as he walks into the gym. They must have gone out of town for the week, on vacation or visiting family, something so trivial that he’d laugh if his innards weren’t char and ash. If his alpha weren’t half-feral, blotting out his thoughts for hours at a time, all instinct and anger and teeth taking over until he regains clarity and the sky is dark.

It nearly brings him to his knees when he walks into the gym and the smell of his omega blooms bright and nacreous. The gym staff eye him with growing uncertainty, but he’s hardly the most concerning customer at a big box gym (last week someone locked themselves in one of the bathroom stalls with a knife), so they leave him to his own devices when he’s finally able to move again.

His omega isn’t there, of course. Johnny can tell from a quick glance around the gym and a sniff of the air. But they were, and that’s all that matters.

Their reappearance sharpens his resolve. Runs it against a whetstone, his time of waiting coming to an end. He rolls his shoulders back and puffs his chest out in anticipation. It can’t come soon enough.

Nothing stays silent for long when a wolf is watching from the shadows. Eventually it has to make a sound.

It’s quiet in the gym at two a.m. (a far cry from his usual time, but the hunt demands sacrifice), only the sound of a single treadmill whirring and shoes hitting the belt disturbing the near silence.

Johnny smells you the second he walks in. It punches him right in the chest when he inhales and the ripe, sticky scent of his omega flows into his lungs. Mouth watering on instinct. Rutilant eyed, he tilts his head wolf-like and stares down towards the other side of the gym where a pretty thing fiddles with the settings on the treadmill, settling into a light jog.

He’s buried under an avalanche of want so powerful and so swift that it collapses him down to base instinct. Thoughts disconnected and hazy, blooming like a bruise in his head.

Shouldnae be here, he wants to croon in your ear while he holds you down, almost swaying on his feet at the thought. Should be back in my bed at home takin’ my dick so deep in yer gorgeous cunt that ye can taste my cum on the back of yer tongue—

The employee manning the front desk doesn’t even look up when Johnny scans his pass and pushes through the turnstile, flipping to the next page of the magazine open in front of him.

It’s better that way. Johnny doesn’t know what he’d do if someone tried to stop him or get in his way.

The gym is deserted at this time of night, only the single treadmill in use and someone that passes him on their way out, a gust of wind at Johnny’s back signalling their departure. Everything always works out in his favour. He suffers for it, but God rewards him for his patience.

He takes a seat on the closest available training machine and doesn’t even pretend to use it. Johnny’s never been much of a performer anyway. Instead, he drops his gym bag down on the floor beside the chest press machine and leans forward, elbows resting against his knees.

He’s lucky that you’re too concentrated on your workout to feel the heat of his stare. Your phone rests on its side in front of you, an episode of a show playing to distract you while you run. Earphones in to block out the noise. He knows Ghost would tell him to correct that. Can’t have his omega distracted while alphas lurk nearby waiting to dig their teeth into the supple lump of flesh sitting tantalizing just below the collar of your shirt—

A bead of sweat runs down his temple and his dick twitches in his sweats.

There are cuffs in his gym bag. Tools of the trade. It’s not as innocent as he lets himself think, but they’re there in case things go sideways. Sideways like if you take one look at him and run the other way when you notice the way his half-lidded eyes barely blink as he stares at you.

And he can’t have that. Not now that he’s found you.

His patience is unwavering when the circumstances call for it. It’s a skill he picked up in the service, learning to channel all of the frenetic energy coursing through him into a tight point at the back of his mind, compressing it all down to a singularity that later he’ll allow to expand and burn itself out like a dying star.

Not now though. Now he sits and he watches and he waits.

He stares at your ass while you run, crossfaded on his alpha’s slabbering hunger and his own need to wrench those leggings down your hips. When he has the luxury of time, he’ll tie you to his bed by your wrists and ankles, belly down to make it easier on him, and sink his teeth into the flesh of your ass until it’s tender to the touch, until even ghosting his hand over your ass makes you squirm and weep.

Even the thought has a growl rumbling at the back of his throat.

You’re not a very fast runner, but you’re quick enough. Like a rabbit, Johnny thinks and nearly laughs at his own joke. A distracted one at that, too concerned with what’s in front of you to notice what’s lurking right behind.

