#the undertones were there but it missed the mark

[satsugo]

୨୧ postpartum. the baby’s asleep. gojo misses you — all of you. mlist

i wanted this to feel like healing and hunger at the same time — soft praise, quiet obsession, and the kind of love that worships stretch marks and leaking skin. to anyone who’s ever felt unseen after giving everything: this one’s for you ♡

gojo satoru x reader

minors do not interact. this piece is intended for 18+ audiences. contains the following: postpartum body discussion, lactation kink, oral (fem receiving), soft obsession/yandere undertones, extreme tenderness, possessive praise, emotional vulnerability, and light breeding talk.

The baby is finally asleep.

Swaddled tight in his bassinet, little sighs puffing from his nose. One hand peeking out, tiny fingers twitching in dreamland.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you sit down. A soft blanket draped over your lap. Shirt still unbuttoned from the last feed. Your body aches — warm and sore, stretched and softened in places you��re still learning to accept.

The apartment is quiet.

Until you hear the soft pad of bare feet and the quiet click of the bathroom door opening. Gojo steps out, shirtless, damp towel slung around his neck, hair dripping in soft silver waves. He smells like soap and warmth and everything safe. But the look in his eyes?

Starving.

He sees you — shirt rumpled, breast slightly exposed, stretch marks tracing your hips, belly still swollen and tender — and stops cold in the doorway. His expression shifts, like something in his chest just cracked open.

“...You’re fucking stunning.”

You scoff under your breath, self-conscious. “I haven’t even showered. I smell like spit-up and milk. My hair—”

“Stop.”

His voice cuts through, low and rough — like it hurts him to hear you speak that way about yourself.

He walks over slow. Like you’re sacred. Like he’s afraid to touch something so breakable.

Then he kneels in front of you, both hands coming to rest gently on your thighs, warm and grounding. His thumbs rub slow, reverent circles into your skin.

“Do you even know what you’ve done?” he whispers, looking up at you like you hung the damn stars. “You made our son. With your body. You carried him, fed him, loved him. Every single part of you right now—” his palm smooths over your belly, still soft, still healing “—is the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your throat tightens. You blink hard, trying not to cry.

“You’re gonna make me cry,” you whisper.

He smiles. Kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

“I already did,” he murmurs. “You should’ve seen me holding him in the hospital. I was a wreck.”

You laugh softly, burying your face in his damp hair as he leans in.

But when his lips trail lower—down your neck, across your collarbone, brushing the swell of your breast—you feel it. That familiar ache. That low, pulsing need you’ve ignored for weeks.

His hand slides under the blanket, up your belly. His thumb grazes under the curve of your breast, then stills.

“You’re leaking,” he whispers, gaze fixed on the tiny droplet forming at your nipple.

Your breath catches.

“I should go pump—”

“No,” he says, voice husky. “Don’t move.”

“Toru—what are you—”

“Let me.”

Before you can argue, his lips wrap around your nipple. Tongue warm, mouth soft and full. He licks the droplet away, then sucks — gentle, slow, reverent.

A gasp escapes you.

The stimulation is instant — not just physical, but deep, like something in you that’s been aching finally gives way. You whimper, thighs twitching beneath the blanket as he nurses with slow, deliberate care. Not for milk — but for you.

“Still so sensitive,” he murmurs, switching sides. “You were made for this. Look at you. Feeding our baby… and still tasting so sweet.”

Your fingers thread into his hair, the other hand gripping the edge of the blanket. Your whole body trembles, not from exhaustion this time — from the low burn of pleasure spreading under your skin.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper.

He looks up, lips wet, pupils dark.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he replies. “Every night you held him, every time you fell asleep in that rocking chair—I wanted you so bad I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

He rises slowly and lifts you like you weigh nothing.

“Toru—wait—”

“I know,” he murmurs. “You’re healing. I’m not gonna rush you.”

He lays you down gently, blanket falling away. Presses soft, patient kisses to your thighs. His mouth trails lower, until his tongue grazes your skin with aching tenderness.

“I just wanna love you,” he breathes. “Every inch. Every part. Nothing rough. Just this.”

Then he devours you — slow, deep, worshipful.

His hands grip your hips but never hold tight. His tongue moves with precision and reverence, drawing soft cries from your lips and tremors from your thighs. You try to stay quiet — the baby — but it’s no use. He’s too good. He always is.

When you come, it’s with a sobbed-out breath, your fingers curled into his hair, your chest shaking with relief.

He kisses your inner thigh, then crawls up beside you and gathers you into his arms.

One hand finds your breast again. His thumb gently strokes another tiny stream of milk.

“You’re gonna hate me for saying this,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“What now?”

He grins.

“…I already wanna knock you up again.”

You swat his shoulder. “Satoru—”

“I’m serious,” he hums against your neck. “I wanna fill you again. Watch you grow. Glow. Leak. Carry.”

“You’re absolutely insane.”

“Nah. I’m just in love,” he says. “Obsessed. And never getting over this body.”

He glances at the bassinet, where your son sighs in his sleep.

“We made him. With this.” His hand slides down to stroke your belly. “So yeah… I want more. As many as you’ll give me.”

You sigh, still catching your breath, still glowing from his touch.

“…Give me at least six months.”

His eyes gleam, wicked.

“Deal. But I’m not pulling out once.”

satsugo 2025 © all rights reserved; do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing.

[thetrasha]

He Smells Like...

feat. ZORO, BROOK, LAW, ACE, SHANKS, MIHAWK, CROCODILE

ZORO

…agarwood/jinko/oud, patchouli and black amber.

MOOD: masculine, traditional and earthy

Zoro smells like a forgotten temple that has been taken over by nature. A structure so imposing that the vines running along its architectural design seem insignificant in comparison, but every cut into the finely cut stone tells a story, every blemish reminds the visitor of years of pain. Nonetheless, the temple is still here, having overcome every invasion.

Just like Zoro, who piles other people’s burdens onto his own… just to protect them. He offers security, and only accepts sincere gratitude as payment, nothing else. He cannot change the world, but he would die trying if it came down to it ��� for his beliefs, his friends… and for you. You care for that abandoned temple of his like a priestess would, never once thinking of leaving it be. Really, you… are his saviour. You wouldn't let him succumb to the elements.

BROOK

…tea leaves, rain and cashmere.

MOOD: unisex, nostalgic and deep

Most people would say that they find the smell of rain comforting, but most people would also much prefer a sunny day. The scent is a circumstance of life – or the absence of it, depending on who you might ask. Standing next to Brook, thus, reminds you of… simpler times, times where happiness was so palpable and so real, more easily within your grasp, when the pressure of life didn’t get to you yet. It doesn’t surprise you at all that he naturally mirrors his soul’s gloom despite having such a joyous and accessibly kind personality.

Brook is beyond glad that you were at peace with his being. He doesn’t quite believe you when you tell him that he doesn’t smell like death at all, but he’d take the compliment with a hearty chuckle. He trusts your judgement more than he trusts his own. Besides, how can he turn you down when you look at him like he's all you've ever dreamt of?

LAW

…books, common sage and lavender.

MOOD: unisex, herbaceous and comforting

Tranquil and calm with a sharp minty tang that vaguely reminds you of medicinal properties, that’s how you’d describe it. It’s so soothing that it might even make some people deliriously sleepy – but again, deeply refreshing. It’s also a bit of an ancient smell, fitting for his old soul that’s been through so much. For someone so disturbed by himself, you think it’s delightful what a calming effect he has on others. Always the voice of reason, always ready to utter a wise word…

So you nurture him when he’s had enough for the day, the week, the entire year. When the noise gets to be too much for him, you enter the room with a fresh cup of tea or coffee – just how he likes it – and talk to him about happier things, things that take his mind off of his demons. Now you’ll never miss that steady presence in your life, just like how he will never miss yours, for you have each other now.

ACE

…common jasmine, honeydew melon and smoke.

MOOD: feminine, light and delicate with musky undertones

A scent that reminiscent of heady spring nights that end up around a barely glimmering bonfire. A marking of new beginnings and scorched earth alike – Ace smells cheerful, innocent and floral with a hint of depth to it, like a secret that’s never been lifted, a cry nobody ever bore witness to… Well, until you came along. You always thought the smoke was the strongest note within that concoction and not just because he ate the Flame Flame Fruit, no, because… still waters, ironically, are very deep. At first, you didn’t detect that smoky musk at all, yet once he’s let you in, the smoke overpowered the lighter, more cheerful parts. He was an enigma worth exploring, worthy of being seen and being offered a shoulder to lean on. He’d never thought that crying in your arms would appease the flames within him, but… well, he didn’t think he’d ever love someone this truthfully either.

Every spring follows a dark winter.

SHANKS

…rum, cedarwood and raspberry.

MOOD: masculine, balsamic and playful

It’s a surprisingly grounding scent. He smells like an adventure and feels very warm and approachable because of it. How funny that Shanks – Shanks! – smells approachable when he’s prone to burying his problems and keeping his heart under lock and key. He’s so… so silly, so fun, so him, but he’s also quite the introspective thinker who craves harmony and everlasting peace. Very well aware of his legacy and the laid-back nature he projects to ease other people’s worries, he tries not to think about the missing arm, the loss of strength that came with it, the phantom pain, the… problems; he tries to forget that he’s almost lost an eye, and that it all amounted to nothing. The world is still rotten, evil still runs rampant… it makes him chuckle wistfully. You’re always there to catch him when the mood turns sombre, holding him close and telling this living legend that he’s done well, that you’re proud of him and that his sacrifices changed the world.

If he’s balsam for the soul, you’re his much needed anchor.

MIHAWK

…black lily, sandalwood and wine.

MOOD: feminine, mysterious and elegant

Very much a complex, sophisticated scent. Nothing ever seems like it is on its surface level, and you have to dig deep to perceive the base note, because Mihawk doesn’t let people in on his... life most of the time. He’s fleeting and evasive, rarely ever blossoming. He keeps people at an arm’s length, deeming most people a liability, or shooing them away because they'd just annoy him… but somehow, you stuck with him.

You’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly, but let him keep his air of secrecy, never pried once. Your own independence kept you busy. He... appreciates it. Like a good red wine, his trust needs time to age properly. Once he’s decided to keep you, though, there’s no going back. The slow burn has erupted into an open fire and his loyalty is indeed forever. He’s your sword and shield, and you are his heart.

CROCODILE

…tobacco, leather and burnt amber.

MOOD: masculine, domineering and warm

Crocodile smells like he could take over any room, that deep aroma keeps dominating the senses. The spiciness of the tobacco has permanently seeped into his luxurious clothes, and every cigar lit between his fingers just adds to the sensation. It’s a rich scent that is truly inevitable, just like he is. His frame is imposing, his intimidating appearance undeniable and yet, and yet… there’s this warmth in there, something leathery, something raw. You often interpret it as anger – anger at the world, at himself, at friends and foes alike… it’s easy to stoke the flames, but you’ve come to realise that Crocodile has never once been unreasonable in his anger.

His dismissiveness would be almost impressive if it weren’t for his other side; possessive, domineering… irrational. For a man of his calibre, he sure seems to have a problem with you trying to sever your ties to him by finding a job with a better work and life balance... He claims that he cannot find anyone who could do your job, but you knew that that’s a horrible lie.

Neither of you acknowledge what's happening out of pride.

[lanabuckybarnes]

| Heating Up |

18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing(s): Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Steve Rogers

Warnings: A/B/O Themes, Heat, Polyamory, Oral (F), PinV Sex, Knotting, Two sickly sweet alphas who adore their baby — if I’ve missed any let me know.

Word count: 1.5k

Note: Well hello enjoyers of my work I’m so sorry I abandoned you but life came at me fast. Having a puppy is hard work and before I knew it he was almost a year old and I hadn’t posted in a long time. I had surgery also so with everything going on I haven’t had time to write but hopefully I’ll get back to it. For now please enjoy a lil snippet from my drafts you beautiful souls.

This has not been looked over thoroughly forgive my mistakes!!

Your mates were concerned to say the least. You’d spent all but the better half of this week avoiding them, choosing to spend most of your waking hours cooped up in your room instead—only leaving to eat when both men had vacated the house or were tucked up in the much larger bed in the master bedroom.

“Steve have you seen my shirt?” A half naked Bucky stomps in, a scowl marring his perfect features. His bonding mark on perfect display above ropes of muscle that rippled and stretched at each little movement he made.

Steve only hummed, jutting his chin out in the direction of the closed door, your separate little bedroom.

“Thought I couldn’t hear her sneaking out while you were showering, I saw her come back with it not even five minutes ago.” Steve tossed the contents of his frying pan into the air, making sure to catch everything again effortlessly.

This hadn’t been the first time Bucky or Steve’s clothing had vanished into thin air this week. Just the other day Steve and Bucky had gone to training, each of them discarding their clothing in a pile before showering. When they finished the pile was nowhere to be found. They’d tried to question you, Steve pulling on the handle of the closed door but it was locked.

They both had a sneaky suspicion about what was up but you hadn’t had anything since dating the Alphas. It would be strange for it to happen now, right?

They let your strange behaviour continue, you weren’t harming anyone but Bucky was chomping at the bit to see you again. The more reserved of the two had become quite smitten with you, his bonding mark itched when you weren’t joined at the hip and the itch was becoming too much to bear. He waited until Steve was distracted before picking the lock of your room and stepping in.

The first thing that hit him was your scent, heavy in the air, its cherry undertones strong and almost overpowering, he could almost taste it. His alpha brain clicked instantly and told him to leave you alone but his human side craved your contact.

You weren’t in the bed, the shower running let him know exactly where you were. The perfect cover for him. The white sheets had been thrown on the floor, the bed littered in Steve and his shirts and other discarded clothing. It took him only a second to realise that the arrangement was intricate and thought out. A nest.

“What? Get out!” You snarled from behind him, teeth bared and eyes crazy, your body wrapped in a little towel. He blinked at you for a second before promptly apologising for the intrusion and slinked out of the room, jumping lightly at the loud slam and click of the lock.

“She’s in heat.” Steve groaned from his spot in the hall. Your sweet scent had wafted throughout the house, alerting Steve of your vulnerability. His cock hardened in his pants as his pupils dilated, matching the same look Bucky had.

Both of your poor alphas went to bed painfully hard, trying to ignore your soft yowls from the other room. You tried to hold off, deal with the feeling on your own but you couldn’t, you needed them.

-

Steve awoke instantly at the creak of their door, his nose twitching at your smell. He glanced over to Bucky who clutched your pillow, still fast asleep.

Your whimpers grew closer, the bed dipping under your weight as you crawled onto the mattress, until you straddled Steve.

“Stevieee,” you moaned weakly, your hips grinding into his brief covered crotch, your pussy hot against him. You whined as his length twitched against you, hardening easily.

“Oh angel, you’re in heat?” He asked, his large hands helping you move. When you nodded he snarled, flipping you both over until your head made contact with the pillow in Bucky’s arms, Steve’s head nuzzling into your neck, his teeth nipping and licking at your bonding mark. The ministrations had your sweet scent flowing from you in waves. The scent woke Bucky up, his hot breath on the side of your face as he growled lowly.

“Babygirl, you finally come around?” He chuckled at the pathetic sound that fell from your lips, your hand carding through Steve’s dirty blonde locks as he kissed down your almost naked body. Your panties clung to you as another wave of slick fell from you.

“Don’t k-know why…mm Stevie…just felt hot and needy,” you babbled, tears pooling in your water line as you looked up at Bucky. He thought you looked absolutely ravishing, your lip petted and swollen from your lip biting, your body flushed and glistening already.

“You shouldn’t have held back from us omega, you know we live to serve you.” You cried out at his words, nodding before leaning up slightly to slot his lips with yours.

Steve’s chuckle vibrated against your core as he watched how desperate you were. Steve didn’t mind that you and Bucky had such a close relationship, you were his first after all, but he knew you loved him too. Especially when he suckled on your sweet scent through your cotton panties.

“Mmm Stevieee,” your head fell back onto the sheets, your mouth gaping as your eyes fell shut, the fingers in his hair tugging tightly.

“You like that angel? Like your Alpha tasting you? Taste so sweet omega, so fucking sweet.” He growled, hooking a finger into the gusset of your panties before devouring your pussy.

Your sweet moans and whines were like music to your Alphas ears, your hips grinding up and practically riding Steve’s bearded face. You came undone when his nose nudged your sensitive little bud, your cunt gushing over his bearded face. You didn’t even know you could leak that much.

“Oh pleasepleaseplease Alpha, need your knot so bad, so so so bad,” you sobbed, uncaring of who’s knot you got, you just needed to be filled.

“Ok babygirl, alphas got you ok? We’ll let Stevie fuck that weeping cunt first alright, since he was such a good boy and made you cum” Bucky moved so he was sitting behind you, his arms holding your hips while Steve slipped your panties off before moving each of your feet to rest on his bulging thighs, spreading you out for the blonde haired man.

You keened at the sight of Steve’s long length, the curve of his cock decorated in thick, rope like veins leading to a fat tip. He might not have been as thick as Bucky but he still stretched you out nice.

You both moaned in tandem with each other as Steve sunk into you, his head grazing the rigid skin of your sweet spot making you clench around him almost painfully.

“Ohh fuck angel so tight, mmm relax lemme breed that sweet pussy ‘mega” he was panting already, balls slapping against you as he fucked you deeply, making sure you could feel everything. Your soft noises mixed with the slick slapping sound and wet squelching filled the room, your pussy gushing all over the sheets. You must’ve looked pathetic, wailing for your alphas cock to breed you full.

To both of them though, you were the sexiest fucking thing ever. Bucky lipsed down your neck, whispering sweet nothings to you as Steve picked up his pace.

“Ohh there we go babygirl, taking it like a fucking champ. Stevie gonna breed you full of his pups yeah? Look at how soaked you’ve got him, such a good little omega”

Bucky’s filthy words paired with Steve’s swelling knot sent you over the edge, your screams reverberating off the walls—neighbours be damned. Steve followed suit, pressing as deep as he could into you before spilling his seed, his knot swollen to full size to prevent anything from slipping out.

You might’ve blacked out, you don’t know, the only thing you could vaguely register was Steve’s teeth biting down on your dark mark, causing another shockwave of your orgasm to shoot through you.

“There we go babygirl that’s it took it so well, ohh my fucking god” Steve’s chest rumbled with laughter as he settled, grabbing the water Bucky handed him and gulping down gratefully before helping you take a drink yourself.

Both of them moved so that you lay on top of Steve, waiting for the swell of his knot to settle. Bucky’s fingers brushed through your locks, his head laying on Steve’s other pec so he could kiss you gently.

“Take a little nap babygirl ‘cause once Stevie’s knot is gone I’m gonna fucking ruin that cunt, ok?” Despite the sweet way he spoke you knew Bucky meant every single word of it. And your pussy throbbed with excitement.

“We are never gonna survive this” Steve joked after you’d fallen asleep, his hand running up and down your bare arm. Bucky laughed in agreement before speaking,

“We’ll give it our best shot.”

-

[izanacore]

“after hours” | bonten men x reader

mini-collection 𓂃⋆.˚

synopsis: as a bonten executive, y/n treats hooking up with bonten men after meetings like just another part of the job—routine, effortless, and far too easy to stop.

characters: manjiro “mikey” sano, haruchiyo sanzu, ran haitani, rindou haitani, hajime kokonoi, fem!reader

warnings: smut (18+), explicit sexual content, multiple partners, rough sex, anal sex, semi-public sex, spanking, spitting, cumplay, hair pulling, degradation, choking, dirty talk, objectification, power imbalance, manipulation, possessiveness, markings, orgasm control, overstimulation, light humiliation, drug usage, alcohol usage, smoking, non-consensual image sharing, mean sanzu, reader being a bitch, bonten men being menaces, toxic dynamics, dubious consent (consensual but with coercive undertones), exhibitionism (y/n being watched), implied criminal activity, unsafe situations, minor aftercare but mostly neglect, mild sadism, and very filthy vibe.

notes: wrote this out of nowhere tbh. this is very flithy. i also wanna say that i really think the haitani brothers are sweet when it comes to their girl (sometimes) and not the manipulative womanizer type, but that’s just my hc (is it canon? idk!). and please, i’ve written every content warning i could think of (i’m considerate like that), so please read at your own risk. again, this is flithy. anyway, enjoy! credits to the fanart i used above.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

part 1

the private lounge smelled of expensive liquor, sweat, and sin. dim lights cast shadows over the leather couches, the sound of bass thumping through the floors beneath them. it was routine now—business first, then pleasure. bonten’s little after-meeting tradition. drinking, getting high, and letting loose like they owned the world. because, well, they did.

y/n lounged beside ran, her legs draped over his lap, glass in hand, his arm snug around her waist like she belonged there. and she did—at least for tonight. she took a sip, the burn of alcohol making her hum before her eyes flickered to kakucho, who was already standing.

“c’mon, kakucho, you’ve never joined our after-meeting sessions.” she tilted her head, pouting before smirking. “i’ll let you play with my tits.” then she drank, the ice clinking against the glass.

kakucho exhaled sharply. “fuck off, y/n. i’m going.”

she clicked her tongue. “boo. god, you’re so boring.”

he ignored her completely, turning to mocchi and takeomi. “c’mon, we have to take care of the clients.”

y/n groaned, rolling her eyes as she leaned further into ran. “you too, mocchi? takeomi?” she huffed, fingers tapping against the rim of her glass before she suddenly grinned. “ugh, fine, go ahead. you just missed a chance of getting a free blowjob!” her voice rang through the room, teasing, shameless.

the three of them didn’t even flinch. used to her mouth, to the filth that spilled from it like it was a normal thing to say. kakucho shut the door without looking back, and y/n simply scoffed before taking another sip.

not like she had sex with everyone… well. okay, maybe something did happen between her and the haitani brothers. and sanzu. and even… mikey. but it was casual. nothing that could affect their work at bonten. just a way to blow off steam, to release tension in the most primal way possible. they were just having fun.

“why don’t you blow me instead, y/n?” sanzu’s voice cut through the music, lazy and dripping in amusement. “i’ll fuck that pretty mouth of yours so you’ll finally shut the fuck up.” a smirk played on his lips as ran and rindou chuckled beside him.

y/n turned to glare at sanzu, already flipping him off before she suddenly gasped dramatically.

“mikey!!!” she whined, pushing off ran’s lap and making her way to the man sitting at the head of the lounge. she plopped down onto his lap, arms wrapping around his neck as she buried her face against his shoulder. “they’re ganging up on me again.”

mikey didn’t react. barely spared her a glance as he pulled a cigarette from his pack, tucking it between his lips.

but don’t get it wrong. y/n was his favorite. she got the special princess treatment—more than anyone else in bonten. sure, she was a little unhinged, maybe even on sanzu’s level, but that’s what made mikey keep her around. the smartest of them all. she kills just like sanzu. no remorse.

and without thinking, as if her body had memorized the action, she reached into the pocket of her blazer, flicked her lighter open, and brought the flame to the end of mikey’s cigarette.

mikey inhaled, the tip burning red, before exhaling a slow stream of smoke.

the lounge was drowning in smoke and sin, the bass-heavy music vibrating through the floor. drinks kept pouring, the air thick with the scent of liquor and something dangerously indulgent.

then koko spoke up, tossing a small package onto the table. “here’s the one you wanted, sanzu.”

sanzu’s eyes lit up as he snatched it, tearing it open with practiced ease. “finally. some good fucking shit after dealing with those annoying-ass clients.”

he poured the fine powder onto the glass table, leaning in to take his share. the rush was instant, his pupils dilating as he let out a satisfied sigh. “fuck. that hit nice.” he turned to ran, waving a hand toward the powder. “try this. better than last time.”

ran didn’t need to be told twice. he leaned down, did the same, and so did the rest of them.

glasses clinked, slurred cheers filled the air. everyone was too high, too drunk, too far gone.

y/n swayed with the music, lost in the haze, her body moving on instinct. she pressed back against ran, rolling her hips as his hands found her waist, his breath hot against her neck.

she should slow down.

she was too high for this.

but fuck it.

pushing off ran, she stumbled toward the table, dropping to her knees as she reached for another line of powder—

only to have her head yanked back by a fist in her hair.

“enough of that, princess. try this instead.”

sanzu’s voice was a slow drawl, and before she could react, he slipped a pill between her lips, fingers pressing against her tongue.

y/n didn’t even flinch. she held his gaze as she sucked on them, slow and teasing, letting her tongue drag along his fingers before finally swallowing. then she stuck her tongue out, showing him the evidence, eyes dark with amusement.

“did you just get hard from me kneeling in front of you?” she taunted, lips curling into a smirk.

his grip on her hair tightened in an instant.

“fuckin’ brat.”

before she could blink, he yanked her up, shoving her backward—straight into rindou.

“shit.” rindou caught her with ease, her back pressed against his chest, his hands settling low on her hips. she could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers twitched against the fabric of her dress.

sanzu’s grin was sharp, eyes blown wide. “and so what if i’m hard just looking at you?” his voice was low, edged with something dark. “you’re practically a walking sex toy.”

his fingers traced the inside of her thigh, slow, deliberate—

but y/n slapped his hand away without hesitation, shooting him a glare.

then she raised her middle finger at him, smirking. “get out of my sight, haru.”

sanzu just chuckled, dropping onto the couch with his legs spread wide, licking his teeth.

the heat in the room was suffocating, a mix of smoke, alcohol, and the lingering haze of ecstasy.

“fuck, it’s getting hot,” y/n muttered, slipping off her blazer, revealing the curve-hugging dress beneath.

rindou was quick to help, fingers grazing her bare shoulders as he pressed lazy kisses along her skin. his hands moved lower, squeezing her tits without hesitation. she barely reacted—she was used to this by now. at least with them. the haitani brothers and sanzu had a habit of touching her whenever they pleased. during meetings, in passing, anywhere they wanted.

ran grabbed a bottle of whiskey, his grin sharp as he gripped her jaw. without warning, he tilted the bottle, pouring the liquor past her lips. she swallowed what she could, but the excess spilled, running down her chin, soaking into her dress.

he chuckled, taking a swig himself before leaning in to lick the trail of whiskey from her neck, down to the exposed curve of her cleavage.

“fuck, ran…” the sensation sent a shiver down her spine, a moan slipping out before she could stop it.

her hands found his face, pulling him inches from hers, eyes dark with something dangerous. “you ruined my dress.”

ran’s tongue flicked over his lips, gaze burning. “if i get to fuck this body, i’d gladly ruin all your clothes.” his fingers trailed up her thighs, teasing, promising.

rindou’s grip tightened on her chest, his other hand slipping lower, brushing over the damp fabric between her legs. “shit, y/n, you’re already so fucking wet.”

before she could respond, ran hooked his fingers around the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her thighs. with a smirk, he tucked the flimsy fabric into his pocket, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

her breath hitched as rindou’s fingers pressed against her, rubbing slow circles over her core before one slipped inside, stretching her with ease.

“ugh… rindou…” her hips moved on instinct, grinding against his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair. rindou groaned against her neck, rutting against her from behind.

ran pushed her dress higher, his eyes darkening at the sight.

“rin, more, please…” her voice was a breathy whimper.

but before rindou could give her what she wanted, sanzu shoved ran aside took his place.

“move over, greedy fucks.” his grin was wicked as his fingers plunged inside her without warning, matching rindou’s pace.

they weren’t in sync. they didn’t care. her pleasure wasn’t the point—just the filth of it all, the way they could have her, touch her, ruin her. they were already fucked in the head. what was a little more filth?

ran, scowling from the side, ran a hand through his hair. “fuck you, man. we’re all horny here. at least share the fucking pussy.”

sanzu ignored him, curling his fingers deeper, faster, rindou doing the same.

ran had enough. he knelt between y/n’s legs, tongue flicking over her clit, adding another layer of sensation that had her gasping.

“fuck… slow down… ugh… m-mikey… want you too…” her grip tightened—one hand fisting ran’s hair, the other clutching sanzu’s wrist.

rindou’s hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her dizzy. his tongue dragged over her cheek, hot and possessive, while sanzu spit onto her chest, watching it glisten against her skin.

koko, who had been uninterested up until now, finally scoffed, shaking his head. “damn, y/n. didn’t know you were this much of a slut.”

he stood, grabbed the whiskey bottle, and took a slow swig, his sharp eyes lingering on the filthy sight before him. with a dark chuckle, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling a satisfied sigh—like he was merely indulging in a show put on for his amusement.

she barely heard him. the pleasure was too much, too consuming. her body tensed, and with one last sharp cry, she came, soaking the hands still working her open.

ran didn’t hesitate. he shoved sanzu, grabbing her thighs and pulling her to his mouth, licking up every drop of her release.

“ran, fuck…” she whined, tugging at his hair.

he groaned against her, the vibrations making her jolt. he gave her one last slow lick before pulling back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“shit, this will always be the best pussy i’ve ever tasted.”

y/n grinned, pulling him close again, cupping his jaw before pressing her lips to his.

out of all the men in bonten, it was different with the haitani brothers. whether it was ran or rindou, their touch always felt possessive. they weren’t just fucking her. they were claiming her. and they didn’t do that with just anyone.

ran pulled back, smirking. “gonna take a break for a bit, y/n. need some good shit first.” he gestured toward the drugs. “i’ll fuck you later.”

y/n bit her lip, grinning. “i’ll be waiting for your cock deep inside me.”

y/n leaned back against rindou’s chest, hiding her face against his neck, breath still uneven. rindou didn’t react much—just took a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up while letting her rest against him. the room was still thick with heat, the air buzzing with something filthy, something intoxicating.

“boss, you just gonna sit there and watch?” sanzu suddenly asked, his voice dripping with amusement. he turned his head toward mikey, who had been silent the entire time, observing from his seat. “wanna fuck her first?”

mikey exhaled slowly, picking up his cigarette from the ashtray. “make her a mess for me.”

sanzu’s grin was wicked. “you heard him, y/n. i’m gonna make a mess out of you. that means i’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy until my cum is oozing out of your fucking cunt.”

y/n shot him a glare. “can’t you just fuck someone else downstairs? you always go hard on me.”

sanzu leaned in, his nose brushing against hers, his voice dropping. “but you like it when i’m rough, right?”

her lips curled into a smirk. “right.”

the next second, their mouths crashed together, the kiss deep, hungry, desperate. sanzu groaned into her mouth, gripping the back of her neck to pull her closer, tongues tangling in a fight for dominance.

rindou, still smoking behind her, didn’t even flinch. he didn’t care—just let her grind against him as he exhaled a slow cloud of smoke.

between kisses, sanzu muttered, “wanna feel your mouth, but i’m already too fucking hard to wait.”

with that, he unbuckled his belt, freeing his cock, and y/n wrapped her fingers around him, sliding his length along her soaked slit, teasing.

“bitch, you really like to tease, huh?” sanzu growled.

before she could respond, he thrust inside her without warning, pulling a sharp, loud moan from her throat.

“haru—!”

but before the sound could echo, rindou clamped a hand over her mouth, his lips brushing against her ear as he muttered lazily, “shhh… i’m trying to remember something, y/n. don’t be too loud.”

as if sanzu wasn’t already fucking her into oblivion, as if he wasn’t buried to the hilt inside her, stretching her open like he owned her.

“haru, god—right there, right there!” y/n gasped, nails digging into sanzu’s arms as he fucked into her, relentless and precise. sometimes, sanzu was considerate. sometimes.

rindou, who had been watching behind her, finally leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “you can take another one, right?” his voice was low, taunting. “just like how you were when ran and i fucked you?”

her head lolled back against his shoulder, body already trembling. “gonna be too much, rin,” she mumbled, barely able to form the words.

rindou wasn’t having it. “i don’t care.”

before she could even process it, he was lifting her up slightly, adjusting her onto his lap. the sound of his belt unbuckling was the only warning she got before he spit into his palm, lazily coating his cock before pressing it against her.

“riiiiiin!!” her voice broke into a sob as he pushed inside, stretching her open with no real prep. she wasn’t ready for it, not after how deep sanzu had already been, but rindou wasn’t in the mood to wait.

he snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt.

a tear slipped down her cheek. sanzu caught it before it could fall completely, gripping her jaw and pressing her cheeks together. “not so tough now, are we?”

her only response was to clench down around him, intentionally squeezing sanzu’s cock.

“fuck, y/n…” sanzu groaned, eyes rolling back for a second before he fucked into her harder.

rindou, ever so casual, took a long drag from his cigarette, lazily exhaling smoke into the air. when he finally finished, ran—who had been watching the whole time—wordlessly reached over, taking the cigarette from his brother like it was second nature.

rindou’s now free hands slid over y/n’s chest, groping her as he thrusted up into her. sanzu, on the verge of cumming, pulled out just in time, stroking himself over her skin.

“wanna paint you with my cum,” he muttered, and then, with a few jerks, he spilled over her tits, the warm mess dripping down her body as rindou continued fucking her.

