#& then laugh about it when you point it out as if spreading the fucking plague is funny

[pa-pa-plasma]

i'm going to fucking kill someone. i got screamed at & called selfish & stupid for telling my mom to wear a mask. she gave me covid

[mlmxreader]

For I Have Sinned | Dean Winchester x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi can I request “Nothing, just… you look really good right now” with dean please ❞

: ̗̀➛ You get a little bit hot under the collar seeing Dean in a particular outfit.

: ̗̀➛ heavy sexual referencing & innuendo, swearing

↳ MINORS DNI

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Admittedly, it was very rare for you and the Winchesters to ever really cross paths accidentally; whenever you worked a job together it was done so on purpose, and often arranged in advance so that you knew where to stay and what was going on.

But this time was different, as a small rural village in pretty much nowhere had been plagued with stories of a werewolf, and you didn’t have time to contact the Winchesters about it before they were bursting into your motel room together dressed as priests.

It made you want to laugh, really, but when they started asking about work, you could only shake your head as you held up your palms.

“Boys, boys!” You shouted, trying not to grin. “Settle down already, I’ve only just got here, alright?”

Carefully, Dean sat on your bed as he folded his arms across his chest; Sam leaned against the wall mimicking his brother’s posture, which made you sigh as you gently tapped your thighs. Unable to keep your eyes off of Dean as you swallowed thickly.

“So, what’d you know?” Dean asked, almost impatient as he raised his brows and stared directly at you.

You shook your head, chewing at the inside of your lip. “Honestly? Pretty much fuck all at this point. You?”

“About the same,” Dean agreed with a curt nod, his gaze dropping to your mouth for a moment before he awkwardly cleared his throat. “Sammy? Could you, erm, could you go grab somethin’ to eat while we talk?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said slowly, looking between you and Dean for a moment before leaving.

“Quit lookin’ at my mouth,” Dean told him, resting his forearm on his knee and glaring at you. “Now ain’t the time.”

You sighed as you chewed at the inside of your mouth. “Oh, so it’s my fault that you decided to dress up as the only attractive priest on the planet?”

He shrugged. “What about that guy, erm… Andrew whatever?”

“He’s not attractive,” you scoffed. “But seriously, it’s just nothing, just… you look really good right now and, yeah! It’s a little bit distracting!”

Dean laughed softly as he shook his head fondly; he could have said the same about you with your old band t-shirt and matching hoodie, camouflage cargo trousers and beaten up brown boots.

He really could have said the same about you, given how you kept biting your fucking lip and how you were sat with your legs spread; he hardly growled as he swiped his hand down his face, swallowing thickly.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, his breath hitching in his throat as he tried - in vain - to take his eyes away from your mouth for even just a quick moment. He narrowed his eyes slightly, thinking about the last time you were in a motel together alone.

He almost gave up, until you shifted in your seat and grunted under your breath - it almost immediately drew his attention directly to you. 

“Dean!” You almost shouted, making him blink quickly before shaking his head in shock. “Let me guess - suddenly you’re distracted, too, right?”

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat awkwardly as he rubbed his mouth. “Yeah, erm… yeah. Sorry.”

You shook your head, taking in a deep breath as you tried to steady and steel your nerves. “So what the fuck do we do? We can’t… how the fuck are we meant to go hunting if we can’t even sit in a room together?”

“I can get changed,” he murmured. “Dump the whole Father Brodén schtick and find something else. Maybe, erm… I think I got an Agent Taylor or somethin’ stashed away somewhere, I don’t-”

“No,” you said softly, quietly. “No, you don’t need to do that - I’ll, I’ll sit this one out, do base research from here.”

Dean shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No, I can’t let you do that. You were here first, this is your hunt.”

“Dean,” you sighed. “We can’t do shit if we’re like this. You know that, and I know that.”

“So what do we do?” He asked, furrowing his brows.

“Well, Sam’s out,” you mused, pursing your lips for a moment. “I’m sure we could, erm, y’know… lock the door, keep the window shut and erm… let loose, don’t you think?”

Dean seemed to consider it, swallowing thickly as he shifted where he sat for a moment. “Conflict of interest.”

“Hmm?” You furrowed your brows as you frowned. 

“There’s you and me,” he started, “we don’t see each other often, you know the life - think we can even work together if we’re… lettin’ loose all the time?”

You shrugged, clasping your hands together between your legs as you swallowed thickly. “I’m willing to give it a shot, are you?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “I would be… c’mere a sec, though.”

You got up, your legs a little shaky as you walked over to him, surprised when he pulled you down onto his lap, licking his lips and grinning; you put your hands on his shoulders, eyeing up the white collar around his neck for a moment.

“You should dress as a priest more,” you breathed out, taking a moment to stare at his lips. 

Dean nodded, shifting his hips so that you were right on him. “Noted. You should wear that tight shirt more.”

You squeezed his shoulders a little, breath hitching in your throat. “Noted.”

You couldn’t help it, one hand going to his hair and the other at the nape of his neck as you caught him in a quick kiss; immediately, Dean kissed back, grunting softly when you tugged at his hair gently to pull him closer.

The kiss became open mouthed and heavy, making you squirm a little when you pulled away, looking at how shiny and plump his lips were for a moment. 

“Dean…”

“I’m gonna take my shoes off,” he whispered. “And then I’m gonna lie down - you gonna join me?”

“Well, fuck it” you breathed out, laughing for a second. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” 

[kunigmis]

to strike again

bachira meguru x female!reader

synopsis: here’s to second times being the charm! after your messy “mishap” with bachira in a changing room at victoria’s secret, you’re a bit nervous around him… it’s only due time when you realize he’s a friend with a nasty little secret.

content warnings: minors do not interact! all characters are in their 20s, mentions of stalking(?) once, usage of the petname baby and pretty, name calling (he calls you slut), fingering, cum eating, oral (female!receiving), obsessive behavior, unprotected sex, non-con recording, hint at “sharing pussy” (he suggests isagi would like a turn), panty thief!bachira strikes again…

notes: this is a continuation of my previous bachira story, gross and grimy!! and a response to this anon <33 i’m sorry to say i didn’t end up writing it in the changing room, and that it’s in a different setting, but i hope it was still tasty… ૮ › ༝ ‹ ྀིა

AFTER YOU GOT DOWN and dirty with bachira in a changing room at victoria’s secret, you’d become a bit nervous around him. it’s not that you were upset with him or anything, no, you were guilty of not stopping him or pushing him away. so, you didn’t really have the right to be upset. you were just overwhelmed with the new emotions.

why did he have to go and do that? you were fine with the way the two of you were before! he was your friend, your best friend, and you’re sure you could’ve gone without knowing how his dick felt; all hard and hot inside—wait, that’s not the point! the point is, bachira meguru was your best friend. you didn’t want to cross that line with him.

well, it’s a bit too late for that now.

