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dreamlanderin · 19 hours ago

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You don't see me, part 3 (Sam x reader)

Summary: Time apart. Follows on part 2

Warning: Blood. Demons. Angst if you squint

Words: 8k

Boys, I wish I could’ve explained this in person, but I knew you wouldn’t let me leave. I’m not walking away from you or the fight—I’m walking toward the person I promised I’d be when I first joined you. I need to find her again. Don’t look for me.

That’s what you’d left behind. Nothing for Sam, no apology, no explanation beyond those carefully chosen words. No indication of where you were headed or when, if ever, they might see you again. They’d been confused at first.

Dean came looking for you not long after Sam regained consciousness. His knocks on your door echoed down the empty hallway, sharp and impatient, but no answer came.

At first, Dean feared the worst. The memory of you clutching your side during the hunt came rushing back, sharper now with the realization that he hadn’t checked on you after they got Sam stabilized. He’d been too focused on his brother, on Ruby, on the chaos. The idea that you might’ve bled out alone in your room made his chest tighten painfully. “Damn it,” he muttered, his fist pounding against the door one last time before he shoved it open. The room was eerily pristine, the bed made, the surfaces cleared of the usual clutter. It was too perfect, and for a brief moment, Dean thought you’d been taken—dragged out of the motel while he’d been distracted.

His gaze swept the room in a panic, catching on the empty closet and the missing duffel bag that used to sit by the foot of your bed. That’s when he saw it. The note lay folded neatly on the nightstand, your name scrawled on the outside in your unmistakable handwriting. Dean crossed the room in two strides, snatching it up with shaky hands. He read it once, then again, the words sinking in like lead. You weren’t taken. You’d left.

For a long moment, Dean just stood there, staring at the note as his jaw clenched tighter and tighter. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. His grip on the paper tightened, crumpling the edges as a wave of anger surged through him. You were hurt. You were supposed to stay and recover. And what the hell did you mean, Don’t look for me? Did you really think he was the kind of guy who could just sit back and let you walk away?

Dean stormed back to thier room, the note clenched in his fist. When he reached the table, he slammed it down in front of Sam, who was still pale and sluggish, slouched in his chair.

“She’s gone,” Dean said bluntly, his voice tight. Sam blinked, his brows furrowing as he reached for the crumpled note. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Read it,” Dean snapped, pacing the room like a caged animal. Sam’s eyes scanned the letter quickly, his face darkening with each word. When he finished, he set the note down carefully, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Why?” he asked, his voice quiet but strained. Dean stopped pacing, turning to glare at his brother. “I don’t know, Sam. Maybe because she got tired of patching us up and watching you play tug-of-war with a damn demon?”

Sam flinched, guilt flashing across his face. “Dean—”

“She didn’t even say goodbye, Sam,” Dean said, his voice breaking for just a second before he covered it with a sharp exhale. “What the hell does that mean?”

Sam’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Dean let out a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his hair as he stared at the note again. “I don’t get it. She was one of us. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs.” Sam hesitated, then said quietly, “Maybe that’s why she left.”

Dean froze, his shoulders tense, but he didn’t argue. The words hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken truths pressing down like a weight neither of them wanted to carry.

Finally, Dean grabbed the note and stuffed it into his pocket, his expression hardening. “She said not to look for her,” he muttered, heading toward the kitchen. “But I’m not making any promises.”

Sam sat in silence, staring down at the table. The faint sound of Dean opening and slamming cabinets echoed in the distance, but his mind was elsewhere.

He thought about the way you’d looked at him in the motel room, the quiet pain in your eyes when you leaned in and told him, It’s me, Sam. He thought about the moments before that—your hands pressed to his chest, your voice trembling as you told him to hold on.

And now you were gone.

Sam closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Stupid,” he whispered, the weight of your absence settling over him like a shadow.

He’d been out of it last night—so much of it felt like a blur now. But one thing he remembered, clear as day, was the moment you got attacked by the Shadow Stalker. You’d screamed and before he even had time to think, he was already throwing himself between you and that thing. The impact had been brutal, the creature’s claws raking through his chest and shoulder as if he were nothing. He’d felt the burn of his body hitting the ground, the sharp ache of ribs threatening to give way. By the time he realized what had happened, he was already in the Impala.

His head was resting on your lap, the faint scent of blood and dirt mixing with the metallic tang in his mouth. Everything around him was hazy—the sound of Dean shouting, the rumble of the car engine, the warmth of your hands pressing against his wounds to stop the bleeding. You’d said something to him—your voice soft, steady, and full of worry. He couldn’t remember the exact words now, but he remembered the feeling of it.

He’d tried to reach out then, his hand brushing against the fabric of your jeans as he fought to lift it higher. He’d wanted to touch your hair, to brush away the blood he’d noticed streaked across it. But his strength had failed him, and before he could manage it, the darkness pulled him under again.

And now you were gone

The fever dreams had come and gone in waves. Something in the dark was always following him, its shadowy tendrils creeping closer no matter how fast he ran. There was a light ahead—distant, wavering, always just out of reach—and he chased it. He wasn’t sure why, but the instinct to reach it burned through him.

Then his eyes would open, and the real world would filter in, fragmented and confusing. Voices, sometimes low and steady like Dean’s, other times higher and softer. Was it you? He thought it was, but then the voice would shift, distort, and become someone else entirely. Ruby? No. It couldn’t be Ruby. Could it?

Heat pressed against his skin, making him sweat despite the cold ache in his body. Everything had hurt—sharp pangs in his chest, dull throbs in his head—but none of it mattered as much as the exhaustion. It weighed him down, pulling him back into the haze of his mind where the dreams waited.

Things blurred together there: distorted faces, shadowy monsters, fragments of hunts long since passed. It all swirled in a chaotic fog, except for one thing that stood out with perfect clarity. You.

You were there, in the midst of it all. You looked at him, said something he couldn’t quite hear, but the feeling in your voice reached him. It was grounding, pulling him toward you even as the darkness clawed at his edges. He’d opened his eyes again, and there you were, sitting by his side and he had mumbled something, he can't remember much of what he had said. Something about You and not regreting protecting you? He’d barely gotten the words out before the edges of reality blurred again. His mind flickered, pulling him back into the haze, but not before he noticed someone else in the room. Ruby. Why was she here? The thought barely registered before his head lolled to the side, his strength fading once more. Darkness crept in again, pulling him under before he could make sense of anything.

By the time he regained consciousness, the worst of it had passed. The fog in his mind had lifted just enough for him to make out the dimly lit room and the distinct shapes within it. Dean was slouched in the chair beside the bed, his arms crossed and his head tilted to one side, deep in sleep. Sam’s gaze shifted to the other figure in the room—Ruby, leaning casually against the wall with a lazy grin. “Finally awake, huh?” she said, her tone dripping with amusement. Sam frowned, the residual confusion making his head feel heavy.

Everything hurt—his chest, his shoulder, even his pride—but most of all, he felt a strange relief that everyone seemed to be okay. Dean was alive, and he could only assume you were too, though the room was conspicuously missing your presence. “How long?” His voice came out rough, barely more than a whisper. “A couple of hours,” Ruby replied, pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward him. “You were a mess. Guess I saved your ass again.”

Sam blinked, trying to sit up, but the sharp sting in his shoulder quickly convinced him otherwise. Ruby was at his side in an instant, her hand brushing against his arm to stop him. “Easy there, champ. Don’t go pulling those stitches.” He hesitated, glancing at her hand before looking away. Something felt off. Maybe it was the hazy memories of the hunt or the way her voice sounded too smooth, too deliberate. Or maybe it was the guilt gnawing at the edges of his mind, the feeling that he’d somehow let everyone down by getting hurt. “Where’s—” he started, but Ruby cut him off. “Not here,” she said, her tone sharp but casual.

It must have been the look on his face that made her continue.“Does it matter? They’re fine. You need to focus on getting better.” Sam frowned but didn’t push it. His throat felt dry, and the ache in his body made it hard to think straight. Ruby crouched beside him, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied him.

“You’re still weak,” she said after a moment, her voice softening into something almost sympathetic. “That thing did a number on you. And if you don’t bounce back soon, it’s gonna happen again.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sam muttered, his voice hoarse.

Ruby smirked, shaking her head. “You’re stubborn. I’ll give you that.” She straightened up, pulling a small blade from her pocket. The sight of it made Sam’s stomach churn, even before she dragged it across her palm, letting a thin line of blood well up against her skin. “You know what you need,” she said, holding her hand out toward him.

Sam stared at it, the sight of the dark, rich blood stirring a mix of instinct and revulsion. He knew she was right—her blood could heal him, give him the strength to recover faster than his body ever could on its own. He’d done it before, too many times to count. But this time… This time, something felt different.

“I don’t want it,” he said, his voice firmer than before. Ruby raised an eyebrow, her grin fading into something colder. “Don’t be stupid, Sam. You’re not gonna get better on your own.”

“I said no.” He pushed the words out through gritted teeth, his gaze meeting hers with a stubborn determination. Her expression darkened, the easy charm slipping away to reveal something more dangerous. “You’re seriously gonna let yourself waste away out of what—pride? Morality? Don’t forget who pulled you out of that mess.”

“I remember,” Sam said quietly, the weight of his words heavier than she might’ve expected. He thought of the hunt, of you running into danger without hesitation, of Dean working tirelessly to keep him alive. He himself didn't quite understand why he was turning a cure down, maybe that Shadow Stalker had infected his mind in a way that made him desperate to keep the dark out. And demon blood, was as dark as it could get.

“This isn’t the answer.”

Ruby’s jaw tightened, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You’re being reckless. You think you’re stronger than you are, but you’re not. Without me, you’d be dead. Without this”—she held her bleeding hand closer—“you’re useless.” Sam’s chest tightened, a flicker of doubt threatening to take hold, but he pushed it down. He shook his head, forcing himself to meet her gaze.

“I’m not in the mood for this.”

Ruby’s smirk faltered for a split second before settling into something sharper, colder. “Not in the mood?” she repeated, her tone laced with mockery. “This isn’t about your mood, Sam. This is about staying alive.”

But it wasn’t just about staying alive, and they both knew it. He could feel it now—that gnawing pull, the faint burn in his veins that left him restless and raw. He hated that part of him, the part that had grown dependent on her blood, that craved the rush of power it gave him.

It had started small, just enough to stay sharp, to keep fighting. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway. But over time, it had become something else. He couldn’t ignore the way his heart raced when she answered his calls, the way he’d catch himself checking his phone like some desperate junkie waiting for a fix. Ruby wasn’t just a partner. She was his dealer, and every time he gave in, it felt like she tightened the chain around his neck. “I’ll figure it out,” he said finally, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. “Just… not now.”

Her smirk returned, cruel and knowing. “You’re such a cliché, you know that?” she said, leaning down slightly, her dark eyes boring into his.

"Afraid Dean might see?"

He didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he looked away. She wasn’t wrong, and that only made him hate her more. Ruby huffed out a laugh, short and bitter. “Fine,” she said, straightening up. “You do you, Sam. But don’t expect me to keep cleaning up your messes when you’re too proud to ask for help.” She wiped the blood on a rag, her movements brisk and annoyed, before tossing the stained cloth onto the table. “You know where to find me when you change your mind,” she added, her voice softening into something almost seductive. Her boots echoed against the floor as she walked away, the door clicking shut behind her.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Sam stayed where he was, staring at the ceiling, his hands clenching into fists. The ache in his body was relentless, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the ache in his mind.

He hated himself for wanting it. For the small, traitorous part of him that considered calling her back.

Not this time, he thought bitterly. Not now. But the doubt lingered, clawing at the edges of his resolve.

It wasn’t just the craving—it was the shame that came with it. The knowledge that he’d let himself fall this far, that he’d traded pieces of himself for power he wasn’t even sure he wanted anymore. He hated what it said about him, about the choices he’d made.

That’s why he kept it to himself. Dean didn’t know. He couldn’t know. The thought of telling him, of seeing the disappointment and anger in his brother’s eyes, was unbearable. Dean always believed in fighting with what you had, not what you could take, and Sam knew this would cross a line Dean couldn’t forgive. And you? You would see right through him. You always had a way of peeling back the layers he tried to hide behind, exposing the things he wasn’t ready to admit—not even to himself. You’d dig and dig, your concern masquerading as stubborn determination, and it would only be a matter of time before you uncovered the truth. He couldn’t let that happen.

So he kept you at arm’s length. It wasn’t fair, and he knew it. But it was easier to push you away than to risk you looking at him the way he was afraid you might. Like you didn’t recognize him anymore.

Sam sighed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. The room was quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of the motel’s air conditioner. He hated how tangled everything had become—how every choice he made seemed to push him further away from the people who mattered most.

You’re gone because of me, he thought, the words heavy and bitter.

He leaned back against the chair, his gaze drifting to the empty space where you might’ve sat if things had been different. If he hadn’t been too much of a coward to tell you the truth. The truth was... no he couldn’t say it. Even now, with the ache in his body and the haze in his mind, that truth would remain his for now. Still, he felt asif if somehow he had become this terrible monstrous thing. He didn't deserve you or Dean.

Sam let out a shaky breath, his chest tightening with a mix of regret and resignation. He wanted to tell himself it was better this way, that you were safer without him dragging you into his mess. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t true. The truth was, he didn’t know how to fix this. Not the addiction, not the distance he’d created between himself and Dean, and definitely not that coldness you’d left behind. For now, all he could do was sit with the weight of it, the silence pressing down on him like a punishment he knew he deserved.

The sound of drawers slamming and the clatter of gear being thrown into a bag jolted Sam from his thoughts. He blinked, lifting his gaze to see Dean storming around the room, his jaw tight and his movements sharp with frustration. “What are you doing?” Sam asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. “What does it look like?” Dean snapped, tossing a handful of shotgun shells into his duffel. “I’m going after her.” Sam frowned, pushing himself up a little despite the protest in his shoulder. “Dean… she left a note. She doesn’t want us to go after her.” Dean froze for half a second before turning on his heel, his eyes blazing as he pointed a finger at Sam. “Don’t start with me. She’s hurt, she’s out there alone, and you think I’m just gonna sit here and twiddle my thumbs because of some damn note?”

“She’s not stupid,” Sam said quietly, his voice careful. “She knows how to handle herself.”

Dean scoffed, slamming his bag shut with a force that made the whole table shake. “Yeah? Well, she didn’t handle herself too great when she went toe-to-toe with that Shadow Stalker. Did you forget how banged up she was? I sure as hell didn’t.” Sam clenched his jaw, the memory of your bloodstained shirt flashing through his mind. He hadn’t forgotten. How could he?

“She’s trying to figure things out,” Sam said after a long pause. “She needs space.” Dean let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he shrugged on his jacket. “Space? That what we’re calling it now? Sam, she didn’t even say goodbye to you. She didn’t say goodbye to either of us.”

“That’s not the point,” Sam muttered, looking away.

“No, the point is she’s out there somewhere, bleeding and pissed off, and I’m not just gonna let her disappear without a fight. So why are you, huh?” Dean’s voice softened slightly, though the fire in his eyes remained. Sam didn't know how to answer him.

“We’re family, man. We don’t leave each other behind. That’s not how we do things.”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the chair. “What if you chasing her just makes it worse? She doesn’t want to be found, Dean. You saw the note.”

Dean paused, his hands tightening around the strap of his bag. For a moment, the anger in his expression faltered, replaced by something rawer—fear, maybe, or guilt. “Yeah, well… tough,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “She can hate me all she wants, but I’m not gonna sit here and do nothing. Not when she might need us.” Sam didn’t argue, but the doubt lingered in his mind. He didn’t want to admit it, but he wasn’t sure if Dean’s stubborn determination would bring you back—or drive you further away.

Dean grabbed his keys, his movements resolute as he headed for the door. “You staying here or coming with me?” Sam hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. His body ached, his mind was a mess, and the thought of going after you filled him with equal parts hope and dread. “I’ll stay,” he said finally, his voice low. “You’ll move faster without me.” Dean stopped at the door, glancing back at his brother with a look that was equal parts frustration and understanding. He didn’t push it, just nodded once before stepping out into the night. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Sam alone with the echo of his brother’s resolve—and the weight of his own inaction. He didn’t deserve to find you.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

You’d hitched a few rides over the past day, bouncing from one truck stop to another as you slowly made your way north. The drivers didn’t ask too many questions, and you didn’t offer much beyond polite thanks and vague mentions of family up the road. It kept things simple, and simple was exactly what you needed. After that you were on a bus, the long ride stretching out before you as the highway unraveled into the distance. The seat was stiff, the air stale with the faint scent of old upholstery and spilled coffee, but it was quiet. That was what mattered most—quiet and distance.