“ew, man, fuck you. your cum got on my hand,” rindou complained, though he didn’t slow down in the slightest.

sanzu only chuckled, licking his lips as he admired the sight in front of him—y/n, covered in his cum, still getting wrecked on rindou’s cock.

he was already getting hard again, tempted to go another round, but before he could even open his mouth, ran stretched out from where he was sitting and drawled, “oi, it’s my turn.”

sanzu clicked his tongue but didn’t argue, adjusting his pants before plopping down on the couch beside rindou, who was still fucking into y/n like he had all the time in the world. sanzu grabbed himself a drink, smirking as he watched.

rindou’s fingers, still slick with sanzu’s release, smeared the mess onto y/n’s dress. “clean it up,” he murmured, bringing his fingers to her lips. obediently, she parted them, tongue gliding over his digits, licking up the filth.

ran watched with a smirk, his gaze dark. “rin, want her on all fours.”

without hesitation, rindou pulled out of y/n, leaving her empty and whimpering. a strong but measured push sent her toward ran, who caught her with ease.

rindou kneeled on the couch beside them, while ran—ever the gentleman, at least to her—helped y/n into position. with slow, teasing fingers, he unzipped her dress, grazing her bare skin before peeling the fabric off her trembling body. soft kisses trailed down her spine, sending shivers through her.

“mmm, ran…” y/n whimpered, her voice breathy.

he chuckled, the sound dark, as he unbuckled his belt and freed his cock. the teasing didn’t last long—ran lined himself up and rubbed his tip against her slick folds. behind her, rindou’s voice cut through the haze. “stick out your tongue.”

she obeyed instantly, lips parting, and rindou tapped his cock against her tongue, smearing precum along her lips.

ran, usually so composed, wasn’t gentle when he finally sank into her. his control shattered the moment her tight heat clenched around him, and he slammed into her with a force that had her crying out. he wasn’t sweet now. he was fucking her like a man starved, like she was something to ruin.

“fuck, you’re squeezing me so good,” he groaned, punctuating his words with sharp thrusts.

the rhythm of his movements rocked her forward, and rindou was quick to take advantage. fingers twisting in her hair, he yanked her head back just enough to keep her still. “keep your head still, y/n.”

then he shoved his cock past her lips.

rindou was rough, using her mouth like a toy, fucking her throat with no regard for how she choked and gagged around him. “wanna go all the way in,” he muttered, shoving deeper, groaning as she struggled to breathe. drool spilled from her lips, dripping down her chin in messy, glistening strings.

“look at you,” rindou taunted, his grip tightening in her hair. “so fucking messy and pathetic for us.”

y/n whimpered around him, and rindou groaned at the vibrations against her throat. ran’s hand snaked between her legs, fingers finding her clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles. the added pleasure had her legs shaking beneath him.

rindou, already on edge, cursed under his breath. “shit, y/n—gonna cum.”

with a few more thrusts, he spilled into her mouth, the warm, bitter taste coating her tongue. some dripped past her lips, but rindou wasn’t having that. with his thumb, he scooped up the mess, pressing it back against her lips.

“swallow it for me, baby.”

her lips wrapped around his thumb, sucking obediently as she swallowed every drop.

rindou’s expression softened slightly, fingers brushing over her cheek. when she instinctively leaned into his touch, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head before pulling away to fix himself.

but ran wasn’t done yet.

ran, the only one still fucking her, suddenly grabbed her arm, pulling her flush against his chest. his other hand slipped between her legs, fingers rubbing slow circles against her swollen clit. his arm caged around her neck, keeping her in place as he buried his face against her heated skin, groaning into the curve of her shoulder.

“fuck, y/n. you’re so wet, you feel how i’m sliding easily in you right now?” he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. ran was drunk on her—on the way her body swallowed him up, on the way she clenched around him like she never wanted to let go. “you’re sucking me in so good. like your pussy doesn’t wanna let me go.”

y/n arched her back, head falling onto ran’s shoulder as her mind clouded with nothing but pleasure. he fucked her so good—better than anyone. he knew exactly how to make her fall apart, how to tease, how to make her melt. unlike sanzu, who only cared about chasing his own high, ran knew how to take his time. how to ruin her just right.

his thrusts grew rougher, more erratic, his pace faltering as he neared his end. y/n could feel it. she was close, too.

chasing her own release, she turned her head, lips brushing against his neck. her tongue darted out, licking, kissing, sucking at the sensitive skin, and ran groaned deep from his chest. neither of them cared that the others were still in the room, too lost in the moment, too caught up in the pleasure of it all.

y/n’s moans came louder, sharper, and ran cursed under his breath, snapping his hips harder, faster.

without warning, pleasure surged through her, and she came, her walls pulsing tight around ran’s cock. the sensation dragged him under with her, his grip on her waist tightening as he gritted out, “shit, y/n… wanna fill you up. fuck—ugh, fuck—”

his hips stuttered, cock twitching, before he finally spilled inside her, warmth flooding deep. he rocked into her a few more times, slower now, riding out the pleasure.

y/n gasped for breath, body slumping against ran as exhaustion settled over her. he carefully pulled out, hands steadying her as he helped her plop onto the couch, her body spent. she laid there, stomach flat against the cushions, trying to pull herself together.

ran tucked himself back into his pants, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket. he lit it, exhaling smoke as he sat beside her. she barely stirred, too exhausted to move. instead, she lazily turned her head, resting it on his lap. still naked. still messy.

sanzu, the crazy bastard he was, grinned. he crouched beside y/n, pulling out a small packet of powder and pouring it down the curve of her back. then, with no warning, he leaned in and licked it off.

no one reacted. they were used to sanzu’s antics by now. y/n barely flinched, too tired to care.

but sanzu wasn’t done. he grabbed his phone, angling it just right. the screen flashed.

he smirked down at the picture—y/n, naked, messy, cum still dripping from her thighs. with a few taps, he sent it to their group chat.

his next message tagged the three who left earlier.

sanzu: what y’all missed out on.

the replies were instant.

takeomi: man, should’ve stayed there. kakucho, this is your fault.

kakucho: 👍

mocchi: fuck??

sanzu laughed, tossing his phone aside. he plopped down on the floor, resting his head against y/n’s ass like she was nothing more than a pillow.

he sighed in content, then turned to koko. “aren’t you gonna try her?”

koko scoffed. “i’m good, man. don’t wanna stick my dick where all your dicks just went.”

sanzu only shrugged. “your loss. this is literally the best pussy i’ve ever had. heaven.”

the room settled into a lazy silence. some were high, some were drunk, and some were simply too tired to move.

then sanzu broke the quiet again. “boss, your turn now?”

mikey had been there the whole time, watching from the shadows, unreadable as always. he finally stood, eyes cold.

“dress her up,” he ordered. “we’re going home.”

sanzu smirked. “you guys heard the boss.”

y/n whined, face still buried in ran’s lap. “but mikey… i’m too tired.” her pout was audible. “this is the first time you guys all went at me together. that’s not fair.”

sanzu rolled his eyes, already tired of her bratty attitude. “who do you think you are, not following boss’ orders? get up.”

he grabbed her, yanking her away from ran. their faces were inches apart now.

“i should’ve fucked mikey instead of you,” she huffed, eyes narrowing.

sanzu’s grip tightened on her ass, pulling her closer. “don’t act like you weren’t moaning like a bitch in heat earlier for me.”

before y/n could snap back, mikey’s voice cut through the tension.

“enough.”

sanzu let go.

rindou, quieter than the rest, grabbed her dress, helping her slip it back on. his fingers brushed over her shoulders, lips pressing soft kisses against her skin. a rare moment of tenderness.

y/n sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips.

mikey didn’t say another word. he turned on his heel, walking out without a goodbye.

y/n barely managed to stand, legs shaking, but she pushed herself to the door. “bye, boys!”

no one answered.

she followed mikey outside, slipping into the passenger seat of his car.

oh, she was in for a long night.

start | part 2

[chevroletdean]

Safe With Me

nsfw prompts, send in a character + a number

PAIRING: Sam x Fem!Reader GENRE: Smut (18+ CONTENT) TO NOTE/WARNINGS: PWP, established relationship, oral (fem receiving), fingering, angsty undertones, stitching up wounds, hurt/comfort WORD COUNT: 2k PROMPT: 4) slow sex while one or both of are injured (bonus points if it's after a battle or after they've patched up each other's wounds) A/N: thanks for requesting @gublernatural CREDIT & LINKS: dividers by cafekitsune ─〃★ join the taglist ─〃★ Sam Masterlist

“C’mon, Sammy,” you huffed, the reassuring tone you aimed for missing its mark. Instead, you mumbled your half-assed excused through gritted teeth and under the suppression of a wince. “I’m okay, ‘s not even that bad.”

Except it definitely was.

Not only did it hurt like a bitch, the adrenaline was slowly wearing off. Meaning, you struggled to keep your trembling in check. Honestly, you were a mess, hiding behind a tense mask of faux bravado.

You couldn’t fool anyone with that tough act. Least of all your boyfriend, whose lips twitched into that characteristic half-scoff half-chuckle of his. Of course, Sam saw right through you, noticing the unsteady rhythm of your breath and how clammy your palms were.

As if to test your claim, his fingers pulled the needle just a little bit tighter—never with the intent of actually hurting you, only to see you squirm and prove your theory wrong.

You could sit in front of him insisting you were fine all you wanted. At the end of the day you were still bleeding heavily, with the color drained from your face and your breathing shallow as if the smallest movement made your whole body ache.

You were having a tough time just sitting on the edge of the motel bed, Sam crouching in front of you. He briefly blinked up at you from between your knees and were it not for the gravity of your situation, you would’ve definitely teased him for the proximity.

“You will be okay,” Sam responded with a short nod. Not so much an agreeing statement as it was a promise. He’d make sure you’d be alright. He always does.

“Just hold still f’me, ‘kay?,” Sam sighed, brows furrowed and concern still swirled into the hazel of his eyes. He soothed over the edge of your fresh stitches after, his thumb barely grazing your bruised, sensitive skin there. Whether or not you usually disliked being treated like some delicate porcelain doll, you were in no position to complain now.

You owed him the chance of tracing your warmth, of reminding himself that you were still here. Hurt, sure. But at least alive.

Silence occupied the room then, Sam’s sole focus on closing the wound, on letting the warmth of his fingers linger against your skin in hopes of magically absorbing some of your pain.

You both knew when to argue and now was not the time.

Sam could’ve easily scolded you for your reckless actions and he’d have every right to be mad at you for risking your life like that. But how could he stay mad at you when your soft fingers curled in his shirt like that? Your grip tightening every time he worked the needle into another stitch through your skin.

The wound was deep, a nasty gash raking across your ribs, stopping just shy of the dip above your hips. The longer he looked at it, even while cleaning and patching you up with utmost care, the harder the realization hit him.

He was mostly done cleaning the cut, but the deep crimson gushing from your injury was ingrained deeply into his mind. Surely it would be for a while.

You’ve seen each other beaten up and bruised and hurt, but tonight—the image of you nearly bleeding out back there was a gut punch like none other.

Sam almost lost you today. For good.

The danger of hunting was always on both your minds, but there’s a difference between knowing something could theoretically happen and something actually happening.

It all transpired so fast, too. A hunt almost gone wrong, that creature slashing you with its claws—if he started thinking about what would’ve happened if any of your vital organs would’ve been hit, if Sam hadn’t taped you up on the spot and rushed back to the motel with you…

“Sam,” your voice, though weary, interrupted the spiral of his mind.

He lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting yours and looking into them as if he wanted to drown in their color. He didn’t even want to think about how close of a call this case was. How that light in your eyes might’ve almost been snuffed out. How that would’ve changed the trajectory of his entire life. Of everything.

“I mean it,” you continued, soft-spoken, apologetic, almost a whisper. One hand of yours gently cupping his jaw. “I’m okay.”

Your hand brushed over the side of his neck, further south across his arm, all the way down to his hand that just finished tying the stitches together. You carefully took the needle from his grip and replaced the object with your own hand, letting it rest in his.

Your other hand found home in the nape of his neck, slowly pulling him closer. Though the frown never disappeared from Sam’s face, he gave in, letting you hold him closer.

Naturally, his arm slipped around your waist, supporting your weight by splaying a large hand across the small of your back. You melted into the touch, like always, letting yourself sink back into the mattress. Though your ministrations were slower than usual, given your battered state. Sam noticed, carefully readjusting your posture until the clench in your jaw softened.

Against his better judgement, he allowed you to pull him on top of you, meeting you halfway by climbing onto the bed and settling between your legs. Though he did his best not to crush you with his weight, not wanting to put any pressure on your fresh bandages, Sam could relate to your need for closeness all too well.

You tangled your limbs with his, clingy as always, though he’d never complain about it.

Except this time—

“You need some rest, sweetheart,” Sam whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

His breath was warm and soothing against your skin, and triggering you to pout softly and shake your head.

“Need you, Sammy,” you breathed.

And, God, he needed you too. To feel your pulse quicken under his touch. To feel your pulse at all. To hear your breath hitch when you’d gasp his name. To hear your lungs pumping to begin with.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he mumbled.

“You won’t,” you replied, so matter-of-factly, so earnestly, that the blind trust you had in him made him melt.

You leaned forward just a bit, as much as you could, your mouth tickling the corner of his lips. Your fingers slipped under his flannel, peeling the fabric off his shoulders. The newly exposed skin was immediately covered in feather light kisses, down his jaw and neck, to his collarbone.

Sam gently, but firmly took your wrists, pinning them above your head. Not to stop this, just to stop you—from getting ahead of yourself. From forgetting it was supposed to be him taking care of you.

Sam’s lips claimed yours in a deep kiss, tasting the sweetness of your tongue against his, drinking up your small mewls and whimpers. You were impossibly soft and warm, inviting him in even further.

You clung to him as if your life depended on it, pressing your chest up against his with the purpose to transfer the rhythm of your heartbeat.

His ministrations were the perfect blend of careful and firm. He was exploring your body with purpose, holding you close with the intent of not letting go, while making sure not to cause any more damage. He only so much as brushed his fingers across your bruised skin, the ghost of his touch making you shiver nonetheless.

When you flinched ever so slightly, he pressed an apologetic kiss to your shoulder and rubbed soothing circles over your tender sides.

“Almost scared me to death,” he mumbled, deep voice muffled by the warmth of your skin.

“Didn’t mean to, ‘m sorry,” you whispered in breathless fashion and wrapped your legs around him more tightly, wanting to remind you that you were right here with him. Right by his side. Always.

Sam eagerly soaked up your unspoken promise, accepting your vow by sliding his palms over your thighs, sealing the promise with hot open-mouthed kisses across your collarbone. He spread you open, placing a pillow under you as if to say ‘Sit back and let me handle this.’

You didn’t even have to lift a finger, let alone your hips. Not that the iron grip he had on your hips would’ve granted you much movement anyway. He pulled you closer, peeling off the rest of your clothes and worshipping every newly exposed inch of skin with his tongue.

You squirmed under him, barely, triggering him to hold you down even more as his kisses carved a path down your body. Over the swell of your chest, further south to your navel. Sam’s strength had you arch instinctively, like you could let yourself fall into his arms.

“Stay still f’me, baby,” he repeated under a rasp, repeating his earlier command.

You threw your head back into the pillows with a whine, giving in only reluctantly. He was asking the impossible, basically. So, if only out of habit, both of your hands reached out to him, settling on your lower stomach.

Sam understood immediately, shifting slightly between your trembling thighs. One of his hands grasped both of yours, tightly, long fingers wrapping around your soft ones as if swallowing them. His other hand teased your inner thigh, coaxing you open even more.

“Please,” you whimpered, only for him to gently push your form further into the mattress, preventing you from squirming too much.

Sam’s teeth grazed over the apex of your thigh, darkened eyes glued to your reactions. His fingers curled around your leg, fingers digging into the plush of your flesh. Usually he’d take his time with you more, teasing you as much as he can—not tonight.

Squeezing your hands to ground you, his tongue dove into your folds. His mouth spread you open like you were a flower with honey beneath its petals. You sure tasted just as sweet, so how could he not dig in deeper?

The gasps and moans falling from your lips were just as delicious, spurring him on until the sharp of his nose pressed against your sensitive clit.

“So wet for me,” he purred, the vibrations of his voice directly on your core, earning him a shudder.

While Sam did not waste any time taking you apart, he did take his time worshipping you thoroughly. One of his long fingers joined his tongue, circling your entrance before pushing in. A second followed, both of them curling inside of you expertly.

“Sam—”

Your soft cries indicated your nearing orgasm.

Sam did not let up, licking slow circles over your bundle of nerves and steadily pumping his digits. Your thighs tensed around his head, jaw falling open without any sound making it past your throat. If anything, a broken gasp rattled you—somehow both soft and intense at the same time.

A wave of white crashed through you as you fell and shattered, your first climax rushing over you like a tidal wave. Sam continued eating you out like a man starved, eagerly lapping up all you had to offer. Even when you were nothing but a twitching, sensitive mess at his mercy, he kept you close, mouth relentless and grip unyielding.

When he granted you only a second to catch your breath before diving back in, you knew you had a long night ahead of you.

Ever the man with a plan, Sam knew he wanted to show you just how much he needed you—how upset the sheer thought of losing you made him. He’d mend your pain in any way he could, letting the pleasure overshadow it entirely. Stitch for stitch, orgasm for orgasm, until both of you’d be convinced that you were safe, protected, and taken care of in his embrace.

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[serapharua]

HYBRID ENHYPEN reaction to smelling someone else's scent on you . . !

enhypen OT7 — GENRE : imagines headcanon suggestiveish fluff hybrid au — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : they are pretty possessive — REQUESTED : yes <3 ☆ — masterlist

HEESEUNG (deer hybrid) :

Heeseung had always been sensitive to scents—his heightened senses often caught the faintest whiff of things others might miss. But today, something felt… off. He was sitting next to you, his gaze flicking between your face and the surrounding room, when the subtle, unfamiliar scent hit him. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was enough for his ears to twitch in subtle annoyance.

You hadn’t noticed at first, but Heeseung had already leaned in, his sharp nose brushing against your neck as he inhaled deeply. The scent was foreign, not yours.

His gaze flicked up to meet yours, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something else—a flicker of jealousy he couldn’t hide. His voice, usually calm and composed, was edged with tension. “Who was that?”

You blinked, taken aback by the question. “What do you mean?”

Heeseung’s eyes narrowed as his hand gently cupped your chin, guiding your face toward him so he could get a better whiff. “That scent… it’s not yours.”

A slight panic rose in your chest, but you tried to keep your composure. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Heeseung wasn’t convinced. His hand lingered on your chin, the grip soft but firm, as if grounding you in place. “I can smell it. I can smell them on you. Who’ve you been around?” His voice was calm, but the undertone was possessive.

His deer-like ears twitched again, and his eyes softened as he exhaled through his nose. “You’re mine.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement, one that left no room for doubt. His tail flicked behind him in a quiet, almost frustrated motion. “No one else gets to leave their scent on you.”

You could feel the change in his demeanor—he wasn’t mad, but there was a clear shift in his protective instincts. He was jealous, and it wasn’t something he often displayed so openly. Heeseung pulled you closer, his face burying into your neck in an attempt to cleanse the lingering foreign scent, marking you with his own.

“I’m the only one who gets to be close to you,” he murmured, his tone softening as he held you tighter, content once he felt the familiar scent of his own mixing with yours.

JAY (hawk hybrid) :

Jay’s sharp eyes immediately caught the subtle shift in your scent. It was faint, but unmistakable. His gaze flicked to your neck as he leaned closer, his nose instinctively twitching. It wasn’t your usual scent. The realization hit him hard.

He raised an eyebrow, his voice lower than usual. “Who was that?”

You froze, sensing the tension in his tone. “What do you mean?” you asked, trying to brush it off, but there was no hiding the unease in your voice.

Jay moved closer, his presence more intense now. “I know it’s not yours.” He gently cupped your chin, tilting your head slightly so he could get a better whiff. His eyes were sharp, his expression unreadable, but you could see the possessive glint in his gaze.

His grip on your chin tightened slightly, pulling you closer. “I can smell it on you.” His voice had a deeper edge now, calm but with a clear possessiveness that made your stomach flip.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, though it was obvious from the way Jay was acting that you hadn’t convinced him.

He sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. “Next time, don’t let anyone get that close.” His tone was firm, almost protective, and it wasn’t up for debate.

Jay’s fingers gently brushed against your skin as he lingered, unwilling to pull away just yet. “You’re mine,” he murmured, as if reaffirming the truth. There was no doubt in his voice, no room for questioning. He wanted you to know, and he wasn’t going to let anyone else come too close again.

JAKE (wolf hybrid) :

Jake didn’t even have to try hard to notice the change. As soon as you walked into the room, the scent hit him—your friends’ scent lingering faintly on your clothes, your hair, your skin. His ears twitched, and his gaze immediately zeroed in on you.

His lips curled up slightly in an amused, almost mischievous smirk, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more possessive. “So, you’ve been with them, huh?” he teased, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. His tone was playful but there was an unmistakable undertone of challenge.

You glanced at him, trying to act casual. “What? It’s just my friends. We hung out for a bit.”

Jake pushed off the doorframe, slowly making his way toward you, his footsteps deliberate and quiet like a predator closing in. As he got closer, you could feel the heat of his presence, and his scent—woodsy and grounded—surrounding you.

He stopped just in front of you, his nose trailing along your neck as he took a deep breath. The familiar, comforting smell of your friends was still there, and Jake’s eyes darkened for a moment, his gaze sharpening.

“You smell like them,” he muttered, voice low. There wasn’t anger, but there was a certain level of possessiveness in the way he said it. “Don’t let them get too close next time, alright?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jake was quicker. With a playful, yet slightly assertive push, he pulled you into a tight hug. “I’m the only one who’s supposed to mark you, not them.” His words were teasing, but there was an edge of sincerity in his grip.

You could feel his body relax just a little as his scent began to mingle with yours. His nose brushed against your ear, and for a moment, he was quiet, taking in your scent and the remnants of your friends’ presence.

With a soft growl of satisfaction, he pulled back and gave you a lazy smile. “That’s better.” He ran a hand through your hair, making sure the lingering scent of anyone else was buried under his. “Just remember, you’re mine, okay?”

The possessive spark in his eyes had faded to a contented glow, and you knew that, for Jake, it wasn’t about controlling you—it was about making sure that no one else could lay claim to what was his.

SUNGHOON (snow leopard hybrid) :

Sunghoon noticed it immediately. As you stepped into the room, his sharp eyes caught the subtle change in the air—the faint scent of someone else, something unfamiliar and not his. His feline instincts kicked in almost instantly, his body tensing with an alertness that wasn’t typical for him.

You, unaware of the shift in his demeanor, walked casually to the couch. But Sunghoon was already moving, his eyes narrowing slightly as he followed you, his every step silent, precise, like a predator tracking its prey.

When you sat down, he slid into the spot next to you, his hand brushing against yours, though his touch was a little more deliberate than usual. His nose twitched as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the side of your neck as he inhaled. “You smell different,” he murmured, his voice unusually low, like a soft growl that vibrated in his chest.

You blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer immediately, instead reaching out to brush his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle but lingering. “You’ve been with someone,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation, though it was still calm. “I can smell it. Who was it?”

The possessiveness in his tone wasn’t lost on you, but his expression was controlled, cool—Sunghoon’s way of masking his more primal instincts. His feline nature, though, didn’t allow him to fully hide the subtle signs of jealousy in the way his tail flicked behind him.

“I was with some friends earlier,” you explained, trying to stay lighthearted.

Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed slightly, his hand now resting on your waist, a little firmer than usual. “Next time,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “don’t let them get too close.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure whether he was joking, but the serious glint in his eyes told you otherwise. His possessiveness wasn’t about controlling you—it was about protecting what was his. He wasn’t going to let anyone else leave their mark on you.

He leaned in again, this time pressing his nose into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent more deeply. He was quiet for a few moments, before pulling back and offering you a small, contented smile.

“Better,” he murmured, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. There was something almost comforting in the way he relaxed against you, as if he’d claimed his territory once more, his pride satisfied.

SUNOO (fox hybrid) :

Sunoo’s nose twitched as soon as you walked into the room, the familiar scent of your perfume mixing with something else—something he didn’t recognize. He didn’t even need to look at you to know something was off. His senses were heightened, and that sharp, fox-like awareness picked up the subtle shift in the air.

As you made your way over to him, he could feel the tension building in his chest. The scent wasn’t overwhelmingly strong, but it was enough to make his instincts flare. A flash of annoyance flickered in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with his usual cheerful demeanor.

“Hey,” he greeted you, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was trying to act normal, but the mix of jealousy and curiosity was hard to shake.

You took a seat next to him, oblivious to the effect your scent was having on him. He leaned in just a little too close, his nose subtly brushing against your neck as he inhaled deeply. The gentle scent of your friends lingered on your skin, a trace of their presence still clinging to you.

Sunoo pulled back just slightly, looking you over with a teasing grin. “Someone’s been having fun without me, huh?” His voice had that playful edge, but there was a slight sharpness underneath, as if he was trying to keep his more possessive feelings in check.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to stay casual. “It’s nothing. Just hanging out with some friends earlier.”

He raised an eyebrow too, clearly not convinced. “Hmm… I think I like the smell of you better when it’s just mine.” There was a flicker of mischief in his eyes, but the underlying possessiveness was clear. He didn’t like someone else’s scent lingering on you—not when you were his.

Before you could respond, Sunoo leaned forward, his nose brushing against the side of your neck again, inhaling deeply as if trying to erase the trace of others. “Much better,” he murmured, his voice soft and content, as though he was satisfied with reclaiming his mark.

His arm subtly draped around your shoulders, pulling you a bit closer as if to keep you safely within his reach. His playful, teasing smile returned, but you could still see the possessiveness behind it. “Next time, maybe you should save all your attention for me, yeah?”

He didn’t give you much of a chance to respond before he was already nuzzling against you, his tail giving a slight flick as he settled beside you with a contented sigh. You could almost feel the soft warmth of his satisfaction, the fox in him at ease once more.

JUNGWON (panther hybrid) :

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed as he watched you enter the room, his sharp senses immediately picking up on something he didn’t quite like. The air around you seemed different, and it wasn’t just the faint trace of perfume you usually wore. There was something more—another scent mingling with yours. A familiar scent, but not his.

He didn’t let it show, though. He kept his cool, walking up to you with his usual calm composure. But there was an unmistakable tension in the way he moved, his instincts telling him that something was off. He wasn’t the type to openly show jealousy, but his heightened senses could not be ignored.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but gentle, trying to act casual as he closed the space between the two of you. He reached up to adjust the collar of your jacket, his fingers brushing against your neck as he leaned in slightly, taking a deeper sniff. His expression faltered just for a second. There it was again—the lingering scent of someone else.

His eyes briefly flickered with a mix of annoyance and curiosity, and it didn’t go unnoticed by you. “You’ve been around someone else, haven’t you?” Jungwon asked, his tone cool but sharp, as though he already knew the answer.

You smiled, trying to play it off. “I was just with some friends earlier. Nothing serious.”

But Jungwon wasn’t convinced. His panther instincts were too sharp to let such a thing go unnoticed. His eyes followed the trace of the scent, lingering on you with a possessive intensity that he usually kept hidden.

He didn’t wait for a response before he took a step closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. He placed a hand lightly on your arm, his fingers trailing up to your shoulder as if marking his territory. “I don’t like the smell of them on you,” he murmured, the words almost a growl. His voice was quieter now, almost too calm, but you could sense the undercurrent of possessiveness.

Jungwon’s nose hovered near your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he took another deep breath. His panther-like instincts were raging beneath the surface, the need to mark you, to reclaim that scent, urging him forward.

“I think it’s time to remind you who’s yours,” he murmured with a smirk, his lips brushing against the side of your neck as his hand shifted to pull you closer. His gaze was intense, eyes locking onto yours with a possessiveness that made it clear he wasn’t about to let anyone else get too close to you. Not when he could sense your connection, feel your scent marking you as his.

His tail swayed lightly behind him, flicking with a hint of agitation as he continued to lean into you, his body pressing slightly against yours. The jealousy he felt wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was there—sharp and focused, the panther in him protective and possessive.

“You’re mine,” he repeated softly, more to himself than to you, his voice low and firm, as if he needed the reassurance.

NIKI (tiger hybrid) :

Niki’s sharp senses immediately caught the unfamiliar scent the moment you walked into the room. His tiger-like instincts flared, and the deep, intense aroma wasn’t one he recognized as yours. It was something else—someone else. His heart rate increased, and despite trying to appear nonchalant, his focus remained on the lingering scent that clung to you.

He took a step toward you, his eyes narrowing in concentration, studying the way you moved, trying to ignore the faint growl building deep in his chest. Niki was usually the type to remain calm, but his tiger instincts were stronger than ever in moments like this.

“Did you… just spend time with someone else?” he asked, his tone more controlled than he felt. The question was casual, but his body language was anything but. His posture was more rigid, his chest slightly puffed out, an almost territorial energy radiating from him.

You glanced at him, a hint of confusion in your eyes as you answered. “Oh, I was just with some friends earlier. Nothing to worry about.”

But Niki wasn’t convinced. He could feel the tension in his muscles as his gaze followed you, his senses still sharp on the unfamiliar scent. His tiger instincts were telling him that something wasn’t right, even if his mind tried to reason otherwise. He took another step closer, his eyes locking onto yours as he gently placed his hand on your arm.

“You sure about that?” Niki’s voice was smooth but carried an underlying edge of possessiveness. His grip on your arm tightened just slightly, as if marking his territory. “I can smell someone else on you…”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he breathed in deeply, his nose brushing lightly against your skin. A low, almost primal growl rumbled deep in his chest at the scent of someone else lingering on you. It wasn’t just a casual trace. It felt… intimate.

His tiger instincts kicked into overdrive, and his hand slid to your waist, pulling you just a little closer. His muscles were tense, his tiger-like aura pressing in on you as he whispered, “I don’t like the way they’ve left their scent on you.”

Niki’s intense gaze locked onto yours, a flicker of possessiveness in his eyes as he moved to stand in front of you. “You belong to me,” he murmured, his voice low and firm, but there was an undeniable trace of hunger beneath the words.

His tail flicked behind him, agitated and restless, a telltale sign of his inner turmoil. His instincts wanted to protect you, to claim you in a way that left no question about who you were with. He wasn’t one to show weakness, but with you, that protective side was hard to control.

“I’m not sharing,” he added, his hand resting possessively on your shoulder, gently but firmly guiding you toward him as he held you close. He wasn’t letting go anytime soon—not until he felt like the lingering traces of another’s presence faded completely.

Word count : 2916 | serapharua, 2025.

[buckets-and-trees]

Only Your Actions Talk [I'm Your Man]

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark mafia Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 5.9k Summary: Andy delivers directly with his surprise when you return to Boston. But it's not what you were expecting.

Content/Warnings: forced engagement; use of pet name (sweetheart); smut (unprotected vaginal intercourse, fingering, oral: female receiving)

Author Note: Unbeknownst to you all, after Alpha April last month, I actually decided I wanted to torture everyone with I'm Your Man May and I was serious about it. 🤭 So you get this and probably at least one more piece of their story before the end of the month so long as the muse keeps cooperating... AND CREDIT to @stargazingfangirl18 for supplying me with the best idea here when I needed to pivot from an original plot point I’d planned on a long time ago that no longer seemed to fit the narrative.

Previous Part | Full Collection

It is no surprise to you that Andy is waiting on the tarmac when you land. You can spy him leaning against his Aston Martin, looking every inch the powerful man he is in a tailored suit that emphasizes his broad shoulders. His hands are casually tucked into his pockets, but there's nothing casual about the intensity of his gaze as he watches the plane taxi to a stop.

You feel your heart rate quicken despite yourself. The days away have given you clarity, but they haven't diminished the physical pull he exerts over you. If anything, the separation has heightened it, a fact that both frustrates you since you wish this were the happy version of what you would have wanted, not the machinations of one powerful and alluring man.

You've spent the flight rehearsing what you'll say about the business proposal, how you'll maintain your boundaries while still giving him what he wants most – you, by his side.

When the door opens and the stairs are secured, you descend to the tarmac with measured steps. Andy pushes away from his car the moment you appear. 

"Welcome home," he says simply as you reach the bottom of the stairs. His voice is controlled, but there's an undercurrent of something primal in his tone that makes your skin prickle with awareness. 

"Thank you," you respond, maintaining a careful distance between you, aware of Shep and Mark descending the stairs behind you. "You didn't have to come meet me yourself." 

Andy's eyes don't leave yours as he steps closer, closing the gap you've deliberately left. "Of course I did," he says, as if the alternative were unthinkable. "I've missed you." 