No matter. He sits and he waits.

Eventually, the treadmill starts to slow down, and with it, you. Panting to catch your breath. Fingers trembling when you pause the video on your phone and scrub a towel down your face to wipe off the sweat.

And for once the entire gym smells of nothing but a honeyed sweetness. Spun sugar and strawberry Angel Delight. Intoxicating and heady. It permeates the building, dragging him deeper into a drugged haze, dulling his senses, plugging his ears with cotton until the only thing he can hear is the sound of your rabbit-quick heartbeat going bump-bump-bump in your chest.

You must have been finishing your workout with a light jog because when the treadmill comes to a complete stop, you take another second to catch your breath and then step off to the side, draping your towel around the back of your neck and heading for the locker room.

Johnny feels himself rise to his feet but there’s no consciousness behind it. No intent beyond primordial reflex, prey drive kicking in when you try getting away. He forgets about everything else—the employee at the front desk, his gym bag next to him. His knees don’t even crack for once, the movement fluid, and when he follows you towards the locker room, his feet hardly make a sound.

It’s to his advantage that you haven’t noticed him yet, but he’ll deal with that soon enough. The locked room door swings shut behind you and there’s a second where he hesitates, better thoughts creeping past his alpha to whisper in his ear that he doesn’t have to do it this way. He’s never had trouble with an omega before—why use force now?

And then he hears a locker slam shut on the other side and instinct takes over.

You’re half-undressed in the middle of the locker room when he walks in, clad only in your panties and bra, and his world narrows down to that moment. Everything in his life has led him to this. Like a red sea parting; the universe suddenly giving him a sign, beckoning him forth.

The door swings shut behind him and your ears twitch at the noise.

He’s done this before in another life. Three strides and he slips right up behind you, arms winding around your front to pull you into his chest and covering your mouth with his hand. You freeze for a split second before going haywire, flailing in his hold, his hand muffling your screams.

“Shh, it’s just me, doe,” Johnny shushes you, arms constricting around you. Relishing the feeling of your body against his, warmer and softer than he imagined.

You shriek behind his hand, twisting in his hold and trying with all your might to break free. Simple thoughts for simple creatures. Even when you try to bite his hand, Johnny only coos, cock swelling at the feeling of your tongue on his skin. The little kittenish licks just rile him up. He likes it less when you try to headbutt him, narrowly missing his nose when you throw your head back.

When he dips his nose into the crook of your neck, he can’t help the growl that slips out of him.

“Enough o’ tha’,” Johnny growls, words reverberating with his annoyance.

The sound makes you still, prey instincts as sharp as his. Smart girl. You know when not to push your luck. He’s bigger and stronger, and his teeth are precariously close to your mating gland, which sits nestled in the crook of your neck.

He breathes in. Your scent is strongest there, at the base of your neck. A delicate layer of skin and then underneath it, your blood sings. Whispers praises high and sweet to him. A shuddering breath out.

You mumble something behind his hand. Tremble violently, your nails digging into his forearm with a biting sting.

He shushes you again. “No’ here, baby—gotta take ye somewhere more private.”

He pays no mind to the way you resume your screaming behind his hand as drags you deeper into the locker room and away from the door. Hardly needs to use any of his real strength, only a fraction of it. The fight you put up would almost be endearing, would almost make him go thatta girl and nip at the tip of your nose, if not for the way it triggers his instincts, an innate urge to dominate you into submission.

It isn’t hard to wrestle you to the floor in the showers. Like play fighting, all bark and whine and keen, teeth snapping an inch from his nose until he pins you under him, snarling right in your face until you submit. That gets you to stop making a fuss. The last thing he wants is to deal with a front desk employee trying to play the hero by pulling him off you. Not that anyone could. He’d rather this not end in bloodshed.

“Tha’s better,” Johnny growls. “Jus’ be nice, a’right?”

You shiver at his words, eyes wide and petrified, darting all over his face. Even tinged with your fear, how could he not preen under your gaze now that you’re getting a proper look at him? He knows what he looks like—rugged and strong, mohawk recently cleaned up and beard freshly trimmed. Not a behemoth like Ghost, but big for an alpha, broad shouldered and beefy.