so, you went on and tried to act as if it didn’t happen; you tried to act as if he hadn’t seen your naked body, skin on full display; you tried to act as if he didn’t fuck you against the mirror in a victoria secret’s changing room; and, you really tried to act as if you didn’t want to do it again.

the thought plagued you. it was sickening how often you thought about it, and how often you got off to the thought of it: a hand tucked between your legs, fingers spreading your slick all over your pussy before thrusting a vibrator into your pussy. you arched at the feeling, full yet not full enough—not as full as bachira made you. you tried to imagine it was his dick and not a hot pink toy moving in and out of you, having your clit ache at the need for stimulation—oh, how would his mouth feel? would he suck your clit like he meant it? dip his tongue into your cunt and eat you out like he was starved? makeout with your pussy and shove two fingers into you and scissor you until you cried? fuck, you really needed to stop thinking so much.

you were sick and nasty, and wondered how you’d face him day after day. how did you do that before? did you talk with a smile and a light chuckle to your tone? did you stand a hands-length away or right on his arm? God! you couldn’t remember with how gooey your brain was at the thought of him.

you almost accomplished going on like nothing happened, too. you were going strong in keeping yourself calm, hands tucked neatly in your lap as you crossed your legs and sat across from bachira at lunch. doing that to keep yourself from getting the seat wet, right? bachira sat across from you, all smiles and laughs, joking about something isagi did during practice the other day. he was so info his own world that he didn’t even notice how just being near him had you feeling knots.

or so you thought.

“you look a little flushed, baby,” you jump at the petname, head whipping around to see if anyone heard, but freeze when thick fingers cup your jaw and give your cheeks a squeeze once you’re facing bachira. “i might get the wrong idea.”

fuck, he noticed. bachira had always been witty, maybe not too smart, but he was able to catch an emotion with just the look of an eye. he could read people better than he could books, he much preferred them over the assortment of words on paper. you happened to be one of his favorite reads, and he was reading you all too easily right now. you didn’t even notice him tilting his head until you were at a loss for air, “or is that what you want me to get?”

and, you don’t know what takes you over, but the look on bachira’s face is so smug and hot that it has your pussy crying to be filled and you letting out a moan rather carelessly for where you two are.

not a word is said after that, just the boundless chatter of the people at other tables. your head was hung by the time you finished your small display of arousal, not daring to look up and meet bachira’s eyes or the few that had heard your naughty noise. you’re so embarrassed you could cry, and you’re sure you will when in the safety of your home and warm bed.

“oh.” bachira’s voice is deep, has you clenching your legs together, and so strained you’re worried he’ll burst. “i definitely got it now.”

bachira had dragged you back to your apartment faster than he’d ever run on the field after that. you were stumbling behind him to his car, and you do it now when getting to your apartment. he doesn’t stop to ask for your keys, just peels up the “happy holidays!” sign hung from your door to snatch the spear key and hurriedly unlocks your door.

he’s ushering you in, quickly pocketing the key and locking the door behind the two of you. you’re about ready to muster up an apology, something to clear the air, when big hands are on your tits and groping harshly through your shirt.

you squeal at the sudden force and stumble into the wall behind you, hands coming to grip bachira’s wrists weakly. “h-hey—!”

“that was fucking sexy as hell,” his gravely tone shoots straight to your cunt as it’s spoken against your neck, a hot tongue meeting the point of your pulse before teeth come to scrape your skin fleetingly. you’re gasping into bachira’s hair as he sucks bruises into your flushed skin, glossy eyes watching as his fingers come and playfully unbutton your shirt.

he’s moving far too slow for the type of man he is, but you don’t dare to complain and show your neediness. you’re sure bachira is already aware of your desperation, with the slutty moan you let out at the table, and how your grip on his wrists loosens with each kiss and suckle he leaves.

“here i was thinking you’d gone and forgotten our little escapade,” if you hadn’t known better, you would’ve sworn bachira to be a lady killer; with his tongue like honey and words like sugared syrup, you’re sure he could have anyone he wanted. you’re surprised he brought it up, with how he’d acted just as you did, all dumb and like you two were just as chummy as before. he hadn’t mentioned anything about your hookup, but maybe that was because you hadn’t either. despite knowing how bachira was, it was too bad you didn’t know him to be a liar.

you go to speak, but find your tongue heavy in your mouth when bachira removes himself from your neck and begins a slow backward walk toward your couch. you pant, frown, and begin to follow him; he’s grinning with an inward chuckle, she really is like a puppy.

bachira lets himself fall when the back of his knees touch your couch cushions, bouncing with the force before he’s patting his lap. his fingers trace his thighs, silently teasing you. come sit, pretty, it’s your throne.

you’re swallowing whatever worries you had and clumsily shifting foot to foot, not daring to move until you’re given some other sort of sign. you’re not sure what it’ll be, but something just doesn’t feel right.

bachira smiles, a wide and wicked one, at your “predicament”, and holds a hand out for you to take. that’s the sign, you think, his fingers so long and eagerly curling in the manner of coaxing you. he seems to be taking his time getting you there, slowly, as if he’s toying with letting you believe he’ll do things as you’d like.

but, you can’t deny the ache between your legs. he’s just so pretty, eyes honeyed and looking at you so longingly, so sickeningly sweet, that you taste their honey on your tongue. you savor the taste.

even so, you’re hesitant, fingers twitching at your side before you’re wordlessly sliding them along the pads of bachira’s own. he’s delighted to see you give in, lips pursed in thought yet prepared for what he has to come. you’re nervous, he can tell, but you’re not pulling away.

“‘s too bad we had to take that one pair of panties back,” the black and yellow-haired male refers to the white ones from back then; the ones you had slid on in the changing room right before bachira and you made a mess of them. the employee who had gone to check the two of you out was madly red, and most likely disgusted at the indications of your events, and told you to leave before any purchases were made. you blush at the memory, “they were cute.”

you shudder when his other hand slides along the span of your thigh, toying with the hem of your skirt. drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you eagerly watch as his long fingers dip below the fabric and make their way toward your inner thigh. bachira watches with eyes all too wide and all too knowing, as if he was looking through you and into the depths of your deepest parts. you want me, they scream, and yours give away that you do.

“w-we can always go get a n-new pair…” you don’t know why you stutter, with him having done nothing yet, but you still feel your cunt pooling with wetness. maybe you’ll need to get a new pair of the ones you wear now, too.

bachira raises a brow and smirks, cocking his head to the side as he frees his hand from your grasp to curl it around your back. he draws circles overtop your shirt, right over the clasp of your bra, “oh? is that you insinuating you want a repeat of last time's events?” he’s partially coy in the way he sounds, but lets his tongue loll out to lick a stripe up your jaw.

you jolt at the feeling, hands coming to fist his shirt at the shoulders. you want it off him, but you don’t think he’s going to let you strip him before he does you, “n-no, that’s not what i meant…” yet, you wonder if it was? with the way you lower yourself to his thigh and shift for some friction, creating more of a mess within your panties, you think you may just want that.