The simple statement shouldn't affect you as deeply as it does, but you feel a flutter in your chest nonetheless. His scent—expensive cologne with undertones of leather and something uniquely him—envelops you as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face. 

His fingertips linger against your cheek, sending an electric current through your body. Before you can step back or say another word, Andy's hand slides to the nape of your neck, pulling you to him with gentle insistence. 

"I couldn't wait another moment," he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips before he claims your mouth with his. 

The kiss is devastating in its intensity—not rough, but consuming. His lips move against yours with practiced precision, coaxing rather than demanding, yet somehow leaving no room for resistance. Your hands instinctively rise to his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer, you're not sure. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, and you open to him with a small gasp that he swallows eagerly. 

One strong arm wraps around your waist, drawing you flush against him as he explores your mouth with devastating thoroughness. The world narrows to just the two of you—the heat of his body, the skill of his mouth, the faint taste of coffee and something darker, richer that is purely Andy.

When he finally releases you, you're light-headed, your breath coming in short gasps. 

"How was your flight?" he asks, his fingers lingering against your cheek. 

"Fine," you say, finding it difficult to pull coherent words from your brain. "Smooth."

His eyes are a dark, stormy blue, but you see an undercurrent of mischief. He knows exactly how much the kiss he just dealt affected you, and he revels in it. 

"I'm glad to hear it," Andy says, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "I've arranged for Mark and Shep to take your luggage home. You're coming with me." 

You glance back at your security detail, who are already efficiently unloading your bags from the plane. They don't seem surprised by this arrangement. 

"Where are we going?" you ask, finding your voice. 

"That's part of your surprise," Andy replies, taking your hand and leading you toward his car. "I told you I had something special planned for your return." 

The memory of his words during your late-night phone call sends heat rushing to your cheeks. As if reading your thoughts, Andy's lips curve into a knowing smile. 

"Not that," he murmurs, opening the passenger door for you. "At least, not yet." 

As you slide into the buttery leather seat, you notice a small gift box nestled in the console between the seats. It's wrapped in elegant silver paper with a black satin ribbon.

"What's this?" you ask as Andy slides into the driver's seat beside you. 

"The first part of your welcome home," he says, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. "Open it." 

Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for the box. The paper comes away easily, revealing a black velvet jewelry case. Inside, nestled against dark satin, is a delicate platinum bracelet studded with sapphires that match Andy's eyes perfectly. 

"It's beautiful," you whisper, genuinely moved by the gesture despite your determination to maintain emotional distance. 

"Allow me," Andy says, taking the bracelet and your wrist in his hands. His fingers brush against your pulse point as he secures the clasp, and you wonder if he can feel your heart racing beneath his touch. The sapphires catch the light, winking up at you like tiny fragments of the ocean.

"Thank you," you say softly, turning your wrist to admire how the stones shimmer. 

"It suits you," Andy replies, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through you. "I had it made specifically for you."

Of course he did. Nothing off-the-shelf would do for Andy Barber.

He starts the car, the engine purring to life beneath you. As he pulls away from the airfield, you notice his driving is different today—less aggressive, more measured. His right hand leaves the wheel to rest on your thigh, the weight of it both comforting and possessive. 

"Did you enjoy your time with Thea?" he asks casually, though you sense the question is anything but. 

"Yes," you answer honestly. "It was good to reconnect. She's looking forward to the wedding." 

Andy's lips curve slightly. "Is she now? I look forward to meeting the woman who's had your ear these past few days."

"I think you'll like her," you say, though you're not entirely sure that's true. Thea is fiercely protective and sharp as a tack—the kind of woman who sees through pretense. But then again, so do you, and look where that's gotten you. 

"I'm sure I will," Andy responds, his thumb tracing idle circles on your thigh as he navigates through traffic. "Anyone important to you is important to me." 

His words sound sincere, but you've learned to look beneath the surface with Andy. Everything has layers, calculations, purposes beyond the obvious. 

"She's my best friend, Andy. She wants what's best for me."

"As do I," he says smoothly, his hand squeezing your thigh gently. "I'm not threatened by her influence."

You study his profile as he drives, the strong line of his jaw, the confident set of his shoulders. It's hard to imagine Andy threatened by anyone.

You’re quiet for a moment more, then ask, "You're not upset that I left?" 

Andy's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly before relaxing again. "I wasn't thrilled," he admits, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "But I can understand wanting space. And I knew you'd come back.” 

You chew on the inside of your lip. He’s so seemingly nonchalant about this, and you’re not sure if it’s the truth or if he’s saving his unhappiness for later. 

"You knew I'd come back?" you ask, genuinely curious. "Were you really so sure? Or was that just hope?”

Andy's eyes flick to yours briefly before returning to the road. 

"Both, perhaps. But I've learned that holding too tightly to what I want can sometimes cause it to slip through my fingers."

The admission surprises you—it's more self-awareness than you expected from him. You find yourself wondering if your absence truly affected him, if he spent sleepless nights thinking of you the way you thought of him.

"Where are we going?" 

"Patience, sweetheart," Andy says, his thumb continuing its maddening circles on your thigh. "We're almost there."

The car winds through the city, eventually turning onto a tree-lined street in one of Boston's most exclusive neighborhoods. Andy pulls up in front of a stunning brownstone with elegant bay windows and a wrought iron fence. The façade is immaculately maintained, with potted plants flanking the entrance and delicate lace curtains visible through the windows.

"What is this place?" you ask as Andy helps you from the car, his hand lingering at the small of your back. 

"This," he says with a hint of pride, "is the home of Olivia Beauchamp." 

The name strikes a chord of recognition. "The French pastry chef? The one with the three-year waiting list for wedding cakes?" 

Andy's lips quirk into a satisfied smile. "The very same." 

He guides you up the steps to the door, which opens before he can even knock. A slender woman in her sixties with silver-streaked dark hair and piercing gray eyes stands in the doorway. She's dressed impeccably in a simple black short-sleeved sweater and dark jeans and a crisp white apron. 

"Andy Barber," she greets with a delicate French accent, her eyes appraising you with open curiosity. "And this must be your fiancée. Please, come in." 

Andy's hand presses gently against your lower back as he guides you inside. The entryway opens to a bright, airy space that smells of sugar and butter and something floral—possibly orange blossom. Your mouth waters instantly. 

"Madame Beauchamp has graciously agreed to create our wedding cake," Andy explains, watching your reaction closely. "I thought we might enjoy a private tasting this afternoon." 

You look at him in disbelief. "A private tasting? But the waiting list is—"

"Not for friends of the Beauchamp family," Olivia interjects with a slight smile. "Andy's mother was very dear to me.”

This new piece of information catches you off guard. Andy rarely speaks of his mother, and you've gleaned only fragments about her from passing comments. To hear her mentioned so casually by this world-renowned chef opens a window into a part of Andy's life you've barely glimpsed.

"Come, come," Olivia gestures toward a sunlit room at the back of the house. "Everything is prepared." 

The kitchen is a chef's dream—gleaming copper pots hanging from a rack, marble countertops, and state-of-the-art equipment that somehow blends seamlessly with the historic character of the brownstone. In the center stands a large island where an array of exquisite cake samples awaits, each one a miniature work of art. 

"Please, sit," Olivia says, indicating two stools at the island. "I have prepared six variations for you to consider." 

As you settle onto the stool, Andy sits very close on the stool next to you, and his knee settles against yours under the table. The warmth of his leg against yours is distracting, but you force yourself to focus on the beautiful array of desserts before you. Each sample is meticulously crafted—tiny perfect cakes with different fillings and decorative elements that showcase Olivia's legendary skill.

"These are all original creations," Olivia explains, her hands moving with elegant precision as she arranges delicate forks beside each sample. "I design each cake specifically for the couple after understanding their personalities and preferences." 

You glance at Andy, wondering how much he's told her about you—about the unusual circumstances of your engagement. 

"The first," Olivia continues, gesturing to a small, perfect square of cake with layers of what appears to be champagne-colored sponge and a pearlescent frosting, "is vanilla bean with champagne buttercream and fresh raspberries." 

She slides the plate toward you, and Andy nods for you to try it first. The cake practically melts on your tongue—light yet decadent, with a subtle hint of champagne that complements the vanilla perfectly. 

"Oh wow," you murmur, unable to contain your reaction. "That's incredible." 

Andy watches your face with undisguised pleasure before taking his own bite. His eyes close briefly as he savors the flavor, and when they open again, they're fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. 

"Delicious," he agrees, though his gaze suggests he's not just talking about the cake. 

Olivia smiles knowingly as she presents the next sample. "This is Earl Grey tea cake with honey lavender buttercream and candied lemon." 

It is equally exquisite—the tea flavor subtle but distinct, perfectly balanced with the floral notes of the buttercream. You find yourself making small sounds of appreciation as you taste each sample: a dark chocolate cake with salted caramel and fig preserves; a pistachio cake with rosewater and cardamom; a lemon cake with thyme and blackberry; and finally, an almond cake with orange blossom water and a hint of saffron that tastes like sunshine incarnate.

"They're all extraordinary," you say honestly, setting down your fork after the final sample. "I don't know how we could possibly choose." 

Olivia beams at your praise, her sharp eyes darting between you and Andy. "The cake should reflect both of you—your tastes, your story together." She focuses her attention on you. "Which speaks to you most?" 

You consider the question carefully, aware of Andy watching you intently. "The chocolate with salted caramel was divine, but…" You hesitate, glancing at the remains of the almond cake. "There's something about the almond and orange blossom that feels special."

"An excellent choice," Olivia nods approvingly. "And you, Andy?"

Andy's fingers brush against yours on the table, a seemingly casual touch that sends electricity up your arm. "I'm partial to the chocolate myself, but the almond has a certain brightness that reminds me of you."

The compliment catches you off guard, and for a moment, you forget your carefully maintained walls. Your lips curve into a genuine smile before you can stop yourself. 

"Perhaps," Olivia suggests, her eyes twinkling with wisdom that comes from decades of watching couples make decisions, "we could create something that incorporates both? A dark chocolate cake with layers of almond and orange blossom?" 

"That sounds perfect," you say, surprised by how much you mean it. 

Olivia begins to sketch on a notepad, her pencil moving with swift, sure strokes. "I envision four tiers, perhaps with a cascade of sugar flowers in shades of cream and pale gold. Simple but elegant."

"Beautiful," you say, genuinely moved by her artistry and attention to detail.

"I trust your vision completely, Olivia," Andy adds, his hand covers yours completely now, his thumb stroking your wrist just below the new sapphire bracelet.

The pastry chef studies you both for a moment, her keen eyes missing nothing. "I believe I understand what kind of cake will suit you perfectly," she says with a knowing smile. "A marriage of contrasts—dark and light, sweet and complex."

You feel a flush creep up your neck at her words. The metaphor isn't lost on you.

"Now," Olivia continues, setting her sketch aside, "would you like some tea while we discuss the details?"

Before either of you can answer, she's already moving to a copper kettle on the stove, her movements graceful and efficient. The kitchen fills with the gentle hiss of boiling water as she prepares a pot of fragrant tea.

"Let me show you some designs while you digest," she says, disappearing into another room only to return with a large portfolio. "These are some of my recent creations. Perhaps they will inspire us." 

As she flips through pages of stunning wedding cakes, each more elaborate than the last, you feel Andy's breath warm against your ear. 

"Are you pleased?" he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. 

"It's incredible," you admit honestly. "How did you manage this?" 

His lips curve against your ear. "I told you, Olivia knew my mother. Some connections run deeper than business." 

There's something in his tone that makes you wonder about the history there—another piece of the Andy Barber puzzle you've yet to fully understand.

"You knew Andy's mother?" you ask, curiosity finally overriding your stunned appreciation of the exclusive opportunity before you.

Olivia's eyes soften with memory. "Yes, we were neighbors for a time, both trying to forge a way in this world one day after another, and we became rather close." Her gaze shifts to Andy, something like affection warming her severe features. "This boy spent many summers in my kitchen, stealing chocolate and getting underfoot."

Andy's expression is unreadable, but there's a hint of tenderness in his voice when he says, "Madame Beauchamp taught me that patience yields the sweetest rewards."

"A lesson you clearly still struggle with," she replies with a knowing look that makes you wonder just how much this woman understands.

Olivia's keen eyes shift between you and Andy, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Your fiancé was always a determined child. When he wanted something, he would not rest until it was his." She pours the tea with practiced grace. "But I taught him that some things cannot be rushed—good pastry, fine wine, true connections." 

You accept the delicate porcelain cup she offers, the warmth seeping into your fingers. "I can't imagine Andy as a child," you admit, stealing a glance at him. 

"Oh, he was a serious little boy," Olivia says, her accent thickening with nostalgia. "Always watching, learning, studying. Even then." 

Andy's hand slides to your lower back, his touch possessive yet gentle. "Madame exaggerates. I was merely curious." 

"Curious enough to dissect my kitchen timer to see how it worked," Olivia retorts with a fond shake of her head. "And then rebuild it better than before." 

You can't help but smile at this glimpse of Andy as a child—methodical, inquisitive, already showing signs of the man he would become. It humanizes him in a way few things have since you've known him. 

"He would sit at the counter," Olivia continues, gesturing to where you're seated now, "and watch me for hours. Most children his age couldn't sit still for five minutes, but Andy… he observed everything."

"Some habits never change," you murmur, and Andy's fingers press gently against your spine in acknowledgment. 

Olivia studies you with renewed interest. "You understand him better than you let on, I think." 

The observation catches you off guard, and you take a sip of tea to hide your discomfort. The fragrant liquid coats your tongue—jasmine and something citrusy—as you consider how to respond.

"We're still learning about each other," you say diplomatically, aware of Andy's intense gaze on your profile. 

"As it should be," Olivia nods sagely. "The discovery never ends, even after decades together. My Henri and I were married many years before he passed, and he still surprised me in our final days."

There's a wistfulness in her voice that touches something deep within you. You have chosen your fate, but you wonder if you and Andy will have that—years of discovery, of peeling back layers to reveal something new. Or will you only ever be an object to him? 

"Now," Olivia says, her professional demeanor returning as she taps a perfectly manicured nail against a design in her sketchbook. "This design incorporates the architectural elements of your venue. The clean lines, the subtle gold accents—they would complement both the richness of the chocolate and the brightness of the almond."

You lean forward, genuinely interested despite yourself. The sketch shows an elegant four-tier cake with intricate geometric patterns that somehow manage to look both modern and timeless. 

"It's beautiful," you say, meaning it. The design is sophisticated without being showy—exactly what you would have chosen if you'd had months to plan instead of weeks. 

"I thought you might appreciate the balance," Olivia says, her shrewd eyes missing nothing. "Strong foundation, delicate details." 

Andy's hand slides from your back to your thigh beneath the counter, his touch both possessive and oddly reassuring. "It's perfect," he agrees. "Just like our wedding will be." 

You feel a flutter of anxiety at his words. 

The wedding. It looms before you like a beautiful mirage—an event you still can't quite believe is happening in just weeks. You force yourself to focus on the present, on the exquisite cake designs and the warmth of Olivia's kitchen rather than the whirlwind that awaits. 

You glance at your watch, realizing you've been at Olivia's for quite some time. The afternoon has slipped away in a haze of exquisite flavors and surprising revelations about Andy's past. It feels strange to see this softer side of him, to witness the genuine respect in Olivia's eyes when she looks at him.

"The wedding is in just under three weeks," Andy tells Olivia, his thumb tracing small circles on your leg. "I know it's short notice, but I hope that won't be a problem."

Olivia raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. "For anyone else, impossible. For you..." She sighs dramatically, but there's affection beneath her exasperation. "I will make it happen."

Andy is so unexpectedly normal on the drive home from the cake sampling at Olivia Beauchamp’s house you’re not sure what to make of it. 

He chats easily about the wedding plans, about how he thinks Olivia's cake will be the perfect centerpiece for the reception, how he should note with your team to arrange for lighting that will highlight the sugar work she's planning for the cake. It's almost as if you're just any normal couple planning their wedding, not a man who orchestrated your entire engagement and the woman who's both drawn to and terrified by him.

"You're quiet," Andy observes as you turn onto the winding road that leads to his estate. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining with casual intimacy. "Tired from the flight?" 

"Just processing," you admit, watching the trees blur past the window. "It was nice meeting Olivia. Seeing that side of you." 

Andy's thumb strokes the over the back of your hand. "What side is that?"

You hesitate, choosing your words carefully.

"The side that has history," you offer, meeting his gaze as the car slows at the estate gates. "The boy who stole chocolate and broke kitchen timers. It makes you seem..." 

"Human?" Andy supplies, a hint of amusement coloring his voice. 

"Real," you correct him. "Most of the time you seem like this perfect, polished creation. Seeing glimpses of your past helps me understand how you became you."

He considers this as the gates swing open. "Does that change anything for you?" 

The question hangs between you, weighted with implications. You study his profile—the strong line of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes even when they're fixed on the road ahead. 

"I don't know yet," you answer honestly. 

Andy's expression shifts subtly, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his features before his usual mask of control returns. "Olivia knew me during a formative time. Before I fully understood what I was capable of."

The car crunches up the gravel driveway toward the house—your house now, though it still feels like his domain. He drives around to the back and pulls into the palatial garage that houses his collection of luxury vehicles. As Andy brings the car to a stop, he turns to you, his eyes searching yours.

"Did you enjoy my surprise?" he asks.

"Yes," you answer honestly. "It was thoughtful. Perfect, actually."

His smile is genuine, and it transforms his face in a way that makes your heart flutter traitorously. 

"I'm glad," Andy says, his voice dropping to that low register that always sends shivers down your spine. "And it's not all I have planned."

He kills the engine, and the sudden silence in the garage feels charged with electricity. The lighting coming into the car casts shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the intensity in his eyes as he turns fully toward you.

"I missed you," he says simply, the words hanging between you like a confession. His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. "More than I expected to." 

Before you can respond, his mouth is on yours, hungry and demanding. This kiss is nothing like the one at the airfield—it's raw, possessive, unleashed. His tongue sweeps past your lips without preamble, claiming you with an urgency that steals your breath. 

"Andy," you gasp against his lips, your hands instinctively coming up to grip his shoulders. His kiss is consuming, desperate in a way that makes your head spin and your body respond despite all your carefully constructed walls.

"Out," he commands against your mouth, already reaching for his door handle. "Now." 

You comply, stepping out into the cool air of the garage on shaky legs. Before you can fully orient yourself, Andy is there, crowding you against the car, his body hard and insistent against yours. 

"Three days," he murmurs, his voice rough with need as he presses his forehead to yours. "Three days without you felt like an eternity." 

His confession sends a thrill through you—this powerful, controlled man admitting weakness, admitting need. His hands frame your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones with surprising tenderness. 

"I thought about you every minute," he confesses, his voice rough with desire. "Every single minute you were gone."

And the next second his mouth is trailing down your neck, leaving a path of fire in its wake. You arch against him instinctively, your body responding to his touch despite your wish to resist him. 

"Turn around," he growls against your throat, his hands already working at the buttons of your blouse. 

You obey without thinking, your body responding to his command before your mind can process it. His broad chest presses against your back as his hands slip beneath your partially opened blouse, palming your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra. 

"I need you," Andy breathes against your ear, his voice raw with an emotion that sounds almost like reverence. "Right here. Right now." 

"Andy," you gasp, aware of your surroundings. "We're in the garage."

"No one will disturb us," he assures you, his breath hot against your neck. "The staff knows better."

His hands slide down to your hips, then forward to undo the fastening of your jeans, pushing them down your legs in one fluid motion. Cool air kisses your exposed skin as Andy presses you forward, caging you in against the side of his Aston Martin. The metal is cool against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the burning heat of Andy's body behind you.

His hands are everywhere at once—skimming over your hips, gripping your waist, sliding up to cup your breasts. The contrast between his suit-covered body and your increasing nakedness adds to the wild, forbidden nature of the moment. You hear the telltale sound of his belt being unbuckled, the soft hiss of his zipper lowering. 

"I've thought about this," Andy murmurs against your ear, his voice a dark promise. "Bending you over, taking you hard and fast the moment you returned to me." 

You should protest—you came back with plans to discuss boundaries, to establish a more equal footing. But your body betrays you, arching back against him, seeking the hardness you can feel pressing against you. 

"Look at you," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "So eager for me, even after running away." 

"I didn't run—" you begin to protest, but your words dissolve into a gasp as he pushes two fingers inside you.

"Didn't you?" Andy's voice is dangerously soft against your ear as his thumb circles your clit with devastating precision. "Stockholm is quite far for a casual visit with a friend."

You try to focus, to maintain some semblance of control. 

"It was just a visit," you manage between shallow breaths, trying to hold onto your composure as his fingers work their magic inside you. 

"Was it?" His teeth graze your earlobe, making you shiver. "Or were you testing me? Testing us?" 

You don't answer, can't answer as he curls his fingers in that way that makes your knees weak. Your palms press flat against the cool metal of the car, seeking stability as pleasure builds within you. 

"I think you needed to know if I would let you go," Andy continues, his voice a seductive rumble against your skin. "If I would chase you or wait for you to return on your own." 

His fingers withdraw suddenly, leaving you aching and empty. But then he pushes inside you in one powerful thrust, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming—the stretch, the fullness, the sheer pleasure of him buried deep inside you. Your breath escapes in a broken moan as your body adjusts to his intrusion.

"Is that what you wanted to know?" Andy's voice is strained with the effort of restraint as he holds still inside you, letting you adjust to his size. His hands grip your hips with bruising intensity. "If I would wait or chase?" 

"Andy," you gasp, unable to form a coherent thought as he begins to move, setting a punishing rhythm that has you clinging to the car for support. 

"Answer me," he demands, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to arch your neck. "Is that why you left?" 

"Yes," you admit, the truth torn from you by the relentless pleasure building with each thrust. "I needed... space to think clearly."

His pace slows momentarily, becoming more deliberate, each stroke deep, punctuating how you ached to feel him inside you again.

"And did you?" Andy's lips brush the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Think clearly?"

"Yes," you gasp as he ruts inside you. "I did."

"We'll discuss your thoughts later," he promises, his voice dark with desire. "Right now, I need to remind you where you belong."

The possessive words should anger you, but instead, they send a fresh wave of heat through your core and you clench around him.

"Tell me you want this," Andy demands, his voice incredibly serious despite the tension coiled in his body. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," you confess, the words spilling from your lips without hesitation. "I always wanted you."

The admission seems to ignite something primal in Andy. His movements become more urgent, more demanding as he drives into you with renewed purpose. One hand slides around to find your center, fingers circling with expert precision while the other maintains a firm grip on your hip, holding you in place for his onslaught of pleasure. 

"You're mine," he growls against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. "Say it." 

The words catch in your throat. You want to give him what he wants—what part of you wants too—but something holds you back. A flicker of resistance, a need to maintain some small piece of yourself that isn't completely consumed by him.

Andy senses your hesitation, his rhythm faltering for just a moment. Then his lips curve against your neck in a knowing smile. "Still fighting me," he murmurs, not sounding disappointed but almost pleased. "That's alright, sweetheart. 

We have time."

His hips snap forward with renewed purpose, each thrust driving deeper than the last. Your fingers curl against the cool metal of the car, seeking purchase as pleasure builds relentlessly within you.

"I can feel how your body responds to me," Andy continues, his voice strained with exertion but still commanding. "How you tighten around me when I claim you. How close you are already," he purrs, the vibration of his voice against your skin making you shiver. "Come for me. Let me feel it."

His fingers work magic against your clit as his cock fills you completely, and the dual sensation pushes you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you with unexpected force, making you cry out his name as your inner walls clench around him. The sound echoes in the cavernous garage, your voice bouncing back to you as if to emphasize your surrender. 

Andy groans in response, his rhythm faltering as your body pulses around him. "That's it," he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. "Give me everything." 

He continues to thrust through your orgasm, prolonging the waves of pleasure until you're trembling beneath him. Only then does he allow himself release, burying himself deep inside you with a groan. 

You feel the warm pulse of his release inside you, your body still trembling with aftershocks as he holds you firmly against the car. Andy's forehead rests against your shoulder, his breathing ragged against your skin. For a moment, neither of you moves, joined together in the aftermath of passion. 

The garage is silent except for your mingled breathing and the occasional clicks of the cooling engine. Andy's body presses into you, holding you captive between him and the cool metal of the Aston Martin. The contrast of temperatures—his heat behind you, the car's chill against your front—mirrors the contradictions that define your relationship with him.

His hands slide up your sides in a possessive caress, and his lips find the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. He presses a tender kiss there, then another, working his way along the curve of your neck.

"Don't move," he murmurs against your skin, the command gentle but unmistakable.

You feel him withdraw from your body, leaving you empty and a little shaky. But his hands grip your hips firmly, steadying you and keeping you in place. Then, to your shock, he sinks to his knees behind you.

"Andy, what are you—" Your question dissolves into a gasp as you feel his mouth against your most intimate flesh, his tongue sliding through your combined release.

The sensation is overwhelming—intimate and obscenely erotic. His tongue explores you thoroughly, cleaning away the evidence of your passion with reverent attention. Your fingers curl against the sleek metal of the car as your overstimulated body responds despite itself, a new tension building where you thought only sensitivity remained.

"Andy," you breathe, not sure if you're protesting or encouraging. 

He makes a sound against your flesh—part growl, part hum of approval—and the vibration sends a fresh jolt of pleasure through you. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open for his ministrations as he devours you with single-minded focus. 

When your second orgasm washes over you, it's gentler but somehow more profound than the first. You slump against the car, utterly spent, as Andy rises behind you. His hands are gentler now as he turns you to face him. His mouth claims yours in a searing kiss, allowing you to taste the mingled essence of your bodies on his tongue. It's filthy and possessive and utterly intoxicating.

You feel thoroughly and utterly disheveled, but when he finally pulls back, he looks remarkably composed apart from the darkness in his eyes and the slight flush on his cheekbones.

"Welcome home," he says. 

What did you think about meeting someone from Andy's past? And was this what you expected from him when you returned from your jetaway to Stockholm?

NEXT PART: By the End of the Night

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[winterarmyy]

Welcome Home, Daddy

The aftermath of when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Bucky was over the moon when he discovered that Y/N was pregnant with his child. But, when the danger that lurks in dark threatened to steal his family away, a fellow soldier decided to come home.

Note: Highly recommend to read 《 Welcome Home... Soldat? 》 for backstory. But, you can also read this as a stand alone (though you might miss some call backs on the soldat's behaviour if you skip)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Words: 7.1k++ (bare with me, please)

Warnings: graphic violence, torture, blood, gore, deaths, dark undertones, sudden fluff, tiny bit of angst, google translated russian, and just so much detained anger exploding around, soldat is just deadly yet adorable in this one (i can't even handle it, and i'm the author), this event takes place far in the future after what happened in 《 Welcome Home...Soldat? 》

A/N: Looks like we have the winner for the poll 👀 Who's ready for our lovely soldat to make his appearance again? I know I'm not, but here we are. So, strap in and let's do this!

P/S: Also, I might as well make this as my submission for the seven writing event hosted by @nickfowlerrr 💌 Check out the event masterlist and support the writers by reading and reblogging their stories!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

They say the wrath of a fighter may threatened a heinous war but the wrath of a lover will let the earth drenched in bloody gore. And if a fool was daft enough to tore a lover from his other half, then they might just court themselves right into the hands of death.

And this couldn't be more true, especially if we consider the crime that the soldat was currently committing. Surely, the blood pooling on the floor will forever leave a grim mark that'll haunt the people who ever witness it.

"Where is she?" the soldat prompted the frail woman, limping on the chained chair. Despite the horrid situation, he sounded rather calm when he spoke.

How unfortunate it was for Elle to be associated with Hydra yet to also be so exposed to the dangers of the ghost himself, the Winter Soldier. Hydra may have their suspicion about the soldat making a move, but she didn't expect that she would be involved in the mess of this ordeal.

The cold metal of the soldat's vibranium fingers, particularly his index and thumb, latched themselves on another one of her nails. Her mouth slacked open but no sound was able to be formed when the soldat mercilessly ripped her nail right off her finger.

And oh, the pain was beyond any kind of injury that she had ever experienced, not a even a bullet through her flesh could be compared to this agony of a torture.

He harshly grabbed Elle by the back of her neck, forcing her to watch the blood leaking from the reddened flesh of her fingers, "I asked you a simple question, су́ка (bitch). Where the fuck is she?" The soldat's patience had been running thin and rage had clouded his judgements.

He needed to find her. His precious Родная (darling).

No matter whose neck he needed to slay or whose blood that have to be shed dry. He had to bring his darling home; no matter what it takes.

Unfortunately, it had been almost a month since he lost her.

And no one saw it coming.

Who would've thought that the old Hydra compound that the team raided were meant to be a part of a plan to weaken the Avengers. It was just a distraction filled with unexpected traps and triggers. By the time they flew home, the team were already tired and injured as the result of the raid.

So imagine the desperate struggle and utter panic that Bucky had to go through the moment he stepped his foot into the comfort of their home and had to witness Y/N's exhausted figure fighting for her life.

Hers and the baby's inside.

After hitting the 2 months mark of pregnancy, Bucky decided that Y/N shouldn't be involved in any high stake mission anymore. At first, she only laughed to his statement, thinking he was surely joking but when his stern expression didn't flatter, that was when she reliazed Bucky was not open for negotiation.

Y/N knew it was way too early to settle into her maternal leave but after having a long conversation with Bucky, they both agreed to keep her missions strictly on low-risk stakeouts and desk works at the tower.

It was supposedly be some kind of a precaution for her, to keep her and the baby safe, away from any type harm that might come their way. But, that certainly back fired.

When Bucky's burning anger had pumped him full with high stream of adrenaline, it was as if he went into an auto pilot; a murderous one at that. And soon enough he managed to take down half of Hydra's best agents that joined the mission of collecting Y/N from the tower.

For a moment, it seemed like luck was on their side, at least it felt like it.

It lasted only until Bucky saw how harsh the kick of the enemy landed on Y/N's hip, and how she managed to shield her stomach seconds before her body slammed down to the ground.

That was when fear crawled into his pumping nerves and the roots of it ran extremely cold.

And that was all it takes for Hydra to distract Bucky then immobilize him on the spot with a replica of the Sonic Taser developed by Stark Industries a few years back.

Bucky grunted painfully in protest of the high pitched sonic frequency from the device that overloads his nervous system. His body couldn't help but to slowly paralyzed its movements as his skin turned pale and the strain in his blood vessels became visible.

On the opposite side, Y/N could be seen being forcefully dragged away by a few of the Hydra agents that was left. There were couple of nasty injuries torn all over her body yet she was still stubborn on fighting back.

While she was being pulled farther away from him, she shouted his name loud and desprete, "Bucky!" Hot tears broke from the corner of her eyes as she desperately reach out her hand.

It felt as if she was right there when Bucky's hand was reaching back towards her. Like, a little bit of a push would've been enough to catch her but alas fate was not planning to be merciful.

Bucky's menancing eyes never left her wavering ones as Hydra tortured Bucky by stealing a part of his soul from him; and no one really knew how his heart clenched and torn to the fact that he was helplessly useless when Y/N needed him the most.

And when he only managed to scream back Y/N's name, he was forced to watch her wailed as she was unwillingly being taken away.

The moment when Bucky drowned himself in regret and rage, that was when the Winter Soldier took over his consciousness.

Unfortunately for the soldat, his mortal body was already worn out from all the intense fight that happened prior; he was knocked out right after he took over the body.

But in those few seconds before the darkness consumed him, the soldat managed to catch a glimpse of his darling. He saw the image of her; teary and bruised in the hands of those who created him. The very same monsters who uses him for despicable things.

That was all that he needed to see in order to break those chains around the dark pandora residing deep within his being.

The team was absolutely not ready to deal with the soldat again, this time without Y/N to tame him. Especially when his demands were unrealistic for them to fulfill.

It's been nearly 3 weeks since the incident and they had failed to locate Y/N; repeatedly. Even if they did manage to get some kind of an intel, all the of bases they had raided were basically bunch of abandoned spaces that Hydra used to occupy.

So of course the soldat was agitated. He had every right to be, more so when he thought of the increasing risk of his darling getting hurt in the hands of Hydra. And at this point, those scumbags were just messing with their minds. Especially with his.

"Listen, we're doing our best here, soldat." Steve tried to reason with him but it only fueled the burning flames within the soldat, "ты делаешь недостаточно! (You're not doing enough!)" He spat harshly that he didn't even noticed that he uses Russian language. It seemed like the unkempt irritation had conquered the chaos of his mind.

So that very night, the soldat decided to do this on his own; thus he ran away from the tower in search for his darling. He had to. Especially when he knew precisely why the Avenger was not able to find Y/N as quickly as they should be.

It was because they were the good guys. They were the heros, they were the light. And the soldat was not. In fact, he was the very opposite.

Unlike the Avengers, the soldat was not planning to play  nice and soon enough he managed to find a lead.