Big for an alpha in a couple different ways, he leers.

“Don’t hurt me,” you whimper, and that breaks his heart. How could he ever? How could he ever look at something as perfect as you and want to ruin it? His chest aches at the thought.

“No, baby,” he whines, nuzzling his nose into the side of your face. “Ah would never, baby, never. Dinnae be scared. Ah’m no’ gonna hurt you, doe.”

He drags his nose down the length of your head, running his tongue over the rounded corner of your jaw. Your sweat tastes of wet roses and tart jam. Still intoxicating, but wrong, sour and sodden with fear. It makes his skin itch and his shoulders tense. You shouldn’t be scared of him; his omega should never be scared of him.

“Ye cannae smell it, doe?” he asks, pressing a soft kiss into your neck, lingering there so he can feel your pulse flutter against his lips. “Ah can… Cannae smell a damn thing else when yer around. S’all ah can think about.”

“What are you talking about?” you whisper, so frightened that you can barely squeeze the words out, fear choking you. He can’t stand it. The thought that you might find him dangerous makes his throat burn, agony ripping his chest open and yanking his insides out.

He braces himself up on his forearms and forces his hand under your head, lifting your head up off the tile floor.

“How do ah smell, doe?” Johnny rasps, shoving your face into his neck and holding you there until you have no choice but to inhale. He feels the way you shudder when you do, hands spasming against his chest. “Smells good, doesn’t it? Just breathe it in, doe.”

You do, shakily. Then a deeper inhale, filling your lungs with his scent.

“I—oh god—” you groan, your hands suddenly fisting in Johnny’s shirt and dragging him closer.

“Jesus,” he curses through clenched teeth, dizzy with lust. He goes with it, laying more of his body weight on top of you, hind brain taking over.

A long, deep inhale. Your nose digs into his neck. “What is that?” you whine.

“S’the best thing in the fuckin’ world.” An understatement. Johnny’s eyelids fall shut when your tongue pokes out to lightly graze his neck.

So much pent up emotion and anguish and want only for it suddenly—

stop.

Motion succumbing to instinct, to fate. Everything else is collateral damage when fate gets in the way.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, scent ripening, fear replaced with something else—still sharp, but charged. Hesitant because you shouldn’t want this—it shouldn’t even be a thought in your head to indulge the strange man who wrestled you to the floor and forced you to scent him, but then you get a good whiff of him and that thought shakes like television static, like a mirage, like a glass surface wobbling right before it breaks—

When he pulls back, the world is different.

You’re glassy eyed, so pliant now that he could do anything to you, anything at all. And then his eyes dip lower.

He cups your neck with a clammy hand and strokes a finger over the lovely gland at the crook of your neck. It’s warm to the touch.

“Look a’ this,” he breathes, awed. Your hand flies to his wrist, fingers barely able to wrap around it.

“D-don’t touch it,” you choke out, swallowing harshly. It has to be sensitive. Still, Johnny can’t keep from stroking his finger over it again, soaking up the way his touch makes you shiver. Poor thing, gone so long without your alpha’s touch.

“Ah cannae help it, doe,” Johnny whispers. He switches to his thumb, rubbing the pad of it over your gland until you whine and squirm, eyebrows drawn tight together. “Does it hurt, baby? Do ye need me tae make it better?”

You whine, trying to weakly bat his hand away. “N-no, that’s for my alpha—”

“Aye, tha’s right.” His eyes gleam fulgurite under the fluorescent lights. “Fer yer alpha.”

He digs his thumb in harder until your mouth opens on a silent cry.

His alpha drools a messy puddle beneath his skin, jowls sagging. It stares without blinking.

It’s different than lust or bloodthirst. Darker; deep-seated. He’s never felt this way before, and, if his gut feeling proves true, he never will again. It’s like looking down a vast, dark hall, and seeing only one way out.

A damp shower room floor in a locker room is no place for him to take his omega for the first time, but he couldn’t lift himself off you if he tried. His muscles feel far too heavy, like lead weights dragging him down, the gravity stronger here somehow.

