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inkpetrichor · 3 days ago

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Nasty Dog! | Kuroo Tetsurou x f!reader

2.- Part two.

masterlist here<3

cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. smoking. cursing. smut. p in v. unprotected sex. oral sex (f receiving). overstimulation. dirty talking. power struggle. bratty! reader. kinda brat tamer kuroo (?. lemme know if i missed anything<3 wc. 5.5k an. thank you so much for all the love you showed the first part! i love y'all enjoy<3 comments are appreciated <3

Emi snorted behind her palm.

"So he blue-balled you? And you let him?"

"What was I supposed to do? I'm not gonna force myself on him. What am I, a man?" You sighed, shaking the soft carton box in your hands and pulling out a cigarette with your teeth and holding the flame a little longer than you needed to.

"Oh, he blue-balled you blue-balled you. Was his makeout game that good?"

"Oh, believe me, it was. And then he just stood up and left." You ran a hand through your hair, the skin where he'd bitten, sucked, and kissed still burning beneath your clothes—even after a whole weekend and then some.

"What a cocky bastard," you muttered, your fingers twitching at the memory of his smirk, that stupidly sexy bedhead, and his big, strong hands on your body.

The way he'd squeezed you, moved you over him like you belonged there—fuck. Just thinking about it made the heat crawl back into your cheeks and settle low in your stomach. You gave your head a sharp shake to chase the images away.

"So... that's it? You giving up?" Emi asked, fixing her mascara in the reflection of a classroom window.

"Do you know who you're talking to? Of course not." You turned with a slow smirk, catching her eye. She smiled back.

"I just have to push the right buttons."

Before Emi could reply, her eyes flicked past you, widening in alarm. The way they darted to the cigarette between your fingers said it all.

Shit.

You dropped it and stomped it out in one smooth motion, turning just in time to face the one person you really didn't want to see right now.

Inukai-sensei.

Your homeroom teacher stood a few paces away, looking down at the half-smoked cigarette by your boot. His posture was relaxed, but there was quiet authority in the way he carried himself—tall, lean, the kind of person who didn't need to raise his voice to be respected. His black hair was neatly trimmed, though time had started peppering his temples with gray. The pressed, earth-toned shirt and worn leather watch only added to the whole dad energy thing he had going on.

He was the kind of teacher who was there—not for a paycheck, but because he genuinely gave a shit. It would've disgusted you—how nice he was—if you didn't so often feel like the stray dog in the rain he'd stop and feed without a second thought.

His brown eyes, soft behind wire-thin glasses, lifted from the cigarette to meet your gaze. He held up a sheet of paper with a single raised brow.

"Who did you copy the chemistry homework from?"

You flinched, eyebrows furrowing, instantly offended.

"What? No one! I don't cheat."

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before letting out a small laugh through his nose.

"I know," he said. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Just had to make sure."

"Why? Is it good?" you asked, lips curling into a proud smile despite yourself.

"It's perfect," he admitted, shaking his head like he couldn't believe it. "Have you finally listened to your teachers and put some work into studying?"

Behind you, Emi snorted.

"She's been studying, all right," she muttered under her breath.

Inukai-sensei shot her a look, and she straightened like a scolded pup.

"I have a tutor," you said, giving her a sideways glare.

His gaze snapped back to you, eyebrows lifting.

"Really? Who?"

You wanted to tell him it was none of his business—formally, of course. You were a delinquent, not suicidal. But before you could answer, Emi slithered in beside you like a smug little devil.

"The volleyball team captain~," she sang, grinning.

You clicked your tongue, shooting her a sharp glare that only made her smile wider.

Inukai-sensei blinked in surprise.

"Kuroo Tetsurou-kun?"

"That's the one~," Emi chimed again, giggling as she dodged a flick of your hand meant for her shoulder.

"Well... he's top of his class. That's a good choice for a tutor," he said, nodding slowly, thoughtful.

"Top of my class, remember?"

The words echoed in your mind like they'd been tattooed behind your eyes. You bit your lip, hard, willing yourself not to replay the way he'd said it—in that low, cocky murmur while his mouth was on your neck, your hands tangled in his hair—

You were saved by the bell.

Thank fucking god.

You all but snatched the sheet from Inukai-sensei's hand as you breezed past him, calling over your shoulder, "Well, if that's all you needed—"

He called your name. You paused, bracing for a lecture about smoking on school grounds.

But when you turned, all you saw was that soft smile of his—the rare kind. The kind that stuck with you. There was something behind it, too. Something that looked suspiciously like pride.

"I knew you could do it."

You froze. The tips of your ears went hot. You looked away with a scoff and a roll of your eyes.

"Whatever..." you muttered under your breath.

Emi giggled and waved goodbye, and the two of you walked off. You didn't look back, but you heard him pick up the crushed cigarette and toss it into a nearby trash can.

Emi was practically bouncing as she pestered you for a look at the paper. You shoved it at her, annoyed, and she whistled low.

"Damn. That volleyball nerd of yours might actually be an angel. Who knows—maybe he'll help you pull your grades up. Fix your life n' shit."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, well, that's not what I'm actually interested in, am I?"

She pouted. "You're no fun," she said before skipping off toward her class.

It didn't matter.

Once you got what you wanted, you could forget about grades. Forget about stupidly handsome Kuroo Tetsurou.

Or at least, that's what you told yourself.

It was Wednesday, and the late afternoon sun bathed Nekoma's school grounds in a warm, honeyed light. For once, the place looked almost comforting as you made your way toward the exit, lulled by the quiet that blanketed the halls.

You had one more day until your next tutoring session with Kuroo.

You weren't counting.

Okay, maybe you were—but only in that restless, irritated way you counted down to something unfinished. Not because you wanted to see him. Not because his crooked smirks or annoyingly warm voice had burrowed under your skin like a splinter you couldn't reach. And definitely not because you missed the way his eyes tracked you like he already knew what you were going to say and dared you to surprise him anyway.

You hated how easy it was to think about him.

Worse, you hated that the thoughts didn't stop at his mouth or his hands or the phantom heat still clinging to your skin. They wandered off into the weird, dangerous parts—the parts where he laughed at your dumb jokes or challenged you just to see what you'd do. The parts where you imagined staying a little longer after tutoring just to argue about something stupid and feel him look at you like you mattered.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets, jaw tight, and scoffed to yourself. Fuck that. You weren't catching feelings. He blue-balled you and walked out. You just wanted to finish what you'd started.

You just wanted... revenge. Or control. Or something else you couldn't name.

Your boots hit the pavement a little harder as you rounded the building, trying to shove it all down.

Time to go home, text Emi, and forget about the excitement bubbling in your gut at the thought of seeing him again.

Or so you told yourself—until you heard the sharp, unmistakable bark of Kenkiba's voice behind the main school building.

"I told you to apologize. You tryna pick a fight with me, little pudding head?"

You rolled your eyes, heading toward the noise, where the group you were a part of—the so-called troublemakers of Nekoma where well... Making trouble.

There were six of you in total, with you and Emi being the only girls. You were never looked down on though—especially when the boys knew damn well you could take any of them in a fight and win. Not that they would risk it; they were "delinquents," sure, but not monsters. There was a weird kind of chivalry among them, the kind that kicked in when a particularly pretty girl caught their attention—or when someone messed with someone they cared about.

Kenkiba Haruki had that rough-around-the-edges charm that made you overlook his dumb choices more often than you should. His wavy, dark brown hair constantly fell into his eyes—he just refused to get it cut properly—and there was always a bandage somewhere on him, evidence of a fight, a fall, or just a stupid stunt. His uniform was a disaster: blazer slung over his shoulder, shirt half-untucked, school tie? Nowhere in sight.

Tall, broad-shouldered, always in motion—leaning back in chairs, slouching against walls, draped across desks with a lazy grin. His eyes were sharp, always scanning, like he half-expected someone to come at him with trouble. Or snacks. (Either was fine.)

When he laughed, it was loud, wild, infectious—the kind that cracked even the tensest moments wide open. But when he got serious, especially when it came to protecting someone, there was a stillness to him. Like a mutt that wouldn't let go of the hand it had chosen to trust.

And then there was Shibata Taiga. Where Kiba was brawn, Taiga was brains—though not the studious kind. More like chaotic, scheming energy bottled up in a leaner frame. His dyed hair always showed dark roots, like he was halfway between rebellion and not caring enough to finish what he started. And his ever-raised eyebrow made it seem like he lived in a constant state of sarcasm. (He did.)

Shorter than Kiba, wirier, and always wearing at least two accessories the school rules banned—maybe a ring, maybe a chain around his neck, usually both. He got Kiba into most of their trouble, but he was also the one who could talk them out of it. Sharp-tongued, quicker-witted, and while he'd talk shit about you to your face, he'd throw himself into a fight if anyone else tried it.

Rumor had it they once fought an entire group of upperclassmen and won. No one knew why. The story changed every time. They probably started it for something stupid. They probably didn't even remember.

You liked them. You didn't always like them. But you trusted them.

The same couldn't be said for the other two, Junpei and Inuzuka.

They were quieter, less flashy, always hanging around the edges. You couldn't quite put your finger on what rubbed you wrong—but there was something about their glances—too quick, too calculating—that made you cautious. Where Kiba and Taiga wore their hearts on their sleeves (and fists), those two kept everything close to the chest. Too close. You weren't sure they'd have your back if things got messy.

You'd put your neck out for Kiba and Taiga. They'd do the same for you. You couldn't say that for the last two.

Inukai-sensei, oddly enough, was one of the few adults the group respected, and the only teacher who you'd listen to. Maybe because he saw right through the "delinquent" facade to what you really were: a bunch of loud, messy kids trying to figure shit out. He never coddled you, but he never judged you either.

Normally, you wouldn't have had an issue with the group stirring trouble—they did it all the time.

But today? Today you had a problem.

Because standing in the middle of the group was none other than Kozume Kenma.

Kenma always looked vaguely annoyed, like the world was a mild inconvenience he'd learned to tolerate. But Kiba's glare and close proximity pulled an extra twitch from his brow—just enough to show he was actually irritated.

Kiba barked, "So? Are you gonna apologize or what?"

"I already did," Kenma said flatly. No fear. No anger. Just cold efficiency.

"Not energetically enough. I wanna hear you loud and clear."

Kenma scoffed, quiet and dismissive, like the whole exchange was beneath him. His fingers twitched around the console in his hands as he tried to retreat into the screen again, attempting to walk past the group.

Kiba knocked the console from his hands. It clattered onto the pavement.

Kenma stared at it, then slowly lifted his gaze to Kiba. The look he shot him was a flash of cold fury that could have cut through steel. You could practically feel the chill that ran down Kiba's spine.

Kiba reached out, hand forming into a fist, ready to grab Kenma by the collar, mouth opening—probably to say something stupid.

"Kenkiba."

Your voice cut through the moment like a blade.

The boys turned. You gave Kiba a tired jerk of your chin. "Leave him alone."

"Huh?! He bumped into me!"

"I heard him say he apologized."

"Well I didn't hear him."

You sighed, stepping closer. "Kibaaaa," you drawled, low and threatening. "Leave him alone."

It made him shift, visibly uncomfortable.

He was scared, you could see it in his stiff shoulders. But he still stared right back at you, defiant.

You sighed again, switching tactics.

"I heard Emi was looking for you."

That got him. He straightened instantly, a blush climbing up his neck like ivy. You felt a little bad using his crush against him—but Kenma needed saving. The idea of Kuroo's best friend vouching against you didn't sit right in your chest.

"She did?"

You nodded, tired. "Yeah... Something about karaoke?"

And just like that, Kiba's brain emptied. Tail practically wagging.

"Where is she?"

You shrugged, smiling. "I dunno. Go look for her before she invites that scum of an ex instead."

It was all it took. The boys wandered off, a chorus of grumbles and last-minute teasing trailing after them.

When the crowd finally left, Kenma knelt to retrieve his console. He picked it up with a tight jaw, inspecting it for damage. His brows were furrowed in quiet irritation as he wiped the screen with the hem of his shirt.

"Sorry about that," you said, quiet but honest.

He glanced up at you, squinting slightly like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn't care to finish.

"I don't need you to protect me."

You shrugged. "I didn't think you did. But it's easier when you have some help, right?"

His mouth pulled into a reluctant scowl, more pout than real anger. Still, he took the tissue you offered without a word.

You watched him clean his console with meticulous care, thumbs brushing lightly over the buttons. His movements were sharp but restrained. His face calm, but you could tell—just barely—he was irritated. Not at you. Not even really at Kiba. Just... at the inconvenience of it all.

"I don't like you," he muttered later, accepting the canned coffee you handed him as an apology.

"I know."

"You'll get Kuro in trouble."

You raised a brow. "Hopefully not."

"And your friends suck."

You exhaled, sitting beside him on the bench. "They're not that bad. Once you get to know them."

Kenma didn't respond, just stared at you, quiet and still.

You tapped the can against your thigh before continuing.

"Taiga? The dyed one? He has a soft spot for animals. Feeds the school's stray cats. He got detention once for sneaking a sick puppy into the nurse's office. Swears he doesn't care. Totally does."

Kenma glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

"And Kiba..." you chuckled. "He was late to a hangout once because he found a first-year crying behind the gym. He didn't say anything—just sat with him until he was done. Turned out the kid was getting bullied. Kiba swore he didn't beat the bullies up, but his knuckles were a mess when he finally showed up to karaoke. We let him pretend like he isn't a big softie."

"Why are you telling me this?"

You shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I just want you to know not everything is what it looks like."

He studied you for a beat, his expression somewhere between curious and mildly annoyed—before shifting his gaze to the horizon.

"Huh... I still don't like you."

You shrugged with a smile.

"I know. You'll see I'm not that bad eventually."

He didn't answer. Just looked away and took a slow sip of his coffee.

Then, after a beat—quietly:

"I don't want to owe you a favor."

You tilted your head. "So you admit I did you a favor?"

Kenma rolled his eyes so hard you almost laughed.

"You're just like Kuro."

You snorted and pulled your wallet from your bag.

"Nah, he's smarter than me. Here." You handed him 3000 yen.

Kenma stared at it like the money might bite him. You chuckled and shook the bills a little.

"Give this to him? It's for tomorrow's tutoring. That way you won't owe me anything."

He took the money cautiously, unsure whether this counted as a trap or a transaction.

You drank the rest of your coffee in a somewhat comfortable silence, letting him study you. You could feel his eyes flick toward your profile now and then, measuring, analyzing, trying to figure out where exactly you fit on his mental chart of tolerable people.

It wasn't judgment, exactly. More like curiosity disguised as apathy.

Eventually, he stood and left without saying goodbye.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Emi <3: Did u just pimp me out to Kiba? Not cool (•̀⤙•́ )

Emi <3: Get ur ass to karaoke, we're all here.

You laughed under your breath, slung your bag over your shoulder, and headed for the gates.

It was Thursday afternoon.

The apartment was too quiet now—the kind of quiet that made every creak sound like a dare. You'd lit a cigarette earlier, let it burn in the ashtray untouched, like you were trying to give the room a scent. Something smoky. Sharp. Tangible. You didn't want to feel nervous, but you did—because this time, you weren't just dressing for revenge or seduction.

You were dressing for success.

So you opened the door for him like sin wrapped in cotton. Oversized tee swallowing you whole, no bra, bare thighs flashing underneath, just a hint of gym shorts if he looked hard enough.

Calculated. Deliberate.

You leaned on the doorframe, one brow arched—as if you hadn't been thinking about his mouth on your neck all week.

"Thought you might cancel," you said.

Kuroo didn't blink. Just looked you over slowly, like he had every right to. "You paid me early."

You stepped aside. "Right. Professional."

God, he was so calm.

But you were done waiting. He was smug, in control, keeping you teetering on the edge—tonight, you were going to make him crack.

No textbooks. No pens. No charade. Just you on the living room couch, cross-legged in that oversized tee, eyes locked on the door as he walked in.

He paused. Took one long look, and raised a brow. Cool, unreadable—as if he hadn't been fucking his fist to the thought of you all week.

"You forget the textbook?" he asked.

You smirked. "I think you've drilled enough chemistry into me by now."

"Maybe," he murmured, dropping his bag on the low table. "But exams are close."

You stood slowly from the couch. Sauntered over and straddled his lap before he could even unzip the bag. His hands hovered at your hips, hesitant— But you grabbed his wrists and shoved them higher, guiding them to your waist. Daring him.

"I'm done playing, Tetsurou," you whispered against his mouth. The way you purred his name—slow, dirty, like you were already imagining him inside you—made him fucking growl under his breath.

He laughed, teeth catching his lower lip like he was still trying to hold on. Like he wasn't seconds away from giving it up.

All the mental prep he'd done before getting here? All that resolve he built at practice, all the times he swore he wouldn't fold, all the times he told himself You are not letting her win—already out the fucking window. It was gone the second you opened the door, really. Your eyes, heavy-lidded. Your lips, parted. A siren in cotton and nerve.

Fuck, you were gonna be the death of him.

"You sure you can handle it?" he asked.