Which bring us to this very moment in which he successfully snuck into a Hydra agent's home to interrogate her.

But, in contrast of those Hydra troops that attack the Avengers Tower a few weeks ago, Elle was not even involved in the mission of retrieving Y/N. She was actually on a solo mission to infiltrate a certain high school to collect informations on Peter Parker. Hydra suspected that he might be involved with the new hero appearing in Queens.

However, even if she was not a part of the team mission, she knew bits and pieces of the overall plan, especially the whereabout of the main character herself, Y/N.

However, the appearance of the Winter Soldier in her temporary house was completely unexpected.

It felt like it was just few moments ago that the intel on Y/N's location reached her ears. Then, she distinctly remember the glimpse of those murderous eyes glaring into her soul. Next thing she knew was everything went pitch black.

Even if it was temporary, however it felt so surreal.

The darkness surrounding her.

The bone rattling cold.

It felt like death itself.

But unfortunately for her, the soldat was far from stopping.

Elle was fraying at the edges while the soldat crouch to her level. Even if she could barely reconstruct the unclear and blurry images through her dazed eyes, however, that didn't stop the soldat from maiming the dying woman's soul through his unforgiving gaze.

"Wake up..." he growled as he yanked her face upwards, "...we're not done yet."

It took a while for Elle to finally adjust to the light, after being in the dark for – how she felt like – so long.

After the light hits her vision, the striking pain came next. The pulsing pain surrounding of her right eye, her broken nose, her busted lips, her bleeding skin; neck, chest, arms, and almost every part of her limbs.

Everything were – slowly but surely, in each cuts and bruises on her skin – blooming its pain into existence.

How can she skipped all of this when she lost her consciousness?

Perhaps that was how she managed to stay alive as long as she had. By running away from the misery; from her reality.

Elle whined in pain but her voice suggested that she might already torn her throat apart when it sounded more like a broken grunt. Her disoriented gaze fell into her aching fingers, each were missing its nail; the tips of them was where the icky blood trickled from and had shaped a pool of blood on the floor where she rested.

The dim lighting from the room reflected on the surface of the deep-red puddle, revealing the resemblance of it to a mirror. And the blurry image looking back, was the soldat, with a sinister expression on his face.

This game, that they're playing.

It hardly seems fair to one of them. To be tortured if not speaking the truth? That's simply unjust; but if we're talking about fairness, then none of those injuries could ever be compared to the pain Y/N might be going through at this very moment. Every second of Elle's useless stubbornness was costing Y/N's safety.

And the soldat didn't like that. Not one bit.

"You mentioned Spain? Where exactly?" In one swift, harsh motion, the soldat thrust his knife through her thighs, "FUCK!"

The loud scream of pain that tore from Elle's throat was probably the last coherent word that she uttered as the torture continued.

The soldat pulled the knife out and stabbing it into the open wound, he listened to Elle's gasp for a moment, relishing her breathless pleading and the tears now openly streaming down her face.

He stabbed again, twice, each was quick and deep, not caring about the blood that spurted out across his face.

At this point Elle was just a puddle of blabbering mess; streams of saliva pouring out her mouth, sobbing, gasping for air; mixture of grunts, moans and whispers of curses and pleas were all spouted incoherently.

Anger.

Frustration.

Rage.

Wrath.

Even hatred.

The soldat was feeling it all.

It was consuming him, devouring any sanity that was left of Bucky's moral values. The eerie glint in the soldat eyes suggested that he was not planning to stop until she gave him what he wants.

God, if it wasn't for chilling atmosphere around her, Elle might just mistook that she was actually in hell.

"Pyrenees!" She cried out. The soldat instantly stopped when she confessed. He waited for an answer and right on cue, she spoke again, breathless and almost silent as the fear that engulfed her prior refused to release her from its haunting grip. And truthfully she doubt that it will ever let her go, "T-there a secret base n-near the Irati forest."

She exhaled a shaky breath as she pleaded, "S-so please. Please stop this." The was tired of the pain and the numbness that came after. And the soldat knows it.

The room was left silent momentarily, as if he was actually considering her plea but alas he already had plans for her all along, "Shame. You should've killed yourself before I came here."

As he finished the last word, the soldat viciously plunged his knife deep into her neck, digging the sharpness of it through the delicate flesh until it reach the base of the blade.

Elle gasped in response, her hands scrabbling around in effort to break free, to stop all of this. But considering the situation she was in, there was nothing she could do about it other than to take it as it was given to her.

When the motion finally stopped, the soldat simply walked away from the scene as if it was a complete norm for him to behave as he was. He didn't even thought of cleaning the mess he left behind. Or hide the corpse somewhere.

Isn't he afraid that he might leave his tracks for the police to find?

Why would he?

This has been his life for decades on end. His sole purpose of living was to kill. So best believe that the authorities will never be able to link the soldat or Bucky to this crime.

Not today, not ever.

Through the days that Y/N was locked deep within Hydra's base, she hadn't been treated the worst. In fact, the sick and twisted agents and residents in the facility was more than willing to care for her.

This was all because they wanted her baby.

It was always sickening to hear them referring her child as merely a tool for their success. And the way they worship Y/N like she was a gift from God to fulfill their purpose, was beyond insanity.

"Oh, to have the privilage of bearing the offspring of the Winter Soldier. To be able to create the perfect weapon, unlike the father. It is just honorable."

It made her stomach churned with pure disgust whenever she heard those types of comments floating around her.

Besides the eerily digusting behaviour of the agents, there was also the regular check-ups and the lab tests that she needed to attend. Out of all the things she had to endure these past few weeks, the medical check-up has always dreaded her the most.

There was this constant debate within her troubled mind; of the possibility of Hydra manipulating her baby's health and genes by inserting unknown substance into her.

"Come on, mama. On the bed." The doctor said as he patted his rubber gloved hand on the surface of the rigid single bed.

She always found it vile that the people here calling her by that nickname. It tickled her throat in a way that she wanted to puke all the tasteless gunk that they had fed her with.

As she laid on the bed and let the process went on as it usually do, the doctor suddenly stopped everything that he was doing. At first she was weirded out by the irregular act of the man, but when she felt the vibration on the ground and the rushing footsteps from the floor above her, she knew exactly why the doctor suddenly froze on his spot.

And the emergency siren that shortly blared after, had only confirmed her speculation.

But mostly, it was the panic in the doctor's eyes that gave him away; then when Y/N noticed the man scrambled to search the drawers from one of the cabinet, she knew that he was up to no good.

The second that the doctor's hurried his steps towards her with a syringe in his hand, Y/N's body immediately recoiled. She quickly stopped him by grabbing his wrist and twisted it back until the syringe dropped from his hold.

The man cursed under his breath and decided to take her by force when he grabbed a handful of her hair, almost dragging her out of the bed. Y/N shrieked painfully while her hands blindly grabbing the silver tray by the bed next to her.

She then slammed it hard against his head, and watched the contents on the tray fell and scatter onto her. She took quick skim over all the tools and saw a potential weapon for her defence; a scissor.

"Stay still, mama. Or the baby will get hurt." The doctor foolishly threatened.

Maybe it was her defence mechanism or maybe it was just her motherly instinct kicking in but something just snapped inside of her when he said those words. There was this incredibly strong urge to either fight or take flight.

Of course she could easily slipped away and make a run for it but she just couldn't risk it. Especially when her baby's life was currently at stake. So, after a short moment of hesitation, she swiftly grabbed the scissors and surge it through his ribs. The man wailed in pain as he staggered off the bed and fell onto the floor.

You'd thought a single yet firm stab through the guts was enough to quench Y/N's need of fighting back but no. Apparently, the haywire of her nerves had drove her feral and she needed him to be soulless by the time she walk out the room.

That had forced her to nearly jumped on him like a predator pinning on a meek prey and the lack of struggling on the victim's side had only gave her full control to dominate him.

Then all of the sudden, the doctor felt another strike of the pain, digging into the flesh of his chest.

He woefully cried in extreme pain while Y/N did not utter a single word or let out any sound, she stayed silent as she thrusts the scissor in and out his flesh.

Each surge was vicious than the previous. Each stab was gradually speeding up as the motion increases it's number of repetition.

She completely let her emotions took over her sanity.

Until what's left in the room was only the sloshing and splashing sound of blood seeping through every thrust, as she continued to violate the body of the corpse.

Until the calm puddle of blood on floor rippled as the tears that broke from her eyes dropped on it's surface.

And when she realized that the doctor was long dead, that broke Y/N out from her feral state. Realizing what she had done; she shakily loosen her grip on the scissors and scrambled off from the lifeless body.

Her breath was near erratic; it was a chaos of unsteady rhythm as her words was lost at the tip of her tongue. She jolted in shock when the commotion in the facility got louder than before, reminding her that Bucky was there to save her.

Y/N felt a sob choking in her throat as her hands searched her stomach to coax the child in her womb, "It's okay sweet bean, daddy's here for us."

Have you ever heard how ear-ringingly loud it is when it's hailing? How the sounds of the frozen raindrops hitting – the top of your car or the roof of the shades of an outdoor café table – can completely mute your words for anyone to hear?

That has nothing compared to the thundering sounds that echoed throughout the whole facility. The shots were fired from multiple range of stolen guns, all were coming from one moving figure.

The once clean grey and white painted walls of the hallways, were now stained and splattered with the color of crimson. The usually empty hallways, were occupied by the dead bodies of fallen Hydra agents. And the distinct scent of well-kept lair, were effortlessly replaced by the unpleasant and pungent smell; a mixture of blood and sweat.

It was a clear trail of the Winter Soldier's deeds.

This place was supposed to be pristine, but now feels more like how it should be; hell.

While the enemies were roaring into their death, the soldat on the other hand was very much the opposite.

Unlike his foe, it took him very little work from the tips of his tongue and much more on the tips of his gun. When the enemies barked like a dog, the soldat pounced like a wolf; silent and resilient.

By nature, the soldat had never been a patient man, especially when it comes to people harming his darling.

Sure, maybe he can tolerate and play along with people who messed with him, but if one were to touch even a strand of hair of his beloved, then they practically reserving themselves a first class ticket of a one-way trip to hell.

And that unhinged tendencies of his only worsen when wrath was the one reigning his mind while hatred was its ruler. His mind was nothing but a chaos of rampage and vengeance. Seeking nothing but blood and death of his foolish foe.

At this point of time, with the amount of life he had taken from the moment he step foot into the gate of the base, to the very stairs he was currently climbing, one could probably matched his heart rate with the rhythm of the shots formed by the bullets he shot.

Magazine upon magazine he reloaded his gun and waste no less than zero bullet as every shot made was accurately deadly and terrifying fatal to his prey.

As the soldat's feet reached half way up the stairs, a Hydra agent's voice spoke from the lower level, "She's on the LG2, we need a team to come and collect her as soon as poss--" A bullet went straight through the top of his head before he could finish his sentence.

And that was the soldat's last ammo.

While he mentally took note on the intel, his feet was quick to jumped into action and made his way down to LG2. As he entered the hallway, his wild eyes wondered around to steal another gun from a dead man's body.

But he rose into a stand, he felt a tip of a cold steel nudged at the back of his head.

Some would call out the soldat's mistake for letting his guard down in the middle of a battle, but another would definitely ridicule the stupidity of that fool's guts for even thinking that the soldat couldn't counter-attack his weak threats.

However, none of the two man managed to made any move towards each other when there was a faster, more accurate trigger was pulled from someone else, from across the hallway.

And that action left an aftermath of the fool's body to drop flat on the floor, quickly finding it's perfect spot with between the other pile of corpses scattered around.

When the soldat turned around, the sharp of his gaze softened almost immediately.

There she was standing there, in the pastel blue of her 'prison' attire. Her hair was a bit messy even if it was tied, and her complexion looked slightly pale with fatigue but to the soldat, she was glowing like angel; despite the blood on her clothes or the gun in her hand.

She was right there.

His heart.

His love.

His darling.

Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying for days. Her pouty lips trembled when the soldat stepped closer and closer towards her, tears threatening to fall as if she haven't done that during all the weeks that she had been here.

The soldat's steps grew faster.

So does Y/N's.

Tap taping until they were almost running towards each other.

Until the moment they reunited in the middle.

Catching each other's lips in a desperate and insatiable kiss, the soldat pulled her body tight around the waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Both whimpered in a yearning moan, both still had their guns hanging on one of their hands.

So many feelings at once, relief and grief, with each of them had a different story to tell.

The couple kept breaking and mending the kiss ever-so-passionately as if they weren't in the middle of the grave-less cemetery; as if they weren't in the center of the piling corpses.

Briefly opening his eyes, the soldat could see a shadow running towards them. When Y/N heard the footsteps from her back, she knew they need to pull away, but the soldat was firm and stubborn with his hold.

So instead of letting her break the kiss, he groaned in disapproval and pulled her lips back to his. An angry growl vibrated against her lips as he continued to explore her wet and warm mouth.

Caught off-guard she melted to his silent demand, almost forgot that the enemy was right behind her. But, she should've know better when the soldat loosen one of his arms from the embrace and pointed his gun towards the target.

His finger pulled the trigger almost as easily as his teeth tugging into the bottom of her lips. And suddenly the sound of a body collapsing behind didn't matter anymore.

When the soldat felt that he had enough of the sweetness of her kiss, he finally pulled away, at least for now. He whispered dearly, "Родная (darling)..." he cupped her face in his large hands and rested his forehead on hers.

She thought she heard it wrong, but did he just called her darling? It took her a few second to piece it together and realized that this man was not Bucky, that he had relapsed into the Winter Soldier again, "Soldat?"

The soldat smiled and leaned forward to steal a chaste kiss on her lips, "Yes, it's me, мое Родная (my darling)" he cooed as he swept her by her feet, off the bloody ground and carried her in his arm, "I got you, Куколка (little one). You can rest now."

"We're just wanted make sure she's alright."

"You can follow us if you want so just please--"

"Soldat! You're going to hurt her."

The familiar voices leaked through Y/N's ears as she was drifting through her dreamless slumber. Soon enough, the loud commotion of her surrounding woke her up from the deep sleep.

The words that the Avengers were yelling out became clearer as she gained her consciousness, and the ever-changing movements of the soldat, evading every step the Avengers made to get closer to him, made her aware of the way she was resting in his arms; perfectly cocooned in a form of a bridal carry style.

The soldat halted on his spot when Y/N opened her eyes to see what was going on, "Soldat?" She blinked multiple times as she adjusted to the lights. The menacing frown of the soldat melted into a much softer expression, "Родная(darling), you shouldn't be awake yet." He craddled her closer to him as he cooed.

Where is she? How long was she out? When did she changed her clothes?

"What is happening?" She asked as she peered over his shoulder to see Natasha sighing in relief, "Sweetheart, thank god you're awake."

Y/N then looked over to Steve, "You've been gone for weeks, y/n. We got news about your rescue yesterday, and you guys just arrived home. Now, if we could just to take you to the medbay and get you check-up, that'll be great." He briefly explained.

"Yeah, that's all we want isn't it? But, someone just had to be sappy and refuse to let anyone touch you. You know, how it is with the soldier." Tony quickly intercepted.

The soldat didn't pay them any attention now that his darling was awake. He was merely focusing on whispering the sweetest things as he traces delicate trails of kisses on her forehead, her nose, her cheek, basically all over her face.

Sam took it as opportunity to get closer when the soldat was distracted on suffocating Y/N with kisses. But he should learn by now how alert and agile the soldat can be, especially when he have Y/N close to his proximity.

So, when Sam took a step closer, the soldat recoiled almost immediately, putting quite of a distance between them.

"Man, if Bucky has a staring problem, then the winter soldier over here has a hogging problem." Sam accusingly pointed at the soldat, only getting grunts as a reply.

Looking at the current situation, Y/N pondered for awhile. As much as she wanted to get herself check-up, it was also wise to not pressure the soldat to give her away.

Considering what she witnessed at the Hydra base, Y/N knew the risk that comes when we let the soldat dwell in anger for too long.

So she consulted the rest of the team to back down for now, and let the soldat do what he wants. Y/N promised them that she will conviced the soldat to let her get a check-up as soon as possible. But for now, they really need to trust her words.

At first every one of them was reluctant to let her go but in the end they agreed to her suggestion.

When the team spread out and gave some space for the soldat, he didn't waste any time and marched straight to where their bedroom supposed to be. As soon as they arrived at their safe space, the soldat almost threw Y/N onto the bed and swiftly drew a knife from the holster of his thigh as his predatory eyes searched the room.

He refused to move even an inch away from where he stood and remained close to Y/N; shielding her figure with his own.

It was very faint, but the soldat could sensed that they weren't the only ones in the room.

Y/N eyed him curiously, wondering why the soldat was still on edge when he wasn't supposed to. So, she hopped off from the bed and stood on her feet before reaching out to hug the soldat from behind.

"You can put the knife down, soldat. It's just us here." She coaxed but the soldat refused to believe her. He pulled her by the arms, breaking her hug in the process and hold her close to his chest, "There's someone else here."

His actions was rather rougher than he intended it to be; even Y/N was startled by the sudden movement, "Oooff, careful there, soldat. You might give the little one a fright." She chuckled softly as she give her belly a loving rub.

And suddenly his attention was completely focused on Y/N now. Usually his frown symbolized irritation, but this time there was a clear confusion in his eyes. The amount of appalled blinking of his eyes increases when the puzzle pieces in his head started to merge.

The soldat knew that he heard a third heartbeat in the room; that was why he was on alert for threats but apparently he had been closer to the source than he thought was.

In fact, it was right his arms. Or maybe a little bit lower, somewhere around his torso.

Y/N didn't say anything, she simply nodded and smiled up to him as she continued to rub her belly.

When the conclusion finally hits him, the soldat dropped the knife in his hand at the same time he fell on his knees. His gaze never broke from hers, not even a split second, until he was face to face with her tummy.

The soldat leaned one side of his ear closer to her and the thumping sound of the third heartbeat got louder. The discovery had caused him to jolt away as shock decorated his features. He titled his head upwards to Y/N with the same wide, confused look in his blue eyes.

"It's okay, love." She giggled amusingly when the soldat repeated his previous actions. He leaned in and jolted back again as if he couldn't believe what he just heard was real, "Is it... his?" The soldat asked as he implied his existance to be separated from Bucky.

There was a hint of sadness in Y/N's expression when he said it like that. There's been many long conversations that she and Bucky had about the soldat after his first relapse.

Though Bucky was still unsure of his own dissociating self, Y/N on other hand believed that the soldat, this particular man whose drenched the earth with blood just to save her, the same man whose currently on his knees to hear a heartbeat of an unborn child; he deserved a little kindness in his life.

"Yes..." Y/N answered truthfully before she continued, "...and he's yours too."

And that surely knocked the air out of the soldat's lungs, he couldn't tell if she was telling him the truth or was just trying to kill him; either way the butterflies in his chest was suffocating him from the inside.

The soldat couldn't speak a single word; because he didn't know what to say. But there was this beam on his features, light in his eyes, softness on his smile when he dreamily stared at her growing belly.

Y/N took him by his flesh hand and place his palm on her stomach, then she spoke tenderly to the baby inside her, "Wanna say hi to daddy, sweet bean? Say, 'Welcome home, daddy.' "

She knew it was silly, because obviously the child in her womb shouldn't be able to speak, and he was not yet developed enough to be kicking his feet. Hell, they don't even know his gender yet.

But how could she not say it when the soldat looked so damn happy when she did. He looked so peaceful and has this daze and some of those twinkling hearts in those steel-blue eyes of. The soldat sighed in pure joy before he leaned to kiss her stomach.

And as it turns out that was all she needed to do to persuade the soldat to letting her see the doctors. He was there through the whole process, refusing to let go of her hand. It was such a good news to hear that the baby was healthy and there wasn't any foreign substance that might contaminated her during her times in Hydra.

After getting proper medical care and some food in her system, the soldat immediately carry her back to their room to settle down. While she laid on the bed, making up for the lost time to finally get the mental rest she desperately needed, the soldat on the other hand, had made himself comfortable by lying his head on her stomach.

He just couldn't stop; as if he was hypnotised by the melody of the baby's heartbeat. His hand snuck under her shirt, lifting the fabric up to reveal the belly where their miracle resides.

Y/N's droopy eyes followed his actions as she watched how carefully the soldat approached her. Out of habit, her hands absentmindedly rake through the softness of his hair as she held him by the head.

The soldat dotingly caressed the child's sleeping chambers as he leaned closer to it, "...Hi there, little one." he greeted with a quiet and loving whisper.

Immediately, a smile beamed brightly on Y/N's face when the soldat proceed to pamper her belly with countless of tender kisses, "...it's daddy." he introduced himself, as if the baby was able to understand him.

The silence that came after was so sweet and comfortable. And Y/N knew she wouldn't be able to have this without the soldat. She tucked a piece of his loose strand of hair behind his ear when she spoke gently, "Thank you for saving me, soldat."

He briefly lifted his head and smiled up at her, "You know I can't live without you Родная (darling). I will always need you." He declared a truthful confession before turning his attention away. His lips grazed on the skin of her belly as he mumbled against it, "And you too, little one."

Y/N could burst into tears just from this interaction alone but she try not to. She doesn't want to look back at this moment and remember how much she wept, so she blinked her tears away while she watched the soldat spoiled the little buddle of joy inside her with so much endearments.

Even though it was always a happy memory for the soldat when he spend time with his darling, but this... this was rare. And he wanted to cherish it for as long as he could.

The soldat laid on his ears again when he peered from where he had his head rested, his deep gaze captured her attention, "Has he been taking care of you good, darling?" He asked.

The soldat probably had no idea how Bucky adored her; if anyone paid enough attention they might even caught him worshipping the very ground she stepped on.

A breathy chuckle escaped from her mouth as nodded with a drunken grin, "He's the best." She hummed approvingly, "Best husband, and best daddy too." She exclaimed brightly as she glanced at the ring on her finger; it was barely visible through the thick of the soldat's hair.

Surprisingly, the soldat didn't react negatively to her remarks, instead, a proud smile curved on his lips as the pride in his chest overflowed and leaked all through his very being, "Good." He simply said.

The smile lines on the corner of his eyes didn't flatten even when he closed his eyes. For a moment, he tried to silenced everything else around him and focused on the fluttering sounds of the baby's tiny heart.

It might have been the thick haze of lavender smoke in their head or the swarming butterflies in their chest, that they didn't even notice the fatigue that had been slowly taking over them, until the tenderness of their caresses were barely moving.

When the heaviness of her eyes weighted the lids, she sleepily asked the soldat, "Will you still be here when I wake up?" Truth to be told, she was afraid that all of this was just a dream; an escape from reality of the cruel captivity.

The soldat briefly opened his own tired eyes and cooed softly, "I'm always with you, Родная (darling)." And Y/N took it as a promise for her desprete soul to cling on; a ray of hope for her to hold onto, if she ever wakes up in that cell again.

Not long after, both of them lost to the lure of somnolent and their soul quickly drifted into the peaceful dreamland. Soft snores were filling the quiet of the room as their mortal body continued to entangled themselves with each other.

It was safe to say that if Steve would ever barge into the room, he'd probably maxed the storage of his phone with photos of the soldat smushing his face on Y/N's belly as she perfectly curled around him.

Maybe it was the sunlight leaking through the window or maybe it was the intense gaze she felt burning on the skin of her face. Eitherway, it certainly disturbed her from her sleep.

When her body stirred, Y/N realized that she didn't need to open her eyes to know that last night was not a dream, especially when she can feel a pair of familiar arms wrapping around her waist under her shirt.

Y/N slowly peeled her eyes open to see a recognizable ceiling. Her eyes then trailed to her side and met a pair of blue of eyes staring back at her. Her gaze searched for the soul within him and found the semblance of Bucky reflected in his eyes.

Still dazed from sleep, she continued to watch him blinking at her, slowly and silently, like a cat declaring their love to their human. But even then, he couldn't hide the afterglow of the tears on his face.

"Bucky, honey. Have you been crying?" Her voice rasped from lack of use, yet her tender fingers find themselves crawling across his wet cheeks. 

It was as if her voice was a trigger, and tears quickly reformed in Bucky's eyes again. Y/N gently pulled him to her chest, one hand threading his hair and another rubbing his back as he sobbed in her arms, "It's okay, Bucky. We're okay." She continued to coax him lovingly.

They spend most of the early morning holding each other close and dear. Then when the tears started to lessen, Bucky finally pulled himself away from her. Y/N wiped the excess tears on his cheeks but he caught her hand underneath his; he relished in the relief of her presence when he sighed to her touch.

Bucky's gaze wobbled in the pool of tears in his eyes but he was still determined to speak his mind  "I'm so sorry, doll." He apologized, "I couldn't stop them. Even with this damned serum in me, I still couldn't protect you; both of you." If his defeated voice didn't convey his truth, then the tremble of his touch should be enough.

And Y/N's heart simply shattered for him; what did he meant by that? He did save her though. The winter soldier or Bucky. It didn't matter who but she was here now because of him. She was safe; they both were, "But you saved me, did you not?"

"But, I didn't. The sol--" Before Bucky could even finish his sentence, Y/N quickly cuts in, "The soldat is always going to be a part of you, Bucky. And if he saved me, that means you saved me too." She reassured him.

Seeing the hesitation in his eyes, she continued to persuade him, "And if I could speak for our child, which I absolutely can because I'm his mother, then he would say that he is proud that his strong daddy managed to beat the absolute shit out of those bad guys."

Bucky blurted out a hearty laugh, "I don't think it's good to teach our baby to curse when he is still in your womb, mama." His laugh gradually reduced to a chuckle when he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.

Y/N simply shrugged to his suggestion, "It's not like he wouldn remember this anyway." She smirked playfully.

Another chuckle managed to slip through Bucky's lips before he lowered his face to her tummy, "And you? How's your play date with Winter, hmm sweet bean?" He mumbled as his lips planted on her skin.

Besides the heartbeat of his child, he could also hear the tiny twitching of the baby's limbs moving ever-so-slightly, "Yeah, I bet he spoiled you with lots of kisses and cuddles, huh? Like he did your mommy?" He continued to coo against her belly, unaware of the shock on his wife's face.

"Winter?" A small smile cracked from the corner of her lips. Yes, she was shocked but that doesn't mean she wasn't pleasantly surprised by it.

Bucky didn't even bother to look up at Y/N's face as he was busy blowing raspberries on her stomach, "If he's going to keep popping up in our lives then we might as well call him something else other than 'soldat', don't you think?" He simply said, marking one last kiss on the small growing bulge on her belly, before working his way back up to her face.

Y/N's heart swelled to his gesture and when he laid his head next to hers, she carefully took him by his cheeks, pulling him in for a gentle kiss, "I think he'd love that, Bucky." She whispered against his lips, feeling his smile in return.

Bucky nudges forward to catch her lips again; kissing her slow and sweet as if his whole world has been waiting for this moment. And when the kiss naturally broke, he tempted her with something he knew she couldn't resist, "Now, how about we grab you both something to bite, hmm?"

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: The use of the title in the fic is suprisingly wholesome despite the insinuation of it, don't you think? Lol. Btw, thank you so much for stopping by and read my work. Leave your thoughts behind for me, I'd love to hear from you!

[nina-ya]

When You Fake It (Zoro x Reader NSFW)

Law Version! A/N: happy kinktober!! this is an unofficial submission for it lol it's zoro yearning hours out here!!! Pairing: Zoro x AFAB reader CW: smut MINORS DNI, P in V sex, missionary, riding, unprotected sex (Wrap it up), creampie uhhhh I'm bad at warnings if I missed anything lmk • masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

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Zoro looms above you, his thick, hard cock sliding in and out of your drenched pussy. Your body jolts with each thrust, the bed creaking with the force. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he drives into you, the sounds of flesh against flesh filling the air along with your shared ragged breaths. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, voice strained. You nod in response, biting your lips as your body rocks beneath his large frame. The stretch of him inside you never seems to get less intense, the sensation of his cock dragging against your walls sharp and deep… but its not hitting the way you need it to. You try to focus and fall into the rhythm of his movements, but the pleasure just isn’t building the way it usually does.

His hips snap forward, faster now, and you force a moan, making it loud and particularly breathy, hoping that it’ll trick your mind into pulling you closer to the edge. Instead, it just feels distant. Detached. 

“You close?” Zoro pants, his gaze dropping to where his cock disappears into you, watching the way your greedy hole sucks him in with each thrust. His fingers dig harder into your skin, the force enough to leave marks where the fingertips lay. 

You nod again, squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn’t bear to tell him that you were far from it. Couldn’t admit that something was missing, not when he’s like this- not when he’s giving you his all. So instead, you arch your own back, hands sliding down to grip the bedsheets below you, and you make yourself moan again. This time louder, higher pitched, doing anything in your power to make him believe your actions. 

“Zoro,” you gasp, breath hitching. He grunts in response, his pace becoming erratic as he pushes into you deeper, harder. The thick heat of him fills you completely, but the pleasure you oh so desperately crave still doesn’t come.

So you just decide to rip off the bandaid and fake it. You tense your body, trying to move in the way that you have done dozens of times before in this exact same scenario. You close your eyes, arch your back off the bed and let out a choked, broken cry, jerking your hips up as you do everything you can to put on the most convincing act possible. You clench around him, squeezing tight as you whimper out his name, and just internally pray that he buys it. 

You almost sigh in relief as he slows down, and for just a second, you think you’ve gotten away with it, your body slowly relaxing against the sheets. But then, you open your eyes to meet his and the heat in his gaze makes your stomach churn. Zoro is watching you closely, and that look in his eyes tells you that he is not entirely convinced by your performance.

“Did you fake it?” it was a straightforward question– one that had an almost challenging undertone to it right alongside the obvious suspicion. 

Your heart stutters in your chest as you realize your lies are crumbling apart by the second. “I-” you start, stumbling over your words, “I didn’t-” but the lie doesn’t come easily. You know he can see right through you, see how you are just putting on some poor excuse of an act. 

Zoro raises an eyebrow, expression unreadable, and suddenly the weight of his body on top of you feels much much heavier with the occasional pulse of his cock deep inside of you not letting you forget just how full he has you.

You swallow hard and your hands reach up and slide over his broad shoulders. You can’t hide from him, not when he’s looking at you like this- like he knows exactly what happened. “I’m sorry,” you mumble in defeat. “I just wasn’t feeling it.”

He’s silent for a moment, but then Zoro dips his head down, lips brushing against your neck as he kisses a trail of warmth along the column of your neck. “Why didn’t you ay something?” his voice is softer now, the rasp of his breath hot against your skin. “What’s wrong, huh? Tell me what you need.”

You can feel the sincerity in his question, his concern, but your words seem to be trapped in your throat. You’re not quite sure whato say, not even sure what is it that you need. Instead of verbalizing your response, your hands slide down to his chest, pushing gently. Zoro watches you for a beat, expression shifting to realization as he leans back allowing you to guide him. You press harder, silently asking for control, and he complies as he shifts under your touch as you push him onto his back.

He lets out a low hum of approval, hands resting on your hips as you straddle him, his cock still nestled deep inside of you. “Take what you want, then,” he murmurs, voice low and velvety. “Make yourself feel good. I’ve got you.”

You settle on top of him, your thighs trembling as you take a moment to adjust to the different angle that allowed him to feel much deeper inside. It’s a moment of control, and it feels better- feels right. And Zoro just watches you, hands on your hips as he supports you.

You bite your lip, testing the waters with a slow roll of your hips, feeling every inch of him drag against your gummy walls. The pressure, the stretch- its intense,  but its now all on your own terms, building into something that sends shivers down your spine. You hear the green haired man groan below you, and watch as his fingers twitch against your waist as if he’s barely holding back.

Each roll of your hips against him seems to spark a flame within you and you move with more confidence, finding that pace that makes heat pool in your belly, the pleasure nothing short of real this time. Your movements grow bolder, each motion of your hip more purposeful, grinding down until you feel that electric friction right where you need it most. Zoro’s cock twitches inside of you with every roll of your body and you cant stop the tilt of your head back as gasps of pleasure fill the air. 

Your nails dig into his chest, leaving small crescent marks in his skin as you ride him with abandon now, the pressure between your legs building and building until you are trembling on the edge. There’s no room for pretending anymore– this is real, the heat between your thighs scorching, the sensation of being so full, so utterly taken over by the moment.

“Fuck… Zoro…” you moan, the words slipping out before you can stop them. It’s as if your senses are heightened and every touch, smell, sound, and taste are all on a different level. 

“Good,” he grunts out, hips twitching upward, meeting you halfway as you sink down onto him again. “Thats, it. Don’t stop.”

But how could you? Your body feels like it’s on fire, your clit throbbing in time with your rapidly beating heart as the waves of pleasure grow closer and closer to their peak, threatening to drown you in sheer bliss. 