“Let’s get this off,” he murmurs, sitting back on his haunches.

“Wait—wait, not here, alpha, please—”

Your protests fall on deaf ears. He wrenches your bra over your head, mindful not to let the back of your head smack against the tile floor. “Gentle, gentle—there we go. Tha’s a good girl.”

Your panties come next, stripped off and tossed elsewhere. His lips follow the path of his hands, sucking kisses into your hips and thighs until your fingers thread into his hair and yank. He yelps, scalp tingling with pain.

“Do tha’ again, doe,” Johnny purrs, shuddering when you do. Eyes rolling back in his head.

His world tilts on its axis when he forces your legs apart and stares at the perfect slice of heaven between your thighs.

“Doe.” Voice broken, shredded. Running his thumb up the seam of your lips and moaning when your hole clenches at his touch and a drop of slick leaks out. “Oh, doe…she’s so…”

Too awestruck for words. Language is beyond his grasp, too inadequate for the feelings coursing through him. Lacklustre, diaphanous thing. There’s no way to describe the feeling of leaning forward and touching his lips to yours, angling his head to give her a proper kiss, one with tongue and feeling. She kisses him back just as passionately.

The taste of you is incomparable. He can’t believe he ever thought there was a world where he could subsist on just the smell of you. Impossible now that he’s had you on his tongue. He runs it up the seam of your pussy, the flat of his tongue spread wide to catch every honeyed dewdrop clinging to your skin, sucking each fold into his mouth to be extra thorough. The pearl sitting nice and pretty at the top gets a wet kiss for waiting so long for his touch.

He pulls back for a second to catch his breath. “So pretty, baby,” Johnny whines, pulling the hood of your clit up with his thumb and sucking her into his mouth.

“Oh my god—”

He buries his face into your cunt, the bridge of his nose wedged against your clit and making you howl. He doesn’t budge even when you practically wrench his hair out by the roots, too committed to making your pussy squirt all over his face. Not an easy task with the way you keep trying to push him away from your cunt, but Johnny’s always risen to any challenge.

You howl when he wedges his tongue in as deep as it’ll go, thighs clamping around his head. Not a bad way to go, Johnny thinks in a daze, chin wet with your juices and nose nuzzling your sensitive little clit, making your whole body jolt. He can tell you’re close by the way your thighs spasm and your scent goes marzipan sweet, so lush and rich that his swollen cock leaks in his sweatpants.

It’s easy to get lost in your pleasure; Johnny feels it like it’s his own, his low back aching with the force of your impending orgasm. He misses your clit too much to let her get lonely though, so he lets go of your hip to push a couple fingers into your hole instead of his tongue.

“C’mon, doe, lemme see ye come,” he whines into your pussy, thrusting all three fingers into your hole, half-lidded eyes with blown out pupils watching the way your pussy gobbles them up. “Just like tha’—oh, there we go, baby, oh my god, come on, yes—lemme have it, doe—”

Your release is wet on his hand and all over his face. Little pussy still milking his fingers, the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

A hush falls over the room, the moment almost devotional. He thinks you might be crying, but it’s hard to tell because the blood in his ears is too loud and his hand is wet with your come and he wants nothing more than to do it all over again until you can’t even talk.

He rises to his feet in a daze, a deep red flush high on his cheekbones. His shirt comes off first, pulled over the back of his head and tossed behind him; his sweats are similarly discarded, tugged down and kicked away until you’re staring up at him in all his hairy, naked glory, cock flush with blood and heavy, drooping away from his stomach.

He laughs when he notices where your gaze has dropped. “Like what ye see?”

“I don’t know about this—” you start, but he pays your words no mind.

“C’mere,” he growls, suppressing the urge to wince when he drops to his knees again.

Johnny hooks an arm under your low back, hoisting your hips up until your ass rests against his thighs, making your back arch. It thrusts your tits up towards his face and he nearly goes cross-eyed staring down at your cute little nipples. They look lonely too.