"You act like I'm scared of you," you said, cocky as hell. "You're the one always running. Afraid I'll laugh at your size?"

"Oh?" he said, voice slow and smug, hands tightening on your waist like a challenge. "Worried I'll disappoint you?"

You shrugged, feigning boredom even as your pulse pounded like a war drum in your throat. "You haven't impressed me yet."

That did it. The expert provocateur of Nekoma's volleyball team had just gotten played. Ironic.

His grip locked like a trap. In one move, he dragged you down into his lap and kissed you like he was collecting a debt—mouth greedy, tongue deep, teeth catching your lower lip just to hear you gasp. It melted into his mouth, hands threading into his hair, hips grinding against the thick, already-hard bulge straining through his pants.

"You think you're running this?" he murmured against your mouth, one hand dragging down your thigh with deliberate slowness. "That mouth of yours keeps writing checks you can't cash."

"Can't I?" you shot back, yanking his hair until he hissed through gritted teeth. "You're hard every time I breathe too loud."

His breath hitched—then he chuckled. Low and dark. Like he was already ten moves ahead.

"You think I haven't imagined fucking that attitude out of you?" he said, almost conversationally.

You didn't answer. You didn't need to.

His mouth found your throat—hot and biting—teeth grazing your skin like a threat. His hand slipped beneath your shirt, pushing it up in slow, deliberate increments, your body already hot and shaking—exposing you like a secret he intended to learn by heart. Your nails raked down his back, your body betraying every ounce of bravado.

He yanked your shirt off and tossed it aside, pulled back just enough to drink in the sight of you—bare, flushed, his golden eyes dark and greedy.

"Just say you want me," he murmured, voice like velvet stretched over something dangerous.

"Fuck you," you spat, even as your thighs clenched tighter around his hips.

That smirk—the one that always meant trouble—cut across his face.

"Exactly."

He scooped you up like you weighed nothing and dropped onto the couch, keeping you in his lap. His hips surged beneath you, cock grinding against you through his pants. Two fingers slipped into your panties and found your folds—slick and aching.

His breath left him in a hiss. "Goddamn."

He pushed one finger inside, and your body jolted like it had been lit. Then another—stretching you open, curling, finding, his thumb circling your clit like he was testing reactions for later.

"All that attitude and this is what's underneath? Fuck, you're soaked."

You cried out, hips jerking. Barely able to breathe, pleasure coiling tight in your belly.

"Oh god—Kuroo, fuck—"

He cut you off with a filthy kiss, tongue fucking into your mouth while his fingers fucked into your pussy harder, faster—angling just right until your thighs were shaking and your moans melted into his mouth. His palm grinding against your heat until your whole body trembled.

Just when your release was right there—on the tip of your tongue—

He stopped.

You gasped, trembling. "What the fuck—"

He pulled away from you and laid flat across your couch. Eyes dark. Mouth wet. Dangerous.

"You wanted control?" he said, voice low and razor-sharp as he hauled your hips toward his face. "You've got it. Ride my face."

You didn't hesitate. You didn't think. You just moved—got naked, gripped his hair, and straddled his face, sinking down on his tongue with a broken, desperate sound. The way he groaned into your pussy when he tasted you sent a shiver through your spine.

You rolled your hips helplessly against his mouth—slick, shaking—tasting lightning on your tongue, the obscene wet sounds echoing in your bones.

He groaned into you, devoured you. Tongue working you open, lips sucking, dragging along your clit, his moans vibrating straight through your core. The grip on your hips was bruising—keeping you in place, forcing you to take everything he gave.

Your thighs shook as you rode his face, eyes rolled back, moaning so loud you were afraid your neighbors would hear. His tongue flattened and flicked, sucked and swirled, obscene noises pouring from his mouth and yours.

You came hard. Pathetically fast. Screaming his name like you were trying to curse him and beg him in the same breath, thighs locked around his head as his tongue fucked you through it.

But he didn't stop.

Didn't even slow down.

He kept going—licking, sucking, fucking you through the aftershocks, dragging you past the edge of sanity into pure overstimulation.

You squirmed, clawed at his arms, but he held you there until you were babbling nonsense, until your pussy was twitching and fluttering against his mouth.

Finally, he pulled you off his mouth and back into his lap—body limp, lips trembling.

And that's when you felt it.

Really felt it.

His cock—rock-hard between your thighs.

He was big.

He sat up slowly, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like a fucking savage, like he was savoring the mess he'd made. His golden eyes blazing with something dangerous and hungry, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"I'm not done," he whispered.

His zipper came down with a sharp, metallic hiss, and you tried—really fucking tried—not to lose it, even as your blood surged and your knees barely held out long enough for him to shove his pants down.

But there was no fucking way you were giving up control that easily.

He reached for you—quick, instinctive—but you ducked under his arm, shoving him back onto the couch with a smirk that didn't match the chaos between your legs. He let you—head tilted, teeth bared like a predator indulging its prey.

Those cat-like eyes followed your every move—hungry. Unblinking. Waiting for the excuse to pounce.

"Your turn to listen," you said between his legs.

You yanked his pants down to mid-thigh, rough and unceremonious, your palms sliding over the thick heat straining against his soaked boxers. He was already dripping, the fabric clinging, sticky and damp with precum.

Kuroo's jaw ticked. His hands flexed against the couch cushions like he was fighting the urge to grab your throat.

Good.

"Not so smug now, are you?" you murmured, licking a slow, filthy stripe up the length of him through the fabric. You dragged your tongue over the head, felt it twitch violently beneath your mouth.

He groaned, low and wrecked, head dropping back, abs twitching as you mouthed at him again—and yet he didn't lose composure.

Not yet.

You hooked your fingers into his waistband and peeled it down, slow and deliberate, revealing all of him—hard, massive, gorgeous—and fuck, your breath caught.

Your lips hovered over the flushed, leaking head, so close the heat of him made your mouth water.

"Had me aching for days," you whispered. "Maybe it's time you beg."

That did it.

He grabbed you—fast, brutal—lifting and flipping you like you weighed nothing. A blur of motion and you were face-down on the cushions, ass up, thighs quivering—and his cock grinding against your dripping heat.

Then his hand slid between your legs—coating his fingers in your slick before you could curse. You moaned, helpless, spine arching, legs spreading wider like a traitor.

"You wanna act tough?" he growled into your ear, voice all gravel and heat. "Then why do you melt the second I touch you?"

"Fuck you—"

"You'd love that."

He lined up behind you, dragging the fat head of his cock through your folds, rubbing over your swollen clit again and again until your hips were jerking backward, chasing it, clenching around nothing, desperate to take him in—but his hand clamped hard at your waist.

"You're gonna behave," he murmured against your ear, smug and sharp. "Or I'll edge you until you cry."

You whimpered—pathetic and honest—and that bastard grinned against your skin and kissed the back of your neck like a reward.

Then he pushed in, slow and deliberate, like he had all day to ruin you. Each inch a taunt, a lesson. You choked on a curse, and he groaned—long and low—as he bottomed out.

"Oh my god," you choked out. "You're such a—"

SMACK!

His palm hit your ass—sharp, controlled. Not cruel. But dominant enough to make you gasp and clench around him like a vice.

"Keep running your mouth," he said, "let's see where it gets you."

Then he moved.

Hard. Brutal. Unrelenting.

Relentless. Perfect rhythm. Every thrust designed to ruin you.

Still—you fought back.

Still rolled your hips. Still matched his rhythm. Still snarled through your moans.

"Thought you were gonna break me," you rasped, voice shredded. "I'm still standing."

"You're shaking," he grunted—pleased.

He wasn't wrong. But you didn't stop. You twisted under him, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and yanked him down into a kiss so messy, so fucking desperate, your teeth clacked.

"I'm not tapping out," you growled against his lips.

His laugh curled dark and smug against your lips. "You will."

Then he flipped you again, shirt finally coming off—muscles taut, eyes wild. Your legs hooked over his shoulders. He slammed back in, deep enough to make you scream.

Your back arched, fingers scraping angry red lines down his arms.

"Say my name," he snarled.

You bit your lip. Refused. Really tried not to.

But then his hand snaked between your thighs—thumb zeroing in on your clit with ruthless precision, stroking you in tight, devastating circles, perfectly timed with his hips—and you broke.

"FUCK—Tetsurou—don't stop—!"

He silenced you with a kiss, messy and needy, one hand wrapping around your throat—not choking, just holding—like a leash.

"You like being fucked stupid, don't you?" he panted, voice thick, messy. "Fuck—such a sl—"

You slapped a hand over his mouth, your fingers trembling but firm, and he immediately stopped. His eyes went wide—shocked, chest heaving.

"No." You whispered, voice soft but unshakable. "Not that."

Immediately—he shifted.

Tension eased from his jaw. The glint in his eyes softened.

He blinked, like he'd just realized he'd gone too far.

Then—softness.

He kissed your palm, slow and grounding. Turned his head to press his lips to your wrist—an apology in motion.

"Okay," he murmured, voice hoarse. "Got it."

He braced himself beside your head on his forearm. He let out a heavy breath, and you felt his cock twitch—even deeper in this angle, but tender in a way that made your chest ache.

When he moved again, it was still rough—but different.

Intentional.

He wasn't just fucking you now.

Only your name on his lips.

He kissed you between each thrust, murmured filthy praise into your skin—so tight, so good, meant for me—until you shattered around him with a cry that bordered on a sob.

But he didn't stop.

He fucked you through it, hands gripping your waist like a lifeline, until he buried his face in your neck, groaning your name like a curse, and pulled out just in time—his release hot and thick across your belly, his entire body trembling as he came undone.

He collapsed on top of you, gasping, drenched in sweat and slick, a mess of tangled limbs and overstimulated nerves.

For a long moment, there was only your breathing.

Then—your voice, hoarse and smug:

"So... what page of the textbook was that again?"

He laughed, breathless, hiding his face in your neck.

"Extra credit," he rasped.

You were still tangled together, skin slick, breaths slowing. His hand rested gently on your hip, thumb tracing soft circles like he hadn't just wrecked you five minutes ago—just to help you clean his mess right after, brushing the hair from your face like it mattered.

You hated that it made you feel... safe.

Your head fell back against the cushions as you tried to gather your thoughts—but they were scattered all over the room like your clothes. Your heart wouldn't stop racing. Not just from the sex—though God, that had been next level—but from him. The way he'd held you after you said no. The way he'd listened without flinching, shifted without hesitation.

It was the bare minimum, yeah—but it was messing with you.

The sudden change from absolute filth to softness was confusing you way more than you'd like to admit.

This wasn't supposed to be real. You were paying him, for fuck's sake. A fun excuse. A hot distraction. A stupid little crush you meant to burn through with one dirty, fast, no-strings fuck.

Not... this.

Not warm hands lingering after.

Not this soft.

You let your eyes roam over his body as he lay beside you now—chest rising and falling, arm slung over his eyes like he didn't want you to see him. You stared anyway.

You took your time, tracing the sweat-slick curve of his chest, his stomach. Then, inevitably, your gaze returned to his face—beautiful, vulnerable, real. Dangerous in a way you hadn't planned for.

"Don't look at me like that..." he murmured.

"Why? Afraid I'll fall for you?" you replied, voice light, teasing—but not genuine.

He moved his arm to study your expression, eyes sharp.

"Don't worry, smart boy. I'm not that dumb. I know how this works."

He didn't answer. Just looked at you from beneath heavy lashes, unreadable.

For a second, you thought maybe he'd call your bluff. Say something smart. Something cutting. But instead, he just breathed out through his nose—quiet. Nodded once like it didn't bother him.

Like he hadn't felt it too.

Then he sat up—slow and lazy, like he didn't have a single thought in his pretty head.

"Post-nut clarity is a bitch," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. The words were casual. The tightness in his jaw wasn't. He grabbed his shirt off the floor, buttoning it up without looking at you.

There was a strange silence then. Not quite awkward. Just... thin. Like one wrong word might tear it wide open.

He swung his bag over his shoulder while you lit a cigarette.

"You don't have to walk me out," he said. Not cold, not warm. Neutral. Controlled. Like this was just another Thursday.

You nodded. "Didn't plan to."

He hesitated at the door, back still turned. "See you next session?"

Your chest tightened, but you gave a little shrug. "If you're not too busy solving the mysteries of the universe, sure."

He didn't laugh. Just glanced at you over his shoulder—and for a second, there was something in his eyes you couldn't name.

Then he left.

And that was it.

A conversation that didn't happen. A conversation that maybe should've.

But hey, it wasn't like things could get even more complicated, right?

...Right?

Next chapter↪ (coming soon<3)

tags. @themoreeviltwin @taylordenae @rhea-sylvea @iluvikeu @tgnvhp @adangerousbalance @orphicarchive taglist open! let me know in the comments ♡

#haikyuu #hq fanfic #hq x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #hq #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo testuro #kuroo smut #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut

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daydreamgoddess14 · 2 days ago

Text

Lunch

Did someone say accidental mini series? 🙈

You all liked Breakfast so much, I thought I'd make you some Lunch too. Hope you're hungry!

Word Count: about 1.5k

Thunderbolts* (platonic for now) x F!Reader, no warnings, just some domestic sweetness. Bucky x F!Reader if you squint. It's still brewing.

They were never really around for lunch. It was your prep time, organising. Quiet. You couldn't decide if you liked it better that way. You made meals to reheat and they helped themselves. It was getting to the stage where, with a fully stocked kitchen and batch cooking, you had more and more downtime. Valentina had requested your exclusivity, so taking on other clients was out of the question. You peered through the glass door of the oven and willed yourself to wait a little longer. Not quite yet.

“What's cooking?”

“Pie.”

“Smells done.”

“Uhuh, not yet it's not.”

“Sure? I think I can smell burning -”

“It's not burning.”

“What's burning?”

“The pie.”

“Nothing is burning, John. Bucky just thinks he's the next Top Chef.”

The timer dinged and you checked through the glass again.

“You gonna take that out?”

“Patience, Barnes.” You counted to 20 and opened the oven, pulling out a beautiful, golden topped pie.

“That looks…”

“Perfect.” You smiled happily.

“Amazing,” John grinned. After everyone’s initial trepidation, it became very clear that the way to a Thunderbolt’s heart was very much through their stomach. You’d been given limited information on their backgrounds - some were more infamous than others - but you could tell immediately that hot, homemade meals had been in very short supply for all of them.

They all seemed to have their favourite times of day to pay you a visit. Bob was usually up first and watching you make stacks of pancakes for breakfast, Ava came hunting for snacks mid-morning. By lunchtime, John was always starving and vocal about it. Yelena liked something sweet in the afternoons, and Alexei began hovering anytime after 5pm, heavily anticipating what was on the menu for dinner.

Bucky seemed to have no specific time.

Some days he wandered through just as you were packing things away. Other times he showed up before anything had even made it into the oven. He never asked for anything, not like the others - just leaned against the counter and observed. Quiet. Watchful. Not unfriendly, but unreadable.

At first, you thought he was just keeping an eye on things. Habit. Distrust. You didn’t blame him - it was clear none of them were used to softness.

But then you started noticing the patterns. How he always lingered just a little longer than he needed to. How his eyes flicked toward your hands when you were kneading dough or slicing fruit, like he was cataloguing the motion.

How, every once in a while, he’d pass you a fresh towel without being asked. Or wordlessly refill your water glass. Or sit with a cup of coffee, hours old and probably cold - just to stay in the kitchen a little longer while you worked.

You hadn’t expected that.

You weren’t sure what to do with it.

“You, uhh, cutting that now?” John asked hopefully.

“Don't you want lunch first?” You asked, looking at the pile of bagels you'd already prepared.

“Oh yeah. Didn't see those,” he said sheepishly, “what's in the pie?”

“Plums,” you told him, holding up your purple stained fingers.

Bucky looked up at you, at the deep purple that had seeped into your skin, then back at the pie.

“Tell you what,” you continued talking to John. “Have lunch while this cools a little and I'll whip up some cream and a sauce.”

Like a kid, he fist pumped the air and darted off to find the others.

You could feel that Bucky wanted to say something, but he didn't. Instead, he watched you take out the tupperware of chopped plums from the fridge and tip them into a pan. You poured sugar over them and stirred the sticky, sweet mixture. Across the counter, he inhaled. The scent of sugar cooking and plums filled the kitchen.

The others started wandering in, taking plates and arguing over bagel fillings. Yelena came around to you at the stovetop and wrapped her arms around you.

“Thank you,” she murmured, squeezing so hard you thought she was trying to practice her heimlich manoeuvre. She peered into the pan. “Plums?”

“To go with the pie.”

“Bucky's favourite, again,” she grumbled.

“And I'll make your favourite next.”

“The cake? With the -”

“Chocolate in the middle. Yep, I know.”

She nudged you gently with her shoulder.

“Favouritism,” she warned, shooting a glance at Bucky.

“Not from me there isn't.” You challenged.

“Sure, sure,” she smirked and rolled her eyes, moving around to where Bucky was sitting. “Cookies, that pizza with the really thin crust… Not your favourites at all, right, Barnes?”