The sensations intensify and soon you feel that familiar pressure coiling tighter and tighter within you. You lean forward, panting and breathlessly saying his name over and over again like a mantra and he responds by thrusting upwards, the bulbous head of his cock bullying that one spot inside you that has you reeling with pleasuere.

Your body oh so craves release as you feel yourself teetering on the brink, and thats when he speaks up. He urges you, his voice low and deep, “I can.. ah fuck-... I can feel how close you are. Just let go for me.” 

And thats when that coil just snaps.

The tension that had built so intensely within you shatters like glass, sending shards of pleasure exploding throughout your veins. You cry out, a broken sound escaping your lips as your body convulses in pure ecstasy. Your hands tremble against his chest in your futile attempt to keep yourself grounded while the focus around you shrinks until all that’s left is the pleasure coursing through you. Your walls clench around him, spasaming with each wave of your orgasm in a cycle of overwhelming bliss that seems to stretch on forever.

Zoro’s breath hitches, and you can sense the way he’s watching you– that gaze flickering between your face and that spot where you two connect as he drinks in every detail of your release. “That’s it. Just like that,” he grunts as he grips your hips, guiding you as you ride the waves of your climax.

But he doesn’t stop. Not even after you left that ring of your milky white essence coating the base of his cock. He continues to thrust into you, chasing his own high. It’s a delicious feeling that nearly sends you spiraling again, the sensitivity from your orgasm leaving your mind in a total state of disarray. 

“Zoro, a-ah! t- too much-” you gasp out, your words swallowed and replaced by broken whimpers and shaky gasps as his thrusts grow more urgent. 

You could see the way his eyes are clamped shut, eyebrows scrunched in focus, jaw slack as hot puffs of breath release with the occasional grunt. All tell tale signs that he was close as well. He mutters out something confirming your thoughts, but you can only focus on the way his pelvis slams up into your clit over and over again, sending you jolting and whining out with the overwhelming sensations. 

And with one final thrust, he gasps as his hips stutter into you before he stills completely, emptying his balls into your throbbing cunt. You could feel the way his cock twitches with each spurt of his seed, mixing with the remnants of your own release. 

You sigh out as you collapse onto him, the sweat of your bodies mixing as you both pant. Neither of you move, not daring to interrupt the blissful silence as the world comes back into focus. When he pulls out, you whimper at the sudden emptiness, feeling your combined slick pools between your legs. As you shift and settle onto his side, you press lazy kisses against any exposed skin you can readily reach and Zoro responds in kind, pressing kisses to your forehead as his fingers trace your body in lazy patterns. Something about this moment fills you both with the desire to recreate it over and over again. But that’s for another time. For now, you two simply will soak in the afterglow of your feelings for each other, and thats more than enough.

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH2

You find yourself at the lowest point of your life, with no way out, stuck in your own darkness, but then a woman approaches you with an offer that may change your life…

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Depression, anxiety, mental health issues. Mommy/Daddy issues. Pet names. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Age gap. Dom/sub undertones. Fluff. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 6.8k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6 7–8–9–10–11–12

A/N: This is the angsty-backstory/how-they-met episode. No smut here, just a bit of plot and a lot of angst. The real smut will commence in chapter 3. (This also marks the first part of the past-timeline which will continue in chapter 4 and onward.) If you don't care to read 6.8k words of backstory, there's a TL;DR at the end of the post! (For more information on Reader, check out the A/N in chapter 1.)

Chapter 1 🔷️ Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3

Several months earlier

Sometimes it takes one single stone to bring the entire avalanche down on somebody. Or however that saying goes. You couldn't care less when it eventually happened to you. It started when you stopped going to college. You just couldn't anymore, physically and mentally. It was a chore to leave your room, an entire obstacle course to even think about going to your classes, meeting other people, doing anything anymore. And you still have no idea how it all came to be. It just happened.

You stopped going, but life went on, and in the end you had to drop out, missed too many classes, couldn't get back on track in time, lost contact to anyone you'd considered a friend before. And when it was official, you lost your room in the dorm. Because it was student living, and you were no longer a student. So you gathered the few things you owned (which wasn't much) and left the place. It was all a daze back then, a blind stumble through your darkness, an aimless wandering, your mind either too empty or too full to realize that you were now homeless.

And not even that. Prior to being kicked off campus, you were let go from your job in the coffee shop because you had excused yourself too many times. You tried to return to it, because the people were nice, but even they couldn't take you back because now you didn't have a home address anymore, and somehow that was important? How were you supposed to afford rent when you couldn't even get a job because you didn't have a place to stay yet? Life wasn't fair, and it accumulated quickly.

That first day, you stumbled through the streets, headless, still not quite understanding what was happening. You were numb, unable to process what your life had turned into.

You slept on a bench in the park that night, luckily it was late spring, already quite warm, the only good thing about your whole situation, but even now you realize that you were really lucky that night because who knows what could have happened. A young woman, alone in the dark, helpless. It's scary just how lucky you had been.

You made it back to the coffee shop, hoping they had changed their mind. They hadn't, but they allowed you to spend the day sitting inside, trying to get your bearings, thinking what you should do. The problem was, you didn't have any options. You had a little bit of money saved up, but it was not enough to pay the first-time payment for a new apartment, and you'd burn through most of it by just staying even at the cheapest hotel.

Your worst enemy, however, was your pride. Asking former friends to crash on their couch for a bit? Never in a million years. You had ghosted them, ignored them for so long they'd probably hate you now, and you couldn't face them, ashamed and insecure as you were.

On top of that, even before you fell into your black hole, you had made an effort to burn all the bridges of your old life when you moved to the other side of the country, leaving it all behind to start fresh.

The 'safety' of your family and your hometown was too far away now. Plane tickets were horribly expensive (as was train travel or a simple bus ride), you also didn't own a car, and asking them to send you money would never ever be an option either. Not just because of your pride (though admitting defeat and returning with your tail between your legs was also high on your no-chance-in-hell-list), but because you knew they wouldn't come to your rescue anyway. Somehow you knew they didn't care about you anymore.

Especially your mother had not been happy when you were accepted into a college all the way on the other side of the country, but for you, it was like a dream come true. A new beginning. All on your own. Finally. The first years truly were like paradise. But then, as if someone had flipped a switch, completely out of the blue, it all came down, and buried you alive. And as days turned into weeks turned into months, where you couldn't even leave your dorm room anymore, you kept seeing your mother's face in front of you, condescending as ever, hissing 'I knew it...' into your ear.

You felt like the biggest failure, letting everyone down, especially yourself. And you told yourself you didn't deserve help, maybe you deserved to rot at the bottom of this deep dark pit. Dropping out of college, losing your room, spending your time on the streets, was only the tip of the iceberg of a months long depression you saw no way out of.

You were stuck, too scared and stubborn and self-loathing to ask for help, unable to move back or forward. And when the coffee shop closed for the night that second day, you found yourself huddled in a nearby doorway, unable to even go back to the park or find somewhere else to stay. They told you about a homeless shelter, but you couldn't face any people right now. It felt impossible.

But it didn't stop other people from approaching you. Again, you were more than lucky, you could have met who knew who, you were aware that there were bad people out there, but instead it was a woman. A beautiful woman in a business suit who looked as if she'd stepped right out of one of those fancy fashion magazines. You stared at her in awe and confusion when she crouched down in front of you.

“You shouldn't be here,” she said, her voice so smooth and velvety and gentle, a subtle accent shining through her words.

What she said made you frown though, and you started to move, knowing you shouldn't loiter here like this, but her hand shot out and found your shoulder, holding you in place. You froze, blinking at her.

“Not the safest place for a young woman like yourself. Do you need help?”

There it was, the dreaded question. You wanted to say yes, scream it at the top of your aching lungs, please, yes, help me, but you couldn't. You didn't want to be a burden, you wanted to rot away in your little hole and that was it. It was a strain to ask for anything, had always been, you liked being independent, but that ship had sailed a long time ago.

So all you replied with was a pathetic sniffle that you hid by wiping at your face. It was numb by this time, too many tears, countless panic attacks, it had been all too much. And again the woman grabbed your wrist, pulled your hand away, watched you with genuine concern on her pretty face. You only sobbed more under her attention.

“Shh, it's alright. It's going to be okay,” she tried to soothe you, the back of her finger wiping at your wet cheek. You startled away, gasping, hitting your head on the wall behind you, which caused you to cry even harder. “Oh, sweet girl, it's alright,” she repeated, and then she pulled you into a hug, right against her impressive bust, and it was warm and soft and the touch so confusing and overwhelming that you just went limp in her embrace, sniffling pathetically.

You still don't know why she treated you like that, you were a stranger, a girl living on the streets for all she knew, and yet she looked right through you and saw how lost you were. You can't really remember what happened next, but she seemed to have convinced you to come with her, and she brought you to a diner that was still open, where she ordered food and drinks for you, and you sat there, stunned and still overwhelmed, and let it happen, mesmerized by this strange woman.

And you ate and talked, pushed by her attentive eyes and concerned questions, told this stranger everything, cried some more, had another panic attack, and as you thought she would leave then, too troubled or unimpressed by your story, she asked you something else. Something that would change your life forever.

“Do you know what a submissive is, sweetheart?” The question came so natural. She was sipping on her coffee, watching you over the rim of the cup, a little sparkle in her beautiful eyes.

You frowned and shook your head. You knew the word as an adjective, of course, but you weren't sure what she was insinuating by phrasing it like that.

She smiled softly and explained it to you, patiently and as if she was talking about the weather, and you felt your cheeks burning up, your attention focused on her and the picture she was painting. Your head was swirling with words like dominance and caregiver, deference and submission, guidance and devotion, and phrases like giving up control and letting someone else take over. She never actually said it, but there was a deeply sexual undertone to it all, which confused you as much as it overwhelmed you.

She finished with: “So my partner and I are looking for a girl like this, someone willing to let go for us, someone we can take care of, hold and pamper, you know? We've been looking for a while, but never found the right one.”

You stared at her as she leaned her elbow on the table and her chin into her palm, her eyes wandering over your flushed face. “You would live with us, you'd have a home. You'd be given tasks and chores, because, yes, nothing is for free in this world, but you'd be taken care of, you wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore.”

She inhaled deeply, leaning back in her seat. You watched her, your mind reeling, her words echoing in your head. You were more than intrigued, but it all sounded too good to be true. How was it possible that at your lowest point, when everything seemed hopeless, you'd meet a woman who'd tell you about a way out? And all you had to do was follow their orders, do what they told you to do, let them take control? Honestly, in your current state, at this point, you'd do anything to get out of your own head.

But the longer you stared at her and the longer the silence dragged on between you, the more you deflated, already knowing she'd be disappointed in you too, sooner or later. You chewed on your bottom lip, lowering your eyes, distancing yourself from this possibility even before it could come to fruition. Can't be disappointed if you don't have any expectations, right?

She moved, extending a hand to touch your arm, her long slim fingers hooking under it, slowly dragging downwards until she could get a hold of your hand. You looked up in confusion, tears burning in your eyes. She squeezed your hand gently.

“Will you be our submissive, sweetheart?” she asked quietly, her eyes boring into yours. “Will you give it a chance? There are no strings attached, you come with me tonight, I'll show you the house, you meet my partner, and then you can decide what to do, okay? I know I'm just a stranger now, and telling you to trust me certainly sounds weird, right? But I mean it, you can trust me. I really want to help you.”

You parted your lips, wanting to reply, but only a sob came out. You didn't deserve this. And this stranger was too nice, too generous, offering you all this? Where was the catch? Were you being pranked? Was she a serial killer looking for her next victim? Maybe she just saw another charity case in you, someone to help for publicity or something? All those thoughts flooded your mind as you watched her, but the longer she patiently held your hand, smiling softly at you, the calmer you became.

She didn't look foul or like she had an ulterior motive. She seemed sincere. You swallowed hard, licking your dry lips. In the end you came to the conclusion: it's either this or the park again, and even if she wanted to kill you or do whatever else with you, it beat being alone and miserable. And if you were meant to die that night, then it would happen anyway. Besides: you didn't have anything left to lose.

So from the lowest point of your life, without seeing a way out on your own, you looked at the woman and nodded, biting your lower lip, blinking away your last tears. “Yes,” you quaked out, squeezing her hand back.

Her smile grew wider, and it reached all the way to her eyes, little creases breaking through her perfect make-up. She seems real enough, you thought. Genuine. She really wanted to help you.

And so she took you with her, and as you sat next to her in the back of her car (which was driven by a man in a black uniform and a hat), you realized you might have struck gold with this woman. Your tears dried on your cheeks as you watched in awe how you drove through the better part of town until you reached a large house, almost a mansion, fenced-in and with a fancy gate, something you'd never seen up close before.

She guided you inside, you in your dirty clothes with your bulging backpack that held all your belongings, while her expensive shoes clicked along the hardwood floors, and at first you felt completely out of place. You didn't belong here and these people would notice this soon enough. Whatever they expected of you, you'd never be able to meet those expectations. They were rich, privileged, and you... were nothing.

She seemed to feel your growing worries and grabbed your hand, silently taking you upstairs to a room somewhere in the middle of a long hallway. You were too overwhelmed to even notice the interior of the place, but when she opened the door and gently motioned you through it, your haze lifted slightly. You were in a bedroom, a simple bedroom with a big bed and two nightstands, a large closet, a desk and a bookshelf, and a door presumably leading into a bathroom. It was somewhat posh, but it was also simple, and it was...

“Yours,” the woman said, her hands on your shoulders. “If you say yes.”

Still biting your lip, you turned your head to look at her. She tilted hers, one of her hands gently cupping your face before her thumb pressed on your bottom lip.

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” she told you. “How about you take a nice long shower, get freshened up. Maybe you'll find something to wear in the closet, have a look. And when you're done, and when you're willing, come down and we'll have another talk, yes? Don't feel pressured. If you change your mind, you can still stay the night, no problem. But I'd really like you to consider my offer. You may not see it right now,” she adds, stepping around you to fully cup your face, leaning down a little to look into your eyes, “but we have been looking for someone like you for so long. You are the right one, sweet girl. Give it a chance, okay?”

You swallowed, nodding into her hands. Then she leaned in and actually pressed her lips to your forehead, and the gesture seemed to already settle your raging thoughts. She was so gentle, so nice, it almost broke your heart. Leaning back, she watched you, a smirk on her full lips, and without hesitation she leaned in again, and this time she touched her mouth to yours.

Your eyes went wide, the touch short but intense, a moment frozen in time. And while your mind was silenced, your body became alive with a strange throbbing, an urging need, a feeling you hadn't felt in ages. You'd been numb for so long, this felt like a wake-up-kiss. When she retreated and straightened up, you gave her a shy smile that caused her to issue a short little laugh.

“Take your time, honey, I'll be waiting downstairs,” she told you, caressing your cheek before she walked past you and out of the room.

And you were floating, barely able to think as you walked into the bathroom, stripped out of your clothes and enjoyed a hot shower you had needed for so long, or so it felt. It all fell off you as the water cascaded down your body. A new chance. A new life. In a house like this? Everything had looked so bleak before, tainted by doubts, but now the colors were coming back, one hue at a time.

When you were done, you dried off with the softest towels you'd ever experienced, and with one of them wrapped around your torso, you walked back into the room and towards the closet. It was wide and sleek with sliding doors, and opening it showed you a variety of clothes, but your eyes quickly wandered to the dresses hanging on velvety hangers. All colors one could think of, all shapes and sizes, and in the end you chose one that matched your eyes. Somehow it fit you perfectly also. It was elegant and cute at the same time.

You felt like a new person. Watching yourself in the mirror that stood in the corner, you felt mixed emotions though. It had been a while since you'd taken a long look at yourself. The dress went barely over your knees, and looking down, you realized you hadn't shaved your legs in a long time it seemed. Shame flushed your body, drowning out the excitement for a moment. Self-care hadn't been on the agenda while you were wasting your life away...

Sighing loudly, you shook that thought out of your head. No matter now. You had to look ahead! So you grabbed some complementary tights from the closet (and a nice looking pair of panties alongside it, colors you'd never buy for yourself), and easily covered the flaws of your neglected body. You also found a little matching cardigan to hide your arms. And slowly, you felt better. Like a person again, not entirely like yourself, but it was a start.

In a strange way, this was giving you serious princess-makeover-vibes. A few hours ago you were sitting in the dirt, in the dark, lonely and forgotten by the world, spat out to deal with the broken pieces of your life, and now... you were standing in this nice looking bedroom, surrounded by wealth and warmth. You did pinch yourself a lot that night, but you always came to the conclusion that you were not dreaming.

But when you walked up to the door, about to leave the safe space of this room, your heart sank. Doubts came rushing back, and you wondered how this could be real. A woman you'd never met before came up to you and asked you to be her and her partner's submissive, basically their little pet, if you understood her correctly, you'd get a home, and they would... well, do whatever they wanted with you? (Whatever that meant. You were not so sure.) All you had to do was listen to them, do as they said, give up control?

It all sounded rather strange. But what were your options? Go back to live on the streets? Wallow in your failure at life? (Take the walk of shame back to the life you had tried so hard to forget about?) You inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, flattened the skirt of your dress, attempted to bring order into the mess that was your towel-dried hair, and then, you went to meet them. You could only go forward anyway.

You heard voices from downstairs when you approached the large staircase. Your heart beat faster the closer you got to the room they were in. Your tights-clad feet tapped over the expensive looking hardwood floors, and it would have been a good idea to distract yourself by looking around and taking in the splendor surrounding you, but you couldn't look, couldn't focus, your mind fixated on meeting these people who wanted to give you a new life, without really knowing you.

Why did they trust you so much? What did the woman see in you that made it clear to her that you were the right one (whatever that meant)? You couldn't see it. But it wasn't up to you, apparently.

Taking a deep breath, you extended a shaking hand to grab the door handle, then paused, breathing harder, before you decided to knock. It was a frail attempt, barely audible over the voices still coming from behind the door. So you knocked again, your heart nearly exploding in your chest. And suddenly: silence.

“Come in!” sounded a female voice, before you heard footsteps coming closer.

You pulled the door open and stepped into what looked like a giant living room. Your eyes moved quickly over the interior. Couches, plural, facing each other, a large fireplace (with a TV above it) on one wall, bookshelves on the other. Big potted plants in the corners, a lot of black and white and wood colors. And in the middle of it, next to a little cart laden with alcohol bottles and glasses, stood a man.

For a moment all you saw was him. Tall, dark, handsome, came to mind. His eyes were on you, so intense you couldn't move another step. There was an air of authority around him, enhanced by the black suit he was wearing, by the way he stood, tall and intimidating, wide shoulders, long limbs, muscular but not too bulky, his angular jaw covered in a trimmed beard, short dark hair thick but kept in order. He watched you with a hard expression, and you had never felt smaller in your life.

The woman approached you then, and by touching your arm, broke the spell the man had on you. You blinked and looked at her, and she was just as stunning. Perfect skin, heavy eyes and full lips, a mane of dark hair cascading down her back. She had changed and was now wearing a tight black dress and high heels, and her legs were long, so long and toned and slender. Together they looked as if they'd just come from some kind of gala.

And here you were, in your borrowed dress, towel-dry-hair in messy waves all around your flushed face, hiding your shame under layers of too colorful clothes. You swallowed thickly, blinking again as you lowered your gaze.

“Here you are,” the woman addressed you, gently taking your hand and pulling you into motion. “I'm so glad you came down. Had a nice shower?” Her voice was soft and friendly, and you shot her a nervous smile and a nod. She pulled you to one of the couches and firmly nudged you to sit down. You did, still fighting the overwhelming emotions.

“Would you like a drink?” the man asked, and you looked up like a deer in headlights, staring at him, his voice a low grinding sound in the atmosphere, a timbre that made your core shake.

“I... I don't drink,” you stammered, your eyes flickering over his handsome face. “Thank you, though.”

A shadow crossed his features, but he nodded. “A water, then?”

You licked your suddenly dry lips, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “Yes, please,” you whispered and looked down at your hands. They were shaking badly, so you grabbed the hem of your dress and kneaded it roughly.

You heard the clinking of ice cubes, before heavy footsteps approached you. Looking up slowly, you saw the man holding a tall glass of water towards you. For a moment you just stared at his hands. Beautiful hands, big with long fingers, short nails, veins and tendons snaking under tight skin. You felt your cheeks burning up. To cover the strange excitement crashing through you, you quickly grabbed the glass, giving him a short nod and smile, unable to fully meet his eyes, and when your fingers brushed against his, a garbled gasp escaped you.

“There's no reason to be nervous, darling,” he told you, his hands closing around yours to stabilize the shaking glass. You stiffened nonetheless, your eyes widening.

You took a deep breath and somehow found the courage to look up again. “Y-yes, sir, s-sorry, and, uh, th-thank you,” you fell into an awkward stutter, meeting his dark eyes. A subtle twitch went through his face at your words, a soft smile growing on his lips. He let go of your hands and walked away with a nod, settling in an armchair close-by, still watching you like a hawk.

The woman then sat down beside you, throwing one arm around your shoulders as you tried to take a sip of the cold water. You almost spluttered when you felt her fingers tracing down your arm. “So,” she said with a sigh. “How about we get to know each other a little, hm?”

You saw her exchanging a glance with the man, who leaned back in his chair, large hands splayed out on the armrests as he crossed his legs. “What's your name, girl?” he asked.

You told him. The woman then introduced herself and her partner. They were not married, she told you, but worked together. He was in his late thirties, she was in her early thirties, they'd met through work and continued to cross paths until they moved in together, pursuing the same goals. A strange relationship, you thought (but you'd learn more about that very soon). She did most of the talking, giving you snippets of their lives, while the man watched you and nodded occasionally or added some details. But whatever they told you, mainly what they did for a living, didn't really register in your reeling mind (you couldn't even remember their names at this point).

You were too focused on just sitting there, holding your glass of water, trying to make a good impression by listening intently (or pretending to do so), being polite, hoping they wouldn't change their minds about you. When they were done telling you about themselves, the man uncrossed his legs and leaned his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands as he looked at you. And then he asked the dreaded question:

“Tell me about yourself, darling.”

Your throat tightened immediately. Over the last months, you'd lost yourself, buried in doubts and dark thoughts, and thinking about the person you once were hurt in a strange, crippling way. You still tried to answer him, told him where you came from, how happy you were to have been accepted to this town's college, to finally leave your hometown, how fun it had been... at the beginning.

But when it came to retelling the events (or the lack thereof) that had led to your downfall, you choked up, quickly hiding the croak in your voice by taking a big sip of water. You felt the woman's hand on your arm, giving it a gentle caress, but it only made it worse.

Tears spilled from your lashes when you tried to tell him what a failure you were. A loud exhale (akin to a sigh but less condescending) escaped him, and when the woman took the glass from you, you looked around in confusion, blinking against the tears burning in your eyes.

“Come here, girl,” sounded his voice through the large room, the dominant tone causing you to stiffen.

But you stood immediately, shuffling towards him, your hands clenched into fists, your head bowed. His long fingers brushed down your arms until he gently grabbed your waist and pulled you between his legs. You ended up sitting on his thigh, a pathetic sniffle escaping you as he held you, tilting his head to look at you.

The hand that wasn't curled around your hip moved up to your face, fingertips brushing over your wet cheeks. “Don't cry, it's okay,” he said soothingly. You inhaled deeply, trying to settle against him, but you were too nervous to relax, sitting stiff on his leg, like a fucking child on Santa's lap or something. It was weird and you felt horrible, small and insignificant, ugly and pathetic in the presence of such a handsome and successful man.

His hand cupped your face, his thumb pushing against your chin to turn your head slightly. You met his eyes, even though your vision was blurry. You blinked, unable to hold his gaze for long, overcome by a sudden wave of embarrassment.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice soft but the air of authority never left him. You jerked your chin up and swallowed, looking at him, your cheeks burning up even more. A smile grazed his hard face. “Good girl.”

His praise left a warm feeling in your stomach, and the longer you spent in the captivity of his dark eyes, the calmer you felt. His smile widened as he rubbed his thumb over the corner of your mouth. The motion gave you the courage to smile back, stiff and awkward, but it was still a smile.

“Tell me about your parents,” he then asked quietly, his hand leaving your face to settle on your thigh, holding you in a loose embrace on his leg. “Why can't they help you?”

You took a shuddering breath and told him that you didn't exactly part on good terms, that they hadn't wanted you to leave your hometown. You hadn't been in contact with them for months, probably years, there was usually just the occasional holiday or birthday call, sometimes not even that. You didn't have the money to make the trek across the country to meet them, and neither did they. You didn't grow up poor, but it hadn't been easy either. You were one of many children, your mother remarrying seemingly every five years, and you never had a connection to your father or any of the men she pulled into your home.

The words just tumbled out of your mouth at this point, and you had no idea how that was even possible. This man was a stranger, and yet he managed to loosen your tongue by simply holding you on his lap, listening intently, watching you closely, giving you attention you'd never had before in your life. It felt cleansing, and when you were done, your chest moved easier, the tension in your body melting slowly. His hand rubbed over your back, the other tightening around your waist as he pulled you a little bit closer.

“I see,” he said quietly. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

A croaked laugh escaped you. You licked your lips and looked away. “Thank you for listening,” you replied in a breathy whisper, timidly looking back at him. A subtle cough sounded from behind you. You flinched and turned slightly to face the woman sitting on the couch with her arms and legs crossed. “Thank you too, for... for inviting me into your home, for... helping me,” you added, watching her with an apologetic smile. You'd honestly forgotten about her for a moment.

“We haven't done anything yet, honey,” she said, pursing her lips. “But I think we've said enough. I knew you were the right one. What do you think, papito?” she added, looking past you at the man.

His hand was back on your face, turning it towards him once more. His eyes bored into yours as he replied: “Yes, I think you found the one.” Your cheeks flushed with heat. “Are you aware what we're asking of you, sweet girl?”

“To... to be your... submissive,” you answered quietly, still not quite understanding what that meant, but maybe it was enough to just roll with it. Of course it wasn't.

“And what does that mean to you? Why would you want that?”

You bit your lip, frowning slightly. “I... I need... someone to... tell me what to do,” you whispered, lowering your eyes to stare at his lips instead. “I think... it would help me... to have someone who... guides me... because... because I can't –”

Suddenly he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. You gasped, your eyes wide. “Stop. You can,” he said, his voice harsh but there was a soft twinkle in his eyes. “You can do anything you put your mind to. You may need a little push into the right direction, but I will not tolerate you talking yourself down like this, okay? You hit a bump in the road, yes, but you will not wallow in it any longer, do you understand me?”

You stared at him, surprised and stunned by his words, by his dominant tone. “Yes, sir,” you breathed out, blinking slowly, your mind pausing the assault of doubts for a moment. “I'm sorry.”

He shook his head, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “No apologies. It's alright. Accept your failure and move on.” You felt tears burning in your eyes, his scrutinizing stare making you feel small all over again. “And no more tears. You have no reason to cry right now. We're offering you something that will change your life. It may not be easy at first, but I know you'll adjust. You're a fighter, I know it. You wouldn't be here if you weren't.”

Despite his demanding tone, you couldn't help it when a single tear slipped past your lashes after all. You quickly raised a hand and wiped at it, taking a shaking breath, ready to apologize again, but he just looked at you, stern but also somewhat gentle, patient. And you looked back, caught in his deep eyes, slowly feeling yourself relaxing again.

“We will give you a home, we will give you anything you want and need to find your footing again,” he continued quietly, his hand moving from your chin to curl around your head. “And you will do whatever we say. This is as much for you as it is for us. As you know, we've been looking for someone like you for a long time. It's not easy finding the right girl... but you're it, darling,” he said with a pointed look, pressing his fingertips into your hair, massaging your scalp in a very calming, almost hypnotizing fashion that made it hard not to purr under. His words only added to the sensation. “You are perfect. We can make this work, I am sure. If you're willing.”

“I am,” you croaked out quickly, leaning into his touch. “I want to. Please.”

“You will do anything we ask of you?”

His voice was low, his gaze still as intense. Behind you, you heard the woman getting up, the quiet click of her heels echoing in your ears as she approached you, putting her hands on your shoulders.

“Yes,” you breathed out, looking at him, before turning your head to look at her. You saw them exchanging a glance.

“Say it again,” she whispered, teasing her pointy nails into your clavicles. “Tell us what you want.”

“I... I want to be your submissive,” you said, shivering slightly, looking from her back to him. “I want you to tell me what to do. I will do anything you say.”

A soft smile cracked through the hard shell of his face, his gaze getting warmer, little creases visible in the corners of his eyes. While you watched him, you felt the woman's hands moving up the back of your neck until she gently tugged at your hair, turning you towards her, her face suddenly very close to yours, her lips brushing against your cheek.

“You'll be our little girl?” she asked in a low whisper, rubbing her nose against your jaw.

“Yes, ma'am,” you replied, breathing a bit harder, your mind reeling.

The man's fingers dug into the fabric of your dress when he leaned closer too, pressing his rough cheek to yours, the scratch of his beard sending deep shudders down your spine.

“Are you absolutely certain?” he asked, his voice a thrumming vibration through your head.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped out, closing your eyes for a moment, your heart thundering in your chest.

They both cradled you closer, her lips on your right cheek, his on your left. “Will you call me Mommy?” the woman breathed against your skin.

“And me Daddy?” the man echoed, rubbing his bearded chin against your jaw.

You could barely breathe, the warmth radiating through your body was overwhelming. But there were no doubts, no matter how strange their request. You felt safe in their embraces, special. A sigh full of relief slipped from your trembling lips.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning into them.

They kissed your cheeks again, their arms tight around you. As strange as it should feel, it didn't. It felt good. Exactly what you had needed. A warm embrace, someone to squeeze all the worries right out of you. You settled against them, feeling lighter than you'd ever felt before.

“Thank you,” you added quietly, your eyes fluttering open. You met his gaze first. “Daddy,” you addressed him, watching how his smile widened, crow's feet deepening, before you turned your head and looked at the woman behind you. “Mommy.” She issued a happy little squeal and hugged you closer, her lips peppering soft kisses to your cheek.

You smiled back, numb in a way that was almost content, your eyes closing again as you simply melted into them. You felt tired, happy but tired, as if you'd finally reached your destination, a place you hadn't expected at all. Where you could let go.

“My good girl,” the woman, Mommy, whispered against the shell of your ear before she dragged the tip of her tongue along it. “Let's get you into bed. It's been a long day for you, hm?”

You shivered deeply, but you didn't protest when she let go of you and you felt two strong arms lifting you up. “Let's give her some space tonight, okay?” the man, Daddy, said, surely addressing his partner. “Get her accustomed.”

She sighed. “Fine. But tomorrow, I'll take you shopping and we'll do your hair and your nails and, oh, we'll do whatever else we find on our way. I'll pamper you stupid, sweet girl,” she laughed, her hand on your face as you were being carried through the large house that was to be your new home.

“Don't overdo it,” his voice sounded in your ear. “She's not your doll. I'd prefer her looking as natural as possible, okay?”

They continued their conversation, a hushed back and forth you couldn't pay too much attention to anymore, as you felt yourself floating through space, snuggling into a warm chest, firm and hard, but soft enough to lose yourself in. Your head was heavy when it hit the soft pillow, the mattress of the bed denting around you as the two adults sat down on its edges.

“Sleep tight, darling,” Daddy whispered and leaned over you to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. You sighed, your hand twitching, wanting to grab him, hold onto him, but he was gone before you could reach him.

“Good night, Daddy,” you mumbled, feeling yourself slipping into the sweet void of sleep.

On your other side, a set of hands found your face, and you felt Mommy's lips on yours again, a soft press, a short lick, a deep sigh. “Good night, sweetheart,” she said against your mouth, her hot breath fanning over your face.

“Night, Mommy,” you muttered, barely able to get the words out.

“We'll see you tomorrow.” The low voice echoed in your empty head, and you fell asleep with a smile on your face, as you sank into the soft bed, cuddling into the covers someone pulled over you.

You felt like a little girl again (ignoring the fact that you were 23* and supposedly your own person), tugged in by your 'parents', and even though you barely knew these people, you felt safe with them, accepted and taken care of. Somehow through the fog in your head you knew that your life would take a turn now, into different times, better times, because now you had two guiding lights with you, following you into the darkness that had consumed your life, eager to pull you back out.

And you were here for it, willing to do anything they asked in return. Willing to endure anything if only it would distract you from the nagging voices in your head. And endure you did...

Chapter 1 🔷️ Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3

End notes: *By the way, I just chose a random number. If you want Reader to be younger or older, please imagine her like that.

Also note that this is NOT a realistic representation of a BDSM relationship, I'm not a How-to-guide, I'm a writer juggling ideas around! This is fiction, remember?