It had taken another day or two to reach Bobby’s. You’d mapped it out in your head, calculating the stops and connections with the kind of precision that came from years of tracking hunts. But this wasn’t a hunt. This was something different, something heavier, and the weight of it sat in your chest like a stone. Youd leaned your head against the bus window, the blur of fields and trees rushing past. The weight in your chest was familiar now—regret, guilt, and something else you couldn’t quite name. You’d left to find yourself, but the question remained: Could you even recognize her anymore?

Bobby would have a place for you—you were sure of that much. Or atleast that was your thought process on the bus. He always had room for strays, and you were no exception. But the thought of facing him, of explaining why you’d left, twisted your stomach into knots. Bobby wasn’t one to beat around the bush, and you knew he’d see right through you the moment you walked through his door. You sighed, closing your eyes as the bus rattled on. You didn’t have all the answers yet, and maybe you wouldn’t by the time you got there.

You started to feel silly about the whole thing—walking away like this, leaving behind a life you’d fought so hard to build. Maybe you should’ve stayed, if only to see if Sam was okay. The image of him lying on that bed, pale and broken, flashed through your mind, and for a moment, your resolve wavered.

But you dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came. Staying would’ve only made things worse—for him and for you. You’d spent enough time trying to patch up the cracks in everyone else’s lives while ignoring your own. This wasn’t about Sam, or Dean, or any of it. This was about finding yourself again, about keeping a promise you’d nearly forgotten you’d made. Still, as the bus rumbled down the highway, a small, stubborn part of you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made a mistake. If maybe, just maybe, you’d left something behind that you weren’t ready to let go of. And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy being back at Bobby’s.

The creak of the porch under your boots, the smell of motor oil and dust in the air, the piles of junk and old car parts scattered around—it should’ve felt like a refuge. But it didn’t. Not now. You leaned on the porch railing, staring out at the yard. Everything about this place screamed familiarity, but you couldn’t shake the weight pressing down on you. Being here brought everything bubbling up—the doubts, the guilt, the question of whether leaving had been the right thing to do. This was where you'd met the boys, and all just came flooding back to you.

When you’d shown up on Bobby’s doorstep, he’d just squinted at you like he could read the whole story written on your face. No lectures, no questions. Just a gruff, “Well, don’t just stand there like an idjit. Get your ass inside.” That was Bobby for you. You ended up, sat, in his kitchen, hands curled around a mug of coffee you hadn’t even taken a sip from. Bobby leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his eyes sharp and waiting. “You look like hell,” he finally said. You almost laughed at how matter-of-fact he was. “Thanks, Bobby. Nice to see you too.” He raised an eyebrow. “You want nice, you’re in the wrong house. What’s goin’ on?” You sighed, staring into the coffee like it held some kind of answer.

“I left.” His face didn’t change, not much. Maybe a flicker of something in his eyes. “You mean the boys?”

You nodded.

“You just up and walked out on ’em?”

“It’s... complicated,” you muttered, setting the coffee down. “Sam got hurt—real bad—and it just... it felt like everything was falling apart. There’s this distance now. Between all of us. Between me and him.”

“Sam, huh?” Bobby said, and there was something in the way he said it that made you feel like he already knew more than you’d told him. You rubbed the back of your neck, staring at the table. “I couldn’t stay, Bobby. I was... I don’t know. Waiting, I guess. Waiting for something to get better, for something to change. But it didn’t. And in the meantime, I was just... losing myself. Trying to fix everything, trying to keep up. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Bobby didn’t say anything for a minute, just tipped his head like he was weighing your words. Then he let out a deep sigh. “And now you’re here. Lookin’ for what, exactly? A pat on the back? Somebody to tell you it’s all fine and dandy?” You flinched a little but shook your head. “I’m just... I need space, Bobby. To figure out who I am outside of all this.” He nodded slowly, his face softening just a little. “Well, you got space here. Long as you need it. But listen to me—run all you want, you’ll still be you when you get where you’re goin’. That’s what you gotta reckon with. Not Sam, not Dean. You.” You nodded, swallowing hard. He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong. “Appreciate it,” you said quietly.

“Don’t mention it,” Bobby grumbled, straightening up and heading for the fridge. “You want somethin’ to eat, or you just plan on sittin’ there starin’ at that coffee all night?” It wasn’t easy being back at Bobby’s. But maybe that was exactly what you needed.

The days at Bobby’s passed slowly, a strange blend of familiarity and restlessness. You threw yourself into work—cleaning up the salvage yard, organizing his cluttered shelves, fixing up a few busted cars. Anything to keep your hands busy and your mind too occupied to wander.

But even as you distracted yourself, the silence pressed in, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. Every now and then, you’d catch yourself glancing at your phone, half-hoping, half-dreading to see Dean’s name or a text from Sam. You’d received a few over the past few days, but you ignored all of them. The calls went unanswered, and the texts were left on read. The only message you sent was a short, vague reply: I’m safe. Don’t worry. It wasn’t enough to stop Dean from trying. He never took “don’t worry” for an answer, and his persistence made it harder to stick to your resolve. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart clenched. Part of you wanted to pick up, to hear his voice and let him lecture you into coming back. But you couldn’t do that—not yet.

And Sam… well, you weren’t sure you could face him even if you tried. The memory of his pale, bloodied face haunted you, along with the weight of the words he’d mumbled before slipping into unconsciousness. You matter. You’d wanted to believe him, wanted to hold on to the warmth of that moment. But it had been fleeting, and when Ruby’s name slipped into the air between you, it shattered everything you thought you’d felt.

You dismissed the thoughts as quickly as they came. Staying wouldn’t have fixed anything. It would’ve only made things worse—for you and for them. You’d spent too much time trying to hold everyone together, trying to patch up cracks in people who didn’t even want your help. This wasn’t about Dean, or Sam, or Ruby. It was about you. And you’d promised yourself, long before you even met the Winchesters, that you wouldn’t lose yourself again.

Bobby didn’t say much at first, just watched you work with his usual scrutinizing gaze. He let you settle in, his silence almost comforting in its predictability. But that didn’t stop him from throwing in the occasional jab. “You gonna do somethin’ useful today, or you just plan to stand there lookin’ like a lost puppy?” he asked one afternoon, leaning against the doorway as you sorted through a pile of old hunting gear. You huffed, rolling your eyes as you held up a rusted blade.

“I’m cleaning up your mess, Bobby. I’d say that’s plenty useful.” He snorted, but there was a softness in his eyes that told you he wasn’t as gruff as he pretended to be. “You keep that attitude up, you’ll fit right in with the junkyard.” Later that evening, as you sat in the kitchen nursing a mug of coffee, Bobby finally cut to the chase. “So,” he started, settling across from you with his own mug. “How long you plannin’ on mopin’ around here?” You frowned, your fingers tightening around the handle.

“I’m not moping.”

“Sure, and I’m the King of England.” He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not foolin’ anyone, kid. Least of all me.”

You sighed, staring into the dark liquid in your cup. “I just needed some space, Bobby. That’s all.”

“Space is fine,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. “But space don’t fix what’s broken. You know that as well as I do.” Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything. When you finally looked up, his gaze was steady, unrelenting in a way that made you feel like a kid again. “I couldn’t stay,” you admitted quietly. “It felt like I was… drowning. Trying to keep everything together, trying to be everything for everyone. And Sam…” Bobby tilted his head slightly, waiting for you to finish. “There’s something going on with him,” you said, your voice faltering. “Something he’s not telling me—or Dean. I tried to figure it out, but every time I got close, he’d shut me out.”

Bobby didn’t respond right away, just tapped a finger against the side of his mug as he mulled over your words. Then, after a long pause, he said, “You’re not wrong about the boy.” You blinked, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

He let out a sigh, his gaze drifting to the window as if he were debating how much to say. “Dean called me a while back. Said Sam’s been… different. Edgy. More than usual.” Your stomach twisted. “Did he say why?” Bobby shook his head. “Not in so many words. But he mentioned Ruby’s name a couple times. Said Sam’s been spendin’ too much time with her.” The mention of Ruby sent a chill down your spine.

“He’s in love with her,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue.

Bobby’s eyes narrowed, his face hardening slightly. “Love’s a strong word. More like… she’s got her claws in him real deep. Sam’s a smart kid, but he’s also stubborn as hell. He thinks he’s doin’ what’s best, but I got a feelin’ he’s diggin’ himself a hole he can’t climb out of.” The knot in your chest tightened. You’d seen it too—the way Ruby hovered just close enough to keep him tethered, the way his shoulders relaxed when she was around. You hated her for it, hated the way she seemed to know exactly how to pull Sam’s strings. “He’s gonna get himself hurt,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. Bobby sighed, his gaze softening. “Maybe. But that ain’t your problem to fix.” You nodded, though the words didn’t settle as easily as they should’ve.

That night, as you sat on the porch with a blanket draped over your shoulders, you stared up at the stars and tried to make sense of everything. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint chirp of crickets and the distant rustle of wind through the trees. You thought of Sam, of the way his eyes had searched yours in that motel room. You thought of Dean, of his relentless determination to keep everyone together. And you thought of yourself, sitting here now, wondering if you’d done the right thing. The stars didn’t have any answers. Neither did you. But as the night stretched on, you realized that maybe Bobby was right. Maybe space wouldn’t fix what was broken.

You missed them.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

Dean’s knuckles tightened around the wheel of the Impala as the miles ticked by. The road stretched ahead in a blur of asphalt and scattered headlights, but his mind was somewhere else. The crumpled note sat in the passenger seat, the words burned into his brain no matter how hard he tried to shake them. Don’t look for me. Like hell he wouldn’t.

He’d started at the last place they’d been, retracing your steps like it was any other hunt. Truck stops, diners, gas stations—he grilled anyone who might’ve seen you, his tone sharp and clipped, his patience nonexistent. A few vague descriptions matched your appearance, but they all pointed in different directions. It was like you’d vanished into thin air, leaving only breadcrumbs that barely stuck together. He pulled into another gas station, the fluorescent lights humming faintly overhead as he parked the car. The clerk inside barely looked up from his magazine as Dean approached the counter.

“Seen her?” Dean asked, slapping a photo onto the counter. It was a candid shot, one Sam had taken months ago during a rare quiet moment between hunts. You were laughing at something Dean had said, your head tilted slightly, your hair catching the light. The clerk squinted at the photo, his chewing gum slowing as he considered it. “Maybe,” he drawled. “Couple days ago. Hitched a ride with a trucker headin’ north.” Dean’s jaw tightened. “You got anything more specific?” The guy shrugged.

“Didn’t catch where they were goin’. She looked like she was in a hurry, though.”

Dean muttered a curse under his breath, snatching the photo back as he turned toward the door. Every lead was colder than the last, and with each dead end, the knot in his chest tightened. You weren’t making this easy, but he hadn’t expected you to.

Back in the Impala, he rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion creeping in around the edges. He hated this—hated not knowing where you were, if you were okay, if you even wanted to be found. But none of that mattered. Not to him. Not when the thought of you out there alone, hurt and vulnerable, gnawed at him like a wound that wouldn’t heal. “Damn it,” he muttered, slamming his hand against the steering wheel.

A memory flashed, sharp and uninvited—your laugh filling the air during a rare quiet night on the road. You’d been teasing Sam about something, and the sound of it had made Dean smirk despite himself. Now, that laughter felt like a ghost, haunting the empty space you’d left behind.

With a heavy sigh, Dean started the car and pulled back onto the highway. He wasn’t giving up. Not yet.

Sam sat alone in the motel, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. Dean had been gone for two days now, chasing after you with the kind of determination Sam couldn’t bring himself to muster. His shoulder still ached from the hunt, the stitches pulling every time he moved, but that wasn’t what kept him up at night. It was you.

He stared at his phone, your single message still sitting there like a taunt. I’m safe. Don’t worry. Safe, sure. But the “don’t worry” part? That was impossible. Sam leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled slowly. The truth was, he wasn’t just worried about you. He was worried about himself—about the way Ruby’s presence lingered like a shadow in his mind, about the pull of her blood and the power it gave him. About the way he couldn’t seem to stop craving it, no matter how much he tried. You’d seen it, hadn’t you? Seen the cracks he’d been trying so hard to hide.

Maybe that’s why you’d left—not because of the hunt, not because of the fight, but because you couldn’t stand to watch him fall apart. His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. It wasn’t you. It was Ruby. Sam stared at the screen for a long moment, his chest tightening as the familiar rush of guilt and need washed over him. He didn’t answer. Not this time. But the doubt lingered, clawing at the edges of his resolve. And as the silence settled over the motel once more, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was too far gone to fix any of it.

Was he being pathetic? Yes. But he also had an idea of where you might have gone, and that at least gave him some comfort. It was better than thinking you were out there with no plan, no destination. That wasn’t like you. You always had a plan. Still, the idea of you being gone didn’t sit right. He thought, at some point, to go to you. That maybe if he apologized… or said something—anything—you’d come back.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to fix whatever it was that had pushed you to leave in the first place. He just didn’t know what to say. It was a lot emptier without you. The motel room was cramped and quiet, the kind of quiet that made the cheap wallpaper and sagging furniture feel like they were closing in. Dean had gone out for food—or maybe just to burn off his frustration somewhere else—and Sam was left alone, staring at the scattered papers on the table. It was their usual setup: lore books stacked high, scribbled notes, and a laptop balanced precariously on the edge of the bed. But it didn’t feel right. Not without you.

You always brought order to the chaos, sorting through the mess with a sharp eye and steady hands. Without you, it just felt like clutter. Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair. The motel’s AC unit rattled faintly in the background, doing little to cut through the stale air. His phone sat on the table in front of him, the screen dark, but he couldn’t stop glancing at it. He thought about calling you again, even though he knew you wouldn’t pick up. He thought about texting, about saying something that might make you reconsider. But every time his fingers hovered over the keyboard, the words felt wrong.

Too little, too late. Instead, he’d scroll through the texts you’d sent before—all the quick updates, the late-night jokes, the “be careful” warnings that were more about you worrying than the hunt itself. It felt like a lifetime ago now, like they belonged to a different version of himself. One who hadn’t let things spiral so far out of control.

The truth was, he didn’t know how to fill the void you’d left behind. Sam ran a hand through his hair, staring at the phone again. He’d sent you one last text the night before, short and to the point: We’re still here. Wherever you are, just… stay safe. You hadn’t replied. He tried to tell himself that it was fine, that you needed space, but the weight in his chest said otherwise. He wanted to believe you were okay, that you’d find what you were looking for, but doubt crept in every time he closed his eyes. What if you weren’t okay? What if you were out there, hurt or worse, and he wasn’t there to help

The door creaked open, and Dean walked in, his boots heavy on the floor. He had a bag of takeout in one hand and a six-pack in the other, but his face was set in that hard, determined way that made Sam’s stomach knot. He dropped the food on the table and slumped onto the bed, his shoulders tight and his jaw clenched. “Anything?” Dean asked, his voice clipped. Sam shook his head.

“Nothing.” Dean let out a sharp exhale, dragging a hand down his face. "She's headed north" he pauses “Figures. She’s probably with Bobby.”

“Maybe,” Sam muttered, though he didn’t sound convincing. Dean glared at him, his frustration barely contained.

“You think I’m wrong?”

“I don’t know, Dean. I don’t know anything right now.” The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Dean cracked open a beer and took a long swig, his eyes fixed on the floor. For a while, neither of them said anything. Then Dean broke the silence

“She’s out there, Sam!” Dean snapped, slamming his bear on the table. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“And what do you want me to do, Dean?” Sam shot back, his voice sharper than usual. “I can barely move without ripping my stitches open. You think I can chase after her in this state?”

“That’s a damn good excuse, all you've been doing is mope around” Dean snarled. “You let her walk away. You just let her leave, Sam!”

Sam flinched at the accusation, his jaw tightening as he pushed himself up. “She didn’t leave because of me,” he said quietly, though the words felt hollow even as he spoke them.

“Bullshit,” Dean hissed, his voice low and cutting. “She left because you pushed her away. Because you’ve been too wrapped up in whatever the hell is going on with you and Ruby to notice anything else!”

Sam’s eyes flared with anger, but he didn’t deny it. "You think I don’t feel guilty?” Sam shot back, his voice raw. “You think I don’t lie awake wondering what I could’ve done differently? I know I screwed up, Dean.” Dean’s glare softened, but only slightly. “Then fix it,” he said, his tone low and firm. “Before she’s too far gone.”

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

You use to like the porch, use to come here a lot when you were younger. One night, after hours spent organizing Bobby’s shelves just to keep your hands busy, you found yourself sitting on it with a bottle of whiskey. The sky above was inky black, pinpricked with stars, the kind of night that would have felt endless and peaceful under different circumstances. But the quiet only made the storm in your head louder.

You stared at the bottle, your fingers curling around it tightly. “What the hell am I doing?” you muttered under your breath.

The answer didn’t come.