“Pretty sure everyone likes those, Lena.” He shrugged.

She looked at you, then back at him.

“Hmm. I'm watching you.” She warned. Then, “Alexei, no! That one's mine!”

“Snooze you lose!” He laughed loudly, leaving Yelena chasing after him for the last Swiss cheese bagel.

Bucky put the last two on plates, and pushed one in your direction.

Like vultures, they started circling. Bringing their plates to the dishwasher and hovering while you whipped cream in a glass bowl. Bucky came around the counter, reloaded the dishwasher correctly, and then took the bowl and whisk from your hands.

“I can do that,” you insisted. He flexed his hand, the dark vibranium catching the light.

“I can do it faster.”

“I'm quickly discovering that patience is a virtue you don't possess,” you laughed, taking out a huge knife from the drawer.

“Watch what you're doing with that thing.”

“You watch what you're doing. Don't over whip that.”

“Yes ma'am,” he grinned.

“I watch this show all day,” Alexei beamed, looking between you both.

You tore your eyes from Bucky and focused on the pie, cutting neatly through the centre, then turning the stand and cutting again, and again, into equal slices. Ava passed you the first plate and you used the flat of the knife to lift the slice from the rest of the pie.

It was glorious. Deep purple, filled to the brim and covered with golden sponge and surrounded by rich, crumbly pastry. You placed it gently on the plate.

John sighed, “goddamn that looks -”

“So good. Shotgun first slice!”

“Lena! I should get first slice!” Alexei complained.

You leaned over to look at the cream Bucky was still whisking, “you can stop now. Thank you.” You swapped the plate for the bowl and dolloped a spoon of cream on top of the pie, followed by a drizzle of the jammy, sweet sauce.

You looked at the assembled group, at lovely Bob who hadn't once argued over who was first, who was better, and you handed him the plate.

“Thanks!”

“Not fair.”

“He's literally the only one who never argues about food. Except Bucky, I guess, but then that would be favouritism, wouldn't it, Yelena?” You arched your eyebrow.

They stopped complaining once they all had a plate in hand.

“I marry the pie.”

“This is heaven.”

“I can marry you?”

“No thanks, Alexei. I'm taken.”

“I'll convince you. You'll see.”

No one else was listening to Alexei. All eyes had turned to Bucky who didn't look up from his plate.

Yelena clicked her tongue, “s'good pie,” she said slowly, as if waiting for someone, anyone to make eye contact with her. Eventually, Ava did. She tilted her head marginally in your direction and then flicked her eyes to Bucky. Ava shrugged.

They finished the pie and filtered away to enjoy what remained of their day off.

You grabbed your tote bag and keys, calling out, “I’m running to the store - text me if you need anything.”

“You have her number?” Bucky asked no one in particular.

“You don't?” Ava asked, surprised. He didn't answer. Only the low hum of the dishwasher and the quiet clink of dishes settling as they cooled filled the kitchen. The tower felt still, peaceful, for once.

You were gone for over an hour.

The store turned into the producers market turned into the bodega that somehow imported your favourite olives.

He swallowed, slowly. “Didn’t want it to go to waste.”

When you pushed the door open, he was there. Bucky, fork in one hand, pie plate in the other, standing barefoot in the kitchen like a man caught red-handed. He froze, mouth full, guilty as hell.

You stopped in the doorway, raised an eyebrow. “Second slice?”

You walked over, set your bag on the counter. “That was my slice.”

He looked guiltily at the pie. “You didn’t have one?”

“I was waiting.”

He hesitated, then held out the plate like a peace offering. “We could share?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “Only if I get the bigger half.”

He sighed. “Deal.”

You leaned side by side at the counter, passing the fork back and forth, the pie disappearing in easy silence.

He cleared his throat, voice low. “What you said to Alexei earlier… was that real?”

“What, when he proposed to me over pie?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Well -” You paused, then shrugged. “Well no, actually. Saying no is still taking some getting used to. It's… recent.”

“Oh.” He looked down. “Sorry.”

You took the plate from his hand and stole the last bite. “I'm not.”

Tagging on request: @doilooklikeagiveafrack @althea-tavalas @tellybearryyyy

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #thunderbolts mcu #thunderbolt spoilers #marvel thunderbolts #thunderbolts

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keithyp00 · 17 hours ago

Text

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ Where You've Always Been ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: slow burn, emotional reunion, romance, comfort, language, longing, deep feelings, hurt/comfort, mentions of PTSD and trauma

Word Count: 2.1K

Summary: You were only supposed to be gone a few weeks. Then everything went sideways. And Bucky waited. Every single day. Now you're back- and there's more between you than distance can close.

Author Note: Hey guys! This note is gonna be short but I just wanna wish you all a good weekend and I'll probably be posting a little later than usual this weekend because I'm down the shore. But I hope you all enjoy~

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

The First Day Back

The compound looked the same. Same bulletproof windows, same halls echoing with someone's terrible taste in music, same overgrown rose bush outside the south entrance that somebody kept forgetting to trim.

You stepped through the doors like a ghost, bag slung over the shoulder, gear weighed down by sand and silence and time.

Too much time.

You'd been gone for ninety-four days.

You'd counted.

The mission was only supposed to last three weeks. But things changed- intel got messy, comms went dark, extractions delayed. You'd made contact once. Day 41. Bucky's voice had sounded like it was fighting through static and grief.

He'd asked, "Are you okay?" With the kind of broken softness that haunted your dreams since.

You'd said yes. You weren't sure it was true. But you'd promised you'd come home. And now... you were finally here.

Bucky wasn't in the lobby. Or the training room. Or his usual spot in the library, where he always read the same three books over and over when he was anxious.

Your heart twisted.

Part of you expected him to feel him to feel your arrival the way you constantly felt his absence. Like gravity shifting. Like something snapping back into place.

Maybe he was avoiding you.

Maybe too much time had passed.

Maybe you were imagining that the silence around you wasn't just empty- it was waiting.

You dropped your bag outside your room. Headed to the kitchen out of muscle memory and quiet desperation. Something hot, something normal, something to remind you that this wasn't another hallucination brought on by sleeping too little and missing too much.

The lights were off when you walked in.

But you stopped cold.

But he was there.

Sitting on the counter like always. Hair longer than you remember. Hoodie worn soft around the edges. Legs too long for the cabinets underneath.

Bucky Barnes.

In the flesh.

Breathing, alive, and looking right at you.

He didn't move.

You didn't either.

Seconds passed.

Then he slid off the counter slowly, like he was afraid if he moved too fast you'd disappear again.

"Hi," you breathed.

He stared at you for another long moment- blue eyes unreadable- then crossed the floor in three long strides and pulled you into him like you were a lifeline.

His arms were tight around you. Too tight. The kind of tight that said I thought you were dead.

Your nose buried in the collar of his hoodie. He smelled like cedar and sleep and home.

Neither of you spoke. You just held on.

Later

You sat on the couch in the common room with a blanket wrapped around you and his hand in yours. This thumb kept brushing the back of your knuckles like he didn't realize he was doing it. Like he had to touch you, just to be sure.

He hadn't said much.

You hadn't either.

But when you looked over at him, you caught his jaw tighten. His throat bob. "You weren't supposed to be gone that long," he whispered.

"I know."

"I thought you-"

"I know."

He let out a shaky breath and turned to you. His hand gripped yours a little tighter. "Y/N," he said. Just your name. Like it meant something sacred. "You didn't call."

"They didn't let me. It wasn't safe."

He shook his head like that didn't matter. "I waited. Every day. I didn't know if I was-"

He stopped himself. Looked away.

You leaned your forehead against his. "I wanted to come home every second," you replied. "And I never stopped thinking about you."

He let out a broken, wet laugh. "God, I missed you," he said.

The First Night

He didn't want to let you go. You knew it from the way he hovered when you unpacked. From the way his hand lingered at your back when you reached for a clean shirt. From the way his eyes followed you like you'd vanish if he blinked.

"Stay?" You asked softly, standing by your bed.

He didn't answer with words.

He just stepped forward and curled his metal arm around your waist, like the answer had always been yes.

You crawled into bed, exhausted and aching.

And Bucky held you that night the way someone holds a miracle they weren't sure they deserved.

You fell asleep to the sound of his heart and woke up to his lips against your shoulder, whispering your name.

The Days That Followed

He didn't ask for explanations.

Didn't ask what you saw, what you did, what you had to become to survive.

You told him the pieces you could. He kissed every one of the scars you had like it made you real again.

Some nights, you talked until you cried. Some nights, you just curled into each other in silence and let the weight of the world fall away around you.

One day, you caught him fixing your favorite mug. It had broken when you were gone. He'd glued it back together and painted over the cracks.

When you touched it, your fingers trembled.

He said quietly, "I wanted it ready. In case you came back."

The Turning Point

One evening, weeks later, Bucky asked if you wanted to go on a walk.

Just a short one. Around the lake. Just the two of you.

You wore one of his sweatshirts. He didn't comment. Instead, he took your hand.

And halfway across the little bridge, he stopped and looked at you like the sun had finally come out after a long winter.

"You know," he started. "The first night you were gone, I slept on the floor. I didn't want to forget what it felt like to be cold without you."

You swallowed hard.

He cupped your face with one hand. Thumb against your cheekbone.

"But the worst night... was the one I realized that I didn't remember your laugh anymore."

You blinked up at him.

And then- softly, bravely- you laughed.

Bucky closed his eyes like it hurt. Then opened them.

And kissed you so gently, it broke you open all over again.

The First Real Morning

Weeks later, you woke up to find him watching you sleep.

"You're doing it again," you mumbled.

He smiled faintly. "I know."

You rolled into his chest. "Why?"

"Because," he whispered into your hair, "I spent too many mornings not knowing if I'd ever see you again."

You looked up. "I'm here now," you said. "I'm not leaving."

Bucky kissed your temple. "I know."

And for the first time in too long, you both believed it.

~~~~~

The first few days back had been a blur.

Now, the dust had settled.

The adrenaline was gone. The tears had been shed. The bed had been shared. You and Bucky had memorized the new shapes of each other, sleeping in the same space but carrying different wounds than when you left.

What came next?

That was the part neither of you knew how to answer.

~~~~~

On Monday, you woke up alone.

Bucky had gotten up early- probably for his usual run or coffee with Sam- but something about the cool sheets beside you made your chest ache.

You rolled over and buried your face in the pillow. It smelled like him.

There were no nightmares last night, not for you.

You weren't sure if Bucky could say the same.

You found a note on your table by the door when you finally dragged yourself out of bed.

"Gone for a bit. Left coffee. P.S. Don't forget that you're not alone anymore."

Your fingers tightened around the paper.

You made toast you didn't eat and stared at the window like it might give you direction.

Coming home was supposed to mean things got easier. But it didn't. Not all at once.

You were still learning how to be here.

To be soft.

To let yourself feel safe again.

You hadn't told Bucky, but sometimes at night you'd wake up and reach for your gun before you remembered it wasn't strapped to your thigh anymore.

~~~~~

Tuesday

"Hey," Bucky said gently, catching your wrist as you started to head back to your room after dinner. "You okay?"

You looked up at him. His eyes were soft, worried.

You wanted to say yes.

You wanted to lie and say that you felt normal again.

But you weren't normal. You were broken in quiet places.

He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly. "Wanna sit with me for a bit? No pressure. I just... I missed you today."

You nodded before your voice could betray you.

You ended up in his room, curled under a blanket on his bed while he read beside you. you didn't speak. But you let your fingers rest on his thigh, and he placed his hand over yours.

It was the safest you'd felt all week.

~~~~~

Wednesday

The panic attack came out of nowhere.

Just a slammed door.

A laugh too loud.

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. The world blurred.

You didn't know who you got to Bucky's room. Just that when the haze cleared, his arms were around you, his voice grounding you like an anchor.

"I've got you," he whispered again and again. "You're safe. I've got you."

You cling to him like the world would end if you let go.

When it passed, you collapsed into his chest, shaking.

He didn't let go.

Not once.

Later, when you were calm, he kissed your forehead and said softly, "You don't have to pretend you're okay, doll. Not with me."

~~~~~

Thursday

You told him about the child.

The one you couldn't save.

Your voice cracked halfway through. You turned away so he wouldn't see the tears.

But he did.

He pulled you into his lap on the couch, rocking you gently like you were made of glass. You didn't deserve that softness- but he gave it anyway.

"She reminded me of me," you said.

"I can understand why," he replied. "Because you would've done anything to protect her."

You cried for the first time since you came home.

And he held you through every second of it.

~~~~~

Friday

You laughed.

It was stupid- Sam tried to do a backflip off the couch during a movie night and got tangled in a throw blanket.

But you laughed.

A full, real laugh that burst out before you could stop it.

Bucky turned his head fast.

He stared like he'd seen something holy.

Your smile faltered. "What?"

He shook his head, eyes shining. "Nothing. Just missed that sound."

And he kissed you, right there in front of everyone, like no time had passed at all.

~~~~~

Saturday

You found the journal.

Tucked behind a stack of books on Bucky's shelf.

You weren't snooping- he asked you to grab something and you accidently knocked it loose.

You opened it on instinct.

Then stopped breathing.

Because it was about you.

Every page.

From the day you left.

To the day you came home.

Some entries were short.

Day 6- Still haven't heard anything. Trying to stay calm. Can't sleep.

Others were long, vulnerable, raw.

Day 34- I keep thinking about the last thing you said to me. You said, "Don't worry." I'm trying not to, sweetheart. But I'm not good at this when you're not here. The bed's too big. I miss your socks on the floor. I miss your laugh in the morning. I miss your arms around my neck when I'm too tired to get up. Come home.

You closed the book with shaking hands.

He found you minutes later, clutching it to your chest.

His expression froze.

"I didn't mean to-" you started.

He stepped forward. "It's okay."

"I didn't know your wrote all this."

"I had to do something," he said. "I didn't know if I'd get the chance to say those things out loud."

You looked up at him.

And the you kissed him. Desperately. Like you could press your soul into his.

"Say them now," you whispered. "I'm here. Say them now."

~~~~~

Sunday

You went with him to the lake.

You sat on the bridge together in the fading light. His fingers laced through yours. He kissed the inside of your wrist.

"I love you," he said suddenly.

You turned to him.

"I didn't say it when you got back," he continued. "Because I was scared it'd hurt. That maybe I'd be too much. That maybe you weren't ready."

You reached up, brushed your thumb across his cheek.

"But I've loved you since before you left. Since you made me laugh when I didn't remember how. Since you told me I wasn't a weapon."

He looked like he might cry.

You whispered, "You waited for me."

"Of course I did."

You leaned in close. "I love you too, Bucky."

He closed his eyes.

And for the first time in months- maybe years- he smiled without hesitation.

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dina-winchester · 23 hours ago

Text

Morning Light

Pairing: Dean x You | Established relationship

Warnings: None. Pure fluff y’all.

Summary: Waking up next to Dean. Ugh, yes please.

A/N: I saw this gif and I just had to. I had to, okay. Hope you like it, let me know your thoughts!

It’s early morning in the motel room, everything quiet and still, sunlight barely spilling through the curtains.

The first thing you feel is warmth. His body, pressed gently against yours beneath the blankets. His arm heavy over your waist, like he was afraid to let you go even in sleep. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the slow rhythm of his breathing, and the faintest brush of stubble against your forehead where he’d fallen asleep close.

You shift slightly, and that’s when his lashes flutter.

You look up just in time to catch it—those sleepy, sea-glass green eyes blinking open, unfocused at first. Then they find you.

A slow, lazy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Hey beautiful,” he whispers, voice still rough with sleep.

“Hi baby,” you breathe, brushing your fingers gently against the side of his face as a soft smile spreads on your lips.

His eyes close again under your touch, like it soothes something deep inside him. You let your thumb trace the soft line of his brow, memorizing every detail like you haven’t done it a hundred times already. The little crinkle that forms when he’s concerned. The faint scar just above his temple. The way his lips twitch when your fingers drift over his jaw.

“You watching me sleep again?” he mumbles, one eye cracking open.

You smile. “Can you blame me?”

He huffs a low chuckle, but it fades quickly as your fingers move to his hair, threading through the strands at the back of his neck. He leans into your hand like he needs it, like he’s never had softness like this before and still doesn’t know how to ask for it.

You lean in and press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

Dean exhales a quiet, happy sigh, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re clearer, filled with something that wraps around your heart and squeezes.

You shift slightly, lifting your hand and pressing your palm to his.

Dean blinks, watching curiously as your fingers align with his. His hand is warm, rougher than yours, but when you both press your palms flush, it just fits. The space between you narrows a little more as you lace your fingers slowly, deliberately, not looking away from the way they tangle together.

Then, without a word, you lift his hand to your lips and press a kiss to his knuckles—soft, reverent.

Dean’s breath catches, his green eyes darkening just a little with emotion. “Damn, sweetheart,” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me with how sweet you are.”

You smile softly, cradling his hand against your cheek. “Just loving you, that’s all.”