“‘mm, you’re a bad liar, baby,” bachira practically moans when he has the clasp of your bra snapping below your shirt, fingers skilled and itching to cop a feel. you wouldn’t resist—even if you wanted to, even if you began to realize you couldn’t go back to being just friends now—you wouldn’t. “give in, know you want t’…”

and, god, you do. so, you do, you give and give and give, and bachira takes; he takes your breath with a single move, tongue slipping between your teeth to eagerly swallow your being. you moan, close your eyes, and claw at bachira’s shirt once more. you hope he gets the message; you want his skin on yours; you want to be unbearable close to the point you feel like you’ll burn at the proximity.

the two of you break only to have clothes fly, bachira’s bare chest pressed to yours. he relishes in the way your nipples pebble against his skin, moans at the feeling, and drags you against his groin feverishly. “you’re so pretty, can’t wait t’ fuck you again…” the male sounds so love drunk, so out of it with the way his words slur, but he couldn’t be any further from that. he’s plotting, waiting for you to turn to putty, before he strikes.

a hand travels to your chest, index finger and thumb toying with one of your nipples. you arch into his palm, feel the heat of it against your tit. it causes your brains to turn to goo as you go mad. “meguru, please, i-i need you…” you’re too embarrassed to say more, but you hope he takes your request as is.

and, bachira sure does, mouthing at your neck and collarbone before his teeth come and take your nipple into his mouth. he sucks hard, tongue coming to swivel around the bud in a teasing dance. your eyes droop and watch his mouth makeout with your tit, hands running over his shoulders like a fascination. bachira’s right hand comes to toy with your panties below your skirt once more, two thick fingers drawing tight circles overtop your clothed clit.

you wobble at the sudden pressure, hips humping into his hand as bachira continues his ministrations. his eyes roll at your soft skin, mouth not letting up as he slides your panties to the side and dips his fingers within the wet heap between your thighs. “fuck, s’ wet for me. s’ hot…”

before you can mumble a response, you’re lurching when two fingers quickly enter you. there’s no warning, just a stretch and sudden fullness. you have tears at your lashline, lips wobbling with soft gasps as bachira thrusts his fingers in and out of you, agonizingly slow. he scissors his fingers, curls them, and presses them into your gummy walls. he’s mapping you out, ticking each little cranny within your pussy so that he’d be able to go at it with his eyes closed. he’s having too much fun just toying with you, but you’re too choked up to ask for more.

“look at you! what a slut!” bachira moves from your tit for a second to laugh, teeth grazing your skin teasingly to watch you jump, “once wasn’t enough, huh? you want to be fucked dumb, don’t you?” you’re not sure whether he really wants a response or not; and, besides, you’re sure he’d do just that no matter your answer. “i’ll give it to you. i will, i will… just want to savor this…”

a sudden movement happens and you’re on your back, head resting against a pillow of your couch as bachira situates his face between your legs. you stutter, hands shakily reaching to try and push him away. “w-wait, no—“

you’re feeble attempts make the dual hair colored male laugh, and you feel pathetic under his gaze. his eyes eat away at your being; he’s eating whatever doubt or shame or strength you have left to resist him left, he’s not going to let you get away from this. bachira had waited far too long for your one-time fuck to be your two’s only fuck.

bachira is nosing at your panties by the time he has your hands resting on his head. your skirt sits between the feel of his hair and the palm of your hands, hiding his devious actions from your line of sight. you’re glad for that, because you’re not sure you’d be able to last long with the naughty actions he was about to commit.

your nails scratch at bachira’s head through your skirt, causing him to shudder along your skin. his hands come to quickly tug at your panties, skillfully sliding them from below your skirt and off your legs. this time, you catch him pocket the cloth, and suddenly your stomach twists at a small thought: why’d he do that?

there’s no room for you to collect yourself and ask, though, as bachira is licking a long strip up your pussy the second your panties are off. he does so again, moaning into your cunt at just the first taste of you; you’re fisting at your skirt, meat of your thighs pressing into the sides of bachira’s head. he’s met with a sudden rush of heat, moving a hand to palm himself as his slurps and kisses your pussy like he’s in love with it.

“aah, p-please,” whether you’re going to ask him to stop or for more is a long-lost thought when his tongue wiggles its way into your cunt, the feeling is strange and searingly hot. you tug at your skirt, revealing bachira’s flushed and out-of-it face. you didn’t expect him to be so into it, but he’s making you feel all sorts of things.

“s’ good,” his eyes roll when he smacks his lips against your pussy. he’s not afraid to get messy with how he eats you out. one hand tugging his pants and boxers down to palm at his dick, the other kneading the meat of your thigh. his tongue lays flat against you, licking long and slow over and over again, having you twitching. it’s so good, but your clit aches and pulses, wanting the stimulation bachira’s mouth gives your opening.

so, you softly press at his head, angling his nose to brush your clit softly. you whine, lips slick with spit as you call out, “h-here, too.”

bachira is quick to nose your clit again, tongue not relenting it’s assault on your lips below. your head is fuzzy and full of nothing, so heavy that you lay it to the side and your eyes droop; you still maintain your gaze on his face, though, and pant when he moves his hand to slide two fingers into you. “want you t’ cum, please. please, baby, cum.”

his fingers curl into all the right places, thick and long and bringing you to places so high you fear you’ll fall. with his mouth sucking at your clit, tongue lapping you like a dog, and his fingers delving into your pussy with such harsh thrusts, you’re crying out his name and spilling on to his fingers in minutes.

there’s an audible gasp from bachira once he takes his mouth from you, fingers easing you from your high before he pulls them out. he watches your cum push from your pussy, moving it around with his fingers before he’s sucking the digits clean. bachira moans as he does so, eyes never leaving your face, even after he’s done and dipping down to eat the cum that leaks out of you.

“stop! f-fuck,” you squirm at the overstimulation, thighs trying to press together in an attempt at bringing him off you. but, he only does so when he’s finished, coming up to hover over you with a chin covered in spit and cum.

“as good as i remember, pretty,” he’s grinning as he speaks, big hands smoothing over your sides as you smile softly. your eyes move down, widening when you spot bachira’s cock sticking tall against his stomach. he’s big. despite having fucked before, you didn’t get an actual look at it last time due to your position. but, fuck, that was in you? “stare as you’d like. it’s all yours, baby.”

all yours. if you weren’t blushing before, now you are. bachira had just admitted to being yours—or, admitted his dick was yours. either way, something about the statement had you shamelessly reaching a hand out to stroke his reddening tip. “…mine?” you meekly look up at him, batting your lashes as you bring your bottom lip between your teeth. the male is panting, not at just your actions, but the way you look up at him. fuck, you really got to him.