Instead, the memories crept in. Sam’s pale face, broken and bleeding on the bed. Dean’s shouts, frantic and sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade. The weight of it all crushed you from the inside out, suffocating and relentless. Then there was Ruby, a name that hung in your mind like a noose, tightening with every passing second. And then this porch, it took you back to all those years ago, this was where you guys had met:

“We’re John’s boys,” Dean said simply, like you were supposed to know exactly what he was talking about.

“And?” You squinted at the pretty boy in a leather jacket, the sun high in the sky as you stood in the doorway. You were wearing something close to shorts and a flannel, a shotgun casually tucked under your arm.

“Look, sweetheart, we—”

“What my brother means,” the taller one interrupted smoothly, cutting Dean off before he could finish, “is that we’ve driven a long way, and we just want to talk to Bobby, if you don’t mind.” He smiled a polite, almost apologetic smile.

You glanced between them, your grip tightening on the shotgun as they lingered just outside the doorway.

“Names?”

“I’m Dean, and that’s Sammy—”

“Sam. Just Sam,” the taller one corrected, shooting a glance at his brother.

Your gaze shifted between them, taking in their clothes—well-worn boots, layers that were functional more than fashionable. You frowned. “You’re hunters?”

“The best,” Dean quipped, his tone dripping with self-assurance.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Aren’t you a little young?”

Dean’s smirk faltered for a second, replaced by a slight frown before he quickly composed himself. Beside him, Sam gave a small, polite smile.

“Thank you,” Sam said, his tone light, almost amused.

You tilted your head, considering them for a moment longer before stepping back slightly. “I’ll call him down,” you said, your voice firm. “But if you try anything, I’ll shoot you. Got me?”

“Loud and clear,” Sam replied calmly, his tone easy and steady.

Dean, however, looked a little annoyed, his jaw tightening as he glanced at his brother.

You stepped back inside, leaving the door open just enough to keep an eye on them as you turned to yell toward the stairs. “Bobby! You got visitors!”

That’s how you’d first met them. You’d been staying with Bobby for a while, helping out where you could, when they’d just showed up one day, and then again and again, until their appearances became less like interruptions and more like routine.

They had a way of pulling you in, those brothers. The kind of presence that made everything else seem smaller, quieter. Enough so that, one day, when they headed out, you’d gone with them. And you never came back.

That was a few years ago. A lot had changed since then.

You took a long swig from the bottle, the burn in your throat grounding you for a fleeting moment. But it didn’t stop the tears that welled up, hot and unrelenting.

“Shit,” you muttered, brushing them away roughly. You hated this—hated feeling weak, hated that you’d run, hated that even now, you couldn’t stop thinking about them.

The door creaked open behind you, and Bobby stepped out. His footsteps were heavy but unhurried, his presence as steady and solid as the creak of the porch under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the railing beside you. His sharp, knowing eyes seemed to cut through the dark.

For a long moment, the silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Then, finally, Bobby broke it. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with cryin’, you know.”

You huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t fix anything.”

“No,” Bobby agreed, his tone gruff but not unkind. “But sometimes it helps you figure out what’s worth fixin’.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with truth. You didn’t respond, just stared at the bottle in your hands. That was a day or two ago, but the memory of it still burned in your chest, raw and unshakable.

Today, you’d just finished up on one of the trucks while Bobby insisted on cooking, though it hadn’t done much to settle the noise in your head. You felt too embarrassed to meet Bobby’s eyes after that night on the porch, like your vulnerability had left a mark you couldn’t scrub away.

The house was quiet now, the faint sizzle of the scrapyard humming in the heat. You threw the towel over your shoulder and leaned against the hood of an old truck, letting out a deep breath.

The day had passed slowly, dragging on like it was trying to remind you of everything you weren’t ready to face. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Distance. Space. Time to figure out what the hell you were even doing.

And then you saw it.

Out of the corner of your eye, a figure shifted just beyond the tree line. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light—a shadow flickering in the heat. But the longer you stared, the more certain you became. Someone was there.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you wiped your hands on a rag and stepped away from the truck. “Bobby?” you called, your voice cutting through the stillness.

No response.

The figure moved closer, stepping into the clearing with a calm, deliberate stride. The sun glinted off dark hair, and as they drew nearer, your chest tightened. Sharp features came into focus, along with a confident smirk that sent a chill down your spine.

“Ruby?”

She stopped a few feet away, her gaze sweeping over you like she was sizing you up. Her smirk widened, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Long time no see.”

Your stomach twisted, and your grip tightened around the wrench in your hand. The cool steel felt like the only solid thing in a moment that threatened to unravel completely.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharp, almost shaking.

Ruby’s smile deepened, a dangerous edge to her expression. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in your little soul-searching trip.”

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

Dumm dummm daaa. (Please let me know if you guys are bored with this, because I know this one is not as fun as part 2)

Feedback is always welcome ;)

#fanfic #supernatural #x reader #x you #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #imagine #sam winchester

40 notes · View notes

moeitsu · 1 day ago

Note

for the ask game :)

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon. But could you give us more on your chubby Arthur HC? I need more of that! Like right now! (But no rush, I just love big boy Arthur as much as you do) 🙏❣️

Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh I would absolutely love to dive into more chubby!Arthur HC's. He is so dear to me.

I got carried away with this, and sorta poured my heart into it. It’s basically just a love letter to my favorite husky cowboy <3

WC: ~3k

TW: self-esteem issues, body dysmorphia, ED, alcoholism, some NSFW at the end so minors beware.

I also want to add, these are all just personal self-indulgent headcanons. So some might seem ooc. Take it up with the council if that bothers you :)

When I say chubby/fat Arthur I mean that with my full chest. I'm talking a big boy— a soft curved belly, thighs as big as tree trunks, and a smooth jawline.

I want to point out, muscle and fat are not mutually exclusive. He can be fat and incredibly strong.

Standing at 6'0", Arthur is already an imposing figure. His healthy weight in the game is around 210-220 lbs, but let’s add 30 more—making him a solid 250 lbs (give or take).

Even in the game, his healthy weight would still be considered a giant of a man for that time period. So keep that in mind.

Most of that weight? Pure muscle. Beneath his soft exterior are abs of steel, and those biceps could crush skulls and give the best hugs.

He is simply just a very husky man.

Deeply, deeply insecure as all hell about his weight though. Especially with you.

Especially in the bedroom.

Arthur knows he is strong and muscular, but he fixates on the “softness” of his body. Believing it makes him less capable and less desirable.

But more personally, it serves as a constant reminder of his failures and guilt.

The gang’s comments about his appetite and size don’t help. He pretends not to care, but every jab chips away at his confidence.

He’s often seen as the "muscle," a human shield, or an intimidating force, hearing terms like “big oaf” and “dumb brute” far too often.

Absolutely hates the way his presence fills a small room.

These insecurities run so deep that Arthur refuses to take his shirt off in front of others. Always making excuses to keep it on.

His body is marked by lots of stretch marks. They trace around his sides, under his belly, thighs and shoulders. He’s grateful that his body hair covers most of them.

Some are so deep they’ve become scars.

Hyper aware and very self-conscious of them. He thinks they’re a sign of weakness and being too “soft”.

Always avoids looking at himself in the mirror. He struggles with feeling undesirable as it is, and his body only adds to that torment.

Arthur has an unhealthy relationship with food and struggles with control. His eating habits are tied closely to his emotions.

He tends to overeat to cope with intense stress, loneliness and guilt. Food is used as a comfort in these moments—but he doesn’t enjoy it.

Trying to fill an emotional void rather than physical hunger.

At other times, food feels like a reminder of his lack of control. And he deprives himself of a meal or two. Using hunger as a punishment.

Alcohol has played a part in his weight too.

Often seeking its numbness to drown out the hunger and the noise of his own thoughts.

The heavy drinking dulls his appetite and gives him an excuse to skip meals.

Though he’s known to engage in binge cycles when things start to get really bad. Overindulging in both food and alcohol to the point where he’s physically sick and emotionally raw.

Moments like this tend to isolate him from the gang. He’s unwilling to face questions and judgement so he withdraws and wanders off.

Sometimes he feels more confident after having a drink or two, the alcohol dulling his self consciousness. He hates himself for needing it, and when the false confidence fades he feels exposed.

Okay goddamn those were really sad, moving on now!

Arthur worries that his size intimidates women. Some admire his strength, while others hurl insults, leaving him to quietly fear his body might never be truly loved.

He’s too big, too rough, too much.

Sweats a lot too, he can’t help it. He’s hyper aware of his odor when he hasn’t had the time for a proper wash. And feels immensely embarrassed when other people comment on it or make a face.

Spends a lot of time comparing himself to other men. Especially ones more “acceptable” in the eyes of a woman.

Because of his size and his looks he goes out of his way to be gentle and soft-spoken around women.

(^^^this especially is so so so canon to me. He is ALWAYS respectful and gentle with women)

Constantly aware of his own strength, and oftentimes has to reel himself in so he doesn’t unintentionally hurt somebody.

Arthur is

without a doubt

the sweetest gentle giant when you get to know him.

It will take time, but when he finds a woman who accepts his body, he can be a very loving partner.

He sees you as something he can protect and comfort and care for. Someone who needs him not for his size, but for his heart.

Feeling comfortable in his own skin around you is one of the greatest things you could ever give him.

Very touch starved (ill talk more on that later) and loves to give you the softest warmest hugs.

Regardless of his reputation, he has very tender hands. Whether he’s sketching you in delicate strokes, petting his horse’s neck, tracing his thumb over your cheek, or holding your baby.

The same hands that safely cradle you every night.

Despite his relationship with food, cooking and eating are still things he genuinely enjoys.

Love to hunt and cook over an open flame. Nothing better than the taste of woodsmoke in fresh meat.

He also loves to share his food. He will always make sure you have enough to eat, and even offer his own plate if you are still hungry.

It brings him great joy to be able to provide for you.

Let’s move on to some silly sweet and smutty ones shall we? ;)

The fastest way to this man’s heart is when you cook for him.

Especially baked goods. Bake him a sweet homemade apple-pie with a thick vanilla cream on top and he's getting you pregnant. going to marry you.

You could literally be an idiot sandwhich in the kitchen and he would still praise your cooking through the roof.

Why? Because he’s already head over heels in love with you for making the effort.

He also has a huge sweet tooth. Peppermint candies are his kryptonite.

Arthur’s laughter is a full-body experience. His chest trembles, his belly shakes, his voice booms. It’s impossible not to smile and laugh along with him. His eyes crinkle in the brightest way, making his joy contagious.

His real smile is rare, but when it comes it makes your heart flutter because he is so unguarded and in the moment you can glimpse the man beneath the hardened outlaw.

Man is the ultimate heater!!!

He makes the best personal blanket. His body runs hot, and he’s the fastest way to warm your freezing hands—though he might grumble when you tuck them under his shirt, directly onto his soft chest.

Your fingers feel like damn icicles. But he just adores the way you melt into him.

Loves when you ask him to warm you up. Like yes please, let this man just hold you in a big hug and rub your arms, your legs, your back. Everywhere.

Until there isn’t a trace of your body left that hasn’t felt his loving touch.

On this topic ^

Arthur loves physical affection with you. He is so so touch starved, and he craves it more than he'll ever admit.

With others he tends to flinch away or shrug off their touch. It’s not necessarily a distrust, but more of a defense.

Freezes up the first few times you do touch him. Always afraid of ruining the moment.

You have to be patient with Arthur, touch means trust. And physical affection becomes a deeply emotional act for him—things he rarely felt in his life.

Every hug, kiss, touch (and sex) is very sacred to him.

Smell gestures mean everything to him, especially in the camp. He is not a big fan of PDA, mostly due to his own insecurities. But he is not afraid to hold your hand, kiss your temple, or playfully flick your hat.

Protective gestures when you’re out in public.

Such as resting his large hand on your back as you walk. Positioning himself so he’s always close to you. Moving you behind him when strangers approach. Holding you tightly at night.

Completely melts under your touch.

Loves when you play with his hair, kiss his forehead, run your fingers through his beard, and oh god please please touch his belly.

Tracing slow circles on his chest and down the soft curve is a surefire way to get this man on!top!of!you!

The first time your fingertips trail down his stomach he’s caught off guard by how sensitive it feels. He might be soft, but your touch sets his skin on fire.

Something about it makes him nervous yet excited. The way your hands glide over him with such care and adoration makes his doubts disappear.

For the first time, Arthur feels comfortable being shirtless. It takes him awhile to work up the courage, your words and reassurance helps enormously.

But ultimately he just craves the feeling of your hands on his bare body.

It feel like a sanctuary.

Where a woman praises a man.

Because she loved him something holy.

He loves to be skin to skin. Didn’t realize how much he needed it until you offered it to him. He finds himself seeking it out whenever he can.

Adores the feeling of your bare chest against his. The way your nipples peak and harden when they brush over his chest hairs.

Your warm breath against his neck puts him at ease and helps him relax.

SMUTTT!!!

This man is easily aroused.

He’s often overwhelmed with desire, feeling like a lovesick teenager. (He just wants to be loved so goddamn bad)

Whether it’s watching the curve of your ass as you bend over, eyes lingering on your lips while you talk, or catching the scent of your hair as you lean in to kiss him, Arthur is hopelessly smitten.

There’s really nothing you can do that won’t stir this man's cock.

Just watching you ride a horse makes the blood flow.

Arthur is nervous and very insecure about his size when it comes to sex. It would take awhile for him to work up to it. But these doubts can be kissed away with gentle patience and praise.

Personally, I think the ‘first time’ with you would be very hard for him. He is not a sex god (yet) and he’s a nervous wreck when it comes to being intimate.

I wouldn’t blame him if struggled with losing an erection when his doubts and insecurities became too loud. He would be so embarrassed and apologize a million times.

If he’s had any alcohol it only makes things worse.

Compliment him, tell him how much you love his body. How his arms make you feel safe, how his chest feels like home against your cheek.

Remind him that you accept and love every inch of him.

He loves to be praised. Arthur needs to be praised. It is his weakness and it makes him feel cherished and confident.

The love language he wants to receive is words of affirmation 1000000%

But don’t let him fool you, for as much as he loves it he will always out praise you. In the bedroom, in the kitchen, on a job. It never ends. That deep soft spoken timbre of his voice never fails to make your knees weak.

This boy is putty in your hands. Mold him into whatever you need him to be, as long as he’s yours.

When he feels your lips trace down his chest and stomach he is gone. He is completely owned by you.

His breath quickens. Cock twitching helplessly, thick and dripping with arousal. Just aching to be inside.

Once Arthur gets you below him it’s suffocating in the best possible way. Your body is completely consumed by him, like nothing exists beyond the two of you.

It's like he’s trapped you in his world and every mewl, moan and whimper you make below him is for his ears alone. When he groans into your neck you feel it in your soul.

You thought he was a big man?

Wait till he’s rubbing his cock along your folds and prodding your entrance. Wait till he’s breathing sharply through his teeth as he pushes the thick swollen head inside. Letting out a long, low groan as he carves out a space for himself within your body.

It burns white hot as he pushes in. The pain mingling with a pleasure that was born from an aching need for connection and trust.

A kind of fullness that just feels so right.

Oh but he’s kissing you and praising you and stopping to make sure you’re okay. Arthur studies your face, for any sign of discomfort. But when you give him the ‘ok’, he loses himself in your embrace.

Eager to show you the same love and devotion you’ve so freely given him. Sex is divine. It’s a moment of surrender. He lets go and he lets himself just be.

He’s not an outlaw, a gunman, a survivor—he’s just a man. Deeply in love with a woman.

Arthur spent his whole life putting up walls to protect himself. Being intimate with you means tearing them down, letting his darkest parts be seen. Scars and all.

Sex with a big man can also be awkward if you let it. Arthur is large, he takes up a lot of space. Certain positions can be hard. And softer body parts tend to move more during the act.

And that’s okay! Because you love every moment of it.

Every time you moan, kiss his neck, tug on his hair, rake your nails down his back, tighten your walls, cry out his name—he’s reminded that he is worthy of love.

Arthur never rushes through sex (unless absolutely necessary) It’s a time for him to show his adoration, to dote on you. To bring you to the edge of euphoria again and again until nothing else matters.

Those ocean blue eyes will tell you everything. His love, his fear, his gratitude. Holding his gaze is not only a huge turn on but very emotional.

You can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, and simultaneously his lip curls. Learn to read his face and you’ll know exactly when he’s about to come.

Not only will you feel it, you’ll see it in the way he loses control.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs, and his length has a lot to show for it. Arthur knows this, and he’ll spend his time getting you ready for him with his tongue and fingers.

Let the man eat you out as!much!as!he!wants!

There is no such thing as taking turns. Sit on his face, ride his goddamn nose. Squeeze his head with those beautiful thighs. Let him get drunk off that pretty pussy. The man fucking needs it.

Arthur is also a natural giver, but we all know that.