He shifts in closer, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re too good to me.”

“Not possible.”

He kisses you then—slow, unrushed, like the morning is made only for this.

“I love wakin’ up like this,” he murmurs against your lips before pulling back slightly to look at you. “With you. Feels like the world doesn’t exist outside this room.”

You tuck your face against his chest, your voice quiet. “It doesn’t. Not right now.”

He pulls you in closer, burying his nose in your hair. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna go anywhere.”

You don’t, either. You just want to stay in this moment, tangled in him, with the morning light on your skin and love in every heartbeat.

And for a little while longer, the world stays far, far away.

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x you

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daxisyzz · 2 days ago

Note

Hey there! Love your work and would love to submit a request if that’s alright. I have an idea for a Bucky x reader one shot inspired by his look in Thunderbolts. I love his longer hair coming back, but imagine Bucky having the reader put in hair extensions in his hair so he can have really long hair again instead of waiting for it to grow out? If this idea inspires you to write then I’m so glad but if not don’t feel pressured to write anything. Hope you’re well! :)

heyyy I love this idea!! Sorry for replying late. Here's your little fic. Hope you have a great day<3

Hair Me Out…

Summary: Bucky didn't think he'd miss his long hair — until he sees you casually ordering hair extensions for yourself. Now he needs them too... and you're the poor soul tasked with making it happen. Along the way, he finds a small part of himself that he'd forgotten he still loved.

Word count: 1.1k+

Setting: pre-thunderbolts*, post-tfatws.

Bucky wasn’t even trying to snoop.

Really, he wasn’t.

He was lying across your bed, big and lazy, arms folded behind his head as he listened to you tap away at your laptop, a content little hum coming from your side of the room. Every so often, you’d mutter to yourself or click your tongue in frustration, but otherwise, you were blissfully unaware of his not-so-subtle staring.

“What’re you doing?” he finally asked, lifting his head to look at you.

“Shopping,” you said, clicking a few more times. “Hair stuff. Some skincare junk. You know essentials.”

He hummed, about to close his eyes again, when something bright and silky caught his eye.

You were browsing a site that sold hair extensions — gorgeous, long, flowing locks in every shade imaginable.

Bucky blinked, sitting up a little straighter.

“Wait. Is that for you?” he asked, sounding more interested than he probably should’ve.

You nodded. “Yeah. I wanna try longer hair without committing to, like, years of growing it out.”

He kept staring. At the screen. At you. At the screen again.

Something deep inside him — something he thought he’d buried — stirred.

His own hand went to the ends of his current hair, brushing it lightly. It had been growing out again after a few trims and missions that had demanded ‘uniform standards.’ It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t short.

But it wasn’t his long hair, either.

He missed it.

Missed the way it used to fall in his face, missed the wildness of it, the way it made him feel a little less... polished. Less fake. More himself. More of someone he'd become after losing everything.

“...Can you get me some, too?” he blurted, before he could think better of it.

You paused, hands frozen over your keyboard. “...What?”

He scooted closer, earnestness written all over his stupidly handsome face. “Extensions. Get some for me.”

You turned to stare at him fully, one eyebrow raised. “Bucky. Babe. Love of my life. You are a literal enhanced super soldier and you’re telling me you can’t wait for your hair to grow?”

He pouted actually pouted and tugged lightly at the ends of his hair. “But you’re gonna have long hair and I’m gonna look like a half-baked chia pet.”

You snorted so hard it startled him.

“A chia pet?” you repeated, wheezing.

“A sad one,” he said gravely. “One that needs love.”

You were half-crying, half-laughing now, clutching your stomach. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m serious,” he said, grabbing your hands in both of his big ones, squeezing them like he was proposing marriage. “Doll. I’ll do anything. Just order some for me, too.”

"You'll do anything?" you teased, still wiping tears from your eyes.

"I'll be your personal assistant for a week. I'll clean the kitchen. I'll even let you pick the next five movies we watch. Even if they suck."

You shook your head, grinning like a fool. "Alright, alright, I'll do it. Only because you look so cute."

Bucky whooped and immediately pulled you into his lap, hugging you tight enough to make you squeak. "You're the best. Seriously. I'm gonna look so good."

"You’re gonna look like a prince," you said dryly.

"Prepare to have Sam roast you into oblivion."

"I don’t even care," Bucky said, burying his face in your shoulder. "I want my hair back."

Few Days Later

Bucky was sitting on the floor in front of you, legs crossed, a towel thrown around his shoulders like a cape. You carefully parted his hair, sectioning it and clipping in the silky extensions you had color-matched for him.

He was so still, so obedient, it made you grin.

"You’re a good client," you teased.

"Yeah, well," he said, glancing at you over his shoulder with a smirk. "I gotta be. My stylist’s got very delicate hands."

You rolled your eyes fondly and snapped another clip into place.

As you worked, you caught him sneaking peeks at himself in the mirror watching the longer pieces blend into his real hair and his smile was so genuine, so open, it almost hurt.

By the time you finished, Bucky looked like he'd stepped straight out of 2014 — but softer, happier.

You admired him from a few steps back, a fond warmth blooming in your chest. "You look perfect, Buck."

He preened a little, flipping a lock of hair over his shoulder. "Damn right."

Just then, the door creaked open.

Sam stuck his head in, mouth already open to say something — and froze.

The look of pure, stunned silence on Sam's face was priceless.

You bit your lip hard to hold back a laugh.

"...No," Sam finally said, deadpan. "No. Absolutely not."

Bucky grinned, pure menace. "Hey, bird boy. You like the new look?"

Sam just shook his head slowly. "You look like a dude who lives in a cave and plays the flute for forest animals."

Bucky tossed his newly long hair dramatically. "Jealousy’s an ugly color on you, Wilson."

"I'm sending this to Torres," Sam said immediately, pulling out his phone.

"Traitor!" Bucky shouted, lunging for him.

You laughed so hard you had to sit down, watching Bucky chase Sam down the hall, towel flying like a cape behind him, hair streaming.

After the chaos died down, you found Bucky sitting in front of the bedroom mirror again, just quietly looking at himself.

Not in the playful way from earlier.

Softer. Sadder.

But not bad.

You walked over slowly and wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He smiled faintly at your reflection.

"You okay, Buck?"

He nodded, his hand coming up to tangle lightly with yours.

"Just... stupid," he said quietly. "Looking at myself like this."

"Not stupid," you murmured.

He shrugged a little. "It reminds me of... when I wasn’t doing so good. Long hair, no plan, no peace. I hated that version of me for a long time."

You pressed a kiss to his temple, squeezing him tighter. "He was doing the best he could. He survived. And he deserved love, too."

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed under your hands, the tension easing out of him slowly.

He met your eyes in the mirror and the look he gave you was pure devotion.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Maybe he did."

You leaned your forehead against his. "Definitely did. Definitely does."

For a moment, you both just stayed there him, you, the soft lamp light, the long, wild hair breathing together, existing without judgment.

And when Bucky finally smiled, really smiled

it was brighter than any version of himself he'd ever worn.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #james buchanan barnes

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wildemaven · 3 days ago

Text

chasing stillness | jack abbot

pairing - jack abbot x ofc!alix miller, rn word count - 2587 content warning - 18+ blog; lots of self reflection, use of ‘you’, Alix :39, lighter skin tone, has an a good amount of tattoos covering her body, has short hair that’s long enough to be pulled back, an avid runner:, established friendship, lots of feelings— but neither of them seem to be brave enough to share with the classroom, sarcasm and friendly banter, mention of divorce, mention of blood but nothing too serious, no y/n, please let me know if I failed to list something. a/n - I originally had something completely different I was going to post for these two first and then I started writing this and things went in a different direction. So you’re getting this first and then other thing will come later. I feel rusty with my writing but it was fun to dive back into it. Anyways, gonna go hide now! Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The notebook sat open on the kitchen counter—the one filled with countless grocery lists, to-do tasks and other personal details worth noting—next to your keys, ball-point pen and the bland energy bar you still needed to scarf down.

Outside the sky was beginning its transition from late afternoon to early evening— clouds backlit in a soft gold as the sun slowly inched toward the city’s skyline.

You stood in a pocket of fading light that filtered through the kitchen window, one foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you finished lacing up your well-worn running shoes. With both feet now firmly planted on the hardwood floor, your eyes drift to the blank page. You grab the pen, clicking once, twice writing a single line:

Goals, Guts & Zero Guilt— Just Fucking Do It

You stared at the words for a while. The way they loop, cross and connect with purpose.

It’s not the first time you’ve attempted this list. You start it every week, chickening out and turning the page allowing other lists to become your priority in the following days— you were a pro at hindering your own growth. There were times you’d flip back to the page, reading the words over before leaving on your run to work then flipping to the first blank page pushing it off for another day.

But today felt different. And so you add:

run because it feels good, not because I’m outrunning anything

I’m not a failure because my marriage failed

Starting over is a new beginning, not a punishment

Stop hiding from the idea that someone might care

You pause. Pen hovering as you internally debate the last point, then adding:

“Because You Matter” - Ask Jack, someday. Maybe

Because you matter. Those three words had been tormenting you since he’d said them to you the night of PittFest. There was a softness in the way he had spoken to you in that moment, dialing back his grit and satirical tone. This wasn’t an Attending giving his post-mass-casualty speech. It felt vulnerable and raw— like there was more he wanted to say than he allowed himself to.

Because you matter to the hospital? Because you matter to us? Because you matter to him?

Your fingers trace over the edge of that last line. Not crossing it out or underlining it or avoiding like you had been for the last year. Just acknowledging it— a possibility, at some point.

The vibration from your watch pulls you from your thoughts. It’s an hour before your shift starts. You grab your keys, bag—tossing in the forgotten energy bar you’ll now contemplate eating mid-shift—and zip your hoodie halfway.

Running to work wasn’t efficient. It didn’t make sense, especially before a 12 hour shift in the emergency room where you were on your feet for hours on end. But it made you feel something. The closest to being in control you’d felt in a long time.

It gives you time to carve out space in your head— clear the static. Respite from your psyche and the stress of work you sometimes carry longer than you should. The hum of the city and the rhythm of your feet pounding against the pavement always made the perfect soundtrack as you descended the steps of your apartment building and head toward Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center.

The sky had deepened to a darker shade, streaked with ash-blue clouds. The first stars were just beginning to emerge—faint little beacons welcoming you to the night shift.

As the hospital comes into view, you slowed to a jog. Breathing steady. Legs warm and heavy with a pleasant fatigue. You wipe the sweat from your forehead with the sleeve of your hoodie.

A single bus sits in the ambulance bay— vacant and waiting for the next urgent departure.

You're five minutes past your normal arrival time, but take a moment to fully collect yourself. Eyes closed, you draw in a long breath, then exhale deeply. And again.

The whirring of the mechanical door sliding open cuts through the air, the bustle of ED spilling out and echoing across the concrete that surrounds you. Your pulse is a deafening thud in your ears— not from exertion, but the flicker of movement in front of you.

Jack.

He stands just beyond the entrance doors. A cup of coffee in one hand, badge clipped to its usual spot on his pants pocket and his gaze fixed on the watch strapped to his left wrist—an old relic from his service days, still faithfully ticking.

“Five minutes slower than the other day.” Jack says, finally looking up at you. Surprise flickers in his eyes, quickly replaced by a smirk. “Should I be worried you’re losing stamina… or just trying to give me a head start?”

“Is this where I start regretting sharing my location with you?” You ask, entirely teasing. Cold air nips at your bare skin as you peel off your damp hoodie. The ink on your arms rises beneath a trail of goosebumps as a breeze sweeps through the emergency bay.

You’d been working together for the better part of five years, riding the unpredictable waves of ED nights that swung between full-blown chaos and ghostly quiet. Him, Jack Abbot— the cool-headed Senior Emergency Medicine Physician that everyone turned to when things fell apart. You, Alix Miller— the well respected R.N. and anchor who always knew where everything was, anticipated what needed doing and had the kind of deadpan wit that made Jack look forward to shift change.

Somewhere along the way, between split-second triage calls and vending machine raids at 1 a.m., you’d carved out a rhythm— easy, constant. The kind of friendship built on trust, sharp banter and just enough stolen glances and lingering silences to keep you both pretending it was still just that.

Jack chuckles, shaking his head, slipping his free hand into his pocket. “If you didn’t want me keeping tabs, you shouldn’t have accepted the request.” His eyes skim your ink, but he keeps his tone light. “Didn’t want to crush your spirit two runs in a row.”

He pauses, his smirk softening just a touch. “Miller— you good, though? You look like you ran more than just miles today.”

Because you matter.

“Yeah— yeah I’m fine. Got a late start. Slept like shit and probably should have stretched out more. Nothing I can’t handle.” You say with your best convincing tone, hoping it’s enough that he buys into it.

“You sure?” Jack’s head tilts slightly, offering you an opening— a quiet invitation to lay it all out. You’re not surprised he doesn’t buy it. He knows you too well. All you can offer is a reassuring smile and a nod.

“I need you in there.”

“You’ve got me, Abbot.” You say, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze as you pass him and step through the doorway.

It was 3:45 am when you found a moment to sit, most patients waiting on lab results or family to be released to. You sank into the chair, muscles heavy, mind foggy with the weight of too many hours and not enough rest. At least it was Friday— the end of a long, punishing week finally within reach. You held onto that thought like a lifeline.

Jack was taking advantage of the brief lulled atmosphere leaning against the counter of the nurses station with a half-drained cup of sludge, watching as you scribbled down notes onto your beloved fluorescent pink square sticky notepad with the same energy as a dying flashlight— your use of them was prevalent, adorning all surfaces around the hub of the Emergency Department.

“Is it your pen giving out or is that your soul?” Jack asked dryly before gulping down the last bit of his black coffee and tossing the paper cup into the overflowing trash can.

You didn’t look up as you peeled another square from the pad, crumpling it in your hand and tossing in the same direction. “Both, unfortunately.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He shook his head and grinned at your quick response, huffing out a snort just barely audible over the patient monitors and hushed murmuring among the other nurses and residents.

“Go home, Miller. That’s the third time you’ve written ‘Abbot’ with two T’s.” He says, eyeing you with mock seriousness. “Pretty sure there’s a 23-gauge needle around here somewhere. I could drain whatever ink is left in that pen, take you behind Curtain 4, and make it permanent.” He unfolds his left arm, pointing to a spot on yours. “Right there, just above that little leaf thing on your forearm. You’ll never forget it.”

“That would be a bird wing, and I’m just seeing if you’re awake enough to catch it. As thrilling as that infection sounds— I’ll pass. Besides, it’s Friday— I leave when you do.”

Jack’s house was a charming Craftsman bungalow located exactly two miles from the hospital. With two bedrooms and a small tiled bathroom, it was furnished in a way that perfectly reflected his laid-back personality, subtly underscored by the crisp precision of his military background. Every detail, every piece of his life arranged throughout the space, felt intentional—quietly ordered, effortlessly him.

Your house was on the opposite side of town— ten miles from Jack's and twelve from the hospital.

It had become a normal occurrence since PittFest.

Just crash at my place, Miller. It’s closer. You shouldn’t be running home like this.

You hadn’t argued. Too tired. Too wrung out. And maybe—though you hadn’t let yourself think it at the time—too grateful for the way he’d said it like it wasn’t a question.

He’d drive. You’d ride in silence. The blackout curtains made it easier to fall asleep fast and hard the second you laid on the couch. You’d sleep a few hours, pull together some sort of meal for the two of you from whatever he had in his fridge, then call a rideshare, or sometimes—on the rare days he wasn’t back on shift—he’d take you home himself.

He told you it was for convenience. That it wasn’t safe to run home after a twelve-hour shift, not with the streets as empty and strange as they were before dawn.

But the truth was quieter, heavier.

He just wanted to make sure you were safe.

Little did you know it eased something inside him— like he’d tucked you into a space where the world couldn’t get to you, at least not for a few hours.

Now, over a year later, it was just a normal routine between you two.

“Fair. But I’ll have you know, it wouldn’t be my first.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I was pretty popular in the barracks for my stick-and-pokes. Practically a professional.” he murmured, eyes drifting back to the monitor above the nurses’ station, reading and rereading the stats, analyzing each one to see where his presence was needed most, mapping out his next move.

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” you said with a teasing smile, eyes lingering on him as you rolled them just enough to let him know you weren’t entirely unimpressed. “Alright. Go do your thing and work your doctor magic, Abbot.” Peeling another square, wadding it into a ball before tossing it to where Jack was still leaning with his arms crossed over his chest, hitting his bicep and falling to the floor.

“That’s what I do best. And I look damn good doing it.” Propelling himself forward and smacking the top of the desk with a grin before heading around the counter toward the patient in room twelve.

Some people dreaded night shifts, but you had grown accustomed to them—thrived on them. The darkness brought fewer questions, fewer forced smiles. While the world slept, you became an expert at stitching things back together— arteries, skin, and the real-life stories unraveling at 2 a.m. in multiple trauma bays. A nightly rhythm of chaos that gives you purpose.