Find below the TL;DR version of this chapter:

TL;DR: Reader drops out of college, is homeless and jobless, depressed and anxious, alone on the other side of the country with no friends and family, when a woman approaches her and takes her to a diner, asking her if she would like to be “her submissive”. Reader agrees, not really knowing what to expect, and the woman takes her to her home where she meets her partner. They ask again and she agrees, becoming their little girl, calling them Mommy and Daddy.

While you're here, I have a little side note to the tags I'm using: as a writer of original fiction, it is very hard to find any readers if I wouldn't poke my head into various fandoms, so I apologize if it irks you to see this kind of fiction under your favorite tags. But then maybe it's enough to pique your interest and you are already giving this a chance? Thank you if you do, maybe you can project your favorite blorbo(s) onto the characters present in this story.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: We go back to where Chapter 1 has ended and see how Mommy reacts to Daddy's plan.

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[ashes-of-rozes]

In Chicago, I Feel It

༼Part Two༽

Warnings: creepy men, possessive behavior, DARK ROMANCE, mentions of pregnancy, dom/sub undertones if you squint, part 3(?)

The hot water is probably the best thing you’ve had in ages.

Beside the sink was a shelf lined with white fluffy towels. You earthly pluck two off, wrapping up your hair and the other covering your body. You wipe a streak to clear the steam off the mirror, finally looking at yourself for the first time in three weeks.

Mark was right about one thing. You were definitely malnourished. Your cheeks were more hollow than you remember, a few veins visible on your neck, the outline of your collarbones visible.

When was the last time I ate?

The question makes you pause. You didn’t know the answer. Your stomach rumbled.

You take a deep breath and exit the bathroom. Your eyes land on a girl tucking in the corners of the bed. “Uhm…hi,” you call out. The girl startles and turns around, “I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you come out.” You smile, laughing awkwardly, “Uhm…” The girl smiles, gesturing towards the desk, “Mr. Grayson told me to ask you to change into those. It’s traditional Viltrumite female night clothing, but he said he’d figure out other appropriate options later.”

You blink, shocked by her happy attitude, “Thank you. My name’s—“

“I know,” she smiles, turning back to finish up with the fresh sheets, “Everyone thought you died when they invaded. Since you stopped giving a shit.” You open your mouth to snap back but stoped, knowing it’s true. You clear your throat and walk over to the desk.

The fabric is the same as the bedding, white with a grey outline and buttons. It’s sickingly similar to pajama sets you’ve seen in stores. You really don’t want to change into Viltrumite clothes but your suit is torn and covered in dirt and blood. You grab the clothes, excusing yourself back to the bathroom to change.

The clothes are a bit bigger, hanging loosely on your shoulders and hips.

When you emerge from the bathroom again, two more people are in the room. One is an older gentleman in a white lab coat and the other is another lady who looks much less happy to be here.

“Nice to meet you,” the doctor smiles, “I was sent in to patch you up and make sure you’re okay.” You nod, glancing at the other lady. She held a tray of food in her hands, trembling slightly, staring at the ground. You frown and walk over to her, ignoring the doctor.

“What’s your name,” you ask once in front of her. She jumps, “K-Katie.” You smile, gently laying your hand over hers, “Nice to meet you. I’ll take this off your hands.” You slowly take the try of food from her, “Thank you.” She nods stiffly and practically scrambles out of the door.

“I really need to make sure you’re okay,” the doctor chimes in again, “Please, sit down.” You stare at the door.

There had to be a way out of this god forsaken prison, right? Maybe Katie knew. Maybe she could help.

You hesitate another moment before walking over to the desk, setting the food on it and sitting down, “Is this check up really necessary?” He nods, “Yes. I must clear you for activities.” You squint, an uneasy feeling swarming in your gut. The doctor settles beside of you, a polite ‘grandpa’ smile on his face as he searches through his bag.

He digs out a stethoscope and a few bandages. “Take off your shirt please,” he instructs. The girl making the bed lifts her head, confused. You glance back at her, “Why, exactly?” “I need to make sure you aren’t hiding any injuries,” he said. “Yeah,” you clear your throat, “Look, I’m sure you’re just doing you’re job, but there’s no injury on my stomach and I know how doctors work, your stethoscope can work with my shirt on.” He frowns, “Miss—“

“Just check whatever you can and sterilize my wounds. I’ll tell him your exam was very through,” you insist. The doctor stares to the point you’re uncomfortable. He nods, “Alright.”

He gives you some medicine for the pain which works weirdly fast.

He puts in the ear pieces of his stethoscope and puts it to your chest, resting the flat of his palm against your breast. You shift uncomfortably, looking everywhere but down.

“Sit still, please.”

“You’re—“

“Sit. Still.”

A feeling of uneasiness makes your skin go cold. This is the most uncomfortable you’ve been at a doctor since you were five. You take a deep breath and force yourself to go still. He may be a human, but he has the power to decide your future here.

〤〤〤

The sky is more clear here, cloudless and bright.

“You look better.”

You startle at the sudden voice, not having heard him enter. Mark’s glare is indifferent but a little more relaxed than when he left hours ago, “You’re still here.” You nod. He sighs, running his hand through his hair, “The doctor said he cleared you.” You nod, jaw tensing at the mention of the doctor.

Mark gives you a curious look, “You don’t seem happy about that.” You shrug, turning back to look out of the window, looking at the stars. Mark sighs, walking towards you, “I have been given one restriction regarding you staying here.” He places a hand on your shoulder.

You turn to look at him, eyes falling to the bracelet in his hand. “This will not only signify you’re mine, but also restricts your powers. Just until I can trust you,” he says, “Give me your wrist.” You swallow, a heavy weight on your shoulders. Do you do it and lose part of yourself? Realistically, you know you can’t win in a fight even if you could injure him. With a heavy weight on your chest, you offer him your wrist.

He latches the bracelet on.

“Viltrumite strength is the only thing that can break that,” he says, “Now tell me what’s wrong.” You blink, looking up at him, “What do you mean?” Mark frowns, angry, “I mentioned the doctor and you got tense. What happened?” You shake your head, “Nothing.” He stares at you. He looks angrier than usual. “He made me uncomfortable,” you blurt out. Mark doesn’t care. You know he doesn’t. Why are you bothering him with your paranoia?

“Uncomfortable,” he repeats, his voice lowering with each syllable. He’s silent, staring down at the ground, “What did he do?” A shudder of fear hits you so hard it makes you dizzy.

He looks so mad.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Nothing,” you mumble, looking back out at the stars. He grabs your chin, grip harsh, and forces you to look at him, “What. Did. He. Do?” You swallow down the yelp of pain. “J-Just weird,” you stutter out, “Asked me to take off my shirt and then just rested his hand on my boob when he was listening to my heart.”

His grip on your chin tightens painfully. A small whine punches from your lips and Mark’s grip immediately loosens but he doesn’t let you go. “Did you,” he asks. You frown, “Did I what?” He glares at you, his hand moving from your chin, resting on your chest, fiddling with the top button, “Undress.” Your breath hitches, one of your hands grabbing his wrist. But he doesn’t do anything except fiddle with the button.

“No.”

A small breath leaves his lips but he looks furious. “You sure,” he asks. “Why would I lie about that,” you ask. He shakes his head, “I’ll deal with him.” You swallow, grip tightening on Mark’s wrist, “Deal with him?”

“Yes,” is all he says, “Tomorrow. You need sleep.” You shake your head, “I wanna look at the stars. I haven’t seen them in a while.” Mark stares at you then nods, “Alright. I’ll get ready for bed but you must join me and give up the stars when I’m ready.”

Your throat runs dry, “I’m not ready for—“

“To sleep,” he interrupts, “The stars will be there tomorrow.” You take a deep breath and nod.

Mark leans forward placing a lingering kiss to your forehead. You flinch, eyes casting to the ground.

Maybe it’s a universal soldier thing but Mark’s in and out of the shower in under two minutes. His hair is damp when he emerges from the bathroom, wearing pajamas similar to yours but just the pants. Your eyes are glued to his abdomen.

Something hot swirls in your gut.

Then disgust ripples through you for thinking that. This man— this murderer— may have a nice body but you should not be attracted to it. It’s wrong. It’s repulsive.

He climbs into bed and turns on the lamp which turns off the big light.

Fancy fucker.

He stares at you, raising an eyebrow. You hesitate before deciding to just not fight it. You walk over, climbing into bed, sticking as close to the edge as possible.

“Goodnight.”

The word catches you off guard. You glance at him before turning your back to him, staring out the window, “Goodnight.”

masterlist

@maddyb-rapps you asked me to tag you, so here you are lovely!

Let me know if you guys want a part 3 and/or if you want this to turn into a story!! Also, let me know if you want longer chapters! Anything I write that’s over 2,000 words usually doesn’t do well but I’ll give the people what they want :D

||part one|| ||part three||

[douqhnxtss]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ REDAMANCY ✧˖°.⋆.˚⊹ ࣪ ˖

𝓡𝑬𝑫𝑬𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑪𝒀 (𝘯.) — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯.

𝓝𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝓨𝑰𝒁𝑯𝑶𝑼 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝓨𝑶𝑼 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌. 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗐 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼̧𝖺𝖽𝖾, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗎𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌. 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎? 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐— 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

✧ fluff, angst, uni & ceo au, objectification (by parents), reader has terrible parents, cold!reader, arguments, reader has self doubt & fears disappointing her parents, kissing, ft. aespa, big time skips, arranged relationship/engagement (not ningy/n), running away, reader discovering herself, jimin × minjeong, sleeping in the same bed, rich!reader, reader is lwk mean if u think about it (at the start), thriller & mystery solving undertones, complex!reader (if that makes sense), yizhou becomes a detective, proofread — transfer student!yizhou × hot nerd!reader ⋆ wc! 8.07k 𐙚𐙚 OH MY GOD. i love this sm, soz it took me 22 days to write this, like every imagine I write they keep getting longer and longer, my lord. pls enjoy this dish kira has served that she gave her heart and soul into making, likes and reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated (pls interact i cried one too many times writing this T_T) i might expand on this fic like provide moodboards, a playlist, more drabbles that branch from this fic as extra content idk lmk what I should do!!

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

YOUR MIND WAS DEVOID OF THE JOY. devoid of the joy anyone would expect experiencing upon getting a perfect score on their exam, that too of physics out of all subjects.

to you, the score was just a mark of reassurance that you weren't a failure in the eyes of your parents, nothing more. you gave everyone a blank smile who congratulated you, clearly impressed.

you looked up when you heard someone clear their throat in an attempt to grasp your attention to see a somewhat unfamiliar face. you didn't know her and you couldn't place a name to her face.

she stared for a second too long, you couldn't decipher why. before you could overthink all possibilities, her smooth and calm voice introduced, "hey, i'm ning yizhou! i'm a new transfer student from china"

you nodded, not knowing what to say afterwards. she pulled a nearby seat and positioned it at the opposite end of the desk, across from you. she sat down, now at eye-level with you.

"you seem to be thriving in physics and me.. well— i'm not the best at it to put it simply." you slowly nodded again, the chance that you may have been mute struck the transfer student but she continued, "can you do me a favor, please?"

you shrugged your shoulders, "i don't tutor." her mouth fell agape, two things she was speculating both having been rejected in a short three-worded sentence. you weren't mute and you weren't a tutor either.

she went through five stages of denial, she didn't want to miss the opportunity to be tutored by the campus crush scholar everyone couldn't stop talking about. no one ever saw you talk to anyone first, when you did talk in response to someone it was always short answers and nods.

you were quiet, reserved and always calm. people loved testing you for that fact. they tried every single way to get on your nerves but not once did you raise your voice or let your reserved persona flicker to reveal who they actually thought you could be.

yizhou was one of the people who admired from afar, wondering who you were actually like when you weren't so damn cold. today, seeing her 17.5%— she knew she needed to get some help.

no one actually loved physics, most who scored between average to a little below high just studied and got it over with. they all despised the subject with a burning passion. someone who didn't despise physics, rather loved it; was of course, you.

you were one of the best at physics in town, you loved every concept, every theory, everything that summed up the contents of physics. you were more than 90% of the time the best in the state, which is why your reputation was so important.

your parents couldn't afford to have a daughter who peaked and then fell down, refusing to get up. you got scoldings for being second in the state level, you weren't just some ordinary nerd. you were always referred to as a science prodigy since you were little.

best at science when you were in middle school, best at physics in high school and currently still upholding your record at being the best at physics in university. there wasn't a day when you weren't talked about.

whether it be by the parents passing by or gossiping, the principal and teachers bragging to others, your parents flexing their perfect daughter or the others in the university who admired you.

you were practically an icon.

you didn't mind the attention, you didn't love it either. you just dealt with it and were neutral about the topic. you were known for declining almost every interaction prompted by anyone.

parties, coffee, studying, tutoring, hanging out— you never agreed. yizhou wasn't aware of that and as she sat there across from you, your furrowed brows, carefully analyzing what she must've been thinking. she knew she needed herself to become an exception to your no tutoring rule.

"please, look i'm okay with my other classes but i can't for the life of me, not struggle with physics!" she rushed out, quickly taking your hands, looking at you with the brightest, most alluring cat eyes you'd ever seen.

some students murmured, some gasped. another thing you weren't known for: physical contact. the day when you punched a boy so hard he broke his nose when he tried to pull you into an empty classroom by tugging your wrist— to confess his undying love initially, all of them knew you weren't one for physical affirmation. at all.

you should've just pulled your hands out of her hold, that's what you would've done with any other human. however, you didn't. your mind went blank, you didn't know what to do.

her eyes and the warmth that radiated from her hands that covered yours had an effect that couldn't be explained with physics, chemistry, biology, math or any other subject you could think of.

looking at her hopeless expression, you felt as if you were going to commit a sin by rejecting her polite request. you let out a sigh, not so sure why you were saying what you were, "alright, i.. i guess i'll tutor you."

her pretty brown eyes lit up, a wide grin spreading across her face like a child who just got their favorite candy. she thanked you profusely, her hands leaving yours to clap a few times I'm excitement.

the warmth faded, leaving you looking at your colder hands. her fingers brushed past yours again when she took a pen and paper from your desk. she hurriedly scribbled something on the little sheet of paper before she handed it to you.

your gaze followed the notes content, it was her phone number and her name written below with a few sparkles and hearts drawn on. "text me whenever you have the time to discuss the schedule. bye, tutor y/n!"

she waved with her bright smile before skipping to her friend group. you read the note over and over again, a small smile curling up your lips. she seemed nice.

──────── ✧✦

"how do you love physics? it's the most boring shit ever!" yizhou dropped her head in her arms, exhausted from the never ending theories and concepts.

you lightly smiled, tapping the end of your pen on her head, "you know..." you drew out, but stopped before saying anything further. should she know about your feelings on physics?

she turned her head, looking up at you, raising her brows waiting for you to continue, "i know what?" she asked. you pondered for a few more seconds, shaking your head. her brows furrowed further.

"c'mon we're friends now, you can talk to me." she smiled, you couldn't see the smile, you knew she was by the way the skin near her eyes crinkled at the corners, chubby cheeks just visible enough to make you coo in your mind.

friend. you made a friend?

you didn't remember the last time when someone referred to you as their friend. you were a little dumbfounded, your little smile increasing at the corners at the thought before it fell again.

don't get too happy, y/n, she'll leave anyway.

she'll leave someday when she decides she deserves much better friends than an eye candy nerd who didn't know what their is to life outside of studying and presenting yourself elegantly.

for now, you chose to give her a response, "physics isn't my favorite subject," she audibly gasped, suddenly sitting up straight, this— this was tea.

her eyes were wide like she'd heard the most bizarre sentence to exist, "that's like a mathematician saying math isn't their favorite!" you only let out a little suppressed giggle at her shocked face.

"no doubt i do love physics," you said first and foremost, seeing her cringe at the statement. "but my favorite is not it." she nodded mindfully, understanding you perspective.

"so what is your favorite?" she slightly narrowed her eyes. you knew she didn't need to know anything more, "that's a conversation for another day." she gave you a little pout before she went back to the paper she was doing.

tutoring yizhou wasn't so bad. you'd rather not admit it, but you were starting to like the sessions. she cracked a few jokes here and there, sometimes spilled some hot tea about others which you never paid much mind to.

yizhou usually only spilled tea with her bestfriends, not with any student. but you weren't just some student for her, you were her friend. friends share tea, that's all, she thought.

she became even more nosy than she already was in her friend minjeong's opinion, why? she wouldn't answer. she noticed how you held eye contact when she ranted, albeit you didn't give any reactions other than nods and hums, she still liked it.

yizhou liked having your undivided attention. she chalked it up to her ego as you rarely gave anyone attention and you giving her just that made her ego jump. well her heart raced too, but you'll catch her dead actually acknowledging it at the moment.

"that's a gorgeous dress!" she exclaimed when she saw the little dress you drafted mindlessly. your eyes widened a fraction, your arm quickly covering the drawing, gulping your nerves down.

she wasn't supposed to see that. yizhou's brows furrowed when she saw your arm move to cover the dress. "it's nothing, focus on your test." you quickly ordered the chinese, your tone too precise, too calculated, as if you'd been in this situation before.

she didn't push it, opting to continue her work, though her mind was now occupied with many aswerless questions. what was wrong about doodling? maybe it was wrong for someone like you.

yizhou knew one thing was certain from the many more study sessions that followed after the dress drawing incident. you were secretive, and you were good at being secretive, also just as good at appearing perfect.

you were always the neat and perfect you. your image started to feel like it had been crafted carefully, like you'd spent years planning who to be seen as. you were strategic; every responce, answer and even laugh sounded as if it'd been planned out.

yizhou was starting to think you were a robot. she knew it wasn't true of course, but you intrigued her. you made her think so hard about you. aeri once said to her that she looked like she was stalking you.

she wasn't stalking you, why would she anyway? you just made her want to dig deeper, want to get under the bottom as to why you were so prepared for everything, like you knew every single way any conversation could flow, like you could read the minds of the people and immediately know what their intentions were.

something clicked in her brain when she was doing her homework in her room. you were mostly good at being flawless in every way— except that day.

the day when you drew the dress, that you hid as soon as she acknowledged it. that moment was a crack in your skillfully constructed persona. the dress was a small piece of who you actually were behind your picture perfect façade.

her pen stopped mid air, the realization sudden and gave her more questions and some answers to her previous ones. she saw your parents once, when they came to pick you up for whatever reason.

she saw the way your eyes darkened, turning more lifeless than they already seemed, almost like a void. your face remained stoic, hands clenched by your sides as your mum gestured for you to get in the car.

you were a puppet.

yeah, exactly! that's who you were. you were a million dollar puppet in the name of the kims' daughter. your mum and dad didn't look at you with anything, no love, no care, just blank.

you were controlled by your parents, one way or another. yizhou didn't like that. she knew she needed to help you, however, she didn't know how. she didn't know how she would break through your hard exterior to see the real you.

──────── ✧✦

slowly but surely, she tried to gather clues. she figured out that whenever your eyes would look around too much, almost as if they were searching for a card to play out of the many you'd prepared, it meant you were caught off guard.

she always payed attention, she tried her hardest to get more knowledge about you, yet with each passing day, the fire to keep searching dimmed.

she'd make a pretty good detective by the way she over-analyzed your every move. you'd make a good criminal by how nicely you portrayed yourself, knowing what to do in every situation while making sure no one caught on to your plan.

which in this setting, is you. what you are like under the puppet costume you were forced into wearing by your parents, according to yizhou's analysis and brainstorming.

she totally wasn't expecting that today she'd get a lot of answers to her previously unanswered questions. she sat on the table you two always studied at, in the far corner of the quiet library.

your attention diverted to the ring of your phone, it was your mum's call. you quickly took it, "i'll be back in a few." you spared her a glance before walking to the back exit of the library so you could talk without disturbing anyone.

yizhou nodded and went back to her work, she knew it would take a little time as it was your mum's call, she saw the caller id for a split second, she was getting observant.

the call was to inform you about a party they're hosting in honor of a new deal they just got and you needed to be there. you were taken aback, you were usually not to attend the parties.

your mum's sharp voice stated you needed to talk to the son of the opposite party they just made the deal with and hinted at a potential romantic arrangement between you two if things went according to plan, in her words.

you were infuriated to say the least; first she commanded you to attend a party, which she knew you hated, and second she was suggesting an arranged relationship. great.

the conversation ended on a terrible note, with your mum's loud orders and your quiet protests. what you said never mattered to her anyway, so now, you had a party to attend.

meanwhile, yizhou tied her hair up in a ponytail to prevent her hair from being a distraction because of the flowing wind. she yawned, tired from studying but she needed better grades, meaning she had no choice but to push through.

a few pages of your diary that you always kept near you flipped, an envelope and many pages slipping out, using the air as a medium to travel.

she shouldn't have snooped and violated your privacy, but with her recent tendencies of being overly nosy and her quest of unraveling your outer demeanor made her unconsciously reach out for the envelope and pages.

the pages— they confirmed her claim, they were a confirmation that you did indeed like drawing and fashion. she smirked knowingly seeing the countless suits, dresses, skirts, purses and pants.

the envelope— was something she didn't expect. her fingertips trailed over the edges of the envelope before she opened the flap. yizhou took out the stack of neatly arranged paper sheets covered in sketches.

sketches of her. kim y/n, the untouchable it-girl, drew sketches of her: ning yizhou, a sassy chinese transfer student.

was she dreaming?

her mouth was agape, confusion evident on her face and like with every interaction she had with you before, more questions arised that appeared to have no answer.

she saw an opportunity come to light in her mind, this could be her ticket to getting you to open up. she pretended to do her work whilst she waited for you.

you emerged from the door you went out from, eyes somehow darker than they already were, the formerly dark brown had been substituted by a gloomier, almost raven colour.

it was only when you sat down and looked forward did you see the opened envelope, numerous sketches and a yizhou who looked at you with a what is this? face like she was waiting for you to give an appropriate explanation.

"why did you snoop in my personal diary?" you didn't mean to sound so fed up, except the conversation you had prior with your mum played with your mind and the anger seeped out.

yizhou looked perplexed, "the pages and envelope flew out and i got curious." now that she thought about it, she had opened the envelope without consent.

"why are there so many sketches of me and clothing?" she got straight to point. the complexity of the situation really sunk in, there was no way to successfully cover up the fact that you loved fashion.

"that's none of your business, yizhou." you said her name for the first time. your tone was harsh, but the way her name flowed on your tongue? what was she thinking about?

you reached out to take the pages from yizhou who resisted, keeping them in a tight hold. "you can tell me. i promise i won't tell anyone!" she was not going to back down.

"this isn't something you should worry about. do your work." your voice was laced with authority and demand, which she'd normally obey though she had other plans right now.

"i want answers, y/n. don't change the topic." yizhou narrowed her eyes, looking up at you through her lashes. telling just one person won't be wrong, right?

you stayed still, contemplating every way this could play out like you did for every situation. yizhou noticed how your eyes moved around, she knew you were trying to make a decision in your mind.

she should really become a detective. was yizhou really trustworthy? you thought, you could make up an excuse right now but you'll have to come back at some point to tutor her.

you'd under no circumstances let your guard down and told anyone about your ambitions before. you were the perfect daughter of the kim's after all, your life had been planned out long before you were born. you had an path established by your parents to follow.

you let out a deep sigh, realistically speaking, what more could you do? you began from the start, from your dreams since you were little to become a fashion designer.

how your dreams were crushed over and over again, how you never had friends growing up as friends are distractions, how you had no choice but to comply to your parents' wishes.

her jaw was wide open, heart clenching as you told her how your hope and spark for having your own brand dulled, no longer having enough will power to fight back for what you love.

now, you just sketched in your free time and did what your parents wanted you to. you were just a pawn in their game of business, power and status.

yizhou was speechless, this was it. the truth she'd been hunting for the last month, her questions were answered and her heart, it was broken. she knew you weren't doing the best by your permanent gloomy eyes, yet she didn't expect it to be so upsetting.

now that she knew who you were, she wanted to help you. she wanted you to feel confident in your skills and believe in your passion. you shouldn't stop dreaming because they don't align with your parents' vision according to her.

"what if i help you?" she blurted out, only thinking about what she said when your brows furrowed, "help me in what?" you asked back. "you shouldn't give up your dreams!"

"what's gonna happen if i, let's say, actually do try reaching out to brands and showing them my designs?" you questioned, procrastination was your bestfriend and it showed.

"if they have functioning eyes, they will realize how your designs are amazing and offer you a deal, obviously!" she held up some of the pages, talking like she was stating facts.

you looked at her as if she was crazy, "there are so many ways i could be rejected and fail with this strategy." the word failure was hated upon in your dictionary as being first was always the goal for your parents.

"so? you will fall countless times and you should get up every time and learn from the fall and utilize the mistake so that you don't make it again. failing isn't bad, it's a necessary part of the journey of success."

her words stuck in your mind, they were the complete opposite of what you heard growing up. "you.. you sound too optimistic. the world isn't sunshine and rainbows; we don't live in a fantasy, this is reality where the concept of a happily ever after doesn't exist."

"your mentality needs a lot of fixing. i'm not too optimistic, you have the skill, your designs are unique and pretty. this isn't fantasy, yes i agree, but that doesn't mean you can't have a happily ever after, some don't have it but i believe you can!"

you didn't understand. why was she fighting you on this? what's her ulterior motive? there must be one, no one helps you without having a motive beneficial to them.

"you're talking nonsense. the world is dark, yizhou. your perception of the world needs a reset." your fury from earlier made your words colder and ruder, yizhou couldn't help but let a scoff slip out.

"you sound very full of yourself, y/n. i hope you do realize you're talking like how i expect your terrible parents to sound." her final sentence echoed in your brain and you stilled.

"infact, your perspective is extremely dark and dull. the world is dull but it's on you to find things to make your world colourful."

you didn't utter a word, processing the opinion. your mind went back to the rough retorts you'd spat to yizhou— recognizing the sole focus on the negativity of a topic, fixating on the cons and none of the pros, you were talking like your parents.

you never thought you'd ask such a bizarre, for you, question to anyone, yet here you were, in the library with a student you were supposed to tutor who you just told your whole life story to, asking her, "what do i do?"

yizhou's eyes lit up and a little smile made its way to her lips, "i think you should start giving your designs to major brands and collaborating with them, and at the same time slowly build your brand, plan it out, and we'll go from there."

her thought process made sense, although you weren't sure if you'd be able to do this, "this sounds good in theory, nevertheless i can't help but doubt if i have my ability to pull this off."

yizhou stood up, walking around the table and taking a seat beside you. she took both of your hands, "trust me, you can do it! i believe in you." her eyes held sincerity and warmth, a look you weren't at all used to.

"why? why do you believe me?" you muttered, voice barely audible. she smiled, "because i'm your friend, i know how you are. i know you're capable of achieving your dreams, you have that spark in you; you just need to ignite it and produce a fire."

you looked down, lips curving into a faint smile, this is what having friends is like? you actually made a real friend? "you think so?" you asked, eyes holding hesitation.

yizhou had the most hopeful grin on her face. this was the first time you'd completely let your guard down, let her lower the walls you'd mentally built around yourself. "yeah." she said.

──────── ✧✦

six months. it'd been six months since mission: freedom, named by yizhou, started. many things happened during the six months: you'd collaborated with many brands and your own was pretty much planned out, only a little more preparing as well as pulling some strings were pending.

you were condemned to around three or four dinners with your parents' business partner's son, park jihoon, which you reluctantly went to. the latter just didn't pick up on your super obvious hints that you didn't like the meetings or him.

you were now a part of yizhou's friend group, you refused to meet them at first but with her pout and cat eyes, you were left no choice. you considered all four of them your friends now.

if you'd told your self from half a year ago that you'd have four friends and a good career plan, she would've cringed and rolled her eyes internally, saying "stop talking fakery."

maybe the one above didn't like seeing you happy, you thought as you sat across from jihoon with your and his parents present, talking about the potential engagement of you two.

you wanted to dissappear. you wanted to just run away and hangout with yizhou, she was all that was on your mind. you two had gotten close. she always had your back, always there when you needed her.

she made you realize it's okay to depend on someone and not bottle up your emotions. she warped your perception of the world, showing you the colours and joys of adventure and exploration.

"y/n." your mum snapped her fingers, making you snap out of the spiral of thoughts in your head, "yes?" you straightened, looking forward to see jihoon give you a shy smile.

you now knew he picked up the hints you gave but chose to ignore them and live in delusion that you liked him when you hated as much as sparing him a little glance.

"you are happy with this decision, right?" the look your dad gave you was enough for you to know the question was only here to serve as a formality and the answer you were supposed to give was a yes.

you gulped, head starting to hurt. every time yizhou told you to rebel against them played like a broken record in you mind, however much you tried to suppress them, they didn't budge.

you nodded, knowing your words weren't on your side and you'd say something you'd regret later. your mum held a practiced smile which didn't reach her eyes, same with your dad.

jihoon and his parents were overjoyed, meaning you were the only person not actually approving of this arrangement. you wished the ground would swallow you up.

jihoon soon left with his parents, not before giving you a wink and sly grin. you gave a blank smile and immediately stood up, taking a beeline for your room as soon as they left.

you didn't know when the tears started flowing down your cheeks. you didn't know when you jumped out of your window, still in the elegant light blue dress you wore along with your plain flats.

you weren't sure where you were headed, your feet walked on accord of your heart, not your mind. you were accustomed to disregarding what your heart suggested, opting to be logical, never letting your feeling get a hold of you, but you'd changed since then.

you ended up at the door of yizhou and aeri's shared dorm, cheeks stained in tears and bottom lip quivering. you hurriedly wiped your cheeks, trying to rid them of the dried tears the best you could.

after a few knocks by you, a drained yizhou opened the door. her eyes were as wide as saucers when she took in your dolled up but tear stained and bummed self.

she didn't say anything and instead firstly ushered you inside, locking the main door behind her. she guided you to her room, gesturing to aeri who sat on the couch with a wide mouth at your appearance that she'll tell her later.

yizhou sat you down, giving you a cup of water and then sitting down on her bed with you. "so, what happened?" she asked, tone laced with worry, bottom lip in hostage of her teeth.

you told her everything that went down hours ago, she was flabbergasted. she thought these dinners you went to weren't serious and were just there to make sure your parents were occupied so that mission: freedom didn't face any problems.

"why did you agree?" she shrieked, fury swirled in her, each sentence that left your mouth only feuled the rage. "what could i do?" you had your head in your hands, it felt like your head on the verge of exploding.

she knew what she was about to say was dumb. so dumb. incredulously dumb. though it sounded the best and most logical, she didn't like seeing you upset like this because your parents can't stand to see their daughter happy.

"how about you run away?"

your head snapped to her, your gaze saying are you serious right now? she clapped her hands, "listen, you have a ton of inheritance money right?" she asked, mentally fitting the pieces of your puzzle of life.

you nodded. you were given a hefty allowance and had inherited a great sum from your grandparents from both sides, you had your own bank account that included all the cash.

"you go back, pack your clothes, tell your parents that you don't want to marry that jiyeon-jihoon whatever his name is, we both know they'll disagree. then you say i've had enough of being your doll, i'm leaving and shit. after all that, you leave and stay with me, i'll arrange everything here."

she said it so nonchalantly like she didn't just tell you to get yourself disowned. "i don't know if i can talk back to them. also i don't want to burden you." you'd never done anything out of line, you were always doing what they wanted you to, always tried to please them, even when you knew they wouldn't say any encouraging words.

nothing was ever enough for them.

"you'll have to, y/n. i know you can do it. i believe in you. and you're not a burden, don't think of yourself that way." she squeezed your shoulder encouragingly. "you do, but i don't believe in myself, ning."

"don't worry, i'll have enough faith in you for the both of us!" yizhou giggled and leaned in to give you a warm hug. your hands hesitantly wrapped around her. you'd only gave eachother a hug a few times before, each time a little less awkward than the last.

you pulled away, muttering a "okay, i'll do it." she looked at you, eyes having an unreadable expression. you couldn't register when she leaned in, realizing she just kissed your forehead when a strand of her hair tickled your cheek.

"i know you have it in you, my star."

the nickname sounded almost melodic, like a symphony you'd instantly fell in love with. "my star?" you asked, tilting your head. an overwhelmingly lovely feeling bloomed in yizhou's chest at the sight.

she hoped her cheeks weren't flushed or if they were, you didn't notice, "like the nickname?" you nodded, a bright smile on your face. the upcoming storm you could feel brewing didn't matter at all when yizhou was here with you.