He gets distracted again, forgetting about sinking his cock in your cunt in favour of hunching over to get his mouth on your tits. Sucks one until it's hard and pebbled against his tongue and circles his tongue over the soft areola skin, completely forgetting about your other breast. It’s hard to pull himself off.

You yelp when he bites down, not hard enough to hurt, but deliberate enough to tick you off.

“That’s too rough!” you hiss, grabbing him by the hair again.

“Sorry,” Johnny gasps. He nuzzles between your breasts, practically purring. “Ah’m so sorry, doe, ah couldnae help myself…”

Puppyish, he leans up to bunt his head under your chin, shuddering when your fingers loosen and hesitantly scratch his head.

“…Okay…” you murmur, overwhelmed. He ignores you, too content with nuzzling into your neck while you run your nails over his scalp.

Being this close to you after weeks of nothing is almost enough. The air reeks with your scent. If it weren’t for the ugly, festering ache in his belly, he’d be tempted to skip straight to this. Roll onto his back and pull you onto his chest, press his nose to the crown of your head and breathe in until it lulls him right to sleep. Maybe get a good belly scratch at the same time.

Then he inhales and the scent of your come on his chin makes his spine go stiff. Drool leaks from the corner of his mouth.

It can’t wait anymore. The thing under his skin shakes with hunger, its greed a ravenous, frothing appetite that goes mindless when it waits for its food. Do it. Do it now.

He braces a hand against the tile floor to lift himself up and pets your cheek with his free hand. “Ah’m gonna put it in now, okay, doe?”

And he means it too, stomach cramping with eager anticipation, knot already filling up at the base of his dick—still small enough to pop it into your hole, but not for much longer—because it’s everything he’s dreamt of since he first caught your scent in the air.

That must not be the case for you.

When you twist onto your belly and try to scramble away, he stares dumbly for a second before seeing red. Johnny crawls after you, dragging you back by your ankle when you get a bit too far away and flipping you over again. You hiss when the back of your head smashes against the floor, hands reaching up to cradle it instinctively.

You get it snarled right in your face, his anger erupting out of him like a geyser, like a dense fog rolling down from the mountains and spreading to everything below. “Ye dinnae fuckin’ move.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you breathe.

Even consumed by rage, he can smell your terror. Putrid, not the soft sweetness of your usual scent. There’s pain there too, and it makes his muscles tense like he’s ready to spring. It’s what brings his alpha to the surface, the scorch of anger cooling slowly as you lie there trembling.

It doesn’t feel good, but he can’t—he can’t let you go.

His hands flutter over your face, squeezing your cheeks and leaning down to plant kiss after soft kiss on your lips. “Doe, please, ye cannae do tha’…ah wanna be gentle, but ah cannae control myself if ye—” Johnny can’t bring himself to say it, the image too painful to contemplate. There’s no reason on Earth that his omega should be trying to run away from him.

“O-okay, alpha…I…I’ll be good.”

His self-control is hairstring thin. “Yer just nervous, right? Tha’ why ye tried tae run?”

“I-I’m just nervous, alpha.” It’s a neat trick, repeating his words back to him in order to calm him down. It works.

His chest deflates as he kneels there over you. Johnny stares into your eyes a few seconds longer, a subtle reminder not to fucking move, before he sits up again, rolling his shoulders back and tugging your lower half in again.

This time when he notches the head of his cock against your entrance, you whisper oh god oh god oh god to yourself but you don’t try to run. It must seem inevitable—no way to fight him off or talk him out of it because there’s a film over his eyes that reflects nothing back.

And then he slowly sinks his cock into you, your hole stretching around the mushroomed head. His jaw rolls on a shaky exhale.

Something in him cracks wide open and—

something ugly slithers out.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, voice cracking. His cock sinks in another inch, warm, wet heat sucking him in. “Jesus, doe, ah cannae fuckin’ breathe—”

You flex your hips at his words, ankles digging into the divots above his arse and pulling him in until he suddenly bottoms out, cock stuffed to the root in the warmest, snuggest cunt he’s ever felt. It nearly makes him go mad; he gets so close to it that his face goes numb, the blood pounding in his ears. He curls over you, a string of curses slipping out of his mouth.