“‘mm, ‘mm, all yours, yours,” his words are so airy and soft, voice tickling your ear when he comes to kiss it. “do what you want with it. what you want with me, pretty, i’m yours.”

there was something sweet about his words. the way he sounded might’ve helped, but the genuine emotion embedded in them had your eyes welling with tears. but, it almost felt like they were a binding spell of sorts. he spoke them, so sweet and softly, but they began to stick to your skin like an enchantment. i’m yours and you are mine.

a hand presses to the arm of the couch your head lays on, following it to the golden-eyed male above you. his eyes have this crazed look in them, one you recognized from when he’d play on the field. the look appeared when he’d sprint forward and snatch the ball after the whistle blew, he’d juggle and trick his way through his opponents without the ball even touching other cleats aside from his own, moving with him like it was teleporting across the field. it was a wild look that had slick pooling at your entrance before it gushed and made a mess, and bachira noticed it with a raise of his brow and a wicked grin.

“excited, huh?” he giggles and uses his other hand to angle his dick near your pussy. he tapped his fat tip against your clit a few times, grin only growing as he watched you jump and gasp with each pap, pap, pap, and practically purred deep within his chest. he ran it through your folds and gathered your slick, lubing himself up for a smooth entry. “me too, baby.”

in a fluid motion, he’s bottomed out into your pussy. his pelvis meets your clit and you mewl and throw your head back. your mouth hangs open in a long, silent moan as bachira begins a rhythm. he humps into your pussy, both hands now on your hips to bring you into him. you bounce with his thrusts, the slap of your ass and his balls like a melody of sin.

“fuck, missed this pussy,” bachira groans as his head falls forward to watch his dick pound into your gummy walls. your pussy flutters with his words, your stomach twisting and dancing in all sorts of emotional butterflies. you can’t decide if it’s the pleasure of his dick going in and out, or his admittance to missing your pussy that has you reacting in such a way. you assume it’s a mix of both, though. “y’take me so well, pretty.”

you cry when his thrusts speed up, pressing a hand to his abdomen to feel the clench of his abs. your nails draw across his skin, silly and sloppy little drawings, some are hearts, others are circles, and others are jumbled motions from the continuous bounce of your body. bachira’s nails dig into your hips, making a drawing of his own in the shape of crescent moons.

the pleasure is so good, bachira is so good, that you close your eyes as your head lolls back. you moan and mewl and pant as bachira keeps a steady rhythm, dick angled to hit the sweet spot deep within your pussy. it has you shaking, convulsing with pleasure as you taste your impending release on the tip of your tongue.

your hands move to steady yourself on the couch, bachira having begun to thrust into you with more vigor. you bounce more harshly, fear of falling from the couch beginning to weigh on your mind. you grasp the cushion below you and squeak when a hand pushes you into a higher arch, the angle now having you slightly bounce on his cock. your eyes cross below their lids and your lips wobble, the pleasure so good it’s brought you to tears. you cry out, bachira’s name slipping from your tongue so easily that it stirs your insides just right and causes you to realize your newfound infatuation for the male and his dick.

“s’good, fuck me s’good, pretty…” bachira slurs his words, eyes honed in on the bounce of your tits. his grin is still as wide as before, a heavy pool of saliva building in his mouth from the desire to feast on your being and your pleasure. you smile at his words and giggle a moan, thighs twitching as you begin to feel the metaphorical dam chip and patch away. “fuck, going to cum? yeah, cum, cum for me baby, want you to…”

his words have you cumming in waves and a loud moan, hands laid flat against bachira’s abdomen as he continues to thrust. his hips stutter and his cock twitches, it burns as it mushes your insides up. your pussy pulses and tingles, and you mumble a plea for him to stop, the overstimulation having your toes curl into the dips of his back. but, bachira moans and lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth to where his cock enters and exits you, thrusts so sloppy and short and sharp that his balls stick to your ass due to your release and sweat.

“baby, baby, fuck! cumming—! inside? inside, fuck yeah,” he’s talking to himself now, babbling in his fit of blinding pleasure as his cum spurts inside your pussy. you holt at the warmth and whine as he fucks his cum into you. you open blurry eyes to see bachira grinning like a madman, cheeks red and covered in sweat with his hair sticking to his forehead. you give a shaky smile and go to speak, but your words get swallowed right back down when you notice his phone pointed toward you with a light on. your stomach drops.

“fuck, you looked so hot baby. can’t wait to show this to isagi! bet he’d love a turn, yeah?”

[antiwhores]

Brand New; Bakugouxreader

After chasing you away when it was revealed that you were pregnant, you start a new life. The baby didn’t survive so your life was your own withiut trave of him. A life without Bakugou. Can he do the same as good as you? You’re happy. Is he?

TW: hurt, angst, no comfort for Bakugou, unwanted pregnancy, miscarriage, break ups, fighting (verbal), good ending for reader, not proof read, unprotected sex, hatred.

I was just in that angsty mood yk? Yall btw, i wanna cut my vagina off fr. And i dont want myears anymore. Whats the point of hearing if it only works sometimes?! Ugh.

You resented him. Bakugou was officially dead to you. In fact he had been dead to you for a while. But when he decided to pop up into your life and try to ruin it again. You were pissed.

During your sophmore year of highschool you were dating Bakugou. You two were childhood friends, attached at the hip. But when he decided that fucking with a faulty condom would be a good thing, even when you protested, it all changed.

He got you pregnant. All because he didn’t wanna wait to get his dick wet till he could get a new condom to replace of the one he’d been carrying in his pocket for the whole span of the 3 day camping trip you two took.

Didn’t he understand that this was a huge change for you too? No, he was selfish.

“I don’t have time for a damn child! Im trying to be a hero for gods sake!” “Okay?! You can’t just try to force and abortion on me like that you piece of shit! This was all you! And you think I don’t have shit to do with my life to?!” “Your life isnt as important as mine!”

You packed your shit and left that week. You never looked back. And you regret nothing.

You moved out to the far countryside of Japan. Somewhere hidden in the fog of a deserted, closed off town. You finished your highschool years in that small little village. You got to know everyone in the town. You went to college in another side of the outskirts and graduated with a degree that would keep you happy.

The baby didn’t survive, you didn’t even have time to think about whether or not you wanted to keep it before it died. You remember going to the doctor about a day or two after the incident to check on the parasite in your stomach. It was gone.

You remember laughing biterly, tears whelling up at what the doctor told you. All that bickering and loss just for a false alarm. You were sick.

Now, for the first time in a long time, you were happy. You were 24 with a house and car, a stable job, plenty of non-judging allies, friends and good relationships, financial stability, a nice area of living, and most of all; you were without him.

You swore never to step back into the city again unless absolutely necessary. Not even for family visits. The family that did want to see you came out to you instead of vice versa. You also made sure not to tell any of your old friends where you had gone.