"i'll get going now." you said and stood up, smoothing your dress our of habit. "nice dress." she said, you giving her a shy thank you in return, you were never good with compliments, having not received many by the people you cared most about in your upbringing.

you gave aeri a wave on your way out, her reciprocating the gesture with a smile. you didn't mention the kiss nor did yizhou when you left. she hoped you wouldn't ask, as she didn't know why she did that either.

you took the few pairs of clothes you actually liked wearing, leaving the closet still more than half full which were all the clothes your parents made you wear.

you packed your bag, a million thoughts and possibilities running through your head. should you really do this? should you burden yizhou? you wanted to think of every outcome, but you resisted, you needed to think of the future, you were not going to marry jihoon.

you changed into regular blue jeans and a white button up, slinging your bag around your shoulder after stuffing your phone, charger and a few essentials in the bag.

you composed yourself, your nerves were slowly getting to you, anxiety creeping up in your body. you thought of the freedom you'd started wishing for that you'd finally have after this and descended the stairs.

your mum and dad were both on the couch, discussing something amongst themselves when you stood infront of them. their attention diverted to you. your mum gave you a distasteful look as she eyed your outfit.

"what is this?" your dad asked, his deep voice ringing in your ears. you took a deep breath, repeating the sentence in your head before you spoke it out loud, "i don't want to marry jihoon."

the silence that followed the blatant statement was suffocating. it was like they were waiting for you to take back your words or say that you actually meant i do want to marry jihoon.

"what?" your mum broke the tense atmosphere. "i said i'm against this arranged marriage." you repeated your words, more confidently this time.

"i hope you're aware of what you're saying, y/n." your dad said, you could see through him, through his eyes which appeared their usual brown but had underlying greed.

your dad wasn't happy as this could break his deal, not because his daughter is going against him, against his morals. that's when it hit you like a punch in the gut, you really were just a moneymaker they were investing in by giving you the title of their daughter.

the years of bitter words you'd kept hidden about them and their unbothered gazes now were enough to break the little patience you had.

your mum stood up and walked over to you, "you will be his wife." you gritted your teeth, you were done. they were no one to treat you like this, you were done with tolerating their narcissistic, greedy and self-absorved selves.

"i'm done being the picture-perfect daughter you want me to be. i will not marry him and i certainly won't give up my dreams to follow your path and become equally as terrible as you are."

you wanted to say more, wanted to voice your frustration you'd skillfully hid for years, yet your flow was broken by your mum's hand meeting your cheek. your head whipped to the side, mouth agape.

"since you've learned to talk back and be an ungrateful brat, you'll learn to live as an orphan." your mum spat out. you neither replied nor cried, you weren't fazed by being a disappointment in their eyes anymore.

"leave, you're not my daughter." your father ended the conversation and you nodded. your mum huffed, "enjoy being a nobody, you're nothing without us."

you scoffed, a smirk on your face as you spoke, "good challenge, i'd love to prove your controlling bitchy self wrong." you didn't say anything further, you didn't wait for them to talk either.

you walked out the main door, leaving your twisted parents and past behind, ready to embrace everything you loved and cherished.

the feeling of freedom spread through your veins, it felt like you'd escaped from your personal prison that you'd lived in since you were born.

yizhou and aeri both welcomed you with open arms when you reached their dorm for the second time that night. you gave them a tired smile and thanked the two profusely.

yizhou had placed blankets and a few pillows on the couch, "i'll be sleeping here, you'll sleep in my room." your brows furrowed, "what do you mean you're going to sleep on the couch?"

"it's just for this night, i talked to jimin she'll arrange a bunk bed on top of mine in my room tomorrow." she talked like it was the most normal thing to sleep on the couch.

well, it was for her. for you? terrible, something you'd not done before and you couldn't stand to see her sleep there for you. "no, it's your dorm, i'll sleep on the couch."

past you would've rather died than have said that.

"what, no! you're not sleeping there!" she exclaimed, aeri just shot a knowing glance to yizhou, who glared at her. "how about you two sleep in the same bed, it's not that small."

aeri's voice brought a little pause of silence. yizhou spoke, "yeah, i don't mind. we can if you're okay with it, star." the assertive sentence paired with the nickname made your mind go blank for a second.

you didn't want her to sleep there and she didn't want you to sleep there whatsoever, the only other thing was for you two to sleep together as you didn't like the idea of her or you going to sleep with aeri too.

"okay." you said, running your hand through your hair in an attempt to camouflage the heat on your cheeks. you tried but aeri saw the redness on your ears and smirked to herself.

"it's settled then, good night you two, i'm off." aeri teasingly winked at yizhou, which went unbeknownst to you. she took the blankets and you took the pillows. you trailed behind yizhou to her room.

you two layed down, turning off the lamp, darkness enveloping the room. yizhou was exhausted and slept in the matter of a few minutes maximum and you were still wide awake.

your mind referred back to the hours prior, the little part of you that still loved them resurfaced even though you tried to bury it, tears were welling up in your eyes.

you wiped them with your hand, you did what you did for your future. you were now free, you didn't need to be flawless or perfect anymore; you could be you.

──────── ✧✦

a year. the earth had completed a full revolution around the sun since you left your then house. your inherited money and the money you got from your collaborations were enough for you to live without having to work another job.

in the past year, you graduated two years earlier, at the same time as aeri and jimin. you also officially started your own brand, named luciscura.

the word meant the light born from the shadows. it represented you, how you used to live in a dark world, in your parents' shadows and how with yizhou, you shined, you saw your own potential and turned your world vivid.

yizhou was in her third year and minjeong was in her last year. you still helped yizhou whenever she needed help in physics while you worked on your brand.

luciscura was a rapidly growing clothing brand, known for its chic, timeless and diverse style. the brand sold classy dresses, grunge pants, tops, bags, heels, everything anyone could think of.

you never ran out of ideas when it came to fashion. you were also quite popular on Instagram, known as the young and rich ceo and fashion designer on social media.

your instagram had a large following, though you only posted once every month. you were loved by everyone, like you were in university, but this time it was different.

everyone loved who you were, not the perfect image you presented of yourself in uni. you liked it that way. you'd also moved into a new appartment.

after aeri and jimin graduated, leaving yizhou and minjeong, the two started living in one dorm. aeri, an art major, was now one of the models of luciscura and jimin, a fashion design major, was also a part of your team.

the two loved working with you, you'd practically became one of them now, you proudly referred to them as your bestfriends. you were still quiet and preferred your small circle of friends.

you loved the new life you'd made for yourself. you were as content as you could be in the moment. you did face struggles still, regarding your brand and your parents.

your parents tried to meddle in your brand and sabotage it, however, as it goes— cunning parents raise even more cunning children, you didn't fall into their trap, it wasn't easy to fight against their corporation that had been there for generations, but you gave it your all.

you fought for luciscura, the brand you'd spent blood, sweat and tears making. jihoon sometimes dropped by your office too, in the name of a business deal and you did merely that, treated the meeting like you would a business meeting, though he tried to chat with you.

he tried to ask you out and you disagreed to his face, you told him you never liked him. he blew up, saying he liked you better when you were kinder. you said too bad. she's gone now.

many other fashion brands tried to get in your way, but what they didn't know was the fact that you were incredibly smart and strategizing was second nature to you. they posed a threat, you bit back, hard.

no matter what situation you were in, yizhou was there by your side. in the lows and the highs, when you were stressed or overjoyed, she was there. she was always there.

she never lost faith in you. you lost faith in yourself, but she didn't. she reminded you of how far you've come, how proud she was of you. she was there for you whenever you needed her.

you thought she did so because she was your bestfriend, and it made you mad at yourself for feeling the way you felt. you hated how much you liked, heck maybe even loved yizhou.

it was your birthday. you didn't even remember it, only apprehending you'd turned twenty one when yizhou walked in, cake in her hands. she looked at you like you were a alien when you told her you didn't know why she had a cake with her.

"you know, you're the first person i've seen who doesn't remember their birthday, star." she shook her head in disapproval. you shrugged with a smile, making her roll her eyes playfully.

"happy birthday, my star." she wished you, feeding you a piece of the cake she'd made herself, it was a little too sweet for you but you talked about it as if it was the best thing you'd tasted in your life.

"what's my gift?" you asked, tilting your head. she couldn't help but giggle, looking endearingly at you. she always referred to you as the gentle giant, as you were the tallest out of you five but with her, you were the most gentle and caring person.

"close your eyes," she began. you complied, she waved her hand infront of your eyes, checking to see if your eyes were actually closed. once she was sure, she bit her lip.

what she was about to do would either make her the happiest girl in the world or ruin the most ethereal friendship she's had in her entire life of twenty one and a half years.

she stood on her tippy toes, her hands cupping your face. you didn't know what was happening, you could feel her breath ghosting on your lips. yizhou leaned in, connecting her lips with yours.

you gasped, you didn't know what to do, you hadn't kissed anyone before. she knew the fact and swiped her thumb over your cheek encouragingly, making you slowly relax in her hold.

your hands hesitantly rested on her waist. you eventually got a hang of it, following the rhythm she'd set. she pulled away, butterflies dancing in her stomach and you hoped she didn't hear your heart which was racing a mile a minute.

"so, how's the present?" she asked breathlessly, her hands looping around your neck. "the best i've ever gotten." you giggled, letting your head fall in the crook of her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent.

her scent filled up your senses, overwhelming you in the most amazing way. "i love you, my star." you didn't know how to reply to her confession.

it seemed like she sensed your difficulty in expressing yourself, "it's okay, you don't have to confess right now, i'll wait for you." she twirled a strand of your hair.

"i, i love.. i love you too." you said, you voice was muffled but she heard it. her mind went haywire then and there, she needed to hear the sentence from you again.

she cupped your face again, pulling you out of the position you were in, "say that again, please." the way she asked so gently and how her hold was so soft and delicate, it was like she feared you'd break if she held you too hard.

your cheeks were dusted bright pink, ears also red, "i said, i love you." she kissed you again. and again, and another time. she couldn't get enough of you.

the night was enchanting, knowing she loved you the way you loved her, you couldn't be happier. your heart felt elated, contented, it was a feeling you hadn't experienced before.

at some point, slowly but surely, luciscura grew, flourishing into one of the mainstream brands. yizhou at last graduated and it'd now been two years since you two started dating.

you were pleased. you were living your dream life. you were the ceo of one of the most iconic and popular fashion brands, luciscura; you had three beatfriends you'd never forget and you had the love of your life, yizhou.

somewhere along the way, jimin and minjeong began dating while aeri was happy with her single, model life. you couldn't wish for anything more than what you had.

you wouldn't trade your loved ones and luciscura for the world. your parents now wanted you back, but you knew better, they just wanted your money.

jihoon also tried to chase you, you had enough of it and one such time, kissed yizhou infront of him. that was enough to shut him up and get him off of you.

you and yizhou moved in together into a new appartment. she now ran a bakery along with minjeong. it was close to luciscura, which made it easier for you and jimin to visit yizhou and minjeong in between little breaks.

"happy second year anniversary, my darling." you kissed yizhou and gestured for her to look at your queen sized bed, filled to the brim with boxes.

you handed her a bouquet of silk ribbon roses you'd made yourself, "made this myself, all for you." she was lovestruck. she jumped into your arms, you twirling her around, your and her giggles mixing and filling the room.

"you're the best, i love you so much, happy anniversary!" yizhou pulled you in with the collar of your shirt with one hand while the other held the bouquet after you set her down.

she kissed you passionately, your hands already on her hips, lost in the feeling. "thank you so much, my star." she kissed you all over your face, making you giggle more.

"no, i should thank you. all that i am, it's all because of you, i'm nothing without you, my darling." you left a lingering kiss on her forehead before you pecked her again, your foreheads touching.

the day was perfect, you knew that if you'd told the y/n who was still in her first year three and a half years ago that this would be her life, she'd actually cry.

you would forever be thankful to your darling, your yizhou, for coming up to you after failing her physics exam. if it weren't for her being new and not knowing better, you wouldn't have been here.

your love for yizhou was everlasting. she was the love of your life, she taught you something no one else could. she taught you the act of loving in return.

ning yizhou taught you redamancy.

you showed her the most dreamy and ethereal example of redamancy you knew— the love you sacred in your heart for her.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ᯓ✦ 𝓊𝗻𝚒𝘷𝐞𝗋𝓢𝙚 !

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Douqhnxtss © 27042025 — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. do not edit, translate, repost or plagiarize any of my work !

[silksandcravats]

Birthday 👋 - Dean x Reader

Dean would never miss an opportunity to put his hands on you, so naturally, he's a big believer in birthday spankings. He's also nothing if not a tease, so your spanks are delivered one by one when you least expect it. Meaning you spend your entire birthday on edge, with a stinging ass and thoroughly soaked panties. Content: established dean x fem!reader, spanking (duh)(f receiving), excessive foreplay, slight fingering (f receiving), light dom!dean x sub!reader undertones, for “plot” purposes reader needed an age so in honor of season 1 dean she's 26

You woke up to a familiar warm, solid surface beneath your cheek. You let out a soft, happy sigh of contentment as you lazily blink your eyes open.

"Mornin, sweetheart," Dean's rough morning voice greeted you. From your spot tucked against him, you could feel the gentle rumble in his chest as he spoke.

"Morning," you replied quietly, rolling in tighter towards him, your chest pressing against his as you shamelessly buried your face into the crook of his neck. His body responded naturally, tucking you in tighter, leaving a soft peck at your forehead.

"Happy birthday beautiful," he hummed against your forehead.

His hand which had been resting against your lower back shifted, his fingertips lazily tracing up your spine and back down again.

“Thank you” was at the tip of your tongue when you were jolted by a sharp smack to your backside. You yelped instead, hand reaching back to the offended area as you looked up at him with an expression that was half glare, half shock. 

“One,” he looked at you with a shit-eating grin. 

“Dean, no,” you groaned, collapsing against him again.

“Rules are rules pretty girl,” he shrugged casually, as if he had no say in the matter. His hand resumed its slow trail up and down your back as if he hadn’t just sparked a fire in your ass.

Last year Dean had insisted on 25 good, hard birthday spanks spread out through your special day, plus one to grow on of course. 

“For good luck, baby, can’t have enough of that in our line of work,” he had informed you with a wink the first time you protested.

You had spent the rest of your birthday making a conscious effort to keep your backside out of his reach, but you never stood a chance. Dean was a practiced hunter, meaning his calloused right hand met its mark every. single. time. It wasn’t fair, it was your birthday after all, you were supposed to be spoiled not punished. 

Despite your best attempts to seem irritated at the game, you knew that he knew you spent the better part of the day soaked, the final proof coming when he laid you down and yanked your shorts and panties down in bed that night.

You had hoped, foolishly, that last year's antics were a one-and-done, but clearly you were going to have to spend another birthday with your guard up.

Once the two of you had finally made your way out of bed, you did your best to keep out of arm's reach, slipping on a pair of sleep shorts to match the t-shirt and panties you’d slept in. 

“You first,” you nodded towards the doorway, eyeing him carefully. He snorted but obliged.

“I’ll get you now, or I’ll get you later, but you know it’s coming, sweet thing,” he taunted, leading the way down the hallway.

Breakfast was waiting for you in the kitchen, a white box tied in twine, stamped with the logo of a bakery you loved from the next town over. 

“Oh Dean,” you gasped, happily hurrying towards the table, your objective momentarily forgotten as you yanked the string and opened the box. Inside was a neat pile of the works; croissants and danishes and muffins and squares of coffee cake all rested atop a doiley.

“Good?” Dean asked slipping behind you and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Good,” you grinned, surveying the lot of treats in front of you trying to make a decision. 

“Just make sure to leave Sammy one or two,” the last word was punctuated with a firm swat to your rear.

“Dick,” you grumbled as he walked away to grab plates.

Dean was somehow already up to five by the time breakfast was finished. Only five in, and a subtle warmth was already beginning to settle into your backside.

Number six you saw coming when Dean “accidentally” bumped his fork onto the floor as you were clearing off the table. You shot him a glare before bending down but still let out an involuntary gasp as he spanked you. 

If you hadn’t known Dean as well as you did, the rest of the day would’ve given you whiplash. Your boyfriend put all his efforts into pampering you, countless sweet kisses across your face and loving little touches. You took full advantage as he followed you around, willingly engaging in whatever activity your heart desired. You had his full attention the entire time; he didn’t touch his phone once, nodding along as you rambled through your interests. Even when he didn’t understand what you were going on about, he watched you with a smile, enjoying how much you were enjoying yourself. 

But he also cracked his hand down meanly against the soft curve of your bum any chance he could get, despite your valiant efforts to protect your poor backside. Slowly, the sting in your ass grew from a dim, annoying heat to a hot, aching burn.

Still, as you leaned against Dean that evening, tucked under a blanket with his arm tight around you, thumb running slow circles against your thigh, you felt fairly pleased with yourself. Sure, he had gotten a few good hits in, but as the night was drawing to a close he was short, significantly short. 

You yawned softly as the credits rolled onto the screen. It wasn’t your favorite movie. Instead, you had opted for a movie Dean would most likely protest any other night because if tonight was your only chance to watch it, at least not by yourself, for the next 365 days, you were going to take it. And Dean, to his credit had diligently watched the whole thing alongside you with nary a complaint.

You even caught him chuckling once at the dialog, though he’d never admit that.

The names of the crew rolling across the screen grew blurry as your eyes began to fall shut. Before they were all the way closed, you felt a hand cupping your face, his thumb running along your bottom lip as his other four fingers squished into your cheek softly. 

“Tired already?” Dean questioned, arching his brow suggestively. 

“Mmm, but I might have an hour or so left in me,” you smiled lazily, mind drifting to the sweet, sloppy sex you’d like to end the night with.

“Good,” he winked, pulling your face closer, brushing his nose against yours.

You weren’t sure how it happened, but one moment you were halfway in his lap, the next you were yanked up. Suddenly your stomach was against the top of the back cushion and the edge of the couch, face staring at the floor behind it. Dean shifted behind you, hand coming to the small of your back to hold you down over the back of the couch.

“Because I’ve still got nine to go.”

“No!” You squealed, pressing your palms against the back of the couch, trying and failing to push yourself up against his grasp.

“C’mon baby,” he teased, yanking your shorts and panties down in one swift motion. “Take your birthday spanks like a good girl and you might get a reward.”

“Oh fuck yo - ow!” You shrieked bucking harder. 

“Nineteen,” he counted off, you didn’t have to see his face to know, the smug enjoyment was clear in his voice. 

Twenty and twenty-one were even harder, the sound of his large palm smacking against your soft, sore skin echoed through the room. You gasped and squirmed as he gave you swat after swat, each one harder than the last. 

Tears welled in your eyes as number twenty-six landed, cracking against both cheeks so hard you wanted to wail.

“Okay, that’s enough!” You begged desperately as his hand rubbed along your hot, sorry ass, preparing you for the last one.

“Ah ah," he tsked, pushing you back down when you tried to lift yourself up.

"And one to grow on,” he kissed the base of your spine gently, a sharp contrast to the harsh, final blow that landed a moment later. 

“Shit!” You yelped, jerking forward with the force of the strike. You sucked in a breath, curling and uncurling your toes. His offending right hand came down again, softer this time as he soothed some of the immediate sting out of your burning skin, admiring his handiwork.

“You’re cruel,” you pouted, breath hitching as his hand dragged down your ass and slid between your legs, two fingers running along your soaked, puffy folds.

“That why you’re dripping on my hand baby?” He tsked, one finger dipping between your folds to run right along your slit.

“My ass hurts,” you whined, pushing yourself up and turning over your shoulder looking for sympathy. 

“Want me to make you forget about it?”

“Please,” you answered quickly, eager to focus on something other than the pain in your ass.

“Hold on like a good girl then,” he warned plunging two thick fingers into you suddenly, then curling them back towards him in a practiced, come hither motion. He grinned wildly as you gasped in shock, your fingers grasping to find the edge of the couch for purchase.

“Oh Dean,” you cried as his fingers brushed against the soft spongey spot inside of you.

“Happy birthday beautiful.”

[monarchberrysblog]

Hmo but

What if Miguel finds out you used to date the Harry Osborn from your world? You and Harry used to date but broke up on friendly terms but then you meet sometime where Miguel’s visiting your world for a date, and then his possessive instinct is like: She’s mine 😏

Then ✨smut✨ and ofc he has a marking kink

INTERLINKED

credit to @r3ds_art_ on Twitter and Instagram!

✭ 🔞 Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader ✭

✮ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: possessive (adj.) → demanding someone’s total attention and love. having the knowledge that you used to be with someone left a sour taste in miguel’s mouth. especially knowing that you are still in good terms with them to this day.

✭ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: biting kink? (idk what it’s called), cumplay (?), unprotective p-in-v, semi-exhibitionism (y'all get caught), possessive behavior (kinda?)

✭ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: +1.7k words

✭ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: mwehehehe (once again, if there are errors i apologize in advance as i felt like i read this multiple times and don't see any errors) enjoy!

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 | 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃

Harry was your first love. Something so fleeing that if you were to blink or glance at it, it disappeared instantly. It blurred into your life the way acrylic colors blended to create a clash of colors like a summer evening in July. It was all tangy and sweet, with a scalding, sweaty undertone. Beautiful yet uncomfortable to endure.

He was sweet, resembling a sweet syrup in any refresher you would get in a coffee shop. Sweet, yet messy. The sap wasn't noticeable until it became unbearable to have in between your fingers.

Enduring the sappy-like texture on the tip of your fingers, wiping the mess clean from your skin, bonding with Henry became inevitable. You didn't want to let him go, but it was for the better for each other.

But after growing out of each other, things ended with a silver lining—growing and learning within a long distance from each other.

Then, you met Miguel.

Another man from another dimension.

Meeting someone from another world was not on your bucket list, let alone in the span of goals you had for the next few years or so. But Miguel managed to tergiversate his way into your plans (and heart). He fit right into your life like a puzzle piece you didn't know was missing.

And you love it.

/

“Is your dish okay? Because if it isn't, I can send it back and—” You fade his rambles with a gentle touch on his hand. “Yes, it's perfect Migs. Thank you.” The sound of cutlery clicking on the white ceramic plates complimented the ambiance of the warm-lit dining area.

Small chatter created a cozy environment that made anyone lull to sleep. “And please, don't yell at the chef like last time.” You forcefully giggle and can almost imagine the events playing out like a storyboard.

“They didn't give you the grilled chicken fillet.” He grumbles, looking away from his dish and to the side, keeping his gaze on the maroon carpet. “Hey,” You gently cupped his cheek, disregarding your silverware. “It’s okay. Sometimes, we make mistakes on off days. It's nothing new.”

“I know,” He pouts. “I just want you to have a warm meal.”

“And I'm grateful for your well-being. Just don't yell at the chef and make them cry again. Please.” You plead, gently rubbing his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. “…okay.” He grumbles in defeat, taking your hand away from his face and gently holding your hand with a reassuring squeeze.

“I won’t.”

/

You worked on your dish, taking in pasta forkfuls and grilled chicken. Miguel keeps a close eye while eating his dish, savoring his fillet mignon. You basked in the silence, probably in your little world while with him. But a single greeting broke the mellow silence. “Hey,”

It wasn't just a simple “Hey” to get someone’s attention. Instead, it was an exasperated one. The exhale is a sign of relief—the relief of seeing someone familiar after a long period of time. A sigh that read, “Oh, it's been a while; I missed seeing you..”

Miguel’s head turned for him without his brain enabling his thought process. “Oh, hey, Harry.” You smile, showing off your little dimples to him. “What brings you here?” Harry makes his way over to the two of you, unaware of the daggers that Miguel was throwing at him. “I’m here with Miguel. My boyfriend.”

Harry turns his attention to your aggravated partner, oblivious to the aura Miguel sent. “Already moved on? That was fast.”

Not an amusing joke, even for Harry. He lets out a forced laugh, hoping to drown out the awkward air around them—it only made it more suffocating to be in that bubble. “It's been a couple of years.” You laughed, trying to ease the unsteady environment. But it was laughable beyond that point.

While exchanging words, Harry’s wavering eyes remained on you, taking in every feature about you. “You work here?” You ask as you look up at Harry. “As a server only.”

Your smile, cute dimples, everything caught Harry’s attention. It felt like he was looking at the playing field and wondering if he was about to get to second base. The conversation dragged like a snail, going slowly for Miguel.

“But it was nice seeing you.” The only best solution was stepping on the awkward waters rising as Harry nodded and sighed. “Yes, it was nice seeing you too. But let me know if you guys need anything.” With a simple nod, he walks off almost in a rushed manner.

/

“Jesus.” Miguel was now away from the warm dining area of the restaurant and now in the men’s room. He stood in the handicap stall momentarily, burying his face into his palms. The last thing he needed to happen was for you to lecture him on his behavior, especially now that Harry had dropped by unannounced.

“You’re exaggerating, you're exaggerating.” He repeats the mantra, sounding like a possessed man. If anyone were to walk in, some eye brows would have been raised. But after repeating the phrase a couple more times, he stops and rubs his eyes, much to his doctor's dismay about the habit.

“It's fine.” He thinks, reaching for the stall door to step out. But the sound of a familiar voice and a different voice enter the washroom. “Who was that woman who you greeted earlier?”

“An ex,” Harry states matter of factly.

“You miss her, don't you?” The other voice inquires as if they anticipated drama. “I've seen the way you look at her.” The other voice adds. “Yeah, but just as friends! It's been a while since we last spoke.”

A little, just a little?

“But she's with someone else.” Harry stumbles his words, attempting to redeem his words.

“And you don't seem okay with that.” A lingering silence suffocates space immediately. A sigh from Harry fills the space, shattering the awkwardness.

“I'm okay with it. I just miss her company.”

The corner of Miguel’s lip subtly twitches, a sign of irritation. He waits, waiting for the two men to finish their discussion. It wasn't until ten minutes later that they finally left. Almost as if he were following behind, Miguel steps out of the stall silently, feeling his senses get overwhelmed with his typical possessive return once again.

/

“Keep it down for me, bebe. Can you do that for me?” He bites down on your neck and nibbles on your skin. The flat of his tongue lathers against the bite crevices, soothing the dull, aching pain. “Your canines…” Your comment fell silent before his lips kissed the now red mark against your flesh before his hands worked quickly to raise the hem of your skirt. “Shhh, we don't need to get kicked out, do we?” He whispers. The family bathroom immediately got filled with scuffles and moving around of clothes. His ring and pointer finger ghost at your clothed cunt, dragging the tips of his fingers down your entrance, feeling the dampness.

“I just bit you, and you’re all riled up? Pobrecita.” He pouts to you and slowly moves the gusset of your underwear to the side gently with a tug. “Just keep it down for me, okay? Can you do that for me?” His gentle movements drew out soft whines and moans from your mouth like word vomit while his fingers traced your entrance, drawing out your glistening arousal.

"Just be quiet for me," he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, helping himself to another bite of your soft skin. He follows his fingers, delving into your fluttering wall, eagerly taking his fingers in. "Shhh..." The sound of wet, sticky gushes fills the family room bathroom, with your mess dripping down onto the floor and occasionally on the bathroom wall.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, occasionally feeling his two fingers curl slightly. You bit down on your bottom lip, humming out your pleasure to the rhythm of his finger moving in and out.

"Don't make a mess, I don't want you to ruin my watch."

The soft thrusting of his fingers moved rapidly, pulling his fingers out completely before shoving his fingers back into your needy pussy. The rapid thrusts became too much, releasing your mess along with your cum all over the floor before you. "Ay, ya te dije." He pulls his fingers out, shaking his hand dry and lifting you up on the sink counter. "I told you to not make a mess." He put a resting finger against your fluttering core, lightly pushing down to soothe the stretch.

"Spread for me a bit, nena." He whispers and grasps onto your thighs, helping you. You could already imagine the mess you left behind the counter, leaving a glistening mess on the marble. You open up for him with a meek "Okay." You feel your legs trembling against the cold marble. You watch on as Miguel hurries to take off his pants, shoving the pants down quickly and dragging you close to his aching member.

A soft moan escaped your lips, feeling his length rub against your core and clit, lightly thrusting his length in between your entrance. "Let me just prepare myself," He whispers, slowly collecting your slick against his length. You let out a whine before you let out a moan, feeling his tip occasionally slip in between your folds. He thrusted his tip in a couple more times before he continued to grind his length against your clit.

“There we go. Let’s get you comfortable.” He whispers into your ear before he slowly pushes himself in, earning a loud moan from you. He immediately covered your mouth, muffling your beautiful sounds.

“Shh, be good and keep it down.” He whispers while gently pushing his tip against your cervix, occasionally earning a soft cry in pain. You felt him slowly pull out and keep a gentle pace. “Is that better, nena?” He croons into your ear. He grinds his length into you, trying to keep your moans and mews at a limit.

“So good, cariño.” He whispers. “Come on, hold on for a while.” His fingers trace the soft red marks on your neck, putting pressure to soothe the pain.

“I want us to be in here for a moment.”

/

The two of y'all rushed out of the bathroom, getting chased out of the restaurant by two servers. “And get out of here! Never come back!” They yell out as soon as the two of you scurry out while adjusting your clothes. You exchanged breathy laughs with each other when you felt the cold air nip at your skin.

“I told you to keep it down.”

[girlgenius1111]

homecoming

jenni hermoso x reader smut! 18+ jenni returns from a trip without you, intent on reminding you of who you belong to. you are only interested in proving to her that you've forgotten who is in charge.

warnings: dom/sub undertones, cockwarming, strap on use, cunnilingus, fingering, orgasm delay/denial, light choking...

-----

Resisting the urge to throw your phone across the room, you pressed the little heart in the bottom of your screen. Jenni's tattooed, muscular body, in a very small swimsuit was staring back at you, her smirk more than taunting. It had to be the 500th photo of her from this girls trip she was on, without you. You knew what she was trying to accomplish by posting them constantly.

You were so extremely done with it. You were practically vibrating with energy, and though it was not the kind that a workout would alleviate, a plan had begun to form in your head.

You put on your tightest spandex shorts and a matching black sports bra, heading into the home gym. Very few workouts had occurred in this room in the house that you and Jenni shared that hadn't ended in a different kind of workout. The memory of Jenni all over you on the weight bench, not patient enough to drag you out of the room, was making you miss the striker even more.

You went through your usual routine, starting with a long jog on the treadmill. You recorded a quick story while running, allowing the video to capture most of your upper body as you ran. You put a song over it, forgoing a caption for now.

Then, you moved over to the weights. Once again, you set your phone up, recording yourself doing squats with the bar held over your shoulders. You paused, adding the clip to your story, grinning to yourself when you noticed that Jenni had already seen your previous story. Jenni had told you once that when she went away, she would turn on your post notifications, not wanting to miss getting a glimpse of you, even if you talked on the phone every night that she was gone.

When you were done with the workout you were sweating appropriately, and your muscles were slightly more defined. Satisfied, you posed in front of the mirror, making sure as much of you as possible was clearly visible before taking a picture, and adding that to your story too.

Not 10 seconds later, your phone was ringing with an incoming call from your girlfriend. You denied it, knowing exactly what she was looking for with this well timed call, heading off to shower. Jenni didn't like to be ignored.

You didn't feel guilty in the least, though. If there was one surefire way to get Jenni to give you what you wanted, it was to make her realize just how much she missed you.

-----

Any more low cut, and your tits would have been falling out of the dress. It was intentional; you'd had to suffer through Jenni's swimsuit-related teasing. Teasing her back, with your own revealing photos, hadn't really scratched the itch. You wanted to tease her in person, make her crazy for you. More than that, you wanted her to fuck you. In the bathroom of the restaurant, in the back of the car, you didn't care. She probably could have thrown you on the table in front of the everyone, and no complaint would have left your lips.

Jenni, however, had not taken kindly to your teasing; of course not. She was possessive, loving nothing more than to leave marks all over your body, in case anyone in the locker room wasn't aware that you very much belonged to her. Posting the cheeky sports bra and athletic shorts pictures to your story, body glistening with sweat, muscles bulging from the workout you'd just completed had, as you'd hoped, driven her crazy.

She didn't doubt that you were hers; she was too confident, too cocky for that. Jenni just disliked sharing, your body was not just hers to touch, but also hers to look at. Something you'd evidently forgotten. Her own teasing wasn't even a thought in her head; you didn't get jealous like her. Her photos made you horny, not upset. Yours had made her both.

This was how you found yourself sitting in a rather fancy restaurant, frustratingly across the table from your girlfriend, who was gazing at you with a burning look in her eyes. She'd met you there, as you'd come from a media event, so there was no opportunity to get rid of some of the tension before being in such a public location.

Jenni hadn't bothered with more than a soft kiss pressed to your cheek and a tight hug before pulling your chair out for you, and beginning to talk animatedly about her trip. Her eyes gave her away, flicking down towards your chest, her tongue moistening her lips, as she lost her train of thought.

"What was that, baby?" You asked, resting your chin on your hand and leaning forward slightly, giving Jenni the opportunity to look directly down your shirt.

She exhaled slowly, regaining her composure and looking you straight in the eye. "We had a lot of fun. It was hot, though, I could barely stand to wear more than a swimsuit."

"It was warm here, too. I did most of my morning runs in just shorts and a sports bra." Your girlfriend's jaw clenched, an eyebrow raising as if to challenge you. If there was one thing Jenni loved, it was watching you run. It was almost obscene the way she watched you, eyes glued to your chest as you jogged. It was fine when you were wearing a shirt, not much was visible, but if you were just in a sports bra? Forget it. A workout was getting done, but not the one you had planned.