You’re there when Johnny opens his eyes again, damp hair haloing you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, a tear slipping past your waterline and dribbling down your face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me—”

“It’s okay, doe.” His hands run up and down your sides, soothing you. “S’just instinct. Ye cannae help it any more than ah can.”

Your walls squeeze around his shaft, nerves making you tense up, and Johnny groans, his hand curling into a fist by your head. It takes every iota of his being not to come right then, buried to the hilt in your pussy with your ankles digging into his low back. He nearly does when you whine at him to move.

“Okay, baby,” he breathes.

Johnny tries to be gentle at first. Makes a conscious effort to rock into you with slow, smooth strokes, distracting you with a deep, wet kiss. Lips gliding together, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth only to graze it with his teeth, heat rushing through him when you tremble. Coaxing your tongue into his mouth and then sucking on it.

His control starts to slip when he tries to pull out and your ankles dig into his back, pulling him back in. The force of his next thrust makes your body shift, sliding up the wet floor. Too much. Be gentle. But he can’t—the pressure in his core gets worse the longer he fucks you, an eagerness to reach his end building and building. All he can do is chase it. Bite at its heels.

“Yer so pretty,” he rasps, petting your face with shaky hands and bucking his hips into yours until you can’t hold back your pretty little moans. “Pretty, pretty doe. Ah’ve got ye, love.”

A few more like that, pounding into you until you squeak like a toy and he laughs, breathless and full of mirth. Buoyant. Revelling in the sound of you coming apart under him, all fractured pleas and kiss-swollen lips.

Perfect angel, all sweetness and moans and cream coating his cock, gleaming under the fluorescent lights every time he pulls out.

There’s a white ring at the base of his dick from the mess of your combined fluids. Johnny nearly passes out when he notices.

His bad knee aches from digging into the tile floor. He’ll feel it in the morning when he wakes up with bruises on his elbows and shins, muscles stiff and twinging when he moves, but it’s a price he’ll happily pay to keep his pretty doe on her back with her legs spread.

Any lingering guilt about fucking you on the gross shower room floor evaporates the more you pant and the wetter you get because, he rationalizes, on some level you must want him just as bad. Not with the same fervour, not a bone bright ache that sucks you dry and spits you out like a peach pit, but close enough that you aren’t pushing him away anymore.

He ignores the weak pressure on his shoulders. Pries your hands off so he can pin your wrists together over your head.

“Been lookin’ fer ye fer so long,” Johnny croons. He ruts into you clumsily, losing any semblance of finesse. “Smelt ye weeks ago ‘n knew…knew ah had tae have ye.”

Your eyes fly open, stunned. “Weeks?” you gasp.

“Thought ah’d lose my fuckin’ mind lookin’ fer ye.” His breath comes out ragged. “Couldnae sleep or eat or do anythin’ except jerk my cock raw. Should’ve saved it all up fer ye, but…” his laughter is a deep, brassy thing. “…ye’ll still get a fair share.”

“You’re disgusting,” you moan, and that makes him laugh even more, rutting into you like a beast.

“Christ, doe, keep runnin’ that mouth.”

“You’re a—”

dumb, nasty dog

sick in the head, fucking me with that big, fat dick—

He grunts and his lip pulls back in a mean, crooked grin.

It’s never been like this before. Like someone drilled a hole in the side of his head and filled it up with you. You’re in every crevice of his mind and body, mycorrhizal tendril spreading through him.

“Ah’m gonna ruin yer pretty cunt, doe,” Johnny rasps, neck soaked with sweat and eyes burning hot, pupils blown so wide only a glimmer of blue remains. “Get her nice ‘n soaked with my come.”

“Alpha—” you keen, for lack of anything else to call him and it makes his vision go blank.

That’s the only truth that matters to him. Like a divine calling—his omega begging for him, asking for more more more. It’s as close to love as he’s ever gotten; as close to heaven as he ever will.

Diving headfirst into oblivion. He clamps his hands around your waist to hold you in place and fucks into you with renewed vigour, losing himself in the pleasure. Any coherent thought evaporates, reduced to mindless instinct. His beast and him are indistinguishable; two sides of the same coin; he looms over you Janus-faced, a god of beginnings and endings.