You knew he patrolled the streets. Even if theres a small chance you’d see him again, you wanted to prevent that at all costs.

But apparently no matter how far you ran, the past ran faster.

Everyone in the town knew eachothers stories and you were no exception. The town knew that you had been betrayed by such a famous man. They were kind, they took down any advertisements for the man, they talked shit whenever he came up on tv, etc.

So of course all hell broke loose when he came to your small town to work on a case. They knew they needed to keep you away from him and they knew how.

So, as Bakugou was roaming the streets, spreading his bitter aura like the plague on everything he touched, you hid.

The plan was almost compromised when he met eyes with you breifly. You were in a neighbors house when it happened. Everyone had just been notified that he came through so you weren’t ready.

You dissapeared from the window as quickly as you came. Even though he beckoned himself a fool, a crazy man for even thinking his first love was in this building after all these years still as gorgeous as he remembers; he still found himself walking up to the door and placing a firm knock.

It was not you whom answered his knock but the neighbor. A tiny brown woman with glassy green eyes who looked about 25. A coldness wafted off of her as she questioned his reasoning for knocking. He felt like a borderline schizophrenic. According to himself, he was just so deperate to see her again that when he saw a woman around the same age as you he was stiff and stunned.

He packed his shit and left that week. He looked back. He regreted everything.

[hybeboyenthusisast]

➺ twelve

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"Hey, isnt that Choi yn?" You could hear the same whispers wherever you walked on campus. Today it was the dining hall entrance, where clutters of students were gathered for lunch. Hybe University wasn't exactly big, but one would think it would be big enough that freshman rumors wouldn't spread like wildfire.

Alas.

Ever since that fraternity brother you rejected began spreading rumors about you, you had been under the microscope every second you were on campus. During your classes, you would find several moments where people were focused on you instead of your professor, their eyes following your movements even when you were just taking notes.

People had begun to avoid you, too. You hadn't made any real friends yet, aside from Sakura, and now it was impossible to do this. You had casual acquaintances that you shared classes with, having spoken about assignments before but never extending further, but now they avoided you.

It seemed like the whole campus was either gossiping about you or avoiding you like the plague, with the exceptions of your friends. Though you rarely saw Hwasa or Nayeon on campus, they had started to spend more time with you. Hwasa would study in the library with you, and Nayeon would accompany you to several of your classes. Beomgyu and Jungwon also made more appearances, both of them having lunch with you on the days that they could.

Sakura spent almost all of her free time with you, usually hanging out with you in your dorm. Your roommate was barely around beforehand, but at this point you wondered if they had dropped out. This made it easier for Sakura, who would stay too late and be too tired to go home, so she wound up spending the night with you multiple times.

Even Jay, one of the Alpha Chi brothers and a fellow physics major, spent more time around you than before. You two weren't exactly friends, but he was kind enough to work on an assignment with you and even ask for your help studying once.

Today, though, you were alone. You had originally planned to just pick up one of the kinda gross pre-made sandwiches from the dining hall, so you could take your lunch and eat it in your dorm where nobody could bother you. What actually happened, though, was a plate of spaghetti spilled along your front, two sorority girls laughing.

Your shirt was stained with the meat sauce, the red sauce quickly spreading through the fabric.

You had turned and ran, trying to outrun the shrill laughter that followed you. It had almost worked out fine, no obstacles in your way, until you ran face first into someone's chest.

"Whoa," strong hands landed on your shoulders to try and steady you, to keep you from falling over. You didn't have to even look up to know who you had run into.

Because of course it was Choi Fucking Soobin. The one man who could stop the rumors spreading like wildfire around campus, the one man who had continued to do nothing.

"Don't touch me," you snapped, stepping back and glaring at him. He opened his mouth to respond, his eyebrows furrowing, but you had already walked away.

Soobin was aware that your reputation had taken a hit thanks to that stupid frat boy you had turned down, but he had no idea how bad it had gotten for you. He had been so busy with schoolwork that he hadn't been on Twitter much, finding that it would often just add onto his stress every time he would open the app and see his classmates crying about their workloads too. He wanted to get away from the stress, not see other peoples.

So he hadn't noticed all the harassment you were receiving online. Even in his classes, when people would gossip when the professor wasn't paying attention, he was too focused to eavesdrop on conversations he didn't care about.

But Sakura had reached out to him, had told him how bad things were getting- how bad things had gotten already. He felt like an idiot, like the world's biggest asshole, for not noticing anything that had been happening.

The night of the party, when nobody could find you, it was because you were with Soobin. You had just looked so damn fine that night, and Soobin was so relaxed from whatever he had been drinking, and you spent the night fucking. Multiple rounds and very ruined bedsheets.

He felt ashamed of himself; he didn't like you at all but he had let his dick take over, and over, and over. Not only did he confuse himself (why would he kiss you? why would he fuck you?), but he had basically kicked you out in the very early hours of the next day.

He always treated women with respect, it was something he prided himself in.. but he didn't do that with you. Even though he hated you, you still deserved respect, and he hated himself for not treating you right. And then he hated himself for not speaking to you, to apologize or explain.

And now he hated himself for letting the rumors do as much damage to you as they had. If only he had paid more attention, you wouldn't have snapped at him and ran away crying. Maybe you would have come to him for comfort, instead.

He wanted to protect you from further harm, to comfort you and wipe your tears. But it was because he was a kind person, even if he harbored a great grudge against you.

You and your brother were the reason he was a freshman, when he should have been a sophomore. You were why he didn't get into his dream college, why he had to wait a year to enroll here.

Even so... he pulled out his phone, opened his Twitter, and finally gained a bit of his human decency back.

Loser Taglist (open!!) : @yangwaa @izzyexe @reiiydained @mackjestic @yawn-zzns @browniestraykidshiteu @n034sy @ladyartemesia

Permanent Taglist (open): @junnmizz @ashxxgyu​ @igotkpoops​ @xiaoderrrr​ @alyssajavenss @mintxts <3

[senorabond]

Rumor Has It Complete Flashback Scene

Pairings: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Summary: This is the entirety of the evidence room flashback with Marcus!

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), flashback, semi-public/workplace sex (evidence locker after hours), unprotected p-in-v (stay safe, folks), hand on throat for control, probably talking about cum way too much?, Dom/sub dynamic, soft Dom!Marcus, praise kink, you are such a good girl, cockwarming, aftercare, denying all the feels, ohh the yearning

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color. Marcus is strong enough to lift Reader up onto the edge of a table (no mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color), Reader has hair long enough for Marcus to brush away from face, Marcus is super thoughtful and thorough when planning for sexy times.

Words: 8.5k

Author’s Note: This was spread out in several installments in my series Rumor Has It, but I think it can work well as a standalone! Beta'd by the wonderful @kilamonster - mwah!

Washington, D.C.