When morning arrives, as it always does, you trade the steady hum of machines, overhead pages, the metallic tang of blood, and the sharp sting of antiseptic mingled with burnt coffee for the quiet calm of the city as you step outside.

Jack walks ahead, as he always does, his canvas bag slung high over his shoulder. The morning light casting long shadows across the walkway leading to the hospital’s parking garage. He scans the path without thinking, eyes sweeping over every corner, every parked car— familiar or not. It’s the soldier in him. Those instincts etched deep in his bones, even in peacetime. There’s no threat here, not really, but he still walks like there might be. One step ahead. Always ready to shield, to take the hit before it ever reaches you.

Because you matter.

The flick of Jack’s unlock button sets off a rapid series of beeps as you near the black truck. He’s already at the passenger door holding it open, leaning casually against the frame. He doesn’t say anything as you approach— just observes you quietly. Your dark grey scrub top is rumpled and half-tucked and the loose waves of your hair are barely contained in your favorite clip— clear signs of a long shift.

Somehow, he always looks like he’s stepped out of a GQ centerfold— every curl perfectly in place. The greying five o’clock shadow doesn’t take away from his looks— if anything, it makes them worse in the best way. Like he needs the added charm on top of everything else he’s already got going for him.

There’s a flicker of nervousness in him that catches your eye just before you climb into the truck. His head is angled down toward his boots, his weight shifting from one foot to the other, only lifting his gaze once you’re standing right in front of him. And when he looks at you—really looks—it’s as if time stalls just for a moment. His head tilts in that signature way of his and he gives you a little nod that seems to say, I’ve got you now.

You toss your bag on the floor and slide into the seat. Your legs feel unsteady, almost jelly-like..

The sun glares harshly through the windshield as Jack pulls out of the garage and merges onto the busy street, making you wince. You groaned, quickly flipping the visor down, trying to block what you could. Jack chuckled quietly to himself, turning the dial on the radio up just enough for a country ballad to fill the truck cab— something about a neon moon.

You slump back in the seat with a quiet sigh, searching for some semblance of comfort to get through the last stretch of the short drive. Your thoughts start to dissolve into that familiar haze that always follows the slow burn-off of post-shift adrenaline. And like clockwork, your eyes are already drifting shut by the time he turns onto his street.

Jack glances over once, careful not to wake you, then pulls into his driveway. He let the engine idle for a second longer than necessary, just watching you breathe— steadily now, not like earlier when you were leaning over a coding patient with shaking hands and blood coating your gloves.

He didn’t wake you until he absolutely had to.

You stirred with a soft sound, slightly dazed as if you’d just woken from a year long slumber, blinking slowly at the front door.

“You’re home,” he said.

You smile sleepily at the the sentiment, but don’t bother to correct him.

#jack abbot #dr jack abbot #Dr abbot #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x oc #jack abbot x ofc #dr jack abbot x you #the Pitt #wildemaven writes #dr jack abbot x ofc #jack x alix

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sniktbaby · 2 days ago

Text

more than words

summary: you are struggling with your body image after giving birth six months ago. logan reminds you exactly whose woman you are.

warnings: body image issues, negative self-talk, fluff, angst, smut, oral sex (f receiving)

word count: 2.5k

author's note: this is my first time writing in YEARS please please leave me constructive feedback ok thanks <3

It has been six months since you gave birth to a healthy baby girl. You watch Logan with adoration, he has especially taken to fatherhood. You are convinced he was put on this earth just to be a dad.

But for you, things aren’t so simple. It doesn’t come as easy to you.

On top of adjusting to your new life and your new role as a mother, you are struggling with the changes to your body. The weight fluctuations, the stretch marks, the aching pains - you don’t feel at home in your body anymore. It feels foreign to you. Alien.

The two of you haven’t had sex at all since you gave birth, and you never let Logan see you fully naked. Ever.

Logan respected your boundaries, of course, but it was getting harder for him to watch you be so harsh on yourself. He looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and ever since giving him the greatest gift - a healthy little one - you were even more perfect in his eyes.

But you didn’t see it that way.

You were examining your underwear-clad body in the vanity mirror, lost in your chaotic thoughts, when you noticed Logan in the reflection. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his white t-shirt pulled taut against his muscles. His features softened when you turned around to face him.

“Hey.” His usual gruff voice took on a softer tone, one he reserved just for you. He pushed off the wall and approached you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re beautiful. Y’know that, right?”

You looked away. You didn’t believe him.

“Is she down?” you ask him, turning back to sift through the open drawer for a night shirt. You hoped he wouldn’t notice your deflection.

But he noticed. Of course he did.

His jaw tightened. He was frustrated - not at you, but at himself. He didn’t know how to fix this. He could take on armies, heal from bullets, but watching you tear yourself apart hurt him more than any enemy could.

“Yeah. Out cold.” He took a step closer. “Kid sleeps like you - nothin’ in the world can wake her once she’s down.”

He took in a breath, hesitating for a moment. He knew this was a sensitive topic, but he couldn’t watch you do this any longer. He reached out and caught your wrist before you could pull the shirt over your head.

“Look at me.” Not a demand, but a plea. “Talk to me, baby. What’s goin’ on inside that head?”

You were still for a moment before you pulled out of his grasp. You tugged the shirt over your head and turned away from him, busying yourself with sorting the clean laundry sitting atop the dresser. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

He couldn’t do this. He grabbed you, gently, turning you around to face him. His hands gripped your shoulders.

“Bullshit.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “You aren’t ‘fine’, darlin’. Haven’t been for months now. And I am sick of watchin’ you suffer in silence.”

He loosened his grip, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your skin.

“I love you. Every inch of you. Nothin’ is gonna change that.”

You tried to pull away, but his large hands travelled to your neck, cupping your jaw as he tilted your head up, forcing you to look at him.

“You gotta talk to me. Let me help you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You wanted so badly to believe him, but the negative thoughts were too loud. Too consuming. You took a shuddering breath as you attempted to steady yourself.

“I…I don’t feel like myself anymore, Logan. My body…”

You choked on a sob, closing your eyes as the tears finally fell.

“It’s not the same. I’m not the same. I’m scared that you don’t find me attractive anymore. That you’ll leave me for someone younger, prettier…”

He stood there in shock as your words trailed off, a sharp pang shooting through his chest. The thought of leaving you - of wanting anyone else - was laughable. Didn’t you know that you were everything to him?

His voice dropped to a growl. “Now you listen real good, sweetheart. There ain’t a single damn thing about you that ain’t perfect to me. Stretch marks, scars, every bit of you - it’s all part of the woman who carried our kid, who fought like hell to bring her into this world.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, letting out a shaky exhale.

“You think some shiny new toy could replace you? Not a chance in hell.”

You blinked, your eyes still watery. In spite of the darkness swirling around you, a flicker of hope ignited deep in your chest.

“I want to believe you, Logan. I do. But…feeling like my body isn’t mine anymore…” You shook your head. “I feel like I’ve lost control…”

He pulled you closer, wrapping his strong arms around you. One hand cradled the back of your head, holding your face to his chest while the other rubbed soothing circles over your lower back.

“I know, baby,” he murmured. “But you created a life. Our daughter wouldn’t exist without you.”

He pulled back just enough to tuck a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“We will get through this. I’m here. Always.”

You sniffle as you dig your fingernails into his waist, burying your face into his chest once more, allowing yourself to melt in his embrace. For the first time in months, you feel safe. Seen.

“Thank you.” Your voice is muffled against him, your tears staining the fabric of his shirt. Then, an idea comes to you. “Can we…try something?”

Before he can answer, you take his hand. Slowly, cautiously, you guide it under your shirt, resting his large palm against your bare stomach. You take in a breath.

His touch is soft, gentle. It catches you by surprise how a man like Logan can be so delicate in how he handles you.

He traces your stretch marks with deliberate care, skimming his fingers over each scar like they’re sacred. “Christ, baby…” When he meets your eyes, there’s a fire in his gaze.

“Every one of these?” He drags his thumb over a silvery line. “Proof you’re a goddamn warrior.”

He drops to his knees, like you’re a goddess he’s meant to worship. Because you are. In his eyes, you are.

He presses a kiss just below your navel, his bearded chin grazing the waistband of your panties. The stubble tickles you, as always, sending a rush of heat between your thighs. He looks up at you as he murmurs, “Never hidin’ this from me again.”

The tears once again spill freely down your cheeks. Relief floods through you. Why did you ever doubt him?

You tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him close as he presses his lips to every scar. Every imperfection you tried to hide, he honors with his mouth.

“I won’t,” you whisper. It takes all your strength to keep standing straight. “But…go slow, okay? Some days might still be hard.”

You bite your lip as he continues kissing you. “But maybe…tonight…you could remind me why you’re still so crazy about me?”

His lips curl, grinning as a heat floods through his veins. Slowly, he rises to his feet, walking you backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing the hem of your shirt higher. “Darlin’,” he rasps, nipping at your earlobe, “I plan on takin’ my damn time.”

He pushes you back. You bounce against the edge of the mattress, resting on your elbows as you gaze up at him.

He hovers above you, drinking in the beautiful sight - your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the trust in your eyes. His voice comes out as a purr. “Six months without you nearly killed me.”

He drops to his knees, parting your thighs. “Tonight I’m gonna make sure you remember exactly whose woman you are.”

Your heart races at his promise. His intensity is overwhelming, but you trust him completely.

You reach out, rubbing your thumb over his cheek as he nuzzles into your palm. “Please, Logan.” Your words are breathless as you arch into him.

Slowly, reverently, he peels the shirt over your head, and you waste no time in unfastening your bra, leaving you in only your panties. His hands map over your curves like he’s memorizing you for the first time. His calloused palms graze over your soft flesh, causing you to mewl and squirm against him.

He leans forward, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your breasts. He captures one dusky nipple between his teeth, making you gasp. You have been extra sensitive since giving birth. He soothes the sting with his tongue as his hand drifts beneath your panties, teasing your slick folds with maddening restraint. The fabric is soaked through, your wetness coating his fingers as he rubs your clit slowly with the tip of his thumb.

You taste like honey and home, like everything he has missed for far too long. Every sound you make goes straight to his core, twisting something loose he had suppressed for months.

He’s desperate for you. He wants to devour you - to claim and conquer what is rightfully his.

But he forces himself to slow, to savour you. Because you? This woman, this miraculous creature who has given him everything? You deserve the whole fucking world - and tonight, he intends to show you heaven.

As he lavishes attention on your skin, you thread your fingers through his hair, urging him to take more of you.

He can feel how ready you are, how much you need this. How much you need him. And he swears, he will never again let you forget how worshipped you are. He wants to erase every second you ever doubted yourself. Wants to carve his love into your skin, one touch at a time.

The noises you make? Like music he didn’t know he was aching to hear. Nobody else gets this from you. Nobody else ever will. His girl…soaked through and trembling, holding on to him like he’s an anchor. There’s nothing more beautiful than that, he’s sure of it. He will kiss every fear out of you, starting tonight.

Eyes fluttering shut, you bite your lip. These sensations and emotions, they’re almost too much. But in his arms, you aren’t so afraid. Especially not when he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

You moan louder, arching desperately into his mouth and hand, your hips rocking against his fingers. Your voice cracks as you plead with him. “Logan…”

Your voice - your pleading gaze - it goddamn undoes him. Every fiber of his being screams at him to rip into you, to stake his claim and drown you both in unrestrained passion. He aches to bury himself deep, to feel you clench around him like you were made for him and him alone.

Six months of missing this - missing you - has carved holes in him no regenerative abilities can heal. But not yet. He won’t take you yet. You’re fragile right now. He knows that. You’re trusting him tonight. And he’d rather claw his own heart out than betray your trust.

He drags his fingers from your soaked panties, kissing a path down your belly.

Your hips roll, desperate to feel his mouth where you need it most. “Baby…”

Hearing you beg - so soft, so needy - it damn near breaks him. His name on your lips is better than the finest whiskey. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down slowly, savouring every inch of skin he uncovers.

Then he settles back between your thighs, bracing your legs over his broad shoulders. Your pretty lips glisten for him - open, wet, his. And fuck, he intends on tasting every drop.

The first swipe of his tongue pulls a strangled cry from your throat, and he groans like a lost man finding salvation. Your flavour consumes him - sweet and undeniably you. He works you with his tongue, slow and deep, licking into you like he’s claiming every part of you.

His thumbs spread you wide, allowing him to lap at you hungrily, relentlessly.

You cry out, clutching the sheets as waves of pleasure crash over you. You can’t stop the tears from forming, a result of the rapture you didn’t know you needed.

“Logan…” You writhe beneath him, your hips bucking against his mouth. You feel broken and beautiful all at once, like the pieces of yourself are stitching back together with every flick of his tongue.

Each sob, every scream - it brands itself into him. You’re falling apart underneath his touch, and Christ, he’s never seen anything so breathtaking.

This is what you needed. What you both needed.

He doesn’t stop, he can’t. Not when you’re unraveling like silk in his hands. His tongue drives deeper, faster. He curls it just right against your swollen clit. One hand grips your thigh tight, anchoring you to him, while the other slides up your torso to cup your breast. He pinches your nipple lightly.

“You’re mine, baby,” he murmurs against you, barely moving his mouth away from your sex.

The possessive growl of his voice sends a fresh jolt of electricity zinging through you. You gasp, your nails digging into his biceps as your body tightens. You’re close.

“Y-Yours.” Your entire body trembles. “All yours.”

Hearing you say it - feeling you confirm what he’s always known - drives him mad.

He doubles down on his efforts, sucking your clit between his lips and dragging his tongue over the nub in slow, deliberate strokes. His fingers dig into your plush skin, marking you, claiming you.

When he feels you start to shake, your breath catching in your throat - he latches on tighter, drawing it out, refusing to let you hide. He wants you to feel it, to believe him. Because as your climax crashes over you, he knows there’s not a damn thing he wouldn’t do to keep you coming undone like this forever.

Your orgasm steals your breath, scattering your thoughts into nothingness. Your body bows off the bed, caught between agony and ecstasy, between fear and absolute trust. You’re crying now - soft, broken little sounds - as your orgasm rips through you, leaving you shaking.

“L-Logan…” Your voice trembles, just like the rest of you. Your fingers reach for him, blindly, needing to touch him, to feel him close. As you come down from your high, you feel a shift inside you. You can’t believe you ever doubted him or his devotion to you. He’s your home.

He rises above you, catching your trembling hands in his and threading your fingers together. His lips find yours - fierce, hungry - letting you taste yourself on him. Letting you feel how much he needed this, needed you.

“I love you, baby.” He’ll never let you forget again.

#logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett oneshot #wolverine smut #logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x you #lumberjack logan #origins logan #hugh jackman

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the-mad-rat1 · 1 day ago

Text

Maybe frisk doesn't mind being controlled as much as Kris because, get this: frisk is a young child and Kris is already a teenager. What if it's just THAT simple?

In the underground, frisk doesn't have as much reason as Kris to care for your meddling, frisk quite literally has no backstory told to us, we can only catch glimpses of their personality and guess how they became who they are now based on those glimpses, frisk also had no one that actually cared for them to even look after them after they disappeared into the underground, no one came after frisk when they left the underground either, which makes me guess that frisk didn't have much of a proper identity to themselves to have to worry about our meddling, and that's why they didn't fight back much against our decisions unless it went against their tastes, which is quite literally the only bits of their own identity they have, frisk actively hates soda, therefore when it is a possible option, they quite literally do not let us make that choice, completely ignoring the existence of the soda and making us choose something else entirely or just making the choice for us sometimes, frisk doesn't know how to count above 10 (which is a very fun coincidence, thanks to that newsletter about how 9 is the biggest number) frisk makes different expressions independent of our input, and actively did the last hit on sans without our input either (that makes so much more sense than chara possessing frisk, for the love of God, Chara goes on a rant about how they literally just woke up right now in the damn geno cutscene, you stfu) and among other things, frisk is a individual, but doesn't care for our meddling as much as Kris, because they don't have much reason to care about it, both you the player and frisk are thrusted into a new world, and frisk trusts our judgement more than anything, imagine it like you're an adult dragging frisk around, they believe you know what you're doing and go along with it because you are the adult here, not them, one thing I also noticed is that frisk really has no concept of what's right or wrong either, they trust your input so much that they actively do your bidding because of that possible trust, now the question that should be asked is: how long has the player been controlling frisk for? The cutscene of the human falling in the beginning is supposed to be Chara, which really allows us to theorize if the player and frisk have been hanging around for way longer than we think, maybe it explain why frisk doesn't fight back against us? Food for thought, we can talk about it later.

And now: KRIS. KRIS. KRIS;

Kris has way more reason to care for our meddling than frisk because they literally already has an identity and really cares about it, they are a teenager, so they already lived through a lot and has built themselves a identity that they really care for, and already has a sense of right and wrong too, so they literally cannot trust us like frisk can, frisk doesn't fight back much against us because they literally have nothing or no one in their personal life to have a reason to fight back, unlike Kris who has, family and friends all over a small city basically, they literally cannot afford to have us toy with their life like we are and that's why they actually tries to fight back, and has actual agency to be bothered about the things they're seeing.