Big fan of slow, rough sex. Watching his cock slide out of your tight pussy, leaving just the tip before snapping his hips back into you.

Intoxication with how it steals your breath away with each thrust. The creamy sounds of your arousal mingled with your shaky moans make him go absolutely feral.

He has to grip the head board just to keep himself from breaking your spine with his strength.

Favorite positions are the ones where he can watch your face contort with pleasure. Often missionary or cowgirl. Sometimes doggy if he can put you in front of a mirror and make you watch.

Arthur’s vocal in bed, but only when there is little chance of being heard. He’ll sing for you when you’re alone in the wild, or cozied up in a hotel, he throws caution to the wind when you finally have your own home.

He whimpers too, and he stopped fighting them once he realized how much your cunt tightened around his cock in response.

Hear me out, after things are established between you and you’re both comfortable in bed. Sex becomes a very fun activity as much as it is a vulnerable one.

I’m not saying y’all would tell jokes in the middle (I think Arthur would be very serious) but the act itself is just fun.

Arthur’s watching your face twist in pleasure as you ride him. Sapphire blue eyes gleaming in the firelight, full of lust and hunger and something more playful. He’s gripping your bottom, initially helping your pace but now you’ve taken complete control. Using his body for your own pleasure, setting your own rhythm. Getting off on his cock.

“Yeah, you like that, huh sweet girl?” He coo’s, smacking a hand against your ass and gripping the flesh as it pillows beneath his fingers. “Like ridin’ my cock huh?”

You can only nod, and whimper out a broken “y—yes” mind too focused on not losing that pressure that’s steadily building in your belly. Rising with every bounce of your hips. Threatening to spill over at any moment.

“Yeah?” He repeats. A wicked chuckle escapes his lips. His large hands run down your chest and over your thighs, before crossing an arm behind his head. One hand still kneading the soft flesh of your waist. A smug grin tugging at his lips as he watches his cock disappear inside you. “Well go on darlin’, have your fun with me.”

Every deep groan rumbles freely from his chest as he watches you panting above him. Eyes full of love and adoration, he can feel you getting close. Gripping him so deliciously. “Fuck—Keep going baby. Keep fucking my cock with that tight pussy. You gonna come for me?”

Those words open the floodgates, your vision going blank as pleasure and stars exploded behind your eyes. Crying out his name. You hear Arthur’s stained voice as he finishes in you with a needy groan. “Th-that’s it. That’s m-my good girl.”

Aftercare king!

Arthur will wait for your breathing to slow before disturbing the peace. Letting you rest your head on his chest as he strokes your hair. He can feel your heartbeat in his belly and the feeling grounds him more than anything.

Will get you food, water, wet cloth, whatever you need. He knows you’ll be sore and exhausted the next day. It’s also his way of saying thank you for trusting him with your body.

Sex with Arthur comes with a great deal of emotion and trust. It’s one of the only moments he truly lets his guard down and lets the vulnerability’s surface.

It’s deeply personal, and he craves that connection more than anything. It’s his sacred right, his holy devotion.

Arthur loves being close with you, and he just loves you.

Over time he begins to see himself differently. He’ll never seem himself through your eyes. But instead of looking in the mirror and seeing a large, ugly, and broken man. He’ll see one worthy of love.

Instead of looking at his body and feeling shame, he’ll look at his belly and remember the tingling feeling of your lips. The soft pads of your fingers as you traced his sides, sending shivers that reached the base of his spine.

When he sees those stretch marks he’ll be reminded of how easily he can carry you. How he can provide food and shelter for you. How you’ll never have to worry because he will always shield you from the storm.

With time, he begins to take care of himself more. Drinking less, eating more regularly, and finding solace in his lover when he feels like he is slipping again. Trusting her to let him be broken and held.

Falling in love with you teaches him that healing isn’t a linear path. But your loyalty, love and kindness guide him far better than when he had been on his own.

Arthur’s finally found a place where he belongs.

And it’s with you.

That’s it folks, as you can see I’m very passionate about this subject. Ahem, if anyone would like a part 2 I would be much obliged :)

I touched on some of these HC’s in my Arthur x oc fic, if anyone is interested. I didn’t have time to dedicate the entire work to his body and self esteem issues. So this was very enjoyable for me!

#chat when i tell you this man makes me so unwell #you better believe it #he’s so important to me #like i said before this was self indulgent but also personal #i hope you suffered like i did while writing this #womp womp it’s time to go cry over Arthur Morgan #some of these may or may not be based on a man in my life #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fandom #arthur morgan headcanons #chubby arthur morgan

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 1 day ago

Text

Tired and Torn | William Killick x fem!OC

summary: William Killick wakes up in a London hospital after a bombing raid where he is separated from his date, Vera Phillips. A pretty nurse offers to help him find her but after all their searching, he may not like what he finds and end up missing what he left behind.

He has one month before he goes back.

warnings: Graphic descriptions of war casualties and destruction, blood, and medical care, some misogynist undertones, drinking, getting drunk.

word count: 4615k

Desolation Row- Bob Dylan 🎶

I've Been Let Down- Mazzy Star 🎶

fyi- this will be another one of my famous (and bemoaned) multi-part series

One second she was in his arms, the next, she was dead. Blown up and scattered somewhere, was Vera Phillips. The underground nightclub was supposed to be safe, far from the reach of Nazi bombs and lingering blasts. They had been dancing. Vera had finally said yes to a date with the young, attractive Officer, William Killick. She’d been such a bitch to him, unnecessarily so. After days of pestering her with free drinks and compliments, she still had turned him down with cruel flirtation. When he would give up, she’d reel him in once again with lingering looks and playful teasing. She wanted him to love her, but had no intention of loving him back. But tonight, she’d said yes.

When the explosion happened, Killick was flung through the air and landed roughly on a bar table, but otherwise unharmed. The impact knocked him unconscious and when he came to, the place was dark except for the moonlight that shone through the massive rift in the ground above. He pushed the debris off his body and when he could stand, he searched through the rubble for Vera. Bodies and glass alike littered the ground, the crunching sounds beneath his feet made it hard to distinguish between them. Smoke rose around him and his ears were ringing. War had made him more alert, more adaptable, so he quickly pulled himself together enough to survey the damage. He didn’t see Vera anywhere, though he did see body parts mingled amongst the debris. He expected to find some part of her, somewhere, even to find her alive; but he found nothing. After helping a delirious woman to the street where survivors were congregating, he searched their faces for Vera. She was not among them.

He was crowded into an ambulance with four other people, each lying on a stretcher connected like bunk beds to the wall. He was the only one able to sit up and speak, but he had nothing to say. His mind kept replaying the images of destruction he’d seen. He felt a tremendous amount of anger at himself for not keeping Vera safe. What kind of officer was he if he couldn’t protect just one person? Vera should have been with him in that ambulance. How was it that their fates were so different when they were only inches apart? It could have been him…

Killick’s ears were still ringing when he was carried into the hospital. The dim gas lamps made it hard for him to see as doctors and nurses ran around him into different rooms. Black fabric covered the windows to deter enemy planes from spotting London from the sky. Obviously, they had still been able to see something from the ground or the underground bar would not have been targeted. Vera would not have been dead.

“Officer Killick? Can you hear me?” A woman’s voice coaxed him back to the present. He turned his heavy head, blinked, and managed to nod weakly.

“Yes,” his voice was strained, dampened by smoke and shock. The nurse who stared back at him set down her clipboard and rolled up her powder-blue sleeves. She didn’t smile, though her eyes crinkled as if she were. Maybe she would have smiled at the handsome officer if he hadn’t been there under those circumstances.

“I’m nurse Dark and I’m going to take a look at you, ok?” She asked him softly and pulled on two clean gloves. Her hair was pulled back into a cap, something a nun might wear, but Killick could still make out strands of her hair peeking out from beneath her cap. She was blonde - - not like Vera. When Killick nodded again, she applied her hand gently to his stomach.

“Tell me if there’s any pain.” The nurse moved her hands down his body, checking his face for reactions of pain as she went. He shook his head.

“No pain,” he grunted and looked up at the ceiling.

“Good, now let me check your head.” She carded her gloved fingers through his dark brown hair, checking for cuts and fragments of stray glass. She passed her finger down the side of his head and clucked her tongue when she reached his neck. “You have a pretty nasty cut hiding under your jaw.” She checked the other side and then moved away. Killick watched her wearily, his head now throbbing.

“You need stitches on your neck there but everything else seems fine. No broken bones or anything,” she added and crossed in front of the bed to a cart of medical supplies.

“Nothing else?” Killick muttered, dazed and angry. The nurse turned quickly, catching the tone in his voice.

“I don’t know what to say, sir. I wish there was something comforting I could tell you. God knows you get enough combat on the continent.” She bit her lip awkwardly and then went back to the cart. Eventually, the nurse went to his side again and wiped tenderly at his wound. Killick turned his head slightly to the opposite side, hoping she wouldn’t see his lip quiver.

“I was on a date,” Killick said quietly. He blinked away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “What kind of man am I to let her die?”

She withdrew her hand quickly, hovering the cotton pad over his skin.

“I couldn’t find her in the rubble…” he said more to himself than to her, “it was so dark. I couldn’t make anything out.” He clenched his jaw tightly as he felt himself start to cry. He was not the kind of man to cry. He heard the nurse move away from the bed and he looked over. The young woman closed the door to the small room and drew the privacy screen over the window. Once that was done, she returned to his side. Finally meeting his inquisitive look, she shrugged softly and shook her head.

“I thought you could use some privacy, sir. What you just went through, well… I think it's only right that you have a moment to be human, not just a man.” Her words were gentle and kind. His embarrassment wavered as she took up her work again.

“Thank you,” Killick finally responded and cleared his throat. His watery blue eyes darted to the side then returned to the wall.

The nurse took her time cleaning the wound before she stitched it up. The pads of her fingers danced across his skin, poking the tendons in his neck as she worked. She smelled like soap, clean things, and hot water. Killick found the smell oddly comforting and felt himself finally coming out of shock.

“What’s your name?” He asked, trying to keep his neck as still as possible.

“Nurse Dark.”

“I mean your first name, sister.”

She smiled and shook her head lightly, placing a metal instrument back on its tray.

“I’m not allowed to tell you that, sir. It's one of the most important rules of nursing we follow here, never share your Christian name with a patient.”

“You can’t be serious,” he snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Oh but I am, sir.”

“Will I ever know your full name or will you remain my anonymous caretaker?”

“Do you think it’s important to know my Christian name?”

“I think it's one of the most important aspects of who we are as individuals. We lose something to one another without our names.”

It was silent between them again as she considered his response. She watched the ridge of his neck move as he breathed slowly.

“Rebecca, sir. My name is Rebecca.” She whispered her name as if it were a secret, her voice running like a feather over the curve of Killick’s ear.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rebecca.” His voice was low and smooth, reminding her for some reason of a rich espresso. She paused momentarily, her tweezers frozen above the stitch until she remembered herself.

“Until the rescue team has sorted through the remains of the structure, we don’t know for sure that she isn’t alive. It’s possible she escaped and got lost in the aftermath. If you give me her name, I can look for her here.” The nurse offered in a small, distracted voice. She spoke with her tongue held slightly to the right which was how she concentrated. Killick swallowed before answering.

“Vera Phillips.”

“I’ll look once we’re done here, sir.” She assured him.

“Thank you,” he whispered and closed his eyes, willing that the nurse was right and in some miraculous stroke of luck, Vera had managed to get out alive.

“There will be some scarring but it’ll be somewhat hidden by your collar.” Rebecca drew a finger just beneath the stitches, checking her work. “The neck is hard to work with because it moves so much.” She threw away her gloves and wrote a few things down on her clipboard. Killick straightened up and ensured there were no tears on his face.

“You wouldn’t have a mirror would you?” He tried to smile as he asked. His hands were covered in dirt and ash, he could only assume what his face must look like. Rebecca smiled and retrieved a small compact mirror from her pocket.

“Bloody Hell,” Killick muttered when he saw his reflection. Soot and blood were streaked across his face, blood that he assumed wasn’t his own. He gave the mirror back and cleared his throat. “I thought I’d be used to seeing that by now… but it’s so different to see it here. The war feels so foreign to my life in London. It’s almost like I didn’t think blood existed anywhere else.”

“I can imagine,” the nurse nodded and submerged a cloth in the bowl of water by the cart. She squeezed out the excess water and sat on the edge of the officer’s bed. “I sometimes forget that war can touch us here too. It already has,” she met his eyes briefly and wiped the cloth across cheek, removing the grime.

Killick watched her face as she cleaned him. Her face was rounded with dimples in each cheek. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she blinked.

“When do you go back?”

“In a month,” he looked down at his uniform. Even his dark wool uniform seemed in-tact and undamaged beneath the blood. A few of his medals and bars had been dislodged and some were missing but it’s not like any of that mattered to him.

“Army?” She raised a neatly trimmed eyebrow and he smiled.

“Yes.”

“Thank you for your service, sir.” She smiled kindly as she finished cleaning his face and moved to his hands. Killick scoffed but said nothing in response. She worked quickly to clean between his long fingers and the curvatures of joints and bone. When his hands were fairly clean, Rebecca put the cloth back by the bowl and wiped her hands on her apron.

“Sit tight, I’m going to go check our patient list for your girl.” The nurse excused herself and disappeared into the hallway. Killick's eyes followed after her until he could no longer see her.

Killick felt his eyes starting to close as he waited for the nurse to return. To deal with the trauma of his evening, his body was trying to lull himself into sleep. He was tempted to give in and pretend nothing had happened. Sleep would make him forget for a while. But as he started to fall asleep, he heard the door open again. The nurse had come back, an apologetic expression on her beautiful features (wait, did he just describe her as ‘beautiful?’).

“They haven’t transported all of the survivors yet but they don’t have a Vera Phillips and there aren’t any patients with that name here. They’re still actively searching the rubble, so she may still show up. I also didn’t see her name on the list of confirmed dead. I know that isn’t much comfort but it means that anything is possible right now.”

Killick closed his eyes slowly and nodded. “Right, thank you.” His strong, British reserve took over as he swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the hospital until morning? While you weren’t seriously injured, I worry about you getting home in your state of shock.”

“I am perfectly capable,” Killick argued as he stood and fixed his uniform, “of getting home.” The nurse stayed by the door, her hands grasped around the doorknob.

“I’m not sure that I believe you,” she observed matter-of-factly and raised one eyebrow. Killick stopped in his tracks and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dark hair fell into his face and he swept it out of the way.

“I appreciate your care but I’d rather be in my own home right now.”

Killick walked a few more steps before losing his balance slightly and bracing himself on the wall behind the nurse. She looked up at him for a brief moment with surprise, their faces close enough to exchange secrets, before looking away and clearing her throat. She stepped aside and opened the door to the hallway.

“Excuse me,” Killick apologized, embarrassed too. He righted himself and ran his hand over his mouth. He stepped through the door and looked back at the nurse, standing in the doorway with her hand resting on the doorframe.

“Thank you, nurse Dark.” He met her eyes and nodded his head curtly. He looked her briefly up and down before he turned away.

“Take care, sir.” The nurse called after him as he walked away from her, down the dark hallway. He could feel her eyes resting on his back as he walked. He could have stayed… he should have stayed the night, he thought. But as soon as he was out of the hospital standing on the dark street, he realized his overwhelming fear for Vera’s life. Was she still out there?

Instead of going back to his lodging he returned to the place of the underground bar, hoping to help aid in their search for survivors. When he neared the site, he saw small torches moving in the pit below and the calls of men as they communicated with one another. Bodies covered with crude materials were lined up along the side of a neighboring building. He approached the bodies and started to remove the cover on one of them when someone stopped him. When the man saw Killick’s uniform he stepped back.

“Oh, sorry officer.”

“I’m looking for my girlfriend,” he heard himself lie, though it wasn’t much of a lie. He was looking for a girl who would have become his girlfriend eventually, if this hadn’t happened.

“Oh, well she wouldn’t be in this group. These were the musicians in the band and the singer. You should check the hospital.”

“I was just there,” he muttered and ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed again by the memories of the last few hours. He could still hear the music that was being played before the explosion, he knew where it had stopped too.

“Were you here,” the man pointed to the remains of the bar, “when it happened?”

Killick turned slowly to the man and blinked slowly. He felt intoxicated and distant, like he was playing a character in a scene.

“Yes, yes I was.”

“What’s your girlfriend’s name?” The man asked, looking at the Officer with concern.

Killick took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “Uh V-Vera Phillips. Vera Phillips. She must have gotten out. She’s around here somewhere.”

“I’ll keep an eye out. You should sit down, you don’t look well.”

“I told the nurse I would go home,” he whispered deliriously and stumbled away. The man called after him but he was too far gone.

“You’re back.”