6 months earlier

“You don’t have to do this.” Marcus stands next to your desk as you finish packing your few personal belongings into an empty cardboard box. “I’ll talk to my guys, you don’t need –”

You still him with a hand. “Marcus, please. I’m choosing to do this; it’s a really good opportunity.” You hope he believes that. 

Marcus sighs and rubs a hand over his face. After looking around to check that you and he were alone in the emptying building, Marcus leans into your space. “You’re telling me this has nothing to do with us?” His voice is deep, intimate.

He’s close enough for you to feel the warmth emanating from his body, and you catch a whiff of the aftershave that always leaves you feeling a bit heady. How is it still so strong even after a full day’s work? The frisson you experience whenever your bodies are in close proximity hasn’t diminished in the slightest, even after months of fucking on the sly. 

You’d both maintained your professionalism at the office; you respect each others’ boundaries and careers too much to get sloppy in the workplace. The only thing that changed around the office since you started sleeping with Marcus was the other agents. Their eyes followed you around the office, conversations sputtered to a halt when you entered the breakroom, and snatches of whispered conversation filled your cubicle when they didn’t know you were there.  

Clearing your throat, you force your eyes to meet his intense gaze. “Yes, Marcus, that’s what I’m saying.” 

Marcus is a great agent, and an even greater guy. You know he’d want to stick up for you – as a fellow agent, and as a friend – but it’d only make things harder for you. Already your caseload had begun to dwindle and you were being consulted less and less often on issues squarely in your area of expertise. After several fruitless conversations with your supervisor, you weren’t about to sit around and wait for your career to die – no matter how mindblowing the sex was. 

The box is packed with your personal belongings and an assortment of stolen office supplies as your last petty ‘fuck you’ to the endemic sexism and double standards that plague federal law enforcement. 

“Hey,” Marcus takes your hand in both of his and strokes his thumb over your pulse point as he perches a hip on the corner of your bare desk. “I can tell there’s something more to the story, and you obviously don’t want to tell me what it is so I’m not going to push…” 

You roll your eyes at him teasingly and he huffs out a laugh, then pulls you closer so your hand is in his lap. Still, he strokes that sensitive part of your wrist and something in you thrums to life. “But?” You look at your joined hands. “I know there’s a but in there.”

“But – you know you can always talk to me. About whatever.” He shrugs a noncommittal shoulder and you step even closer, bracketing one of his legs between your own. His breath falters a bit as you turn one of his large hands over and graze your fingertips across his palm with a featherlight touch. 

“If you ever need anything, please…” His voice drops into the register you only ever hear him use in private. 

Fuck it – you’d been so careful and were still dealing with the consequences. Might as well have a little fun on your last day. You place a firm hand on Marcus’ thigh and glide it upward to his hip. 

“There is one thing I need right now.” You feel a bit giddy at your recklessness, but any nerves you might have are quelled when Marcus runs the tip of his nose up your jawline to your ear. 

“And what’s that? Hm?” He inhales your scent and hums with pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, you shift the hand at Marcus’ hip to his crotch. When you feel how hard he already is you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

Marcus inhales sharply through his nose at your touch, then lets out a groan in your ear at your gentle squeeze. “Tell me what you need.” His five o’clock shadow rasps against your sensitive skin as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth. 