He breathes out heavily through his nose, teeth gritting together and lips pulled into a flat line. So close to it, knot catching more with every thrust, almost too big to pull out.

The smack of his hips against yours fill his ears, drowning out your pleading and keening. Seismic motions churning beneath the tile floor keep a steady pulse. The lewd squelch of your pussy nearly drives him mad—slick running down your thighs, pooling onto the floor beneath you, this place irrevocably changed because of your mating—

If only you’d squirt on his dick too, he could die happy. Scream out alpha, alpha, alpha until you shudder and come.

And you do eventually—milk his dick filthy sweet and cling onto him for dear life, nails scoring red lines into the flesh of his back. His muscles bunching under your touch.

“Fuck, doe,” Johnny chokes, near tears himself. His perfect girl coming all over his cock, eyes rolling back in your head like it’s never been like this for you before. “Tha’s right, tha’s right—such a good fuckin’ girl—oh, baby—”

You need him. No other alpha can take care of you he would. It’s not enough that he fuck you, not enough that he make you come, not enough that he see you through your next heat, he has to—

Take it all for himself, every last fuckin’ inch of you his.

He bears down on you, scooping his arms under your back until there’s no space between you, chests pressed together.

His eyes zero in on it. The nodule of flesh at the crook of your neck. And his teeth itch like they’ve never itched before, too large for his mouth.

“Alpha—” you sob, squirming in his hold. “Alpha—too tight—”

He can’t respond. Mouth full of drool and teeth, fucking you harder than you should be fucked, cockhead trying to kiss your cervix with every thrust. He’d crawl inside of you if he could. His thrusts only slow when his knot finally catches, the pressure making you sob when he tries to pull out and he can’t, stuck inside you. Lazy grinds of his hips now, getting as deep as possible.

It’s a shock to his system so profound that he can’t stop shaking. His first knot—better than a ring, more binding than a marriage contract. The most basic, ancient covenant. Irrevocable.

And—it feels—

Indescribable. His thoughts leak from his ears like tar. Eager, fevered. Eyes fixed on your mating gland, dropping his head to get a better view. Better up close, so close that his teeth graze it every time he pants, so sharp that one wrong move and they’ll slice right through, one twitch and it’s game over—

You mewl and arch your chest, inadvertently thrusting your neck up too, so his canine drags across your gland—

mine mine mine mine mine mine

The beast under his skin has a name and it’s—

mine mine mine mine mine mine

(and his teeth just slipped, he’ll say when you ask)

Ah dinnae mean tae, doe, honest—

But ah’ll take care of ye—

You’ll never understand it, but there’s a beast that lives under his skin and it—

—yearns, craves, hungers, howls like its belly is still empty even after all this time, constantly aching no matter how much it’s fed—

Sometimes Johnny wonders if it’s like this for other alphas. Whether they crave their mates with the same intensity, the same burning need smoldering in their veins. He asks Price once and gets an answer that neither confirms nor denies.

All Johnny knows is that your legs shake when you follow him out of the gym, the employee behind the front desk not meeting his eyes. Better that he not. There’s still blood and come on his chin, his grey sweats stained at the crotch. You’re no better, shirtless under your puffy jacket, hat jammed on a bit too low on your head because he had to be the one to put you back together after taking you apart.

And though he’s sheepish on the drive home—because what’s his is yours now, and what’s yours is his—your car still back in the parking lot until he can get someone to pick it up in the morning, he wears guilt like sheep’s clothing. It doesn’t fit quite right.

“We’ll get ye a nice wedding gift tomorrow,” he placates when you huff, thumbing your swollen bottom lip at the next stoplight. It’s tempting to lean in and suck it into his mouth, even now.

“I’m gonna max out your fucking credit cards,” you mumble, scowling at him. Still, you wrap your lips around his thumb when he slips it into your mouth.

You cup your hand over your punctured mating gland in lieu of a bandage.

Johnny cackles. Man plans and God laughs.

In the distance, thunder rumbles and your head turns towards the sound that only you and he can hear.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #soap x reader #soap/reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x reader

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