A familiar voice spoke to him in the darkness. Officer Killick wearily opened his eyes and blinked, adjusting to the light. He was in a hospital room once again though this time, it was day. Sunlight still streamed in through the blacked out windows, an unwelcome guest after so much darkness. Killick tried to sit up but a hand directed him back down against the mattress. It squeaked.

“What…?” He groaned and looked around for the voice.

When his eyes focused, he saw the same nurse from before. She was sitting in a chair beside his bed, with a tired smile.

“You…” he whispered, remembering her face.

“Yes, and you, Officer Killick. You’re supposed to be at home. Do you remember how you got back here?” She asked quietly and offered him a small cup of water. Killick took it and drank slowly. When his throat was less dry, he shook his head.

“I remember walking home after I went back to the bar.”

“You tried to walk home but you collapsed and were taken back here.”

“I’m helpless. They should kick me out of the army,” Killick rubbed his eyes and drank the rest of his water.

“You’re not there quite yet but you do need to rest for a little while longer. You’ve been asleep since they brought you in.”

“Have you heard anything about Vera?” He sighed and set his cup on the table beside his bed.

“No, I’m sorry. If I hear anything, I promise that you will be the first to know,” she patted his hand on instinct before quickly withdrawing her hand and folding it on her lap, blushing. Killick looked from his hand to the nurse and nodded.

“Eh, thank you.”

“Are your ears ringing?” Rebecca changed the subject quickly. Killick paused to listen, a dull vibration sounded through his head. He massaged his temples and nodded.

“A little.”

“I’m afraid you just have to wait for that to go away on its own. Your stitches are fine though, I already checked them. You were lucky you didn’t rip them and bleed out.” She fixed her cap and stood. Killick watched her hips sway slightly as she walked. He was in a large room with a dozen other men. Nurses hurried between beds, following doctors with charts and medications. The nurse stood at the foot of his bed and pulled the cap from her head, annoyed.

“Damn cap keeps getting in my way. I don’t know why they dress us like sisters here.”

“Isn’t that what you are, sister?” Killick tried to laugh but it stopped short. The nurse nodded and rolled her eyes.

“They only call us that here. In America, they’d call me a nurse.”

“Do you have something against the term ‘sister?’” Killick raised his eyebrow tauntingly. The nurse’s hair fell in a short cut that cupped just below her jaw. He tried not to stare as she combed her fingers through it.

“Only that no convents would take me,” she smiled as she re-pinned her cap to her head, “I’m not very good at religion. Failed that subject in school.”

“Catholic?”

“Church of England,” she corrected him and her dimples deepened.

“That makes two of us. There aren’t many convents for the Church of England,” his eyes squinted playfully, the blue disappearing behind the curtains of his dark eyelashes.

“Probably for the best,” she shrugged, “less rejections.”

They laughed quietly until a second nurse stopped to ask her a question. Nurse Dark nodded, her face now serious. When the second nurse left, she turned to Killck and sighed through her nose.

“I get off in an hour but I’ve told the nurses about your situation. They’ll go to you if they hear anything about Vera Phillips.” She grasped her hands together and took a step away from the young Officer.

“Thank you…” he responded quietly as he watched her slowly move away. He tried to think of something to say to bring her back, to delay her further.

“I hope you find her, Officer Killick,” her lips drew together into a pretty bow. She looked down at her hands, trying to hide the feeling of falsity she felt in that statement. How horrible could she be to wish the exact opposite? She saw him nod through her eyelashes and turned on her heels to leave the ward. As she approached the doorway leading out of the men’s ward, she heard the man call after her.

“Sister!” The words left his mouth on an impulse. As soon as he heard himself call after her, he forgot what he’d wanted to say. Killick wasn’t the type to blush so he furrowed his eyebrows, feigning confidence. The nurse turned, looking around to see if anyone noticed the Officer’s outburst. Her heart skipped a beat to hear him call for her. Killick cleared his throat as she came closer and licked his lips nervously.

“Yes?” Rebecca picked at her nails behind her back.

“Perhaps… perhaps I could call your home once I’m discharged?”

Rebecca felt herself blush deeply and bit her lip, trying to hide the way the request made her feel. She knew that she shouldn’t be so excited about the prospect of seeing the man again, especially after he may have just lost a girl he’d been seeing. It felt like the beginning of a bad idea. And yet, she said yes.

She wrote down the number of her home phone and address on a slip of prescription paper and watched as Killick slipped it into his uniform’s breast pocket. He patted it and smiled with his cool, calm eyes that made the nurse’s knees weak.

“That’s the number of the flat I’m renting. If someone else answers, ask for me. Goodbye, Officer Killick,” she put her hands into her apron pockets and left the ward, smiling over her shoulder as attractively as she could.

When he was discharged the next day, he collected the few things that he had with him and made for the door to the ward. He was the only man in uniform around which made him feel isolated and different from the rest of the world. He clenched his jaw as he passed the wandering, frightful eyes of those around him. They admired him in his smart toffee-colored uniform and medals, pegging him for someone important. He wasn’t, really. But the way his dark hair fell across his eyebrows and his stern face framed the brightness of his eyes produced a collected sense of expectation… for what?

The lobby of the hospital opened out onto the busy street corner of London. Newspapers in nearby stands proclaimed the fatal bombing of a London nightclub. Twenty people dead or missing. He thought he should probably tell someone, call Vera’s family, her roommate, anyone. Vera was probably dead and no one knew but him. But the obvious problem was that Killick barely knew her, he didn’t even know where she lived. Large red omnibuses passed as he tried to think. He could check a phone book or call the police. He crossed the street quickly and entered a telephone booth. As he patted his pockets for change, his hand brushed the folded note in his breast pocket. The paper with her home number stenciled in pretty cursive still smelled like her skin, her perfume- subtle, savory. He pushed the thought away and waited for the operator to pick up.

The operator gave him the last known address for Vera Phillips, a small studio apartment somewhere downtown. He followed the street signs as he’d followed orders in the army, blindly. He’d been in London before so he knew roughly where he was going but his brain still felt fuzzy and cold as if he’d been frozen and hadn’t yet thawed. When he stepped up to the drab, two story apartment he removed his hat and exhaled heavily through his house. He had no idea if Vera was living with anyone, if she had a landlady, etc. He half-expected to receive no reply as he knocked on the door and rang the bell once. But he heard the sound of heels hurrying over carpet and words exchanged under breath.

The door swung open. Vera.

“William? What are you doing here? How did you get my address?” Vera was smoking a cigarette and fixing her hair at the same time. She sounded distracted. Killick stared back at her, his lips falling open in bewilderment.

“You’re alive?” He whispered, his throat suddenly tight and awkward. Vera looked back at him, focusing now.

“Yes,” she answered simply with a nod.

“Vera… I looked everywhere for you after the bomb fell. I thought you were dead.”

“Well I-I’m not,” she chuckled awkwardly and went back to fixing her hair for what would be her hairdo for her night performance. Killick clenched his jaw and his eyes narrowed.

“Obviously.”

She looked at him for a moment, processing his pointed tone and sighed. “Killick, you really shouldn’t bother. I appreciate your worry and concern, really I do, but we hardly know each other.”

“A bomb fell on us,” he responded shortly, obviously.

“And we survived.”

“I nearly didn’t because I went back to look for you,” he snapped, his anger rising.

“Oh…” she started and looked away awkwardly. Killick watched her and noticed for the first time how mean she really was, how horribly plain.

“Well seeing as you are alive,” he nodded once and stepped down off the doorstep, “goodbye Vera.”

Vera looked after him as he turned and put his officer’s cap back on.

“Killick…” she started before taking a drag. He turned, waiting to hear what she had to say but when she offered nothing else, he shook his head and scoffed.

“I kept looking for you. I was in Hospital twice and kept looking for you because I knew I’d want the same if you were in my position. But you wouldn’t have. You would’ve left me.”

Vera stared back, her glassy eyes wide and ashamed. She still said nothing so Killick left, anger struggling against every other emotion in his body. He crossed the street and kept walking until he found a pub with enough people inside that he could beg anonymity. All he could do was drink. The publican gave him two free pints and space enough to brood by himself at the corner of the bar. He was still in his uniform and stuck out like a sore thumb but his expression deterred even the most desperate young lady. He played with his knuckles against the bar counter, a cigarette resting between his fingers. The pale skin reflected the light shining in from the window behind him. He scowled down at his glass and pinched the bridge of his nose, easing the tension between his eyes. After another two pints he looked over his shoulder to watch the blue-collar men still left in London walk home to their wives after the workday.

“Damn it all,” he muttered, slurring only slightly, and reached into his breast pocket for the note still sitting there. He took it out and rolled it open between his forefinger and his thumb, thinking. He wet his lips, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly. Killick leaned back in his seat and smoked slowly.

Rebecca… Rebecca… Rebecca.

The name echoed back to him like a whisper from a buried memory. He wasn’t a good man for doing what he was about to do. But was he really sober enough to be held accountable for his bad decisions? The nurse… God the nurse. She wouldn’t judge him, maybe she’d even fuck him. He nodded drunkenly to himself and paid for all four drinks when he was required to only pay for two. That made him feel better about himself, poor guy.

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clarisse0o · 1 day ago

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The Mayor - Chapter 10

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1000

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Sunday, 5 PM.

The sun had come back. Alessia had organized a barbecue with guests, including Alexia and her partner. It was an afternoon just the way I liked it—good vibes, friends, music, and rosé wine. Alessia was now playing guitar with Alexia, and we were all singing anything and everything around them.

My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. I stood up and stepped away from the group for some quiet.

"Hello?"

"Ona?"

I couldn’t place the voice.

"Yes, who’s this?"

"Well, you’ve forgotten me quickly! Lucy!"

Lucy…

"Ah! Completely forgotten, indeed! But who are you, Lucy?" I replied teasingly.

She laughed.

"Where are you, Ona?"

A strange question.

"Uh… at a barbecue!"

"In what area?"

What did she want from me?

"In the Minimes neighborhood!"

"Not far from my house! Do you have the keys on you?"

Less than 10 minutes away, indeed.

"Yes, in my car..."

She continued, her voice eager.

"Alright, Ona. I need a huge favor. I’m at the house, right in front. I don’t have the keys; I’m sure I left them in Brittany. I absolutely need to get in, I need to check something. Can you come? It won’t be long."

The pain in the neck. Calling me on a Sunday, questioning me, and demanding I come. She should have come herself!

"Don’t you want to come and...?"

She cut me off.

"I need you on-site! Not for long, Ona! I’m waiting for you!"

She hung up.

She was insufferable, thinking she could do whatever she wanted. I was furious inside. Who did she think she was? Don’t go. But my curiosity overtook my frustration. This conversation, her enthusiasm, had intrigued me.

I went back to my friends.

"Alright, guys, the Dragon just called me. She’s at the house, stuck because she doesn’t have the keys. She asked, or rather, demanded I make the round trip. I’ll be back as soon as I can!"

"For who does she think she is?" Alessia said, giving me a dark look. "Don’t go! You’re not her servant! Enough."

She wasn’t wrong.

"I’ll do the round trip, I promise! She’s impossible, I know! I’ll be quick! Ciao!"

I decided to take Alessia’s bike. I’d had a drink, so it was safer. 25 minutes later, I found myself facing Lucy. She was stunning, wearing a coral dress, her skin bronzed from her week in Brittany. My eyes moved from her perfect neckline to her blue eyes. I wanted her so badly, I wanted to touch her, kiss those lips that were pulling me in. But I couldn’t stand her, once again, making me come out on a Sunday just because she felt like it.

She greeted me with a big smile.

"Ona! Thanks for coming. You’re on a bike?"

"Yes, I just came from a barbecue, safer that way!"

She smiled and continued.

"How forgetful I am, I left my keys in Brittany! Come in, you’ll help me, it won’t take long! I found this beautiful coffee table… Isn’t it gorgeous?! I just got back, I needed to check everything with the rugs!"

I couldn’t believe it… She had made me come on a Sunday to test a coffee table. She was mocking me!

Seeing my stunned expression, she added:

"I couldn’t wait!"

What gall. She made me come for this, the selfish woman. I’d placed orders for coffee tables that I’d probably have to cancel soon. Without saying anything, she grabbed my arm.

"Let’s go!"

Her hand on my skin... Calm down, Ona, the alcohol is making you more sensitive. Self-control. This woman is a pain.

We carried the coffee table, which was indeed beautiful, to the living room. We unrolled the first rug, the ochre one, and tried to arrange it in various ways with the coffee table on top. Then came the Persian rug.

I didn’t speak much. My irritation contrasted with her enthusiasm. She made big gestures, smiling. That smile… The rug was heavy, and she couldn’t decide where she wanted it. We kept moving it around. The heat was unbearable, I was exhausted, and sweating.

"Tell me, Lucy, just to clear something up?"

She looked up.

"You’re really the mayor of this city?"

She nodded, surprised.

"A city of 200,000 people. You must make many decisions, take a stand. So I have a question: HOW CAN YOU SPEND SO MUCH TIME DECIDING WHERE TO PUT A DAMN RUG?!"

She enjoyed my apparent bad mood and my tone, half-humorous, half-serious.

"Remember, satisfying my most extravagant demands, Ona."

She fixed me with her gaze. That look… I was burning up, more than ever. I wanted her skin against mine. A physical need.

In yet another move, I tripped on the rug. Literally. I fell forward onto the Persian rug.

I looked at her. A smile on her face, she was mocking me. I pouted. She came closer, offering her hand to help me up.

I was irritated by this mess. I was hot. The alcohol coursing through my veins was loosening me up. I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward me so forcefully that she fell onto the rug beside me.

Stop, Ona, I thought, you’re going too far.

But it was too late.

Lucy on her back, I stared at her and moved closer to her face. Her eyes didn’t leave mine. Her gaze was a mix of surprise, concern, and desire. Yes, desire—I could see it.

I was only a few centimeters from her lips. She was now so vulnerable.

#woso #lucy bronze #woso community #ona batlle #ona batlle x lucy bronze #sefutbol fem #lionesses #woso soccer #barca femeni

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markhoffmans-leftboob · 1 year ago

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You think Mark Hoffman's Boobs jiggle when he walks (the answers yes)

#mark hoffman #saw posting #sawtism #i love him #those look heavy let me carry them for you #costas mandylor

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sharkrocket · 2 years ago

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I love the way you draw Artemy's tits 😳

ASDFGHJKLASDFGHJKL ofc ofc, anything to spread the Artiddy agenda, this man has a body that was made to be shirtless

#Ever so helpful that doctor #Daniil Those Look Heavy Let Me Carry Them For You Dankovsky

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pseudowho · 8 months ago

Text

Bedlocked

On a University city trip, someone's got to share a hotel room with Nanami Kento, the class's misunderstood loner...and it's going to be you.

Warnings: College AU! Nanami Kento x Reader, double loss of virginity, "just one bed", heavy make-out, PIV creampie, dry humping, fingering, handjob, both reader and Nanami aged 19

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Nanami Kento wore the awkward bearing of a young man who was surprised by the man he was growing to be. Being uniquely in possession of those excellent traits which were overlooked by girls, but adored by women, he had outgrown himself, from personality to hair, and was unsure how to wear it. Not yet having grown the confidence to lean into his character, and own it, he had been written off by the girls in your class as sullen, boring, miserable-- a downer.

All the girls, that is, except for you. And this was how you found yourself to be sharing a hotel room with Kento, on your thesis research trip to Kyoto.

"--made a mistake with the bookings, we're several rooms short--"

'--well we can share a bed, that's fine, but I'm not sharing with him--"

"--I dunno...I don't think he'd try anything, I just...want to have fun, that's all, and he's a bit..."

You scoffed, pinching the bridge of your nose as the other young women spoke amongst themselves. Kento had not arrived, and yet, was the talk of the group. As the only young man in the class, he had maintained a respectful, professional distance from the young women in it. It had earned him what you thought was a rather undeserved reputation.

Where the others saw uptight, you saw diligence. Where they saw boring, you saw reserved. Where others saw sarcastic, you saw hilarious. Where they saw grumpy, you saw rage against the machine.

In truth, you had long-since harboured an obsession with Kento. His hushed intensity was magnetic, and carried a mass you longed to draw you in. While others saw you as opposites, you saw yourself and Kento as each others' perfect foil. Matching puzzle pieces. Each others' missing ingredient.

And, god, you ached for him, alone at night with your hand drifting downwards. And you would not let him be treated like a leper.

"For goodness' sake, I'll share with Kento." You piped up, seeing the other girls all look round at you. Their eyes drifted, widening in surprise at something behind you, and you did not hear the hotel lobby door swing open and closed outside of your view. "In fact, I'd be delighted to share with him. I'm sure he'll be just as funny and respectful as he always is."

"You think I'm funny."

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the question framed as a statement, and spun round to face Kento...but not as you knew him. You stuttered.