“I need you to show me that evidence locker you haven’t shut up about since we met.” 

~~~

Pike stands behind you in the elevator in case you happen upon anybody else working late at the office. The odds are low, except for the contracted private security officers, but you didn’t think they’d want to see Pike’s hardon either. He’s so close, he’s almost pressed against your back while caressing a palm over your ass. You try to keep a straight face, but are practically panting through parted lips.

“You’ve been wanting this for a long time, haven’t you?” Marcus asks, his voice low in your ear as he leans over to push the button for the correct floor. His tone is almost conversational, but you can feel the thread of excitement pulling taut between your bodies. He’d been teasing you with the idea of fucking you in the art squad’s evidence locker for months now, going into great detail about what he was going to do to you – you only had to ask. 

You nod silently in response as the elevator doors close, and Pike grips your waist, grinding his erection into your lower back. “Yes,” your breath huffs out. He likes you to use your words, and strokes your arm with an approving hum. 

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” Your nipples harden at his words and your breath comes out shakily. 

Marcus was the first person you’d ever been with to call you a good girl. You never thought you’d be into the kind of gentle dominance and steady stream of praise Marcus employed with you, but it made all the right synapses fire in your brain and took the experience to an entirely different level. 

You nod again, playing the game, knowing what he wants to hear.

Marcus’ hand splays across your lower belly, the other sweeping gently across your throat and brushing your hair away from your face. He’s pressing into you, the energy coming off him in waves, leaving you feeling heady. 

“Say it for me.” It’s spoken softly, coaxing, but still an unmistakable command. 

“I’ll be a good girl for you.” Your voice has the slightest waver, but ends strong.

Marcus’ hand on your belly inches lower and heat radiates between your thighs. “I know you will.”

The doors of the elevator open with a ding that makes you jump, and Marcus moves back with a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. Gently, he guides you with a hand between your shoulder blades. You’re on one of the underground levels, where the low ceilings and fluorescent lights are stark reminders that you’re both still in a government building and cameras are watching your every move. 

A security guard rounds a corner and Marcus clears his throat, then moves to button his suit jacket, presumably to hide his erection. How he manages to walk with that thing when it’s hard, you’ll never know. 

The guard waves amiably. “Good evening, Agent Pike. What’re you still doing here so late?” Of course Pike knows the guard; probably knows his kids’ names too. 

“Just had something to finish off first.” Biting your tongue to keep from laughing, the two of you pass the guard. “Oh yeah, tell Rosie good luck at her big match this weekend.” You nearly snort. The men share a brief handshake and you and Marcus round the corner, the door to the evidence lockup just ahead.

The two of you share a heated look and Marcus smirks. He swipes his badge and the door unlocks with a small snick. You’re guided inside a dark room that could be the size of a storage closet for all you can see. Marcus flips one of the light switches, and sturdy floor-to-ceiling shelving units are illuminated on either side, hedging you in like a maze. So far, it looks like any other evidence room, except with mood lighting.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you mutter, and Marcus chuckles. As he leads you along the shelves towards some unknown destination, long shadows from the meager overhead light throw the long rows and corners into darkness.

He takes your hand and explains, “The lighting, temperature, and humidity are all controlled by a central system. Same kind as in the National Gallery.” You nod, genuinely impressed. 

“You don’t keep all your evidence here, right?” The room was large, but most of the shelving space was taken up by various sized crates and archival boxes. Marcus shakes his head.

“Just the very valuable pieces that need to be kept under special conditions. Any other evidence is kept in a regular lockup.” 

Marcus stops and you come up short, nearly colliding with his broad back. “Oh,” you breathe, peering around him and knowing this is what he wanted to show you.

The maze of shelving units opens up onto what looks like a miniature museum exhibit. Paintings are hung on the walls or staged on easels and covered with drop cloths. Sculptures are on pedestals in glass cases along one wall, and to your right are a few chairs next to an expansive table. 

Marcus approaches the paintings and proceeds to carefully remove the drop cloths from each work of art. They vary in style, color, expression, and movement. Some of them are encased in elaborate frames, while others are plain, or bare. Now this is what you’d hoped for after all these months hearing Marcus speak of this place in near reverent tones. This evidence lockup could rival most well-funded galleries and museums. 

“Are these all forgeries?” You take a step closer to the nearest painting and inspect it – for what, you’re not sure. “Stolen?” 

“A bit of both.” Marcus sidles up behind you. Your voices remain hushed, private, intimate. 

Hands casually in his pockets, he takes you on a tour of the evidence on display, telling you a bit about each piece – what made the art valuable enough to forge or steal, and a few particulars about each case. He is in his element here, the picture of quiet confidence. Passion laces his every word and brings a spark to his eyes that you’d only seen a few times before when you were about to crack a case.

You have never felt more attracted to him.

Coming up to the last painting, you cock your head to the side and give it a quizzical stare. It’s abstract, composed of a muted yet warm palette. The paint is blended with no discernable lines or shapes.

“What is it?” you ask, looking up in time to see Marcus’ dimple appear next to his gentle smile. 

“What do you see?” Marcus steps behind you again, and runs the tips of his fingers up and down your arms. 

“I… I’m not sure. What am I supposed to see?” The texture of the paint is layered in some spaces, and there’s almost an ethereal glow emanating from its contrast of light and dark. You feel a bit embarrassed and uncultured. Maybe if you squint or let your vision blur, like it’s one of those magic eye puzzles that give you headaches.

“What I love about abstract art is that there’s no right or wrong answer. I hated it until we studied it in school. I always thought I was missing something, and got frustrated that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.” 

You let out a soft hmm of agreement, but are distracted by Marcus’ voice, hot on your ear, lips close enough to graze the sensitive shell. “It was this quote by an artist, Arshile Gorky, that helped me appreciate it more. To paraphrase, abstraction frees the mind and allows it to explore the unknown. Whatever you see is what you’re meant to see.”

You let your mind rest on his words, buzzing from the energy between you. With a smirk, you say, “I bet you got laid a lot in school.” 

Marcus gives a surprised chuckle. “I did alright,” he admits, and you hear the grin in his voice.

Turning to face him, you run your hands up his chest and under the lapels of his jacket to his shoulders. Marcus sighs, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. That spark in his eye is trained on you now, his pupils blown while they skate over your face under hooded lids. 

“What’s next on the tour?” Your voice comes out a bit hoarse, his gaze almost overwhelming in its intensity. 

Marcus smiles, somewhat mischievously. “Just one more thing. C’mon,” he takes your hand and starts leading you to the large table and chairs. “I think you’re going to like this part.” 

Leaving you at the edge of the table, Marcus goes to one of the nearby shelves and pulls out a large cardboard envelope from a box, nearly the size of one of the paintings. With the flip of a switch, the entire surface of the table illuminates, humming gently from the internal fan. He pulls out what looks to be a sheet of dark plastic film and lays it on top of the table, revealing an x-ray image. 

Marcus’ face is like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “This is an x-ray of that painting over here,” he points to the abstract work you’d been standing at a moment before. The x-ray on the table is a ghostly, black-and-white rendering of the muted swaths of paint. “And here,” he lays a second image down on the table, “is another x-ray taken of the same painting at different settings.” 

You nearly gasp. It’s virtually a different image entirely. The abstract painting has been reduced to a haze, overlaying a distinct pastoral landscape. Leaning over the table for a closer look, you feel a pleasantly warm glow on your face from the lit surface. “What the…” Your eyes snap back to Marcus’ face, which is lit up with what you can only describe as glee. 

“So you like it?” His eyes are sparkling and that dimple you love so much has reappeared. 

“‘Like it?’” You scoff. “I love it, Marcus, this is incredible. But…” you gesture at the images, “What exactly does that mean in terms of evidence?” Marcus comes around to your side of the table. 

“The first one is a radiographic image of that painting we looked at, which could have told us if there were any traces of minerals or other elements within the paint used. Modern paint pigments are synthetic,” Marcus pulls the first image closer and gestures to the different shades of gray. “But–” he slides the second image next to the first, with its outlines of rolling hills and fluffy clouds, “Historically, heavy metals were frequently used, like lead and cobalt.” 

Nodding along with the lesson, you put two and two together. “So the heavy metals in old paint would show through on an x-ray, even if somebody has painted over it.” Marcus is beaming at you, clearly happy that you made the connection. 

“Exactly. And then the synthetic paint could be removed later.” Turning to face you, he rests a hip on the edge of the table. The surface light casts dramatic shadows across the contours of his jaw and nose. You mirror his body language and reach out to poke him playfully in the chest. 