So basically "Frisk isn't showing signs of being traumatized because that is only gonna pop up later in their life, unlike Kris who can spot when something was super messed up straight away and actually thinks about it."

Thank you for reading my ramblings.

#Undertale #deltarune #frisk undertale #frisk #kris #kris deltarune #kris dreemurr

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y4-mama · 3 days ago

Note

Bucky Barnes request?

Paradise

Bucky Barnes (TFATWS) x reader

Summary: After everything went down with the flag smashers you guys finally had a chance to relax

Content: Gender isn’t specified but the pet name Doll is used, fluff, Bucky being down BAD for you, Bucky making fun of sam

A/N: sorry for getting this out so late i didn’t mean to ignore the request

WC: 1.2K

Life Couldn’t get any better.

You, Sam, and Bucky finally got a well-deserved vacation, as you would call it, after finishing all the Flag Smasher stuff.

Which is how you found yourself sitting on Sam’s boat, with a glass of wine in your hand, watching the sunset.

You watching the sunset led Bucky to not be able to take his eyes off you as you sat there, though this has become a regular occurrence. He watched the way your eyes glittered with the setting sun, the way your hands tightened ever so slightly around your glass of wine, how your lips were curled into a soft, content smile, and the way your hair perfectly framed your face.

How could he not look at you?

You, having a sixth sense, felt someone’s eyes on you. You turn your head and see Bucky staring right at you. When he noticed you caught him, he quickly snapped his gaze away from you, busying himself by taking a drink of his beer. He had been caught red-handed. He suddenly found his boots extremely interesting.

That whole reaction he just had confused you, but you didn’t think much of it and looked back at the sunset. Bucky stole a glance at you and noticed the confusion written all over your face. He internally groaned, knowing he hadn’t been doing the best job of hiding the fact that he was staring at you for the past couple of minutes.

Get it together, Barnes.

You kept your eyes on the sunset. “Is there something on my face, or is there another reason you keep staring at me?” Bucky's mouth suddenly felt very dry. He didn’t expect you to call him out like that. He decided that playing it off nonchalantly was the move. “There might be.”

“And what reason is that?” Bucky mentally curses himself because if he was being honest, he wasn’t thinking of anything PG. He obviously wouldn’t tell you that, so he went with the next thing he thought of. “You just look good in the reflection of the sunset.” Real Smooth, Bucky.

You honestly weren’t expecting that, especially coming from him. It made you nervous, but you masked that with a soft smile, “Thank you, Bucky.”

Bucky swore he died, then came back to life when you gave him that smile. He gulped his beer to try and seem unaffected. “No problem, Doll…” Could he be more obvious?

You giggle at his reaction.

Your giggling was gonna be the death of him. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach thought it was a good idea to start doing somersaults. “Uh- You have a pretty laugh.” He mentally slapped himself. Out of all the things he could’ve said. He chose that?

The compliment shocked you, “Thank you…” He nodded and took another drink of his beer, trying to calm himself a little. It was getting increasingly harder the longer he talked to you. “Of course, you should do it more often.” Seriously? Who says that?

“I should…laugh more often?” Bucky cleared his throat once again. He suddenly found it hard to look you in the eye, so he decided staring at the sunset was much easier. “Y-yeah, it suits you. The way it just lights up your face…it’s adorable…or whatever…”

You definitely didn’t see that coming. So naturally, you got flustered and let out a quiet ‘thank you’.

If it weren’t for Bucky’s super senses, he would’ve missed it. He melted at your flustered expression. “Of course…” He couldn’t help himself from thinking about how he wouldn’t mind seeing a different flustered expression on your face entirely. Get it together, Barnes. He took another long drink of his beer and tried to focus on the sunset once again. “So uh… how are things going, other than the whole Flag Smashers fiasco?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” He nodded in response, drumming his fingers against the beer bottle. He found it hard to sit there and have normal small talk with you when what he really wanted to do was kiss you senseless. Stop it, Barnes! Down boy! “What about you?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, “Other than just trying to keep Sam from getting his face beat in by someone? Nothing out of the ordinary for me either. Guess that’s kind of a good thing, huh?”

You nodded at him, "That's a great thing, besides the Sam part.” Bucky chuckled in response to that. “ Yeah… the Sam part definitely isn’t a great thing. That man couldn’t hold his own in a fight to save his life. I swear he needs me to watch him every two seconds.”

You laughed at his comment, and Bucky’s stomach did somersaults for the millionth time that night when he heard you laugh again. He shook his head, a soft smile on his face. “ You know it’s true, Doll. I’m forever saving him.” You couldn’t help but smile when Bucky smiled, even though it was barely there it was something. “Y’know, if I were to ask Sam, he’d say it’s the other way around.” Bucky scoffed knowingly. “Of course he would! I’m telling you he’d get it handed to him every day if it wasn’t for me. He’s delusional, I tell you. Delusional.” You chuckled, “No doubt about that.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. He couldn’t tell you the amount of times he’s had to dive in and save Sam. “Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s still alive.” “Well, he has the amazing White Wolf there to always save him.” Bucky chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Of course, I’m always at his disposal. White Wolf, of all the nicknames they could’ve saddled me with…”

“It’s cute.” Bucky’s heart started doing somersaults again. “Cute isn’t the word I’d use for that name…” He muttered under his breath, taking another drink of his beer. You shrugged in response, “Well, I like it.”

Bucky’s heart skipped another beat at the fact that you liked the nickname. “You’re the only one who does.” He shook his head again, still trying to act nonchalant about it. Even though his heart was doing cartwheels at the fact that you liked it. Seriously Bucky? Get it together. All reason and common sense seemed to have left him at this point. Why couldn’t he just get his brain to shut up? “You… You actually like that dumb nickname?”

“I don’t think it's dumb.” Bucky raised an eyebrow in suprise, his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest. “You… You don’t?” You shook your head in response. Bucky found himself unable to form words for a moment. Here he was thinking no one liked that nickname-especially not with the way Sam’s made fun of it. “Really? You’re not just messing with me?”

You chuckle at his silly question, “Why would I mess with you Bucky?” Bucky shrugged suddenly feeling very awkward. “…I don’t know. I’m just used to people finding it ridiculous.” He took another gulp of his beer as you took a sip of your wine, “Those people are just lame.”

Bucky couldn’t help the small smile that started to form on his face as he listened to you call the people who disliked his nickname “lame.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He couldn’t deny the way his heart started fluttering when he glanced at you, trying his best to keep his feelings under control. It didn’t help that you were currently looking at him in adoration with a gentle smile on your face.

“I’m always right.”

———————————

A/N: Does anyone know how to get divider images on here without the background? Each time I try putting one in the background is white

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secretlysamcro · 17 hours ago

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#till it’s gone #question

Do you think Jax would have allowed and if so liked to get naughty pictures and videos from reader?

This thing you've got going with Jax, its deeper than you ever meant it to be. What started off as lust and secrecy has turned into something messier. Something heavier. You'd never say it out loud, not yet. And definetley not to him. But in your heart, you know the truth. On your side, this isn't just an affair anymore. This is...love.

It's been almost a year since you first met Jax at the diner. Almost a year since he had you pinned up against that dirty wall, fucking you so good it rewired something inside you.

You knew it was wrong, even then. He's got a wife, two boys, a whole life that doesn't belong to you, has no fucking room for you. But that didn't stop you, and it still doesn't. There's something about him, raw, dangerous and addictive that keeps pulling you back. No matter how much you tell yourself to walk away, to stop these secret little meetings, but you cant. Because all you crave is more. More of his hands. More of his voice. More of that fucked up, all consuming high that only he can give you. Not even just the sexual parts, the deep emotional parts that he lets you see, lets you in on.

You hated this part.

The waiting, the silence. The pretending you didn't care that he hadn't messaged you all day. That he could go hours, sometimes longer without acknowledging you, without checking in.

So you drank.

Not to forget him, not really. Just enough to dull the edge. Enough to stop wondering if he thought about you when he laid down next to her at night. Maybe it was the third drink that made you do it, or maybe it was the loneliness. But either way, you stopped over thinking.

You slipped your tee off, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. You keep the main light in your bedroom off, but the soft glow of your fairy lights stay on, casting just enough warmth across your skin.

You crawl onto your bed slowly, facing the mirror. You knew exactly how he liked you. On your knees, back arched deep, ass high like you were begging without saying a word. So that's exactly how you posed. One hand steadying yourself against the sheets, the other lifting your phone, getting the perfect angle.

You took the photo, no filter, no caption sent with it. Deep down, you knew it wasn't just for him. It was for you too. A quiet, dangerous 'fuck you' in the form of a nude, no words needed.

Because if he was going to ignore you all day, you'd give him something he couldn't ignore.

[Text thread y/n & Jax - Friday 21:34PM]

JAX: What the fuck are you doing You sent that and she's in the fucking room My phone lit up right in front of her ?

JAX: One second different and this whole thing would've been over

Y/N: kinda the point jax maybe if u fuckin remembered I existed I wouldn't have to do stupid shit

JAX: Dont do this you think this is how you get my attention think ur being smart?

Y/N: Dnt care im drunk and tired and sick of being ur fuckin secret

JAX: You need to shut your mouth before u say something you can't take back

Y/N: You gonna make me u

Y/N: u think im scared of you

JAX: what the fuck is wrong with you?

Y/N: u :)

JAX: Keep talkin like that You think this is all about u like I’m not hanging on by a fucking thread tryna keep this shit together ?

Y/N: no I think u go home to ur wife and kids and I sit here like a fuckin idiot thinking shit will change lol

JAX: I’m doing everything to keep this from blowin up. Protecting myself and you And this is what ur doing? textin me cause ur drunk and feel ignored ?

Y/N: I don’t need protecting what am I? a child??? I wanted u to give a fuck for once

JAX: ur fucking impossible y/n You knew what this was before it even started u don’t get to act like the victim now

Y/N: victim lmaoo r u fucking joking?

JAX: y/n do you not get that Tara could have seen that pic

Y/N: And???? you don’t give a fuck when ur cocks in me what’s the difference U didn’t even say if you liked it? Did I make you hard??

JAX: Im not doing this over text Meet me at the lot 30 mins

Y/N: no lol Too drunk to drive

JAX: I’ve got the van I’ll come get u

Y/N: No just come here and we can talk

JAX: Nah Dont wanna come inside

Y/N: Lmao heard that one before

JAX: Just be fucking ready when I pull up Leavin in 10

He deletes the entire thread. Every word. Every picture. Wipes it clean like it never happened. Like he didn’t just blow up on you for almost exposing every fucking thing.

He walks down the hallway, grabbing his kutte from the hook and slides it back on, snatching the van keys without hesitation.

“Where are you going?” Tara’s voice cuts through the quiet as she pokes her head out of the boys room, eyebrows creased.

“Club shit. Important” he says, so fucking cold. No pause, no eye contact. Just lies through his fucking teeth, already halfway out the door before she can ask anything else.

The whole drive to your place he’s pacing in his own head. Trying to figure out what the fuck he’s even doing, what he should say to you, what he shouldn’t. He knows this whole thing is wrong, every single part of it is absolutely fucked.

But these feelings he’s grown for you?

These deep, unshakeable feelings that dig under his skin?

They feel dangerously right.

And when you finally walk out of your apartment, slower than usual, your body still buzzing with alcohol but your eyes all fury. He doesn’t know what the fuck to say.

You climb into the passenger seat without saying a word. He drives, silent, tense. Every second dragging.

He pulls into the usual underground lot then cuts the engine. The silence hangs between you for a breath, until you speak up first.

“You ever gonna leave her?”

Till it’s gone pt 1 starts right here.

#secretlysamcro #jax teller one shot #jax teller #sons of anarchy #secretly samcro #jax teller x reader #samcro #soa #charlie hunnam #jax teller imagine

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applejade · 22 hours ago

Text

Secretary

warnings: smut, spanking with a belt, aggressive language, strap licking, boss and secretary relationship, strap sex art of Sevika is by Ochakka_b on twitter

After months of searching for a job, your friend from college had finally been able to pull some strings and land you a secretary position in her workplace.

It had started out so well. Your friend helped you settle in, you started to make friends with your coworkers and it seemed as if your boss had already taken a liking to you.

But as time went on at your new job, the relationship between you and your boss started to change.

The squeezes on your shoulder after you successfully did what she asked began to linger longer than one would consider professional. Every time she'd call you to her office to give you another task, she'd gently grip your chin and force you to make eye contact as she spoke.

And while she got noticeably more touchy, she also got more mean. She would find random small things to criticize you for, find ways to humiliate you in front of your coworkers, and then would call you into her office to have a “talk” once you finally stood up for yourself.

Of course, these “talks” included no talking. She only used it as an excuse to punish you the way she truly wanted to.

But you didn't want to leave. You needed this job and with every cruel act, you became more desperate for her approval. Aching to feel her warm hand cupping your cheek again when she praises you for a job well done.

That doesn't mean you couldn't try to get back at her though.

Since she loves to insult your “prudish” fashion choices, you decided you'd wear something a bit more revealing today to get her attention.

You wore a tight black skirt that hugged your figure and threatened to show your panties at the slightest bend. Coily hair pulled into a high puff and black stockings.

You sensed her presence before you heard her dress shoes clacking up behind you. A sudden hand gripping the back of your thigh just below your ass almost caused you to spill the coffee you were making for her.

“Meet me in my office when you're done. I need to speak to you”

Her lips grazed your ear as she whispered. Your breath hitched and you leaned into her.

You replied with a “Yes ma'am” and she stalked away to her office.

You dropped off the coffees you made for the team and gulped down a few swigs of your own in an attempt to prepare for another ‘scolding’ from your boss.

You opened the door to Sevika's office and she glanced at you from her seat behind her desk

She gestures for you to come to her and you hesitantly walk over and stand in front of her spread legs.

She gives you a sharp glare and whips your body around. Your ass faces her and you know she can see the glimpse of underwear peeking from underneath your skirt.

You hear a scoff from behind you “What made you think this was appropriate?”

“I don't understand. I thought you wanted me to dress like this?”

Her grip on your hips becomes tighter and you wince a bit.

She pauses for a while like she's considering whether she wants to hurt you or fuck you.

“Bend over” She orders. You hesitate and look back at her.

“Why? You're gonna punish me for nothing? I'm not breaking the dress code.”

She stands and presses her body flush against your back. Her mechanical arm grips your cheeks and your face is pulled to face hers.

“Keep playing with me and see what happens.”

You try to stand your ground even as her grip starts to hurt your jaw.

“I ain't scared of you." you whisper

Her brows raise and her eye twitches. You can see her visibly trying to hold back her scowl as her grip tightens.

“Fine” is all she says before she releases your face and bends you over her desk.

You gasp as she roughly lifts your skirt out the way to reveal a pair of lacy black panties underneath. You attempt to block her hands and pull your skirt back down, only to have them gripped and held behind your back.

“Uh uh. Don't try to back out now. This is what you wanted.”

She switches your wrists to her mechanical hand so she can rub circles into your clothed pussy.

“Prancing around with this skimpy ass skirt on. You thought I wouldn't notice you coming to work dressed like a hooker?”

Her flesh hand leaves your pussy and you hear the sound of a belt unbuckling.

Your breath quickens in fear and anticipation. You can handle a couple spanks but this is a punishment she'd never done before. You start to squirm, trying to free your hands from her grasp but she doesn't budge.

She huffs out a husky laugh “Acting like you don't want it. Where'd all that attitude go, huh?”

“Wait Sevika, please!”

She lands a slap on your pussy and your eyes start to water.

“What do you call me?" She says.

You sniffle in reluctance and stay silent.

She slaps your pussy again, this time harsher and directly on your clit.

“Say my name, bitch”

you cry out “Ms. Sevika!”

You can hear her smirk when she praises you

“Good girl” she says as she finally takes off her belt completely and snaps it against your ass without warning.

You let out a squeal and she whips you harder the second time.

“Shut up” she says firmly “You want them to hear you?”

“No, ma'am” You whimper and bite your lip to muffle your screams.

She gives hit after hit until you're sobbing and begging for her forgiveness and eventually - she accepts it.

She pulls you upright by your puff and squeezes your cheeks together with her flesh hand. Your head is shaken gently as she coos at your tear soaked face.

“aww poor baby. You've never been punished like that before, have you?”

“uh uh” is all you can mewl through your smushed lips.

She mocks your pout and wipes the tears from your face.

“Please” you whisper

“Please what, baby?”

“Please touch me”

A smirk spreads across her ebony lips while she slowly moves your hand down to her pants.

You feel a bulge beneath her clothes and make eye contact with her.

Was she planning for this?

“Take it out for me” she orders

You slowly turn around to pull her pants down and pull her strap out.

She tells you to get on your knees and you do so without hesitation.

Her flesh hand strokes her strap like she can feel it and you try not to salivate. She taps the thick purple plastic on your lips. “Get it wet”

You lick her strap all over until there’s saliva dripping to the floor. Her hums and slight moans make you dizzy and you attempt to fit it in your throat until a sharp hand tugs your head back.