"Oh, wow, Kento...your hair..."

Gone was the sloppy, loping fringe. Instead, Kento's honey-blond hair was neatly parted, undercut, framing his face. All of a sudden, he was so...handsome. Kento glowered down at you, impassive and unreadable. He gave one baleful hum at your assessment of him.

"I assume something happened with the room bookings, then. For you to wind up stuck with me." Before you could answer, Kento pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning back to the doorway with one enormous hand grasping his suitcase handle. "You shouldn't have to make a decision to your detriment. It's not your fault. I'll find somewhere else to sta--"

Kento was interrupted, by your hand clasping over his on his suitcase handle. A grunt of surprise left his lips, at the feel of your dainty hand on his. He looked down at them, his expression always somewhere between anger and irritation. You knew better.

"Stay with me. We...get along well. We always have." Kento scowled, his eyes flickering behind you to the other girls, who, while surprised by how a simple haircut could alter Kento so, were sticking to their guns.

"I don't need your pity." Kento sniped, his voice low and earthy, "I'm perfectly happy to le--"

"And I'm perfectly happy to share. Stop being so headstrong and listen to me."

Kento bristled, looking torn between argument and agreement. As the others collected their keys, filing off to their respective rooms, you awaited his decision. With a huff, Kento fetched your room key, and headed off down the corridor. You fizzed with excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him, but suppressed it, following him with an air of assumed solemnity.

The airs and graces were soon dropped, when the door to your room swung shut behind you and Kento, and you found it to have--

"...just one bed. Shit." Kento's face twisted in discomfort, his Adams apple bobbing deliciously as he swallowed. His eyes trailed down to you, and caught your blush as if it were contagious. He turned to grasp the door handle again, stuttering, so unlike himself.

"Couldn't possibly-- absolutely not appropriate-- my mistake entirely-- find somewhere else--"

"Will you? Find somewhere else, I mean?" Kento faltered, his grip on the door handle loosening. He looked at you with something akin to dread. "On cherry blossom week? In historic Kyoto?" By the time you were finished talking, Kento had deflated like a sad balloon animal.

Night had long since fallen. You heard the laughter, baths and showers running, from the girls in the adjacent rooms. Your confidence was a total mask, as you opened your suitcase, rummaging inside for pyjamas. Your heart pounded in your chest, made all the worse by Kento's silent, tortured appraisal of you. You realised, with a jolt, that you had brought nothing but an oversized t-shirt and underwear to wear to bed.

Beneath his eyes, you were transparent. He felt the tension roll off you in waves. Kento cleared his throat, his ears red, a youthful flush across his nose.

"I'll-- I'll go shower." He offered, considering trying to drown himself. He heard you hum, speaking absentmindedly.

"Go on. Smelly boy." You had barely registered what you said, hearing something like a laugh from Kento as he swung the bathroom door closed behind him. You threw yourself face down on the bed, muffling your cries of anguish into a pillow. Kento leaned against the shower wall as water tumbled down his back, trying not to think with his cock, and failing miserably, cursing his body for its feral stupidity.

You remained face down on the bed. Trying to think unsexy thoughts was murder. You had always wondered how Kento looked, long and tight beneath old band t-shirts. You'd had the briefest glimpse of his abs and happy trail once, when he reached above you to switch the projector on in class. How you had restrained yourself from leaning in and licking the soft skin of his navel was beyond you. The thought of the noise he would have made, alone, had kept you going for weeks. The way you caught him looking at you in class the next day, took you the rest of the way.

"Shower's free." You sat bolt upright, your brain short-circuiting to see Kento stood at the bathroom door in nothing but pyjama trousers, steam billowing out across broad shoulders and swept back hair. You forced your mask back into place.

"Thought you'd died in there." You offered, not as casual as you sounded. You fumbled your shower bag and pyjamas out of your bag, and made your way to the bathroom. You and Kento danced awkwardly, trying to skirt round each other. With a grunt of irritation, Kento grasped your upper arms, moving you effortlessly around him into the bathroom. His touch was scalding. You wouldn't possibly make it through the weekend.

By the time you headed out of the shower, tugging at your t-shirt to make it cover more of your thighs, you blushed to your toes to see Kento sat up in bed, bare chested and reading. He read the same sentence over, and over, and over, trying with broken determination not to track his eyes up your legs, and imagine how you tasted between them. Feeling you hurriedly slip into bed beside him made his cock jump, and he reached out with a fumbling hand, switching off the light without warning.

Only the faint bathroom light illuminated the room. You both lay, backs to each other, on opposite sides of the bed. The silence grew oppressively heavy. You felt lightheaded, barely breathing, hyperaware of every noise and movement your bodies made. You were paralysed by thoughts of his honey-rich voice, his lightly freckled shoulders itching to be touched, how it would feel to be trapped beneath him while he fell apart above you.

"I'm sorry." You blinked, hearing Kento's apologetic rumble.

"...what are you sorry for?"

"This...this situation. I know I'm no fun to be around. And I've made my peace with that. But you--"

"You are fun. Very fun. I'm...not going to punish you for being an introvert."

Kento was quiet on his side of the bed, but no more relaxed. You had gathered the guts to reach one hand across the sheets to him, before he threw the covers aside, and moved to sit up.

"You need your own space. I'll sleep on the sofa." The 'sofa' sat at the end of the bed, barely more than a loveseat, and you snatched a hand out, grabbing Kento round the bicep. You almost shivered at the hard cords of muscle there, thicker than your hand by far, barely grasping on as Kento tensed.

"No. You're taller than me. I'll sleep on the sofa--"

"--absolutely not--"

"--stop being such a fucking gentleman and let me--"

"--I'm not a gentleman, it's just basic manners--"

"--listen, I feel fine, just come and share--"

"--offer some mad girl a bed and suddenly you're a gentleman--"

"Kento, please just come to bed with me."

Kento's brain stuttered, now. He rolled to face you, his whole body on fire, trying to sound calm. He was an open book, to you. You felt every nerve ending of your skin put to the flame.

"...come to bed...with you?" You moved to roll away and cover your face with your hands, indescribably mortified. Kento couldn't allow it-- not when he'd daydreamed about this for so long. He grasped your hands, rolling you back over to face him. He looked awkward, not used to his own strength, as you flipped back over with a squeak, and a weak apology from Kento. You had never noticed the beautiful whiskey depths of his eyes, before.

You were lost for words. The tables had turned so suddenly, you had no idea on which side you sat. Kento scoffed, a faint blush on his high cheekbones, scowling into a corner of the room. The silence thickened again. Kento huffed a laugh.

"Go to sleep. I'll...I'll just play some games for a while." He did not want to. He wanted to flip you over again, to hear that squeak again, wondering if you'd squeak or moan when he pressed his weeping length into your--

"Oh...what games did you bring?" Your eyes lit up, sparkling, sitting up in bed with a bounce. Kento melted. He wanted to put you in his pocket. He could manage the urges, but the affection overwhelmed him and he stuttered, fumbling for words.

"Because..." Kento waited on bated breath, your lips plush and parted, crawling just-so towards him on the bed, seeing how your breasts shifted between your arms beneath that fucking t-shirt and maybe she would want this too fuck we wouldn't come out all weekend once we've tasted each other fuck if she were my girlfriend she'd be my whole world wouldn't ask for anything else ever again--

"...because I'm desperate for a Gengar actually but I haven't got anyone to trade my Haunter with and--"

"Oh. I need a Golem."

"Oh."

"Nice."

You both rummaged in your bags, grabbing your GameBoys, and you swore, trying to find the cable to connect them. Kento raised his eyebrows, scooting himself back beside you in bed, and crossing his long legs.

"Really? You brought one? Who did you think was gonna trade with you, one of them out there--"

"I'll be honest, I was relying on you, Kento, like I always do." Kento's ears reddened. He moved to sweep back the fringe he no longer had. Instead, his long fingers swept back through his neat parting, mussing commas of blond over his forehead, in a way that made you want to do the same until his hair was a mess and he was groaning.

You sat shoulder to shoulder, comparing Pokémon teams. Kento favoured Steel and Fighting types in a balanced, well-prepared team with no weak links. You favoured Ghost types and anything cute, in a weird mismatched set-up that surprised your enemies. With your short cable connecting your GameBoys, you sat thigh to thigh. You hadn't noticed your toes scrunching against Kento's, foot, stroking your skin against his. You felt him shiver and tense.

"What-- what are you doing?" Kento asked, his voice catching in his throat. His chest felt tight. His whole being zeroed in on where your skin stroked his. You caught yourself, and curled your toes away, to Kento's disappointment. "It-- it's okay...you don't have to stop." Your games were ignored now, defunct in distracted hands.

You swallowed, the air thick with tension around you. He was so close, you could smell the residue of his cologne, and the natural masculine smell of him, earthy beneath freshly washed skin. The side of your breast, bare beneath your t-shirt, rested against his bicep. You felt his bicep clench, grazing your nipple. He felt the pebbled snag of your nipple against his arm. He knew he'd combust if he didn't feel your skin on his soon; knew his fragile resolve was breaking.

Your foot cautiously stretched back down, the sensitive skin of your toes stroking against the top of Kento's foot. You felt him shiver again, putting his GameBoy down with a grunt, his eyebrows drawn together with am arm over his eyes.

"Do you...like it when I touch you?"

Kento grumbled under his breath, his mouth twisted in faint derision. "Don't be cruel." You blushed, reaching out for his hand. Kento tangled his fingers in yours, pressing the back of your hand to his twitching thigh, and trailing featherlight fingertips over your palm and inner wrist, an erogenous zone you never knew you had until he elicited a shudder from you.

"See." Kento whispered, lightly stroking the spot on your inner arm that connected curiously to your clit and nipples, a fine gold thread of liquid arousal. "You like it, too. So if you don't mean anything by this, just stop. Don't...don't play games with me." He took his fingers away, and you almost whimpered, chasing his touch, begging.

"No, Kento, wait-- please...don't stop."

Kento short-circuited. He had never been so close to the fabled pleasure of anothers' body. Pornography had little impact for one without the flesh-memory of erotic touch. Kento's cock was thick, now, throbbing. You dropped your head to his shoulder, sighing with bliss as his trembling fingers resumed their butterfly kisses to your wrist. The growing tent in his pyjamas, and the way he spread his thighs aside to accommodate his erection, made your mouth water.

Kento shifted, his body moving on instinct, until he was tentatively leaning over you. He wanted to watch your face as he stroked your wrist, examining its fine little tendons and veins, and examining how you arched, your mouth parted, your t-shirt rucking up until he could see the warm squidge of your belly above your underwear. His voice was husky, thoughtful.

"You'd...you'd stop me, right? If you didn't want this?"

"Yeah, I...yeah. But I-- I don't want you to. I want m--"

Kenti bowed his head to drink the unfinished words off your lips, knowing you wanted more just as much as he did. He grunted against the taste of you, his lips shuddering and uncertain, only hoping his sincerity came through. Kissing him back hard, your lips and tongues clashed, both instinctual, hungry, tasting. You and Kento spurred each other on, your mutual desperation rising exponentially with each nip of the lips, each tongue thrust into each others' mouth, each moan snatched and devoured between kisses.

Your hands sunk into each others' hair, ruffling, teasing, pulling, and you whimpered into Kento's mouth at the massage of his fingertips over your scalp. You were drunk. You had to be drunk, so high off the spontaneity of a moment you thought would be planned to a T.

Kento's mouth wandered, pressing and sucking sharp little lovebites into you on his way down your neck. You had ended up tangled around him, beneath him, the tip of his cock almost escaping beneath his waistband. Riding on buckish young urgency, Kento's broad hand had risen to grope your breast, possessive, trembling against the urge to squeeze you too hard. When you whimpered, arching into his touch, his mind flew back to him, shocked and ashamed by his stunning lack of self-control.

"Sorry," Kento gasped, his mouth and hand flying off you as if burnt, "fuck, sorry, 'msosorry--"

He broke off at the sight of you. Strewn, your hair scrunched against the pillow, with love-swollen lips and roses blooming on your neck, you were serene; for him. Thrown like petals onto the sheets, all for him and his mouth and his hands. Kento felt the fog descend again, dampening his judgement, for the instinctual urge to fuck.

"Have you...have you ever..." You felt Kento's meaning. His voice was rough, deep as the valley, and hewn with stone. You shook your head, still supple and dopey from his attentions. Kento's held breath released in one husky groan. He swallowed, shaking his head down at you.

"No, I...me neither. Always wondered, always--" Always what? Always daydreamed about it almost constantly? Always chastised himself for being such a fucking animal? But, the look in your eyes as you drank him in. Kento and you met on that clouded bridge, in the middle. Your pussy ached with promise.

Kento's hand came to settle slowly on your breast again, delighted by the way you pressed into him. His fingers grazed down over your nipple, reaching the hem of your shirt, brushing upwards.

"I can...can I? Please?"

"Please. Please, yes please, god."

"Fuck...I can't...cant believe it-- finally--" Kento didn't seem to realise he was moaning his inner thoughts aloud, rucking your t-shirt up like unwrapping a gift. As your breast freed, Kento shuddered again, slanted brown eyes scrutinising your body with analytical intent, committing you to memory.

His hand ghosted over your tummy, tracing dimples and stretch marks on the way, before curling around your breast, giving the gentlest of squeezes. The noise that left his mouth was somewhere between a cough and a moan. Still possessed by a haze of need, his mouth dipped down, tongue flicking out over your nipple, before capturing it with his mouth as you arched again, keening. He pressed into your arch, one arm planted above your head, the opposite hand rolling your other breast between keen fingers.

He couldn't help but rock the straining underside of his cock against your barely-covered pussy. The material between you was so thin, you could feel the whole length of him, and the tapering shape of his bulbous tip as it snagged against your clit. Kento knew he'd cum like this, if he wasn't careful, and shivered at the idea of spilling his seed all over your belly. He brushed away his hurrying peak, so determined was he that you'd cum before him.

"--keep--keep doing that...Kentoooo--oooh, feels so good--"

A rush of competitive pride burned through him. He couldn't help but murmur against your spit-slick nipple, nuzzling it with his nose.

"Keep telling me...what feels good. Make sure I'm not selfish, 'cos I--I'll just take if you don't--"

Suddenly hyperaware of your own body and how you must look, dopey and blissful as you chased pleasure by rutting his length between your legs, you stopped, and Kento huffed.

"I can hear you--thinking you look stupid-- and you don't--" He scowled down at you, his voice hoarse and strained between heavy grunts of ecstasy. "Will you cum? Like...like that?" Kento nodded down towards where you had been rolling your pussy against him. You tried to pull an arm over your eyes, blushing, extraordinarily embarrassed. Kento tangled his fingers in yours, pressing them over your head.

"Hey-- hey-- listen, I'll...I'll let you see me cum...if you let me see you. Please." You swallowed, mouth watering at the thought of watching Kento break, such sincere fascination trickling down your spine.

"...okay." You answered, uncharacteristically meek. Kento huffed another laugh.

"Good girl." You blushed from hairline to toes, involuntarily bucking up against Kento with his words. He began to rut against you again, the friction good but not quite right, not as good as it could be. You threw caution to the wind.

"Hang-- hang on, I'll just..." You reached a hand down beneath your panties, parting your labia just enough for Kento's heavy length to snag harder against your clit.

Kento's eyes zeroed in on the creamy white discharge on your fingers as you pulled your hand out, and when he continued his motions, you fell supple and needy beneath him again, groaning with the pleasure of his bulbous tip and the ridge beneath it, catching your clit. Pleasure bloomed through you, so much closer to orgasm than you had thought.

"--don't stop--" You begged, arching up towards Kento until he fucked down harder with a broken growl, his own need to cum eclipsed by your pleasure. Drawing one nipple deeper into his mouth, and lubricating the other with his spit to roll it fluidly between his fingers, Kento learned fast, playing you like an instrument until your mouth gaped in a silent cry, your first orgasm received from another, roaring through you in waves.

Kento kept humping against you, not recognising that you had reached your peak. He faltered, hips stuttering and panting as you groaned, squirming and writhing, groping at him with desperate, fucked-out hands. Kento was obsessed, a spurt of pre-cum adding to the slick he'd already made between your legs. Utterly besotted, his slim eyes wide with blown pupils, he shakily raised one hand to stroke your hair, kissing your forehead through the bliss, shushing you with whispered praise.

"--so cute...look so pretty...thank you-- thank you--"

As you came down from your high, you heard him thanking you, and laughed, trying to cover your face as he batted your hands away, playful and smirking. Biting your lip, emboldened by post-nut confidence, you slid your hand down to grip Kento's clothed, pulsing cock. He stilled above you with a grunt, looking so angry again as that feral, desperate haze descended. You begged him, hushed and soft.