Your eyes lit up when you noticed that someone was approaching and it was your waitress. An objectively attractive waitress at that.

She introduced herself, and you felt Jenni's hard gaze on you at you as sent the waitress a sparkling smile, and complimented her earrings.

You ordered for yourself, cutting Jenni off just before she was about to speak. "And my friend will have..." you picked something you knew she would like, though you were fairly sure she was about to drag you out of the restaurant before the order could reach the kitchen.

The waitress left the table, and you allowed yourself to grin, looking up at your girlfriend. Jenni had one hand clenched in a tight fist, the other raking back through her dark hair.

"Go get in the car. I will pay." She said lowly.

"Jen, we haven't eaten," you said innocently.

She scoffed. "Do not make things worse for yourself. Go get in the car." The striker warned. Deciding you'd taken it far enough, and also feeling like you probably couldn't sit through dinner at this point, you stood, trailing a finger up Jenni's arm until she was out of reach, and you were heading out the door.

-----

Jenni had parked her car in the corner of the lot outside the restaurant, and it just so happened that it was rather secluded. You'd had an idea on the way to the car, when you noticed that your panties were uncomfortably damp. You smiled to yourself. Why not get rid of them?

That is how your girlfriend found you when she opened the door to the car, and looked down at her seat to see your discarded thong. She was frozen for a second, before her eyes slowly moved up to you, where you sat, hand disappearing under your short dress.

It wasn't often that you left Jenni speechless; she always had something to say. She was completely still for a moment, her jaw dropped at the sheer audacity you had. Then, she was moving before you could even prepare yourself, sliding into the drivers seat and wrapping long, nimble fingers around your wrist and yanking it away from your core. You hadn't really been doing anything; nothing felt as good as your girlfriend touching you, and you'd been left to your own devices for too long for your own fingers to be very exciting.

Your finger pointer and middle finger were glistening, though, and Jenni looked at them critically, before letting go of your wrist, and wrapping her hand around your neck instead. She leaned in close, whispering in your ear even though there was no one else around to here.

"If I see you touching what is mine again tonight, you will wish I stayed in Ibiza."

"I missed you too much to wish for that." You said softly, trying to lean in towards her. Her hand kept you against the back of the headrest as she shook her head minutely at you, green eyes glinting dangerously.

"You will rethink that when I do not let you come for a month." She warned. With that, she let go of you, turning around to face forward. You instinctually rubbed at the skin of your neck, even though it didn't hurt. The pressure was perfect, and even now, you could still feel the ghost of her touch on your neck, skin tingling lightly.

Jenni didn't miss the movement, and her face softened slightly as she put the car back in park, before it had backed out even a little.

"Okay?" She asked, grabbing your hand and threading her fingers with yours.

"Yeah, I'm good." You assured her, matching the soft smile she sent you. For all her bravado, all her cockiness, and though Jenni loved making you blush, making you squirm, making you scream her name, she loved seeing you smile at her more than anything else.

She brought your joined hands to her lips, leaving a soft kiss on the back of yours. With that, she reversed out of the parking spot, heading towards your shared apartment. She was calm and collected, but the speed with which she drove told the truth; she was very eager to get you home.

You thought you were getting your way. It didn't occur to you that Jenni was luring you into a false sense of security. You were very pleased with yourself, sitting in the passenger seat, your girlfriend's hand in yours. Jenni maintained her poker face, giving nothing away as she reviewed her plan in her head; a plan that had been in place from the very first instagram story you posted, and one that had only grown more severe as you continued to tease Jenni. She was still planning on giving you what you wanted, in the end, until your behavior at the restaurant. Not anymore.

You remained blissfully unaware, knee bouncing excitedly as you gazed out the window, no idea what you were in for.

-----

You didn't quite remember getting from the car inside the house and up to the bedroom; it was a blur of Jenni's lips & hands all over you, guiding you up the stairs as you let her take full control.

Your eyes opened for the first time since you entered the house when Jenni leaned up off of you, pausing to look at your dress for a moment, before bringing her hands to the hem, and tearing the fabric until the dress was completely ripped.

"Jennifer!" You complained, glaring up at her. She only grinned at you in response, peeling off her own shirt and bra and discarding them, not bothering with her pants for the moment. She yanked the now ruined dress out from under you, before nudging your legs apart and settling in between them.

"You missed me, huh?" She rasped, spreading you apart with her fingers. You only exhaled loudly in response, and she withdrew her hand, looking up at you with her eyebrows raised. "No? You did not miss me?" Jenni moved as if to get off the bed, and you whined pathetically, already reduced to a very weak version of yourself underneath your girlfriend.

"I missed you, missed you so much," you promised, relaxing back into the mattress when Jenni grinned triumphantly and returned to lay between your legs. She didn't waste anymore time, leaning her face closer and dragging her tongue through you. You sighed in relief, letting your eyes fall shut. Jenni knew every inch of you, knew how to make you feel good in a way you never had before her.

Jenni was merciless with her tongue, focusing her attention on your clit and humming against it as the taste of you filled her mouth. "Tan mojada para mi," she said breathily.

She steadily worked you up, tongue flicking at your swollen clit until your legs were twitching under her. She moved down slightly, pressing her tongue into you, feeling your walls pulse around it. Jenni didn't spend long with that, moving back up to your clit and sliding a finger through your wetness before pushing it into you. Your back arched, incredibly sensitive from an entire week of needing her.

You didn't think to be suspicious, or wary, when Jenni pushed you hard, 1 finger becoming 2, then becoming 3, rapidly fucking in and out of you, her tongue lapping at you with the same rhythm.

She knew you were close before you said anything, your walls tightening until she had a hard time moving her fingers, your legs wrapping around her upper body.

"J-Jenni, I'm so close," you warned her, expecting her to pick up her pace. Instead, she eased her fingers out of you, ignoring the pitiful sound of complained you let out.

"Jenni, please baby" you groaned. Jenni leaned off of you and towards the bedside table, and you took advantage of her momentary distraction, letting your hand slip between your thighs. As if she could sense it, your girlfriend's whipped around to glare at you.

"You will wait if I want you to," she said aggressively, waiting until your head retreated before returning to the nightstand to pick out the perfect strap to ruin you with.

She took much too long, in your opinion, to choose, but finally she turned back around to face you, now completely naked except for the harness and dildo strapped around her waist. The brunette settled back against the pillow and motioned you over. Eagerly, you scrambled forward, letting her maneuver you onto her lap, back to her chest, slowly sinking down onto the strap.

"You feel so good inside of me," you whimpered, pausing as you adjusted to the size.

"Take it all, I know you can," Jenni encouraged, an arm around your stomach pressing you further down as you panted and moaned, until all of her was inside of you. "There you go, taking my whole cock like the needy slut you are,"

Her words made you feel like you were melting into her, relaxing back into her body, and waiting for her to start to thrust up into you. She didn't move though, so you tried to lift your hips, and fuck down onto her cock, but her arm tightened around your abdomen, holding you tight against her. You probably could have moved if you wanted to, but her wishes were clear, and you weren't feel as bratty anymore, you just wanted Jenni to tell you how good you were being. You remained still, even as your girlfriend reached over to grab her phone from the side of the bed, peeking at it over your shoulder and unlocking it. She went right to the camera roll, scrolling a bit before clicking on a photo, still unmoving inside of you. The novelty of the stretch was fading, quickly becoming painfully arousing.

"Jenni, what the fuck are you doing?" You complained, growing more and more frustrated with each passing minute that your girlfriend was not destroying you like you wanted.

"You did not let me finish telling you about my trip. I wanted to show you some pictures." She told you very calmly, as if she wasn't buried deep inside of you, as if she couldn't feel your legs shaking against her.

"Jenni, I swear to god," you sighed, beginning to remove yourself from her strap. She dropped her phone onto the bed, reflexes lightening quick, pressing you back down into her. At the same time, you felt her jerk her hips up into you, just a bit. It was enough for you to sink back into her, letting your head fall to rest on her shoulder. She didn't move again though, and when you opened your eyes, it was to see her holding her phone in front of you, waiting patiently for your attention.

"Are you kidding?" You laughed humorlessly.

"No. I am very serious. This is me at the beach," Jenni began, before swiping to the next picture. "This is me at the beach again. And on the boat. This is a cool bird I saw. Here is me without my top on. And me and Leila, doing flips into the water,"

Aside from the topless picture, which definitely peaked your interest, it was the most unsexy thing you'd ever endured in your entire life, despite the fact that you could feel her inside of you. You were about to tell her so, when she swiped again, and your words died in your mouth.

"This is me naked in the shower." She continued on in the same nonchalant tone as before, as if she hadn't just presented you with significantly more interesting content to look at. "Here I am fucking myself with that vibrator you like. And with my fingers. Do you want to see me come? I think I have a video."

You were floored. Jenni was confident, cocky at times, you knew that. The way she was showing you these photos, though, it was like she didn't even possess the ability to feel embarrassment. You knew that if the roles were reversed, and you were showing her these photos of yourself, you would be blushing red, hiding your face in her shoulder.

"Oh, here it is." Again, your girlfriend's voice was completely not reflective of the situation at hand, and something about how absolutely unbothered she seemed made you clench around her.

Jenni clicked play on the video, and the sound of her crying out your name filled the room, the camera positioned perfectly for you to watch her fingers pumping in and out of herself with obscenely loud, wet noises.

You'd been pretty good up until this point, not shifting much in her lap, but your strength collapsed entirely at this point. Your hips ground down against her pathetically, and you dug your nails into the arm she had wrapped around your stomach.

"No, pay attention." She said, moving the phone closer to your face.

"Jenni, jesus christ," you complained, still for only a second before you restarted the small circular motions with your hips, unable to help yourself. With how good she felt inside of you, unmoving, you knew it would 100x better if she would just fuck you.

Without warning, Jenni tossed her phone away from her, spun you around on top of her, her cock twisting deliciously inside of your pulsing cunt. She'd laid down further now, and you were in the perfect position to ride her. Her hands had an iron grip on your hips, though, and though you tried to move yourself up and down with your legs, you couldn't get anywhere. You frowned down at her, feeling so very full yet so unsatisfied at the same time.

"Did you think there would be no punishment? For those slutty stories, and the way you acted at dinner? I did not think I was gone long enough for you to forget who was in charge, mi amor."

"Jenni, I'm sorry, I didn't forget, I just missed you,"

Jenni continued on as if you hadn't spoken. "I had plans for you amor. I do not think you deserve to come as many times as I was planning anymore."

"Jenni, no no, please," you cried, eyes beginning to fill with tears. It was torturous, the way she was pressed up into you, unmoving. Every inhale jostled you slightly, and the minuscule movement only made you feel needier. You were dripping onto her lap, you knew, but Jenni didn't seem to be in a very forgiving mood this evening.

You'd messed up.

"No." She said simply.

"Jen, please," you begged, moving a hand to rest on her cheek, her stony expression remaining unchanging.

"Who is in charge here?" She asked finally, her voice a dangerous whisper. The volume didn't diminish the power behind it.

"You." Your reply was instant, and your girlfriend nodded.

"Tell me again."

"You, you're in charge, Jenni."

"You are mine, sí?"

"Yes, yours."

"And only mine?"

"Only yours, baby."

"Prove it." She said, and you nodded frantically.

"Anything, Jen, I'll do anything,"

"Get off." You paled at her words, now shaking your head, just slightly. Jenni smiled devilishly up at you, not waiting for a response before she easily lifted you up off her cock and dumped you gently onto the bed next to her. "Hands and knees."

You moved instantly, flipping onto your stomach and pressing up onto your knees, resting your elbows on the bed. Jenni shifted until she was kneeled directly behind you.

"Escúchame. I said hands and knees, not elbows and knees." Her voice was harsh, and she gripped your ponytail, pulling hard until you were resting on your hands instead of your forearms.

"Bueno. ¿Estás listo para mí?" You could only nod, breathing hard, as she dragged her cock through your folds, positioning it against your hole and pausing. "Creo que eres."

She pushed into you with one thrust, and you yelped, the movement inside of you after so long of stillness almost overwhelming. Jenni set a punishing pace, her hips smacking into yours as she filled you up, her toned thighs working hard.

"Feels good?" She asked, letting go of your hair in favor of wrapping an arm around your neck and pulling your body up flush against her. Her hips didn't stop, and you gripped onto her arm tight.

"Good, so good," you moaned. You were close already, your ruined orgasm from before combining with all the time Jenni had spent inside of you, unmoving to leave you a shaking, whimpering mess.

"I can tell you are close already, hmm? Do you want to come?"

"Yes, Jenni, my god, please," you pleaded, not concerned with how pathetic you sounded.

"You want to come?" She asked again, adjusting her angle slightly so that the tip of her cock was rubbing insistently against the spongy spot deep inside of you.

"God-yes," you managed, whole body trembling with the strength with your building orgasm.

Horrifyingly, as soon as the words left your mouth, Jenni slowed down, hand wrapping around your neck as she nibbled on your earlobe, before speaking into your ear.

"Do you think you deserve it?" She asked.

Somewhere inside of your absolutely melted brain, you knew what the right answer was.

"I- I don't know." You cried, "You're in charge, you decide, not me,"

"Muy buena bonita," she cooed into your ear, pushing you back down onto your knees, pushing your head down into the bed, and picking up her speed again. This time, she didn't slow down, reaching an arm around to rub tight circles over your clit.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, please let me come," you begged, unwilling to let yourself go until Jenni told you that you could.

She smirked, knowing she had you right back where she wanted you.

"Go ahead," she told you, admiring how your whole body shook violently, how you screamed her name, instantly falling over the edge at her words.

You thought you were going to black out for a minute, the pleasure completely taking over all of your senses as the waves of your orgasm rocked through you. It felt endless, until there was nothing left in your head. Eventually, you whimpered pathetically, trying to pull away from Jenni's slow thrusts into you, working you through it.

"That is it? You can only take one?" She mocked, pulling out even as she did so, rubbing your ass softly before easing you onto your back. You flopped down, chest still heaving as you blinked, completely dazed, up at her.

"Jen," you whispered, reaching out a shaky hand towards her. Her unbothered expression broke into a familiar dazzling grin, and you felt your cheeks flush at the pride on her face.

"My good girl, my perfect girl," she cooed, quickly taking off the strap before settling on top of you, knowing you liked to feel her body pressing down on yours. She left soft kisses where her face was pressed into your neck, and you sighed happily, even as her hair tickled your bare skin.

"Love you," you whispered, and Jenni laughed softly at how fucked out you sounded.

"I love you too, mi niña bonita."

"I missed you." You said, although you told her before, the words holding a stronger meaning now.

"I missed you, too." Jenni replied, pulling her head away from your neck to press her forehead to yours. It could have been left unsaid, considering the way she'd just made you fall apart, and the way you'd clearly been craving it, but it was nice to hear, nonetheless. Jenni never left anything unspoken, letting you know how much she loved you every second of every day. Her caring actions were a nice reminder, and you thought to yourself that you really did prefer it when she was in charge.

-----

i was going to have a nervous breakdown if i spent anymore time trying to figure out a better ending so you get what you get and you don't get upset.

not too sure how i feel about this honestly, i feel like i'm missing something, but i can't figure out what, so you get it before i delete and restart.

hope you enjoy, jenni girlies :)

[angeliccss]

Take the Lead, Mama

Pairing: Mama Rose/Reader

Words: 3.5k

Summary: Backstage after a show, Rose finds you exactly where she wants—eager, trembling, and looking at her like she hung the moon. She decides to put on a different kind of performance. One just for the two of you.

Warnings: Older Woman/Younger Woman, Rough Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Hair-pulling, Thigh riding, Rough make out sesh, Dom/sub Undertones, Semi-Public Sex, Praise Kink

AO3

AN: This is inspired by one of @anthewitch beautiful drawings.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not backstage. Not alone with her. Not pressed up against the vanity, legs shaking, lip bitten raw.

But ever since that night—when she’d stepped between you and your no-good boyfriend like she’d been waiting for the excuse—you hadn’t left her side.

He’d grabbed your wrist too hard outside the stage door. Thought no one would notice. Thought you wouldn’t scream. You didn’t have to. Because she was there. And Rose doesn’t wait for permission.

He ended up on the pavement with her heel in his gut and her voice like a whip through the air—“Touch her again, and I’ll feed you your own teeth, you little son of a bitch.”

After that you hadn’t left her side. You trailed her like a second shadow, clutching her coat, carrying her purse, fetching her smokes, falling asleep curled on her couch with one of her girls draped over you like a cat. She never told you to leave.

And tonight? She made sure you stayed. The show had ended. The theater emptied. And the second June and Louise were gone, she’d turned the dressing room bolt with a click that sounded final.

Now, she was in front of you, taking her time as she rolled her sleeves up to the elbow, fingers flexing. Her lipstick was half-faded, but her smirk wasn’t. You could smell the stage on her—powder, sweat, the heat of lights—and beneath that, something darker. Something hungry.

"You were watchin’ me like a girl starvin’ through a bakery window,” she said, voice a rasp that scraped down your spine. “So here I am. Eat.” Your breath caught. She stepped closer.

“I see everything,” she murmured, running one hand up your thigh, her nails rough like she didn’t care if she left marks. “You think I didn’t notice you starin’? You think I didn’t know what you were beggin’ for every time you said ‘thank you, Miss Rose’ like your knees were already halfway to the floor? You think I didn’t hear how you moaned my name when you thought I was asleep on the couch?”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, honey.” Her smirk curved like a dagger. “You’re not subtle. Not with me.” She grabbed your chin, made you look at her. Those eyes—so hard behind the stage, so blazing right now. “Say it.”

“Say...what?” Her grin widened. Cruel. Pleased.

“What you want, sweetheart. You think I’m here to be sweet?” A laugh, bitter and low. “No. You want sweet, you go find yourself a boyfriend who won’t raise his hand. But you came to me. You want somethin’ real? You get rough. You get Mama.”

She gripped your chin, hard enough to make you gasp, and tilted your head back.

“I know what he did to you. I saw it in the way you flinched, the way you waited for me to get mad when you spilled coffee on my script.” Her voice dipped low, dark with steel. “He taught you to be small.”

Her thumb brushed your lip, then pressed in hard, claiming, cruel, perfect. “Well. I don’t do small. I don’t do scared. You want Mama? Then you stand up, you take it, and you don’t make me ask twice.”

You nodded, quick, eager, but she grabbed your hair, twisted it until your scalp prickled. “Words, baby.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“…Yes, Mama.” Her hand fisted in your hair and she shoved you gently—but firmly—down to your knees.

“There. That’s where you belong.” She stepped in front of you, pulling her blouse open, exposing her sharp hourglass silhouette like it was a reward she’d earned by surviving. “You don’t get anything 'til I say. You don’t touch ‘til I say.”

She leaned in, nose brushing yours, lips barely touching. “You don’t get to beg. Not yet. You don’t get to touch. Not until I say. That mouth of yours?” She tapped your lips twice. “That belongs to me tonight.”

Then she leaned down and bit your neck—sharp, fast, marking you like a signature on a contract. You cried out, and she laughed under her breath like you were the best damn encore she’d ever earned. “Oh, honey,” she said, cupping your jaw, dragging her thumb over your cheek like she was marking you. “You got no idea what you’ve signed up for.”

She dragged you back to your feet just to slam you down into her vanity chair. The bulbs above your head cast a golden halo on her curls as she straddled you, all thigh and intent, corset spilling open, tits pushed high. The edge of a garter caught the light.

You looked up at her, breathless, already undone. “I don’t care what he told you,” she growled. “You don’t belong to him anymore.” Her hand slid between your legs—slow, then hard, just to hear the whimper punch out of your throat.

“You belong to Mama now.”

She watched you fall apart under her grip with a smile that wasn’t sweet, it was satisfied. Like this was the payoff of something she’d earned, fought for, bled through.

Her fingers were rough through the fabric, not teasing—claiming. You whimpered under her touch and she grinned, broad and vicious.

“Mm. That’s it, baby. Let it out. He made you quiet, didn’t he?” Her hand tightened on your thigh. “Well, I don’t want quiet. I want the whole damn orchestra.”

You gasped as she shoved your skirt up and leaned back in your lap, taking you in with narrowed eyes. She looked good like that, sprawled over you like a queen, corset half-undone, smirk sharp enough to draw blood.

Her expression flickered then—just for a second. Not soft. But raw. “Goddamn,” she muttered. “All my life, I put the wrong people on stage.” You blinked up at her, confused. She met your eyes—dark, burning. Her voice dropped.

“I could’ve done it, you know. I should’ve. Every time I dressed those girls, every goddamn song they sang... that should’ve been me.” She sat back further, legs spread, corset undone just enough to make your mouth go dry. “But nobody ever wanted to see Mama. Just wanted what she could make.”

The silence that followed cracked with tension. She wasn’t asking for sympathy. She was daring you to look away. You didn’t.

And that was when she smiled. Slow. Dangerous. “Get on the floor.” You slid off the chair before she’d finished the sentence. Knees hitting the worn dressing room rug.

“That’s better,” she purred, spreading her legs wider. “Mama’s the star tonight.” Your hands trembled as you reached for her garters—she slapped them away.

“Did I say you could touch?” Her voice snapped like a whip. “Look up at me.” You obeyed. Her thighs framed your face now, and her eyes were molten.

“You’re gonna keep your hands behind your back. Mouth only. That pretty little thing is gonna sing for me. And you’re gonna make me feel like I belong on that damn stage.”

You nodded—breathless, shaking, ruined. “Words, baby.”

“Yes, Mama.” And then she pulled her panties aside like a curtain. You buried your face between her thighs like it was prayer, and she let out a sound that was half-growl, half-moan. The vanity lights caught her flushed skin, the curve of her breasts spilling from the corset, the wild fire in her eyes.

You couldn’t see yourself, but you felt the picture she made of you: on your knees, obedient, worshipful. A little star-struck.

It was her show now.

She gripped your hair in both hands, grinding against your mouth, controlling every motion. You licked, sucked, gasped for air—and she didn’t slow down.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” she groaned, hips rocking forward. “Louder. I want the whole goddamn theater to know who owns you now.”

You moaned into her and she shuddered, thighs closing around your head like a curtain on opening night. “That’s it. That’s Mama’s encore.”

When she came, she didn’t cry out—she roared, one hand flying to the vanity table as the other fisted in your hair and held.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t choreographed. It was earned. And when she came down, chest heaving, she looked down at you, lip curled, smug, victorious.

She cupped your chin and tilted your face up to hers. “Well,” she said, grinning, breath still shaky, “I guess I can be the star of the show after all.”

Your knees ached. Your lips were wet with her. You stayed where she left you, kneeling, hands behind your back, chest rising and falling like you’d just come off a five-minute number.

She didn’t speak for a while. Just leaned back in the vanity chair and let her thighs fall open, savoring the afterglow with the same smugness she’d wear if she’d just closed a deal or sold out a house.

And then, slowly, like you weren’t even there, she turned towards the mirror. She pulled open a little compact with a cracked lid, still sitting spread in her open corset like she had all the time in the world. Her lipstick case clicked open. She applied it without needing to check her lines.

She smeared, blotted, smoothed. Rubbed a thumb under her eye. Dusted powder along her jaw. Re-pinned a loose curl. One heel still dangled from her foot like an afterthought.

The room smelled like her: hot skin, sweat, expensive powder and lust. You didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare speak. She liked it that way. You watched her like a sinner in church.

When she was finished—lipstick redone, hair fluffed, corset laced tighter than ever—she looked down at you through the mirror.

The corner of her mouth curled. “Well,” she said, in that same dry, rasping drawl. “Would ya look at that.” She turned in the chair, legs crossed now, one hand cupping her chin like she was judging a contest.

“You down there all quiet… all messy…” She tilted her head. “That’s a better sight than anything I’ve seen onstage in twenty years.”

You felt the flush crawl up your neck. She leaned forward, hand reaching out to trace the edge of your jaw, rough but not cruel, just appraising.

“You did real good tonight, sweetheart.” Her thumb slid across your bottom lip. “Real obedient. Real pretty.” Then, a pause—long enough to sting. “Maybe you deserve a reward.”

You swallowed hard. Her grin widened, slow and knowing. “Get up.” You obeyed, legs trembling as you stood. She watched every inch of you rise like she was deciding what to do with you.

When you were fully upright, standing in front of her, she reached out and grabbed your waist. Pulled you between her knees. Tilted her chin up and locked eyes.

“You wanna know what it is?” she asked. “Your reward?” You nodded. She smiled. Then she yanked you down into her lap, hard, until you were straddling her, hips flush. Her hands slid up your back—possessive, rough. “You get to cum on Mama’s thigh.”

“Alright,” she said, voice like the flick of a match. “Go on, then. Show me how bad you want it.”

You moved like you couldn’t help it—dragging your hips forward, then back, slow and shaky, pressure blooming sharp between your legs. Her thigh, warm and strong beneath you, was unyielding. You tried to breathe but it came out broken.

She didn’t move to help. Just leaned back in the chair, one leg still propped under you, watching with a hunger that made your skin flush.

“That’s it,” she murmured, eyes fixed on your face. “God, look at you. Already wrecked and I’ve barely touched you.”

Her hand slid up your side, knuckles grazing under your shirt, not guiding—just there. Just reminding you who put you there.

“You’ve been chasing this, haven’t you?” she said. “All that time you looked at me like I was something you weren’t allowed to want. And now?”

Her thigh tensed, just slightly, and you gasped, hips stuttering. “Now you’re gonna lose it right here.” You bit your lip, struggling to stay quiet, but she caught your chin in two fingers and tilted your face toward hers.

“No. Don’t hide from Mama.” Her eyes were molten. Her voice dropped to a rasp. “I want to see every second of you coming apart.”

Your hips ground down harder now, friction just right, sharp and overwhelming. She didn’t stop you, but didn’t speed you up either. She let you work for it, let you struggle.

“You’re not even thinking anymore, are you?” she breathed. “Just feeling. Just chasing. Like you’re starving.” You nodded, dazed.

Her thumb traced the corner of your mouth. “You wanna finish?” You nodded again, desperate. She leaned in until her breath brushed your cheek. “Then show Mama you can earn it.” That broke something in you.

You moved faster now, more ragged, rhythm dissolving into need. She kept her eyes on you the whole time—sharp, steady, ravenous. Her leg tensed just enough to keep the pressure constant, every roll of your hips a plea.

“Good,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “That’s good. Just like that.” And when you came, body trembling, gasping into her shoulder like a confession, she didn’t soften. She just held you there, one hand gripping your waist, the other brushing your hair back, slow and possessive.

You collapsed against her, still straddling her lap, boneless and wrecked. She exhaled—long and low—and let the silence stretch for a beat. Then she murmured, with a smirk you could feel against your cheek: “Now that was a performance worth watching.”

She let you collapse against her, your breath still catching in your throat, body trembling from the effort of holding back and then giving in so completely. Her hand slid slowly up your spine, smoothing the sweat-soaked fabric of your shirt, grounding you. And when your head tipped forward—dazed, breathless—she caught your chin.

Tilted it up. “Look at me.” You did. Your eyes met hers, and something in her face had changed, not softer, exactly, but clearer. Focused. Like she was done watching now. Ready to do something about what she saw.

And then she kissed you. Firm. Claiming. A kiss like a stamp: mine. She tasted like lipstick and heat and salt. She didn’t rush it. Didn’t let you lead. She took your mouth like she’d already decided you belonged to her.

And when she finally pulled back, just enough to speak, her voice was low and steady. “I want more.” Your breath hitched.

“I want to feel you,” she said, thumb brushing your cheek like a brand. “Not just like this.” Her hand slid down, across your waist, lower. “I want to feel you from the inside.” She paused, watching your face, eyes glittering. “I want to take you apart properly this time.”

You swallowed hard, your whole body already starting to respond again, twitching to life under her touch. She smiled—slow and sure—and stood, keeping you steady with a hand at your waist.

“Come on.” Her lips brushed the shell of your ear, voice dropping to a rasp. “Get on the couch.”

She didn’t give you time to answer. Just took your wrist and guided you toward the velvet couch against the far wall. Worn, narrow, and still warm from her sitting there earlier. She sat first, legs spread, corset pressing tight against her ribs, then pulled you down on top of her like she’d rehearsed it.

Her hands were everywhere—spreading over your hips, dragging your skirt up, fingers digging into the soft curve of your ass. “Straddle me.” You did, heart thudding, thighs still trembling as you settled over her again—this time, with nothing between you but breath and heat and the ache of want.

She looked up at you, something fierce in her eyes. “Take your damn time,” she said. “I want to feel every inch of it.”

Your breath caught as you rocked your hips forward, positioning yourself just right. She guided you. Not roughly, but firmly, like she owned every second of this. Like she’d been waiting to claim you proper.

And then—slow, aching—you sank down onto her fingers. She let out a breath through her teeth, head tipping back just a little, eyes closing as you took her in. “There you go,” she muttered, low and ragged. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You gasped, muscles tightening around her as she pressed deeper, the stretch intense after the tease of before, but her voice kept you grounded. “You feel that, baby?” she whispered. “That’s me. Inside you. Right where I belong.”

Her other hand gripped your waist, steadying you, while her fingers inside you curled just right, slow and deliberate, like she was reading you—learning how you worked, what made you writhe.

You moved with her, hips rocking slow, mouth falling open with each pulse of pressure. Her eyes drank you in. “God, you’re beautiful like this,” she said. “Dripping for me. Shaking for it.”

Her thumb brushed against your clit, cruel and perfect, and you cried out—not loud, but sharp. She hushed you with a kiss, hand still working between your legs. “You’re gonna cum for me again,” she said, voice rough. “And this time, I want to feel every second of it.”

You buried your face in her neck, your breath stuttering, and she held you—tight and focused—every thrust of her fingers pushing you closer, deeper, until it was all heat and pressure and her voice in your ear: “Let go, sweetheart. Give it to me.” And you did.

You came with a gasp, full-body, thighs clenching around her, hips jerking helplessly as her hand kept you steady through the waves. She didn’t stop until you collapsed against her, breathless and boneless, your body trembling from how thoroughly she’d taken you apart.

You were still sprawled across the couch, legs tangled in your skirt, body loose and twitching from aftershocks, when she finally pulled her hand from between your thighs and exhaled. Not breathless. Not disheveled. Just satisfied.

She leaned in, pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then stood. You barely managed to look up as she turned toward the vanity and began fixing her makeup again, cool as you’d ever seen her. Red lipstick reapplied. Powder patted smooth. A hand through her curls, fluffing them back into place.

Like she hadn’t just pulled you apart with her fingers. Like you weren’t still dripping, legs spread on the couch, barely breathing.

“You looked real good like that,” she said, catching your eyes in the mirror. “Didn’t think you could be even prettier when you’re beggin’, but I stand corrected.”

She smirked as she adjusted the collar of her coat—black, structured, tailored within an inch of its life. Then she stepped back over to you, still collapsed, dazed, your thighs trembling.

Her hand came down, brushing back a sweat-damp strand of hair from your face. “Good girl.” You shivered. “C’mon,” she said, voice softer now, but no less commanding. “Let’s get you home.”

You tried to move. Your knees buckled. She caught you before you could fall, steady hands at your waist. “You’re gonna feel that for a while,” she murmured, not even pretending to hide her pride. “Hope you didn’t have plans to walk straight tomorrow.”

You managed a breathless laugh against her shoulder, and she let you lean into her as she guided you out of the dressing room. One hand stayed tight at your waist.

Her coat was warm against your side. She didn’t wait for you to adjust your skirt or fix your hair before she tugged you toward the alley entrance behind the theater.

A cab was already waiting—she must’ve called it somewhere between kissing you and wrecking you. The moment the door shut behind you, she dragged you across the seat and onto her lap, coat parting, your thigh sliding over hers again like instinct.

“You think I’m finished with you?” she whispered, mouth already at your neck. You gasped, your hands bracing against her chest, but she caught your wrist and held it down.

“Driver doesn’t need to see a thing. Sit still.” Then she kissed you. Hot, deep, and full of intent. Her hand slipped behind your neck, angling you just how she liked, and you moaned into her mouth, thighs clenched tight, breath already picking up again.

Her tongue teased yours—slow, possessive, her hand gripping your thigh through your skirt like she was still thinking about the dressing room. Like she was already planning what she’d do when she got you inside.

“You taste like sweat and desperation,” she said, lips grazing your jaw. “I could keep you like this all night.”

The cab jolted to a stop. She smoothed her coat, fixed your collar, then opened the door without a word, like she hadn’t just kissed you within an inch of coherence.

You followed, legs barely steady, breath still catching. She didn’t wait—just took your hand, led you up the steps to the front door, and said with a wicked grin: “You’re sleeping in my bed tonight.”