“That’s enough” she says before she pulls you to your feet by your puff. You don’t even have enough time to wipe the spit from your mouth before she bends you over the desk again and shoves her fingers inside you.

It only takes a couple minutes for her to finish prepping you. The ‘punishment’ had your pussy leaking enough for the prep to not even be necessary.

She lines her strap up to your hole and you feel her push into you.

By the time her thrusts start picking up speed, your mind is already deep in the clouds. All you can think of is the push and pull of Sevika’s strap and her degrading encouragements

“Yeah, take this dick, slut”

“This is all your little mind can think of, huh? Poor baby just wants to be fucked”

It doesn't matter what she says, everything is answered with whines and a mewled “uh huh”

Her thrusts get harder the louder you moan. She slaps your ass as you start to fuck yourself back on her dick, coaxing you into going faster.

Your pussy clenches the closer you get to your climax and Sevika swears she can feel it.

“Cum on this dick, baby.”

Her permission makes your pussy gush and you shudder through your climax.

She continues fucking into you while your body goes limp. You put your hand on her rocking hips, attempting to stop her movement.

“M-miss, please. No more-”

She shushes you almost instantly, putting a hand around your mouth, making your back arch in the process.

The squelching of her strap pounding your pussy and the friction on her clit tips her over the edge. She grunts out a moan and slows to a subtle grind until she eventually stills.

Heavy pants and the smell of sex fills the room. She slowly pulls out of you and gently pulls you up to her chest.

She kisses your cheek down to your shoulder and pulls your lacy panties back up. She grabs a long cardigan from the back of her chair and wraps it around you.

Your mind is completely emptied as her husky voice whispers in your ear to go back to your desk.

You sit through the rest of the work day in cum soaked panties until she comes up behind your chair and grips the back of your neck. As you ride in her car, on the way to her apartment - you plot your next act of defiance, hoping she’ll put you in your place again.

#first time writing smut so ntm #sevika x you #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika x y/n #black reader #black!reader #sevika x black reader

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andreafmn · 2 days ago

Text

Requite | Chapter 4

Word Count: 3.4K

Summary: When everything seems to fall into place in Forks, Washington, a string of mysterious deaths call the attention of both vampires and werewolves in town. As the redheaded vampire returns with her mind set on revenge, (Y/N) and Bella Swan find themselves in the center of danger once again. With secrets still lingering between them about their past best friend, they will find themselves stuck in a whirlwind of love, betrayal, and the hardest choices they’ll have to make. But one thing is certain: no one will go a day without a taste for vengeance.

<- Previous

School was an odd place to be with the Cullens back in town. Everyone could see and feel the distance that had grown between the oldest Swan daughter and the two Cullen children who had still not graduated. It didn't take a genius to see how hard Alice and Edward were trying to get close to Bella, but she would always shut them down.

It was clear they believed the girl's distance was (Y/N)'s fault. Whenever the sisters walked down the halls together, the Cullens would send questioning stares her way, but she couldn't tell if they were filled with disdain or genuine curiosity. What she was sure of was that they knew she was the greatest obstacle standing between them and Bella.

But if Bella blamed her sister for the space between her and the Cullens, she didn't say anything. Instead, she seemed to relish it. She seemed lighter than ever, catching up to (Y/ N)to head to the cafeteria, wearing a smile the younger Swan had missed witnessing.

Truthfully, there was a certain weightlessness running around campus from the senior class. With graduation just around the corner, school was the last bit of their worries. Maybe there were still finals to worry about, but they didn't quite care, and it showed. Their biggest concern seemed to be who to invite to the graduation.

“Hi, guys,” Angela smiled as the sisters reached their usual lunch table. “Bella, have you sent out your graduation announcements?”

“Well, I don't really have anyone to give them to,” the girl shrugged. “Dad is gonna be there, and mom knows when graduation is. That's really it.”

Unconsciously, Bella started picking the mushrooms out of her veggie pizza as she spoke, placing them on (Y/N)'s tray. Something she had done since they were little. Where the older Swan was picky with her food, her sister didn't mind taking the discards. But the smile that spread on the younger Swan's face was not because she was glad to receive mushrooms. Instead, she was happy her sister was doing things they had lost in the year of separation and the time Bella was stuck in her own mind.

“What about you, Angela?” (Y/N) asked as Bella took her first bite, sending her sister a weird look over her smile, her actions seemingly going unnoticed by herself. “Have you finished yours?”

“Oh, I wish,” she groaned. “My mom wants me to hand-address every single one to her thousands of cousins. I will most likely get carpal tunnel from it, and I can't keep putting it off for any longer.”

“We can help,” Bella offered, “if you don't mind my handwriting. (Y/N)'s is better.”

“That is true,” the younger girl chuckled. “Thankfully, the unreadable handwriting gene skipped me.”

“That's great!” Angela exclaimed. “I can come over to yours and...”

“Actually, can we do it at your house? I've finally been let free from my sentence. I'd do anything to go out.”

“I thought you were grounded forever.”

“Thought so too,” Bella grinned. “And I'm not giving dad any chance to go back on his decision.”

“We have to celebrate this!”

“You have no idea how good that sounds,” she chuckled. “And I have an idea.”

While Bella explained her and her sister’s plans to go shopping for a dress that weekend and spoke of the possible celebration of the rebellious Swan's freedom, (Y/N) noticed Alice and Edward at the corner table of the cafeteria. Even with the rest of their siblings gone, their table remained just for them, as though a force field kept others far away. However, the girl was sure they wanted nothing more than to attract a particular person.

As though he could hear what she was thinking—even if Bella had assured her he could not—Edward's eyes snapped to (Y/N)'s. There was a sadness behind the amber of his pupils that she knew far too well. It was loss. It was grief. It was... yearning. Clearly, being forced to keep a distance from Bella was unbearable. For a creature who did not sleep, every waking moment was filled with the girl who had told him no when everyone was expecting her to say yes.

(Y/N)'s eyes were suddenly broken from Edward's gaze when she noticed Alice going into a trance. From what her sister had told her, that meant she was getting one of her visions. And from the petrified look on Edward's face, it could not be good.

Once Angela turned to pay attention to something Jessica was saying beside her, (Y/N) elbowed her sister softly, directing her gaze toward the Cullen siblings. “She’s seeing something,” she whispered. “It’s bad. I mean, it looks bad.”

“Yeah, it looks like something’s wrong,” Bella muttered before turning back to the meal in front of her, her eyebrow furrowed with worry.

“Why don't you ask them what she saw?” (Y/N) questioned, noticing the concern her sister was swallowing. “I can tell you want to.”

“That would defeat the purpose of keeping distance from them,” she sighed. “It could just be something about their family.”

But (Y/N) couldn't help the nagging feeling that there was something more to whatever Alice was witnessing. “Victoria is still out there,” the younger girl said. It didn't go over her head the way Edward's eyes fell on them at the sound of the vampire's name, nor that the last piece of pizza Bella held stumbled out of her hand. “If there’s anyone who could see if she’ll come back, it’s her, right?”

“I-I guess,” Bella stammered. “I’ll ask him after school about it.”

“You won’t have to do it alone, Bells,” (Y/N) smiled, squeezing her sister’s hand comfortingly. “I'm always on your side.”

“Thanks, (Y/N). I'm glad you're here.”

“Where else would I be?” she grinned. “Florida?”

The next couple of hours felt endless before the sisters found each other after their last classes of the day. It was hard not to allow their minds to imagine what worst-case scenarios could have popped up in Alice's mind.

(Y/N) knew the red-headed vampire was still lurking in the shadows, lying in wait for the perfect time to strike. Bella had been her main focus for the past year, but after the woman's encounter with the younger Swan, it wasn't hard to deduce that both sisters had become the target for Victoria's revenge. They had escaped her clutches, and she didn't seem like the type to let a grudge go.

As though they were waiting for them, Alice and Edward were standing by the boy's Volvo, their eyes fixed on the sisters’ every move. Their gaze followed them until they stood face to face, a sad smile spreading across their mouths as they reached them.

“Bella,” Edward was the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “How are you?”

“I'm good,” she smiled awkwardly. “How're you guys?”

“Could be better,” Alice responded, her eyes pleading. “We miss you, Bella.”

“I... uh, I...”

“We wanted to know what you saw at lunch, Alice,” (Y/N) interjected. “It looked bad. Is it... is it about Victoria?”

Alice looked at her brother, trying to find the right answer in his silence. “I saw Jasper, my partner,” she answered. “I keep seeing him going back southwest... back to his f-former family. It's got me a bit worried, even though he says he has no inclination to go back.”

“Are you sure?” Bella pushed. “Victoria is still out there, and she already got to (Y/N). I don't want her to get close again.”

“I promise you are both safe, Bella,” Edward said. “I won't let anything happen to you.”

“Thanks, I guess,” she whispered the last part. “I'll see you guys around, then.”

Before anyone could say anything else, Bella pulled her sister toward her truck. Being around the Cullens was mind-whirling. Their very presence blurred her sight and jumbled her thoughts, pulling her in with a supernatural magnetism she still didn't know how to overpower. The more distance she put between herself and the siblings, the easier it became for her to breathe again. And as much as she wanted to turn back and be with them, she continued on until both Swans were safely inside the cabin of her truck.

The older Swan took a steadying breath as her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, ignoring the urge to look back at the siblings she knew were still staring at her.

“Are you okay?” (Y/N) asked, breaking Bella out of her trance and reminding her she wasn't alone. “You look paler than usual.”

“Y-yeah, I'm okay,” she smiled.

“You look pretty shaken up, Bells. Maybe talking to them wasn't a good idea.”

“N-no, we had to know,” the older girl said, finally mustering up the strength to pull the truck out of the parking lot. “It's just their nature. They draw you in—their eyes, their voice, their scent. You can't help but be drawn by them.”

“I don't see it,” (Y/N) shrugged. “Apart from their perfect skin and yellow eyes, there's not really much to them.”

“Don't let Jessica hear you,” Bella chuckled. “She was absolutely obsessed with them and was quite angry Edward wasn't interested in anyone.”

“Still don't see it,” she said. “I prefer my men a bit more warm-blooded.”

“You're not funny.”

“I think I am.”

(Y/N) was cooking dinner while Bella read Wuthering Heights out loud when Charlie arrived home. It was the sight of a normal enough family. A single father with his two daughters, no relation to anything or anyone supernatural. They were all just almost normal.

“That was really good, (Y/N),” Charlie said as he finished his dinner. “What was it? I mean, it looks like chicken, but it's not quite that.”

“Uh, it's breaded cauliflower,” she said, trying her best to swallow the laughter that threatened to spill as Bella snickered quietly. “It's supposed to resemble a chicken parm, hence the sauce and the cheese.”

“(Y/N), that's an abomination.”

“You just said it was good, dad,” Bella argued with a grin. “And it's better for your health. You need to start eating more vegetables.”

“I can settle for a salad or two, but you cannot take away my meat.”

“I was trying something,” (Y/N) chuckled. “I won't take away the meats, but it's easier than making something separate for Bella. And, again, you need to eat more vegetables, dad.”

“You know it's my job to worry about you guys, right?” Charlie argued. “Not the other way around.”

“Old habits die hard, dad,” Bella shrugged with a smile. “At least you'll only have to worry about my diet for a few more months. After that, I'll be in college.”

A choking silence fell on the family as realization dawned upon them. Time had seemed to slip out of their fingers, and somehow the future had made its way into the Swan home. In a few months' time, the house would be missing an integral part once more. After such a long time, they had started to resemble a real unit, but it wouldn't last for long in more ways than one.

(Y/N) knew that Bella going away would only bring her closer to the inevitable, and no amount of time would ever be enough for her to get used to the idea of losing her sister forever. Much less to the knowledge that her sister would live forever. There would soon come a day when the face she saw was the Bella she would see until the day she died. And it was a face that would forever be etched into their father's brain when he was told his daughter had died.

“Right,” Charlie said as he cleared his throat, breaking the unbearable tension in the room. “And, uh, have you decided what school you're gonna go to?”

“I'm still toying with a few options,” the girl muttered as she pushed the last bits of her dinner around on her plate. “But I'm really liking the University of Alaska.”

“If it's about the money, Bells, I already told you...”

“It's not,” she dismissed, feeling the nerves closing her throat. “Enough about school, though. How was your day?”

As Charlie talked about the unbelievably slow day at work and the various games of cards he played with his coworker Mark, (Y/N) couldn't stop thinking of what awaited her and her sister's future. Truthfully, she had never given it much thought. Growing old was a part of life the younger girl didn't think she wouldn't go through with Bella. They were only a few years apart, and she never thought she'd have to go through the pain of losing her for more than a couple of years after her passing. Now, the girl knew she'd have to mourn a girl who would continue living after she was gone.

The conversation soon turned into their weekend plans and an invitation to go to Billy's house for a playoff party, and all (Y/N) wanted was to head in for the night. Her thoughts had overwhelmed her, and she didn't know how long she would go without crying by staying around her sister and her father.

After helping to clear the dishes, she excused herself for the night, claiming to be sporting a headache she wanted to sleep away. Charlie didn't question anything, but rather kissed her temple and wished her a good night. But Bella could see the sadness behind the girl's eyes. It wasn't a headache that was tormenting her sister, but it was clear that she did not want to talk about it. If there was anything she could give her, it was space.

Upstairs, (Y/N) could feel tears burning the back of her eyes. She felt stupid for being so affected by something that wouldn't happen, hopefully, in months, possibly years. But every day that passed, the closer they got to the fulfillment of it all. Bella would one day have to become a vampire, and (Y/N) would grow old without her.

“Woah, what's wrong, pretty girl?” Paul whispered once she was inside her bedroom, crossing the distance from the window to her. “Why are you crying?”

(Y/N) instantly melted into his embrace, breathing in the warm smells of the forest on his skin. “It's nothing important,” she sighed. “I'm just being stupid.”

“If it makes you cry, it's not stupid,” he whispered into her hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The girl shook her head, knowing the information would put her sister under a microscope, and the last thing she wanted was to cause another rift in the small town. “Really, it's nothing,” (Y/N) said as she pulled him to the bed. “I'm just tired.”

“I can go home. Let you sleep.”

“I don't want you to go. You already came all this way.”

“You say that like it's hard,” he chuckled. “I'd go anywhere for you.”

(Y/N) couldn't help the smile that stretched across her mouth as they settled into the bed. It wasn't the first time he'd said something like that, but she smiled because she knew he meant it. And maybe a part of her would always wonder how much of his sentiments were because of the imprint bond, but at that moment, she didn't care. Paul cared about her, and that was enough.

She rested her head on the boy's chest, being softly lulled to sleep by his heartbeat and the gentle shapes he drew on her back. Since they had finally given in to their feelings and gotten together, (Y/N) noticed the calmness that overtook her just by being with him. It also helped that there was nothing or no one to be angry at during that moment.

“Your sister just went down,” Paul muttered quietly after almost an hour of comfortable silence. His eyes had been closed for the better part of the time, but never fully succumbed to sleep. “And your dad is snoring on the couch. I think he's watching last year's NBA highlights.”

“Well, the playoffs are coming up,” the girl chuckled, her voice heavy with sluggishness. “He's gotta freshen up on his talking points for Billy's party, even when he's asleep.”

“You going to that this weekend?”

“I think so,” she said. “I don't see why I wouldn't.”

“Well...”

“I'm not worried about Jake. I mean, other than the fact that he's barely at home, my dad's gonna be there. He won't try anything with him there,” she shrugged before looking up at him. “Are you worried?”

“Not about him exactly. Just...” Paul took a steadying breath, pressing his free hand against his temple. “It's nothing. I'd rather talk about anything else.”

“What is it, Paul?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, okay?” He smiled warmly before pressing a kiss to her head. “It's just dumb stuff.”

“Paul.”

“Everything's fine,” he chuckled in an effort to undermine whatever was happening. “You have enough to worry about. Like talking to your sister.”

“Way to turn things on me, huh?” (Y/N) chuckled. “I'm actually feeling a bit better about that. I talked to Billy and my dad about it...”

“You went to his house?” Paul exclaimed, trying his best to keep quiet.

“It's Billy's house, and I went to talk to him. That's all.” She knew keeping the fact that she had briefly encountered Jacob was the right move. The last thing she wanted was for him to grow angry at something she had resolved. “There was no Jake. So, you can put the paws away.”

“I still don't like that you went there by yourself,” the boy huffed. “Anything could've happened.”

“But it didn't, and I'm okay,” (Y/N) said, placing a hand on his chest to calm him. “And Billy's family. I'm not gonna stop seeing him just because his son sucks.”

Paul let out an annoyed huff, trying his best to keep his emotions in check. He could feel the slight tremble of anger rumbling under his skin, the wolf inside him yelling to break free. Had they been anywhere else, he was sure he would have exploded. “You should've told me you were heading there,” he grumbled. “I can't protect you if I don't know where you are.”