"Can I...feel it?" Kento's thoughts burst with single-minded relief. He nodded, breath catching in his chest, allowing you to roll him over onto the bed until you were lying on your side beside him. You stroked his clothed length, fascinated, watching every reaction with cruel innocence.

Unsure how to handle him, you faltered as your hand began to slip inside his pyjamas. Kento had one arm slung over his face, still scowling, wanting desperately to watch you play with his cock, but too self-conscious.

"Here, I'll--" Kento reached down, shucking his pyjamas down until his cock released. Kento seemed embarrassed by his size, distinctly bigger than average, and thick, his pink tip peeking out from beneath his foreskin. Mistaking the cause of your silence for disgust, Kento grimaced behind his forearm, apologising.

"--shit, 'msorry, I know I-I'm--"

"...wow." Your breathless little gasp, followed by your hand immediately circling round Kento's cock, sent his mind blank again, watching you with dumb adoration as you examined the weight of his cock in your hand. Your hand gripped him, stroking from ball to tip with an inexperienced squeeze that had Kento grunting, gasping and bucking beneath you. It didn't matter that you had clearly never handled an erection in your life; for Kento, who had never been stroked by a woman looking at his cock and face with hungry, adoring eyes, he was being rushed towards a toe-curling orgasm.

"--st--sta--stopstopstop, m'gonna cu--m'gonna cum--'m gonna--"

Your hand stopped immediately, and Kento snarled, before gasping, momentarily shocked by his visceral reaction to being teased just to the edge of completion. Your pupils dilated, obscenely aroused by the strange danger of a furiously needy man about to cum in your hand. You were lost in the tease, lowering your head and maintaining eye contact as you threatened your lips just over the tip of Kento's cock.

"...stop?"

Kento was glazed, eyebrows tilted, looking uncharacteristically concerned, darting between your mouth, and your eyes, and back again. His nose flared with hot little pants. A barely perceptible shake of the head. You smiled, laying the flat of your tongue against the tip of Kento's cock, and licking over the bulbous head with an incoordinate pump of his length.

Kento's moan rumbled from his chest outwards, muffled as he bit into his own arm, his mind blown by the wet little sucks of his cockhead that he'd imagined only in his wettest dreams. He hurtled with breakneck speed towards his peak, finishing with frantic bucks and begs.

"--oh my--fucking g-god--huuugh fuckfuckfuck sorry m'sorry--shit--"

Kento came with an uncontrollable roar of pleasure, both arms gripping the pillow beneath his head, biceps straining, balls clenching. You pulled free of his cock with a wet pop and a little cry of surprise, when the first spurt of cum salted your tongue.

You continued to stroke him, obsessed with the jerk of him in your hand, the way he groaned, low and long, with each stripe of thick, white seed up his belly. It was only after the twitches had ceased, his cock sluggish against his belly, that Kento began to gasp like a fish out of water and gripped his hand around yours.

"--sto--sta--stop...fuck...so...sogood sosogood..."

The words left your mouth before you even thought to stop them, a years old masturbatory kink suddenly within reach. "Can you cum like that inside me?"

Kento stared at you in mute shock, his neat new haircut mussed beyond repair. His post-cum brain struggled to process your request. You frantically babbled to reassure him.

"--I--I mean no condom--and hear me out hear me out-- I've got good protection-- and and I've never and you've never so we won't catch anything--"

Kento was above you, flipping you onto your back and suckling at your neck again within seconds. You heard his oddly grown-man chastisement into your neck, while his body moved in the total opposite direction.

"So fucking irresponsible-- just just "oooooh cum inside me Kento" just like that, fuck-- do you think I'm--I'm fucking stupid? Sh...shit...fucking yes please I can't believe I'm doing this--"

Kento's cock had barely softened, graced by the barely-there refractory period of youth. He was thick, heavy, and dragging down your belly. You were just as frantic as him, kicking off your underwear and watching Kento hyperfocus again; this time, on your bare sex, right before his eyes.

He knelt back, gripping himself in his fist as if holding himself back. Feeling his sharp eyes penetrate you, you moved to close your legs. Kento looked at you as if you were mad, batting your thighs aside with his knees as you covered your face, mortified.

"Beautiful." He berated, rubbing his fingers through the cum spattered on his belly, and sinking them down to glide cautiously between your labia. You gasped, squirming, and Kento watched his fingers coat with your slick with a gulp, feeling a fresh burst of blood engorge his cock until he ached.

He leaned to his bag, rummaging and cursing, before coming back up with a bottle of lube. You shot Kento a look and he shot you a look in return, berating you again with a voice stricter than fitting for his age; "I was expecting a room of my own."

"Oh yeah? How's that working out for you?"

"Very well actually-- stop laughing or I'll--"

"...you'll what? Make me?" You asked, coy. Kento let out a strangled little groan, and pinched the bridge of his nose as you laughed.

"...don't even...dont even know what you're asking...idiot--" Kento huffed as you drew a crooked smile out of him, your joyful muffled giggles a natural balm to his baseline rage. You stilled again, breathless as you watched him stroke his pulsing cock, your throat dry with voyeuristic anticipation. Kento panted, beyond embarrassment and hanging on by a thread.

Kento stroked some lube between your puffy folds, eyes heavy as you squirmed, prodding one finger softly at your entrance. You stilled beneath him, holding your breath. Kento tangled your fingers in his.

"Breathe." He hummed, and as you released a shaking breath, Kento began to ease one slick finger inside you. Your mouth dropped open, eyes closed beneath raising eyebrows, as Kento slid his long finger into you all the way to his knuckle. He hadn't realised he was holding his breath until he felt lightheaded.

"...you...you feel...fuck, incredible, so--so tight..." Kento whispered, his voice low and gravelly, that same primal urge to fuck immediately into you threatening to cloud his brain. By the way you gazed up at him, still and supple, you would probably let him too and he could just push right in and--

"...we'll take it slow," Kento reassured you, tight and tense, "...and I'll stop straight away if...if it hurts."

Your eyelids fluttered to feel Kento's thick tip prod at your entrance, sure he wouldn't fit until he pressed forwards, and you stretched like you'd never stretched before. You bit your lip against the faint sting, nodding urgently and gripping Kento's thighs as he looked at you in concern.

Kento was lost in the moment, his eyes zeroing in on where he gradually sheathed himself inside you. He'd never felt such exquisite pleasure, obsessed by how your plush walls moulded to the shape of him, sucking him in, slick and tight. You squeaked, biting into Kento's shoulder as he bore down on you, his cock almost sunk to the hilt. He stilled as he bottomed out, his fingertips bruising on your hip, trembling with jagged groans.

You felt so strangely placid, full, and wrapping your legs around the small of Kento's back to lock him inside you. The brief sting, the belly-deep ache, left you feeling like you had made a blooming transition from girl to woman in one deep thrust. Kento drank you in, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your lips and mumbling against them.

"...'m not gonna last long." Kento was possessed, pulling out a little before rutting into you again, delighted by your gasp, determined to break more noises out of you. His usual gentle nature was becoming quickly overrun by a firm, authoritative edge, not knowing yet how this would come to define him as a man.

Kento rocked into you, shallowly at first, before gaining the confidence that he wouldn't break you. By the time he had built a rhythm, pumping into you through sweaty pants, your breaths mingling together, he felt the drag of orgasm approaching him fast. Kento's imagination could never have matched up to the reality of dragging his cock through such nectar.

Any time Kento tried to talk, he broke off into anguished pants and groans into your throat, sinking his teeth there for a moment, seemingly irritated by how sloppy he'd become.

"...j'sso...uhnfuck...wet--best thing I--...huhnnn--"

Hearing you whimper and squeak as he moved within you offered him some condolence for being a speechless mess, at least.

Though you knew you wouldn't cum from this alone, you were lost in the addictive feeling of being full and fucked into by Kento chasing an instinctual high. You couldn't help but let your fingers wander downwards, rubbing your clit beneath them. The thick pressure in your belly made your pleasure three-dimensional, so much better than your fingers alone.

Kento was a quiet lover, saying more through heated glances and lingering touches than he ever could through words. Knowing he was holding back for fear of hurting you, you whispered against his ear, sending ripples down his spine.

"--harder-- pleasepleaseplease--"

"Fffuck okay...this?" Kento sunk into you to the hilt and jabbed, urging himself deeper, earning a guttural groan as his cockhead pressed against your cervix and soft-spot. He nodded into your neck, shuddering deeply. "Th-this...yeah...oh fuck, yeah..." Your toes curled against the back of his thighs, and you sobbed with the bone-deep adoration of his kisses to your womb. Kento's restraint snapped, tilting your hips as he gripped you, holding nothing else back.

Kento sped up, driving himself inside you with total abandon, his breaths coming out as spitting curses and groans. Finally, he strained above you, his moans breaking and peaking, unable to hold off any longer;

"--gonna...gonna...cum in you for--for-fucking-ever-- nnggh--"

Watching Kento break and spill himself inside you, his cock jerking with long, painfully pleasurable contractions, was the erotic vision you had sought your whole adult life. Hurriedly working your fingers until your own high hit you, had Kento collapsing on top of you to feel your pussy clenching around him, milking him of every little drop of seed.

Kento was silent, his corded back clenching over you. You nuzzled into his ear, pressing kisses along his jaw until he gave you his lips with a groan. Pulling gently out, and replacing his cock with his fingertips so he could feel how his seed dripped from your cunt, had Kento wondering vaguely how he'd ever use a condom now he'd tasted the ripe-peach of you without a barrier.

You nipped Kento's neck, jolting him back to reality. Glossy doe-eyes glimmered up at him in the dark; and you, desperate to feel full again, completely addicted to him as he was to you.

"...again?"

"...give-- give me a minute."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Heard some strange noises coming out of your room last night."

You kept your face innocently neutral at the breakfast table the next morning. You tipped your head to the side, inquisitive, as if you didn't feel multiple thick loads of Kento's seed soaking your underwear.

"Oh?"

"Mhm." A knowing stare from the other girls at the table. Kento sat down, clearing his throat, his plate piled with what should have been an embarrassing number of pastries.

"She's really good. At Pokémon battles." You had a single moment to admire Kento's absolute gall, the other girls looking at him with vague displeasure as he continued.

"Her Gengar's really strong actually. I wasn't ready for it. I thought Machamp would be a good choice, but--"

The other girls had already lost interest, turning their conversations elsewhere. Kento looked up at you from the other end of the table as you mouthed oh my god at him. He was inscrutable, apart from his twinkling eyes.

You were fortunate that none of these girls were at your wedding, years later. But you did occasionally still refer to making love as 'Pokémon battles', if just to hear your impassive, suited, quiet man laugh.

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markhoffmans-leftboob · 1 year ago

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Yummers

I made a thirsty meme 😊

#mark hoffman #those look heavy let me carry them for you #detective mark hoffman

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rqnarok · 3 months ago

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summary: old man!logan finds himself having a breeding kink.

cws/tags: smut, mdni! old man!logan. fem!reader. heavy breeding kink. dom/sub dynamics. unprotected p in v. pet names. not proofread.

Logan’s younger self would not approve of this idea.

Hell, it would not even cross his youthful, unbound, and liberated version. Younger Logan would have brushed off the idea - dodging it like a bullet - revolting against it.

Having a kid? A noisy five-year-old child running around the house, screaming and kicking everything in sight? Yeah, fuck no.

He’d even hate just thinking about it.

But now that years have gone by and he’s almost hitting 200 years of age–a lot has changed in how he sees things, alright. Suddenly he’s not that idealistic-insufferable-annoying fuck anymore.

The heavy feels of his own body, his poor visions, his utter tiredness and wounds are slowly tended by settling down with you. Living in a small countryside home just outside Texas is the life Logan needed all along.

So he just can’t fucking help it when he sees how you act with those children at the Barbeque party. How you treat them with such care as if they’re yours.

The smile plastered on your face after you give each one of them a cookie is Heaven sent for Logan. He’s too focused on being mesmerized by your acts that he almost does not realize how his trousers feel tighter.

He quickly hides his bulge whilst embarrassed of himself, thinking ‘M fuckin’ old for this shit. But who gives a fuck anyway?

Oh, he in the past would not approve of this at all.

“Fuck. You’d look so fuckin’ good with y’r belly swollen with my child.” Logan grunts out, thrusting his girth into you as his mind fills up with visions of you carrying his child.

The images themselves make Logan go feral—growling when he feels how your velvet walls manage to clench around him.

“A-ah! Please!” The high-pitched noise you let out is almost humiliating as you bounce yourself on top of your husband, making the head hit your gummy spot every time you fall down.

“Hm? Y’want that, Little Missy? Want me t’give you a baby?” His calloused fingers rub shapes on your sticky skin, guiding your hips as he tries to search for the answer in your eyes.

You reply with a frantic nod, your mind feels empty as his tip deliciously kisses your cervix. The thought of being full of his seed, pregnant and giving him a baby—makes your eyes roll back in pleasure.

With one movement, Logan manages to manhandle you to a new position, his cock never slips out from your heat, “Want this old man t’give you one? Make you a momma?”

The sound of his full balls slapping against your ass makes you squeeze your eyes shut.

Now clearly hearing the obscene moans emitting through the dim room, “Yeahyeahyea—W-wanna be a momma—”

While you wonder how he still has this much stamina at that age, Logan leans down to your ear and buries his face on your neck, “Pretty wife. Gonna make the cutest goddamn babies, y’know tha’?”

His palms hold your thighs spread open to reach deeper inside you, “Let me fill ya’ up real good.”

Logan’s eyes flicker to watch your pussy swallow his cock in and out. The sight alone makes him throw his head and let guilt wash him over for a minute.

He feels perverted—corrupting you by plugging his cock to the hilt as if it is trying to mold your insides. A dilemma growing.

You could feel how his thrusts steadily became desperate, “L-Lo.” Whining out, your fingers crawl into his back to pull him tighter.

He can’t fucking wait to have you round up. Shit. You’d be so dependent on him—need him at all times. And he’d fulfill everything you ask him to do. Logan would never even let you move an inch.

Everything caught up to him as an acute wave, “F-Fuck. There ya’ go, baby.” Logan mutters - his hands shake slightly as they lose their grip on your thighs.

His cock never pulling out, “D’ya think it takes, pretty?” You could feel him deep inside you—how your walls are painted by his thick ropes of cum.

Logan gives lazy circles of his hips before pressing a sweet kiss on your lips, whispering several ‘I love you’s’ before lowering himself so his face could level with your pussy.

“Fuck.” The older man has never seen a far more beautiful sight than this. Watching his cum begin to leak out of you makes his cock twitches again.

The scruffy feel of his beard scratches your inner thighs as he leans closer—dragging the tips of his fingers along your folds before plugging his digits back inside.

“Logan-n!”

A deep rumble comes out of Logan, “Shh. Be a good girl for your husband, yeah? Need’a to make sure it takes.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #old man logan x reader #old man logan #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut #deadpool and wolverine #logan by nina <3

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rafesangelita · 4 days ago

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♡ just dilf!rafe making sure everything is to his liking when his precious little bunny comes home from all of her beauty appointments!

warnings: fluff, bunny being a lil clingy, suggestive language, use of the nickname ‘daddy’ (pls scroll if it’s not for you), heavy petting, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), praise, finger sucking, slight overstimulation

a/n: i recently got all of my beauty appointments done so this felt fitting lol. read more of dilf!rafe x bunny!reader here <3

wc: 1.4k

while rafe never let you step out of the house by yourself, there was very few instances when he did. going out with your girlfriends and paying for all of your appointments was one of those things, and he didn’t mind in the slightest. the day would start very early in the morning so that you’d have enough time to get everything done. rafe would watch you from the front door as you basically hopped down the driveway in excitement before getting into your best friend’s obnoxiously pink car, your lip gloss still sparkling on his lips from when you kissed him before leaving.

maybe it was the father instinct inside of him, but rafe made it a point to always pay for you and your besties meals, the idea of you going hungry or having an empty stomach just not sitting right with him. you and your friends would start the day by knocking out whatever took the longest, so that all of you could breeze through the extra upkeep and still go shopping afterwards. despite rafe tracking your location and checking where you were at religiously, he still wanted you to text him and send him photos and updates throughout the day.

he’d smile down at his phone whenever your contact name, which you came up with by yourself, would pop up on his screen.

[1:15 PM] bunnie ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡: i miss you sooo much already daddy. thank you for the food it was yummy <3 me and the girls still have a handful of things to do but i’m hoping to be done soon!!