“You can't be with me every second of the day, Paul. Things are gonna happen no matter how hard you try to avoid them.” (Y/N) could see he wanted to argue more. But the longer the conversation went, the more probable a shift was to happen. “I don't want to fight about this, okay? Can you just be happy that I'm ready to talk about things with Bella? That's what this was all about.”

“Fine,” he sighed, wrapping his arms tighter around her. “I am glad you're finally telling Bella how big of an ass Jacob is. And I hope your dad arrests him.”

“Right, because the best thing you can do is put a wolf in jail. That's one way to reveal the tribe's secret to the world.”

“So, what did you tell your dad?”

“Basically what really happened,” she said. “Except the whole vampire and werewolf of it all. He thinks Jake saw me fall in the forest and left me there. Not that a bloodthirsty vampire was hot on my trail. He also knows you saved me—wants to thank you for that.”

“I'll take what I can get,” he grinned. “The Swan boyfriends have not had good contenders until now.”

“We sure know how to pick them. It took literal universe intervention to get you here.”

Paul placed a hand under (Y/N)'s chin as she stretched her neck to kiss his lips, a smile pulling at the corners of their mouths. “It was bound to happen one way or another,” he said. “I would have found you anywhere.”

“Even down in Florida?” she teased with a chuckle.

“I would have saved you from Florida.”

“Good,” the girl said. “My hair would have never been able to take the tropical humidity.”

There were things they had to talk about, topics they were avoiding for the sake of maintaining the peace in their relationship. But keeping them at bay with mindless mutterings of possibilities would only work for so long. Someday, somehow, everything they were scared of saying out loud would erupt to the surface and crack the unsteady foundation they were creating. But, for the moment, it worked.

A/N: sorry I haven't posted in forever, life and migraine flare-ups really struck me down, but I am working on updates for all stories 😬 also, remember if you wanna be tagged to fill the 2025 form linked below If you’d like to be tagged: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

Taglist: @lepetitlu @galactict3a @eddiefrickenmunson@stvrrlighttt@gh0stgurl@g-l-1-t-c-h-3-r @nj01 @damnedangel98 @eneywey @estherr80 @sl-ut @jesperwolfly @cupidisdeadworld @ricekrisbris @hannie-kim2109 @awakwardnesshabitat @emberowl @kytthenluiza

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princessleprechaunnn · 2 days ago

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Memory 1

click the thing that says click for the series masterlist warning: ummm typical yellowjackets things, cussing, drug use, lezzing out hopefully a series as long as i stay locked in

You were walking back to the cabin, water in tow. As you set it down, you spot Natalie and Travis bickering. You try to walk past them, but your curiosity gets the best of you.

“What the fuck is the issue?” you say trying to sound annoyed, but the slight smirk on your face betrays you.

Natalie scoffed before looking at you “This bitch is too good to go hunting with me, wanna come instead?”

You took a second before shifting on your feet and replying, “Umm, sure.”

At that, Nat slung the rifle over her shoulder and started trekking deeper into the woods.

Somehow, she leads you back to the crash site. Nat abruptly stops, and you shift nervously before calling out her name softly.

“Nat, why are we here? I thought we were going hunting?”

She turns around, meeting your gaze, and walks into the plane's cabin. “Hold on..”

You wait patiently when you finally see Nat’s head pop out again, grinning at you. You furrow your brows, confused, until you look down at her hand. A crumpled bag, as well as her lighter. Her face seems to beckon you closer, and before you know it, you are sitting on the plane floor with Natalie.

She fidgets softly with the lighter until she gets it to light and takes a blunt from the bag. She brings it to the flame and lights it. You watch as she breathes in, and soon slowly exhales the hot puff of smoke. She looks at you for a moment, looking as if she were contemplating something.

“You smoke?” she asks, a quizzical expression on her face.

“I mean, I’ve tried a cigarette once or twice at a party. But I haven’t made it a habit?” She chuckles softly before sitting up and leaning in a bit closer.

“Just open your mouth, breathe in like it's a straw. Hold it in for a second, then slowly let it go. Ok, you try.”

You take the blunt in your hand, gazing at it momentarily. “It’s not gonna bite, either hit it or pass it back,” Nat says, her gaze softening slightly.

“Shit, ok.” You try to do what Nat says, but it feels like your lungs are about to explode. You blow out the smoke and start to cough aggressively, which makes Nat start laughing loudly.

“Oh my god, easy there. You’re too aggressive. It's not going anywhere, ease up.” You try it again, and follow Nat’s instructions. To both of your surprise, you softly exhale the smoke.

“Better, now gimme.”

It’s been almost an hour of you smoking and talking with Natalie, and your conversations were frequently interrupted by fits of giggles. As she rambles on about something, you interrupt her.

“We should have hung out more in school, you are honestly the most decent person on this team.”

Her gaze on you softens momentarily, but then her wall is right back up.

“Because you would wanna hang out with the school burnout, yeah, right.” She looks away from you, her eyes searching for anything to look at other than your face.

“I wouldn’t have minded, I don’t care about that shit too much. Plus, you are so fucking funny. And I could have kept you company whenever you skipped.” You said, looking at Nat softly.

She gazes at your lips, and you gaze at hers. “You really would have hung out with me?” she whispers

“Hell yeah,” you spurted out.

Your words caused a silence to fall over you both, until Nat spoke up.

“We should probably go back, also, I need to find us all dinner on the way back.” You both stood up and straightened out your clothes. You began the longer walk back to the cabin, Natalie scoring two rabbits on the way. As you walk back into the cabin, you look at Natalie one more time as she speaks with Shauna. She met your gaze for a moment and smiled softly at you. Her lopsided grin brought butterflies to your stomach.

Oh fuck…

notes: i caved to the demons (my impatience) ...also enjoy me trying to describe how to smoke a blunt despite having no knowledge on the subject!

#yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio #natalie yellowjackets #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellow jackets #yj #hell yeah #i locked in #sophie thatcher x reader

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velvetinks · 3 days ago

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The way things were

Tommy Miller x f!Reader

Warnings: Emotional tension, unspoken feelings, suggestive scenes, guilt, brief mention of infidelity, mild language

The moment you stepped into Jackson, you knew things wouldn’t be simple.

You hadn’t expected to find him here, Tommy Miller, the man you once loved with the fierce intensity only a broken world could foster. Your heart skipped when you saw him across the small town square, sitting outside the stables, his back to you as he fixed a fence.

It had been years since you last saw him. Since Texas. Since… before the world fell apart.

The chaos had pulled you apart, sent you both in different directions. But now, here, in Jackson, there was a chance—maybe the only one you’d ever get to see him again.

And when he turned to face you, your breath caught. Time hadn’t been kind to either of you, but his face was still etched with the same rugged handsomeness, though it was lined with age and hardship. His dark eyes searched you with a mixture of surprise and something deeper.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tommy said, his voice rougher than you remembered. “Never thought I’d see you again.”

“Guess we both got lucky,” you replied, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you stepped closer, the distance between you feeling too much.

You didn’t speak for a few moments, both of you standing there, letting the weight of the years catch up to you. The world was silent for a beat, the two of you suspended in a fragile moment of familiarity.

He cleared his throat, his hands shoving deep into his pockets. “Maria’s gonna be pissed, you know. She knows I got a past.”

You winced at the mention of Maria. The image of Tommy’s wife flashed through your mind, and the guilt knotted in your chest. But you weren’t here to cause trouble. You weren’t here to make it worse.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Tommy took a step closer. A slow, deliberate step.

“Don’t you wanna know why I’m still here? After all this time?” Tommy’s voice was low now, intense.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing as you fought the pull of his presence.

“Could’ve been anywhere, could’ve gone with Joel, hell, I even thought about it for a while,” he confessed. “But something kept me here. In Jackson.”

Your breath caught in your throat, feeling the intensity of his words press against your chest. It was almost like a challenge, an invitation to revisit something both of you had buried.

He was so close now, standing inches away. His body heat was a comfort, yet it set you on fire. The tension crackled between you two, the years of distance no longer there, replaced by something far more dangerous.

Tommy reached out, his hand brushing against your arm, sending a shock through you. It was a fleeting touch, but it felt like it meant everything. He gazed at you, eyes dark, searching.

“Maria’s good to me,” he murmured. “But… she’s not you.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than the oppressive heat of the day. You swallowed, your mouth dry as you felt the shift in the atmosphere. What were you supposed to say to that?

You didn’t say anything.

Instead, you leaned forward, your lips grazing his jaw. A soft, careful kiss. A test. A question.

Tommy’s breath hitched, and he pulled back, just slightly, to look at you. There was a flicker of confusion in his eyes, followed by an almost painful longing. “What the hell are we doing, (Y/N)?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “But I’m not asking you to leave her.”

He shook his head slowly, his gaze on you unwavering. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t be…”

His voice trailed off, and you both felt the impossible weight of what you were starting to do. And yet, it didn’t stop. Neither of you could stop it.

He leaned down then, and the kiss was hungry, fierce, an unraveling of years spent apart, years spent fighting the memory of each other. The kiss deepened, his hands pulling you closer, your body pressed to his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

But the guilt was there, gnawing at the edges of your mind. The memory of Maria, the thought of what this might cost you both.

You broke away, gasping for air. “Tommy… we can’t.”

He froze. “We can’t… but we are.”

And for a moment, all you could do was look at him. His expression was a mixture of regret and desire, a conflict he didn’t know how to resolve.

You stepped back slowly, trying to regain your composure, your heart beating wildly in your chest. “I’m not here to cause problems,” you said quietly. “I’m not here to mess things up.”

Tommy’s face softened. He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated with himself. “Neither am I. But damn it, (Y/N)…”

“Tommy,” you whispered, voice raw. “You’re married. I respect that. I always have.”

His eyes closed for a moment, like he was searching for the right words. But when he spoke again, there was a quiet acceptance in his tone. “I know. But that don’t change what’s between us. We were good together, weren’t we?”

The vulnerability in his voice shook you, and it nearly shattered the control you’d been clinging to. But you couldn’t—wouldn’t let this be a mistake.

“I can’t do this,” you said, stepping away and turning toward the road. “Not again. I can’t hurt anyone else, Tommy.”

He didn’t try to stop you as you walked away. You didn’t look back, but you knew. You knew the fire was still there, burning between you both. And maybe, in another world, you could have had more.

But this wasn’t that world.

#the last of us x reader #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us #tommy miller x reader #tommy tlou #tommy miller

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multiheadcanons · 15 hours ago

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ECHOMOCHA CALLED THIS ONE. HOW THE MERCS WOULD MURDER ME, PERSONALLY. DONT WORRY, I RESPAWN TOO!

scout: scout is more likely to kill me on accident than he is to purposefully kill me. granted, i probably pissed him off to get him to a point where he’s willing to put his hands on me, which is not something scout would normally do. scout will hit most people, but he’s not gonna hit someone he thinks is a girl. and once he got one hit in, depending on if i got up or not, may stress him out enough that he feels the need to finish the job. then he’ll apologize.

soldier: soldier could kill me on purpose or on accident and i doubt he’d care either way. really what i’m more likely to be with soldier is collateral damage. it’s more likely that i am minding my own business and soldier comes in on a rampage. i would get forcibly shoved into the corner of a wall, hit the axis of my skull and disconnect it from my body. soldier wouldn’t think anything about it until he comes by again in a state of calm and sees the body.

pyro: pyro wouldn’t realize what they were doing until it was too late. in pyro’s defense, they thought we were playing! it’s very easy to mistake a scream of terror for screams of joy. it’s a little more difficult to figure out whether or not me pushing is goading them further or if i’m trying to actually get them off of me. and they don’t realize how often they have that axe of theirs in their hands. they’d only get confused when the body stops moving. they’d wonder what happened.

demo: from here, the chances of actually surviving the ordeal is slim to none. i would be one of many of demo’s victims of his crimes of passion. we’d go on a date, i’d tell him i just am not interested (frankly i would ghost him. im terrible about that) and frankly, there is no being “done” with demo unless he’s done with you. so eventually he would just come find me. and if im not particularly interested in him being there and make an attempt to call the cops it’s a wrap. he wouldn’t try to kill me first. he’s just trying to get the phone from my hands. but the harder i fight, the more irritated he gets, and the harder he has to fight me back. he’d end up drowning me in the tub. and then he’d start removing my teeth and hands. i have no real records that are from me as an adult, so if he takes enough parts and gets his hands on my cards i will become unrecognizable and unidentifiable.

heavy: the only thing that makes heavy an easier foe on the defense is the fact that he’d have to catch me. demo can catch me much faster than heavy could. and i would see the man coming. granted, if/when he catches me it’s officially over. he’s not letting go and i can’t fight him off. he’s the immortal snail and i took the deal. heavy wouldn’t feel a need to put me through anything egregious. i am too small, and not worth the waste of supplies to stretch my death out any longer than he can do himself. but he is a man of honor. he would probably just break my neck. fast, easy for him, painful for me if he doesn’t totally sever the brain stem. he might let me bleed out internally if i try to act too tough. though, frankly, if heavy camped around a corner and clotheslined me when i built up the speed my head is going to be cleanly disconnected from my body. chances are he’d get me while im asleep. he would wake me up first, and i wouldn’t see anything past his big fuckin ham hands blocking my field of view.

engineer: the only thing that makes engineer an easier foe than heavy is the fact that the red engineer genuinely doesn’t have the time to dedicate to getting me eradicated from the planet. if dell doesn’t have a plan come our first meeting, i am generally in the clear. between the team and the job, all of his time is spoken for. that means dell has to either have it out for me before we’ve ever met or i made such an egregious social blunder upon first meeting that he decides i don’t deserve the oxygen i breathe. the latter is a very viable option. it would be clean, but it wouldn’t be an easy kill. if i piss him off he’ll shoot me, so it’s better to keep my trap shut. i’m going to die under his watch either way. because i won’t be able to make a run for it either. the sentries are trained on me, the teleporters are inactive. i’d have to make it on foot. and i have no way past dell, nor his machines to have a fair shot. i’m more likely to die in an escape attempt before he’s even able to do what he wants to me. then he’s gotta dump the body. i would become another missing cold case that would never be solved.

medic: i wouldn’t survive a single day with the support boys actively on my ass because i’m stupid and they’re hot. all medic would have to say is “free breast reduction? you want a free breast reduction? put the boob fat in jars of formaldehyde? shake them up a little? little diy boob fat lava lamp? throw in a leg lengthening surgery? i’m feeling nice today :) Get On The Table.” and jingle some keys in my face and i would say “haha, totally my german king i love you so much” and then he’d start scooping my shit out like a pumpkin. he’d keep me awake under the medigun for it because it’s funnier to empty the cavity while i talk. then he’ll say he’s done and shut the medigun off and i would die, immediately, because my body has been emptied of all vital systems needed to keep me alive. he might still put my boobs in a jar. but frankly, the doctor would have to care enough to get me on the table. i don’t have any medical records, so he would have to want to know what’s going on under the skin to even want this to occur. and at this point, he’s got more interesting things happening on that table. i’m a waste of time. i’d end up being a victim because he didn’t want to do paperwork. the doctor’s version of making the bed. a small task completed for a dopamine hit.

sniper: sniper would take me out within five minutes of deciding i have to die. sniper is the only one who would be acutely aware of the fact that i am an idiot, because sniper wouldn’t frighten me in a way that makes me think i need to be on guard. he and scout would be the only mercs that would not trigger a sense of paranoia in me. he would recognize that and it would be my downfall. i also don’t really make attempts to keep tabs on sniper. he’s a grown ass man, i don’t need to know where he is all the time. he’s a busy guy, he’s got things to do! and i would walk outside and get a clean bullet between the eyes. i wouldn’t see the laser. i rarely see the laser when im actually playing the game. do you know how many times a sniper will dominate me on the servers because i don’t learn the sightlines? if he missed, its a lucky break and not any form of knowledge on my end. i don’t consider myself prey in most cases. leaves me open for more aggressive predators who do. and if i’m the indoor/outdoor house cat, sniper is the panther. i’m a snack. light eats. killing me is volunteer work. target practice before battle, even.

spy: the second spy decides he’s sick of seeing my face i’m done for. it’s just about when he would want to do it. because i would genuinely have no clue about spy’s existence in mann co, his schedule nor his workload, it’s more likely i piss spy off by vibes alone. it’s even more likely he saw i was a furry or something in my internet browsing history and decides that’s enough reason for him. frankly i wouldn’t know that spy even knew i existed until he decides he’s ready for me to disappear. i could probably fight spy off once. and it wouldn’t even be because im a formidable opponent, he just assumed i wouldn’t fight it. which would piss him off. so unless i take the split second opportunity while he’s not giving it his all to completely disarm him, and kill him right then and there within the next split second of reaction time, of which is sisyphean in nature, he’s circling the block and emptying the clip before i’ve recovered from the first attempt on my life. and i’ll tell you right now, my reaction time is like half a second. which is still too slow when spy can pull a trigger or knock me off my guard faster than that.

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #tf2 pyro #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 engineer #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 demoman #tf2 demo #tf2

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