[2:57 PM] bunnie ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡: i think you’re going to reallyyy like the color of my nails!! my toes came out super cute too 🎀

[4:03 PM] bunnie ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡: (1 attached image) look at this pink flatiron at the salon! i need one just like this! pretty pleaseeee!

he’d reply to each message, even going ahead and buying that flatiron with overnight delivery so you could have it in your pretty hands in no time. you two would go on like this until you’d finally send him that ‘on my way!’ text, a relieved sigh falling from his lips. as much as he liked for you to have your girl time, he selfishly wanted to have you all to himself more than anything. rafe had already been anticipating your arrival, your favorite candles already lit up upstairs in his bedroom. it wasn’t long before he heard the faint bump of music outside, your playful yelp sounding from down the driveway as you struggled to carry all of your shopping bags.

rafe was quick to help you out, your best friends teasingly telling him hi as he briefly waved at them before guiding you inside. “oh, i missed you!” you didn’t waste any time in throwing your arms around his neck, the scent of sweet vanilla filling up his senses. you clung to him like a koala, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he made his way upstairs. “yeah? i missed you more.” you breathed him in, smiling softly against his chest as he put your bags down on the chair he had in the corner. “everything go good?” he took a seat at the edge of the bed, resting his hands on the soft globes of your ass.

“mhmm!” you nodded, “i’m happy with how everything came out.” rafe pecked your lips before helping you up on your feet. “let me get a good look at you.” standing up, you couldn’t help but feel shy as he scanned over your figure agonizingly slow. “your hair looks real nice, baby, that style suits you.” your cheeks heated at the simple compliment. “wow look at your lashes, ‘you try out a different lash map?” you gasped softly, hitting his shoulder playfully. “look at you using girly terms!” rafe was bound to learn about the stuff you’d be rambling on and on about, your lashes being one of many things he now knew the intricacies of.

“your eyebrow lady did a real good job, too.” you wiggled your brows suggestively, fluttering your lashes at him while he took your hand in his. “you were right, i absolutely love this color on you,” he took in the pinky nude of your manicure, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, “let me see those toes.” you giggled, bringing your foot to his lap as you held onto his arms for leverage. “wow, you got a bow charm?” you smiled down at the sight, “yes! isn’t it so cute? she even put on some rhinestones for free because i’m a regular!” rafe massaged the back of your calf, guiding you back down on the bed.

“damn, bunny, and your skin is so soft, you got that full body wax?” you welcomed him between your thighs, running your freshly manicured nail down the side of his jaw. “yes, i know how much you like it..” he kissed you deeply, his lower half grinding down on where you needed him most. you couldn’t help the whine from leaving your lips, your glazed orbs shining with something mischievous. “do you want to see how that came out, too?” rafe smiled, his fingers already hooking between your skirt and the waistband of your panties. “yeah? you gonna let daddy inspect you?”

once your clothes were off and forgotten about on the floor, rafe took your thighs and spread them open to expose your bare cunt, the look on his face making you take your bottom lip between your teeth. “fuck,” he marveled, “you’re just so pretty, you know that?” you smiled, melting under his gentle touch. he looked up at you as if to ask ‘can i?’ before you nodded. rafe sat back on his heels, stroking your glistening folds as you writhed with desire. “i need to be inside of you so bad..” oh, how bad you needed that too. “rafe, we can’t have sex for at least a full twenty-four hours.” you pouted.

“but we did it last time.” you giggled, shaking your head. “i know, but i’m so sensitive..” rafe sighed, leaning down so he could whisper against your lips. “would a little touching hurt, though?” you gasped when he slipped a digit inside your entrance, his long digit filling you just right. with the pad of his thumb, he began rubbing hard circles on your clit, your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “you’re so perfect, always dressing and getting dolled up the way i want you to.” he curled his finger, nudging that soft spot inside of you that made you see stars.

your back arched softly off of the bed, your fingers intertwining with his own. he kept his eyes on your trembling form, your mouth falling open as moans and whimpers fell from your lips. “i’m so close, ray..” the man above you lowered his head between your thighs, popping his digits into your mouth so you could taste yourself on his fingers. “so soft and smooth, i could eat this cunt for days.” you cried out loud when you felt his tongue prod at your opening, the tip of his nose finding your sensitive bud. “fuckkk!” you covered your mouth at the slip up, yelping when you felt rafe pinch your inner thigh.

“what have i told you about cussing?” he groaned, pulling away from your soaked pussy before diving back in again, your hands shooting up to cup your tits. rafe watched your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest being a telltale sign that you were going to finish soon. you felt the familar heat begin to simmer in your tummy, your thighs threatening to snap shut as the coil in your stomach got tighter and tighter with every stroke of rafe’s tongue. “oh, my god!” your eyes rolled back when the band in your tummy finally snapped, your orgasm hitting you in waves of pure bliss.

your breath shook as you thrashed against rafe’s mouth, your thighs locking around his head as he pinned you down by your hips. your mouth opened but no sound, except for a pathetic shriek came out, your hands fighting rafe off in an attempt to pull away from him. that only made him grip you tighter, his tongue working relentlessly on your poor cunt. it wasn’t until you tapped out, your nails digging into rafe’s arm before he gave you a final kiss, his gentle hands massaging into the skin of your calves. you whimpered as rafe helped you come down from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your vision hazy.

rafe licked his lips clean, palming at the hard-on in his boxers. “how about just the tip?” all it took was one blissful glance at him through your lashes before he was yanking you towards the edge of his bed by your ankles.

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carebearbussy · 6 months ago

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𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨

ᥫ᭡ 𝙨𝙮𝙥𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝… 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙪𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙮.

ᥫ᭡ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙖! 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

ᥫ᭡ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩, 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙬𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣, 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 '𝙪𝙜𝙡𝙮' 𝙖𝙣𝙙 '𝙨𝙡𝙪𝙩', 𝙗𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜.

ᥫ᭡ 𝙬𝙘: 2.7k

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Your day went as normal as usual.

You walked with you head held high, a pep in your step as you wondered around the large estate claimed by Sukuna. Alongside you, was one of your loyal handmaids, ordered by Sukuna to accompany you by default. It was early morning, as you heard the talkative birds chirp in the crisp air. It was very relaxing, especially for you, who was often picked on by your fellow concubines, who were supposed to support you.

As you stepped onto the stone walkway that led to your beloved garden, you noticed the flowers slightly dwindling in color, as the stems had lost their pin point shape. This made you frown, as you realize you had forgot to water them recently. Your handmaiden follows behind you respectfully, as you walk through the rows of colorful flowers.

"You must really enjoy the flowers, my lady." You handmaiden pointed out, coming to that conclusion as she had watched you tend to the flowers every day without fail. It was something she admired about you greatly, that being your calm nature, even under the circumstance of Sukuna wanting you to be monitored 24/7. She felt some sort of pity, even through her love for Lord Sukuna. "Yes, I am quite fond of them. They are very beautiful, but they look very dull today..." You say through your pouting.

You walk over to the gardening table over by the end of the conservatory, as you put on your gardening gloves, as well as putting your hair in a high ponytail. Your handmaiden looks at you with her head tilted, questioning your motives. "My lady, you should not be getting your hands dirty. I suggest you stick to watering instead of doing the dirty work." She said, worried about what Lord Sukuna would think if he saw his favorite consort getting her pretty hands dirty. You look over at her while carrying a bag of soil, walking over to the start of where the flowers were.

"Its fine, really. He wont even know I was here today, hes out for a business meeting. Uraume informed me he may not return for a couple of days." You said, reassuring her, as you kneel down to tend to the garden. "Okay, if it is what you wish..." She says, looking around to see if anybody was watching. "I will just stay here and keep watch."

As you patted down the soil, you sprinkled water over the plants, the glass of the garden house letting the sunlight shine in. You looked at your work as you were halfway through, proud of the work you had so far accomplished. But as you were admiring your handiwork, you heard a group of heavy footsteps walk into the large garden house. You were not expecting anybody else to come here except for you, so who was it. Oh, of course, its them.

A group of three notorious mid ranking concubines, followed by one high ranking one. You audibly sighed, knowing what would follow suite. They laughed when they saw the sight before them. Sukuna's favorite? Doing a maids work? It was laughable to them. Was this finally the moment Lord Sukuna kicked you to the curb, and realized your true worth? That was what they hoped for in the end, but for now, they had to have their moment of joy, which was picking on you.

"My, my, my. Look at what we have here. Little Y/N is out doing the work of those lower than her? What did you do to make Lord Sukuna that upset?" The lead woman spoke, cackling along with the other girls. Your face distorted into that of annoyance. You looked at the girl straight in the eyes, preparing to attempt to defend yourself. "Why are you all here? To ridicule me? If you must know, I chose to tend to the garden."

One of the girls standing behind the lead scoffs, stepping slightly forward. Looking at your handmaids, then to you. "You really are pathetic, if you must need that woman with you at all times." She says, gesturing her hand towards your handmaiden. Your handmaiden looks away, too afraid to talk back to the likes of somebody a higher rank than her. "It would be a damn shame if you got dirt on your precious face, it's already messed up, you aren't the prettiest woman ever." Another one adds in, creating more fuel to the fire by taking a jab at your appearance.

This stroke a nerve in you, your self esteem slowly crumbling as they go on. The lead concubine takes a step closer to your kneeling form, looking down on you as if you were nobody. She crouches down to your eye level, grabbing your chin on each side with her fingers. "I really don't see what Lord Sukuna saw in you. He must not be very interested in you anymore. You are nowhere near perfect. Especially after your massive weight gain." She says, knowing the damage she is doing to you. She lets go of your chin, pushing you slightly back. "It wont be long before he gets rid of you for good, hopefully as soon as possible. We don't need an ugly duckling the likes of you waddling around the well known beauty of Lord Sukuna's estate." She says, brushing astray dirt off her kimono, as the girls behind her laugh at her words.

You feel tears forming in your eyes, as you try your best to hold them back and to not lash out at the woman, you mouth hanging agape from shock. But you are not as slick as the woman currently standing before you. She looks at you, a smirk crossing her fair face in accomplishment. "Aw, whats wrong? Are you going to cry? Your already the biggest slut in the palace, I don't need to call you more hurtful things."

And this was the last push to send you over the edge, as you felt hot tears spill from your eyes. The girls laughed louder, mocking your weak state. You panicked, as you got up, pushing the woman out fo your way as you ran out of the garden house, your gloves still on, your ponytail messy. You ran as far away from the scene as you could, as your handmaiden ran after you, pure shock in her eyes. Embarrassment crept up your spine, as you ran all the way to the opposite side of the wing of the garden, out of sight from any onlookers. How were you to face anybody?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

You lay sorrowful in your large bed, curled up into a ball as you cradled your knees. Your eyes were puffy with sorrow, as warm tears streamed down your face, all the way down to your chest. Your nose was stuffy, snot running trickling down your nose. Used tissues covered the bed like a sea, as your handmaiden handed you more. She rubbed your back, as she sat on the edge of the bed watching you.

"My lady, please don't cry." She said, worried for you and your morale. You look up at her through wet eyelashes, as you sniffled into a half dirty tissue she held up for you. "Easy for you to say, you don't know what its like to be me. It feels like every single day, the people of the estate seem to hate me even more, and I try so hard to avoid it. I just don't know how to endure it anymore." You say, your lower lip quivering.

Your handmaiden looks at you pitifully. She feels like she knows you so well. She felt like your only true friend since being welcomed into Sukuna's estate. So it hurt to see you like this, especially after witnessing the unfair treatment you had received throughout your time here. The slow hand that once rubbed your back moved up to move the loose hair from your face, letting her see your full face out on display. But instead, you cover it, by moving your head more towards the pillows, the concubines words clearly getting to your head.

But she saw right though you. "My lady, the things those girls have said are simply untrue. I'm sure they were just saying that to get a rise out of you. They want what they cannot have, especially your close relationship with Lord Sukuna." You stop into your own world and think about it. Yes sure, you knew jealousy was a big factor in their distaste in you, but then why would they say such specific things? Were you truly all of those things they said you were?

"I'm sure it stemmed from what they truly want from you. All they want are reactions like these from you-" She says, but intervened by none other than the man himself, the head of the entire estate, Sukuna, who had came home unexpectedly earlier than usual.

Your handmaiden from what seems like instinct, immediately gets up to bow, anxiety filling her system for the largely built man standing before her. "Just what the hell do you think you are doing in my quarters uninvited?" He asks, unamused by the sudden appearance by anybody other than you. He looks down at her, waiting impatiently for an answer. "My lord, I was just tending to My lady, Y/N. She seemed in distress after a sudden altercation-" Without a second thought, he pushes her out of the way with his foot. Searching for you. He hears sorrowful sniffles coming from his large bed, as he raises his eyebrow in confusion. Who is in his bed? Ahh, it you, something must have happened.

You look up slightly from the bed to be greeted by Sukuna's broad stature, as you turn away from him, not wanting to face the fact that you failed to stand up for yourself. You had always made it a point to prove that you were strong willed, but this time around, you had failed. And failure is something you had feared around the likes of Sukuna.

He walks over to the opposite side of the bed that you were on, not wanting to upset you further, knowing how you become when you are upset. You try to muffle your sniffling, but to no avail. He looks at your chest rise and fall quickly, due to the nature of your fast breathing. A loud, audible sigh is heard behind you, the sound of it making chills creep up your spine. He then looks over at the handmaiden, who is still kneeling on the floor. "Leave." He says to her, as she quickly gets up to take her leave, not stopping to say anymore goodbyes.

He then looks back at you, who is unable to turn his way. "Whats wrong brat? Are you going to explain what happened, or are you just going to lay there like a sappy little thing." He says, crawling into bed, grabbing hold of your waist. He notices you flinching, keeping it in mind that when you are sad, you become sensitive to touch. He slowly brings you into his chest, your legs straddling his lower waist. Your body shakes as you hide your face within his chest, getting his robe wet with your snot.

"Look at me." He orders you, clearly not liking the mood you are in. But you don't move. Instead, you move your head side to side, still hiding your face from sight. Your head nuzzles further into his chest, as you move your arms to either side of his waist, hugging him deeply as you inhale his scent. You feel your tears keep running, as you use his robe to wipe them. "I told you to look at me, I wont repeat myself a third time." He said, sternly informing you. You didn't want to upset him, so you slowly look up at him, barely being able to hold eye contact. His eyebrows slightly furrow, as he slightly adjusts himself on the bed.

"Christ, what happened to you woman?" He says, using his upper left hand to wipe away the tears staining your face. He brushed his thumb over your cheek, but quickly stopping realizing how intimate that was. You hesitated before you spoke. "Its just... there are these girls, and I feel like ever since you became a part of my life, I have been tormented by them." You said, the thought of them ridiculing you flooding back into your mind like a storm, causing more tears to flood your waterline. "Torment? How so?" He asks, wanting to hear more.

"Like today for example, I was just trying to tend to the garden, and they came in and- its just- its complicated." You said, not wanting to spill the full details, worried of his reaction. "What did those woman do." He said. It was more of him trying to figure out what happened, than a question towards you. But you felt your emotions run high, causing you to completely unfold before Sukuna. "They came in, and they basically told me I would never amount to anything, and how i'm ugly, and that I gained weight recently."

He looks at you, his upper lip curling into that of disgust for what he just heard. You? Ugly? Never amount to anything? Gaining weight? This was all ridiculous to him. He would never truly understand why you were upset at being called those things, but he particularly did not like the reaction you had to it. Seeing you cry, for some reason, tore on his heart strings hard. Your emotions ran through him like an electrical current. He lowered his back into the mattress, still holding you tight.

"That has to be one of the most absurd things I have heard in my years of living. You are none of those things. Why would I care about such laughable things. You're my woman, nobody else is able to judge you, except for me."

You look at him with glossy eyes, as you place your hands over his chest, which had a wet patch due to the mixture of your snot and tears. You felt your lip quiver all over again at his words, thus resting your face on one side of his chest. You let all your tears run out, as you felt yourself quietly wail at the hands of Sukuna. He placed a large hand over your back, massaging your back, soothing you simultaneously.

"Thats it, let it all out. God, you look so weak right now, its quite endearing." He says, a slight smile being hidden from your field of vision. You grip onto the ridges of his robe, using it to try to grab onto something. His lower hands grip each side of your bottom, holding you for leverage. As he massaged your back, he pet your hair with his other top hand. Your hair was always one of his favorite things about you, which is something that stuck in your head. The words of your handmaiden ran through your head as well;

'They want what they cannot have, especially your close relationship with Lord Sukuna.'

It was true after all. And you will come to realize that as time goes on. How lucky did you get to become Sukuna's most favored? Any other girl in your situation would think the same way. Especially the way he is giving you so much attention. It makes you so happy. Knowing those girls would give anything to be in your situation. You felt like a princess.

You felt yourself fall into deep slumber, the comfort of your thoughts, along with Sukuna's relaxing hold bringing you comfort in moments like these. He looks down at you as he notices you had seized your crying. He thinks about moving from his spot, but decides against it, not wanting to ruin your beauty sleep. You needed this, he thinks. And he was right. He brushes the hair that covers your ear out of the way with his hand, as he leans down to whisper into your sleeping form.

"You can trust, those woman will be dealt with accordingly."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

(𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙄 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙥𝙩 2?)

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