“No fair; the FBI gets all the fun toys.” The cool satin of his tie slips deftly between your fingers, and you give it a gentle tug. His gaze is alert and hungry as he takes a step closer, and you can feel your body responding to his proximity once again. Marcus trails a finger across your clavicle that sends a chill down your spine and tingles straight to your nipples. 

“Yeah, but if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll share.” Threading his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull, he pulls gently but purposefully until your head tilts back and you’re forced to meet his eyes. A shuddering breath escapes your parted lips. Marcus leans in and grazes his lips against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss. His tongue traces the sensitive inner edge of your top lip and you nearly let out a whimper.

“Go on, then. Ask me.” He nips at your bottom lip. “Nicely.” 

“Please,” you breathe. Marcus’ arm encircles your waist, while the hand in your hair grips a bit tighter. He uses a tight hold on your ass to grind you against the firm thigh he places between your own. Your hands grasp desperately onto his shoulders as your knees feel like they’re about to buckle from the delicious pressure. 

“‘Please’ what?” Marcus prompts gently. You’re pressing back against his thigh now, too lost in the sensation to respond. He withdraws it suddenly and you’re left clenching, all too aware of how badly you need that pressure back. 

“‘Please’ what?” He repeats, more firmly this time. 

“Please, Sir.” You correct yourself quickly, and are rewarded with Marcus’ lips against yours and the blessed return of his thigh. He’s a man possessed, and you whimper into his mouth as his tongue licks inside. The next thing you know, he’s got you sandwiched between the table and his thigh now, your skirt hiked up, juices leaking through your panties as you ride the firm muscles of his leg. 

“Look at you, just beautiful. You’re so hot like this, I love seeing you lose yourself. Does that feel good? Hm?” Marcus presses his hard cock into your hip and groans. “Jesus, I can feel how fucking wet you are through my pants. Are you going to leave your pussy juices on me, so anybody we walk past can see what a good girl you are for me?” 

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, arms gripping to Marcus for dear life as you continue rutting against him, breath becoming ragged. The friction and pressure are almost too much, you’ll practically give yourself rug burn at this rate. But the onslaught of Marcus’ filthy praise in your ear, his hot, steamy breath against your neck, his tongue on your pulse point – you’re already careening out of control and he knows it.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby?” Nodding, wordless, you scramble to hold onto him as Marcus scoops up one of your thighs and hooks it over his hip with a grunt. “Then you better ask first.” 

“P-please,” you gasp out, “Please, Sir. Please can I cum?” You’re on the precipice, Marcus’ cock almost painfully hard in your hip. 

You gasp when he pulls his thigh away, eyes flying open in shock. “Not yet, sweet girl, hold on for me just a little bit longer. You’re going to cum on my tongue first.” Before you have a chance to protest, Marcus hoists you up fully onto the edge of the light table and pulls up a chair to feast on you. 

You’re immediately aware of the warmth the lit surface of the table infuses into every part of your body it’s touching. The table itself feels sturdy and solid beneath you, but you can’t fight an initial moment of panic. “Um, Marcus…I don’t know if–” It’s a struggle to concentrate as Marcus noses at your clothed pussy. A gentle double tap to the crown of his head is all the signal he needs to check in.

“You okay? Do you want to stop?” Marcus’ face is flushed, but his eyes are clear and laser focused on you. 

“Is this, uh…safe?” You rap gently on the table with a forced air of nonchalance. 

Marcus smiles and strokes the outside of your hip and thigh with his hand. “Totally safe. I triple-checked the specs and tested it out already.” 

You lift an amused eyebrow at that. “Tested it out?” 

Marcus’ eyes go round at the implication, his dominant persona dropped. “Not like that! I mean I stacked a shitload of evidence boxes on it and did a– well, ah– a simulation, I guess you could call it.” His self-effacing chuckle is endearing.  He always knows how to make you feel safe and secure during your more adventurous times together. You smile and stroke his hair as he rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, the rasp of his five o’clock shadow sending shockwaves to your pussy.

“I’m very interested in finding out more about this simulation…Sir.” His honorific on your lips is your signal that you’re ready to continue and his grin turns wolfish. With a playful, smacking kiss to the tender flesh of your inner thigh, Marcus slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Bracing your calves on his broad shoulders, you lift your ass a little to help Marcus slide the panties the rest of the way off. 

“Open up for me, sweetheart.” Gently, he applies pressure to your knees until you’re completely spread out before him. You might be a little embarrassed being on display if you didn’t know how much he loved you like this: open, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy. The expression on Marcus’ face is practically one of reverence. 

“This is exactly why I wanted to bring you here,” Marcus places open-mouthed kisses up your thighs, sucking and nibbling his way to your center. It’s difficult not to squirm, he’s got you feeling antsy and impatient. “I wanted to see you lit up and on exhibit for me, like the work of art you are.” 

You must be quite a sight to behold with the bright light of the table shining from beneath you. To drive his point home, Marcus dips his tongue to your core and collects your gathering slick on his tongue, spreading it and his saliva up to your clit in a broad swipe. Riding his thigh earlier has left you swollen and sensitive; your back arches off the table and you gasp at the sudden contact. 

Marcus holds you open with one hand so his tongue can more freely explore the full length of your slit, while the other alternates between massaging your breasts and rolling a peaked nipple through your blouse. Desperate for more, you unbutton your top enough to pull the cups of your bra down and leave yourself exposed to Marcus’ roaming fingers. 

Your whimpers and shuddering breaths combine with the sounds of Marcus lapping at your seeping cunt. His nose bumps against your engorged clit and you gasp, hips spasming. The hand on your breast disappears, and a finger gently nudges your entrance. 

“I’m going to get you ready for my cock, baby. Are you ready?” You nod wordlessly, and Marcus eases a digit inside you, watching your expression. “Oh, pretty girl, you’re so good, so wet. So tight, fuck.” 

Marcus laves his tongue over your clit and you clench around his finger. “Mmm, you’re going to take me so good, aren’t you?” Soon, he adds a second, working it rhythmically in and out, sucking and flicking his tongue against your clit until you’re panting. 

The wet noises made by Marcus’ fingers inside you are practically obscene. When he crooks them at just the right spot, you lose all sense and writhe against him. You can hear a question in his inflection, but the twist and pull of his fingers are distracting, to say the least. He’s leaning over you now, the heel of his palm applying pressure over your clit to replace his mouth. 

“You’re doing so well, I know you can do it. You just need to ask me first.” His fingers inside you are relentless, and you can feel the pressure building inside, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Marcus can tell how close you are and stops with his two fingers buried deep inside and applies his other hand to each side of your neck with just enough pressure to get your attention.

“C’mon, sweetheart, focus for me, otherwise I’ll have to stop.” His fingers are barely moving inside of you, just enough to keep you right on the edge. “You know what to do.”

A sob practically escapes your throat. “Please, Sir. I need to cum. Please can I? I want to be good for you.” It’s impossible to keep the pleading from your tone, you’re so close. Your hips are gyrating of their own accord, feebly fucking yourself on his fingers.

Marcus moves his hand off your throat to cup the side of your face and tangle his fingers in your hair. “Mm, do it. Be my good girl and cum.” Marcus leans down for a final taste where you’re stretched around his curling fingers, then settles his lips around your clit. With a cry, you break and see stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm crashes over you. 

“Fuck yes, that’s my good girl. So beautiful like this, so perfect. I can feel you dripping into my hand, baby, you’re so wet. Did that feel good? Is that what you needed?” Marcus praises you through it all, stroking your neck, your breasts, peppering kisses over your mound and belly. His fingers retreat, leaving you fluttering in aftershocks, and you watch him lick your cum from his palm and fingers.

“Thank you for being such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I had to taste you at least one more time before you leave...” Reality falls over the room like a weighted blanket, and you let your engaged muscles go slack against the lit surface of the table, suddenly harsh and blinding. You feel exposed instead of exhibited and you squeeze your thighs together as the final flutters of your orgasm subside. 

“Hey, come back to me,” you hear Marcus murmur, and feel him turn your face to meet his. He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste your tang on his plump bottom lip. He presses his forehead against yours and you share a couple of breaths. 

“I’m not done with you yet.” 

You focus on the feeling of your exhaled breaths mingling in the space between yours and Marcus’ mouths. He nuzzles your neck and trails wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbone and chest. His every move is slow, languid, intentional; every touch sets your nerve endings alight. Your hands are buried in his hair, caressing the back of his neck, holding him to your breast as he sucks a taut nipple into his mouth.

“You’re so soft, so beautiful,” Marcus mutters against your skin, lost in his senses. He’s unbuttoning your shirt the rest of the way, kissing and nuzzling down with each inch exposed. 

Suddenly, Marcus is pulling you up, a hand behind your neck, another behind your back, until you’re sitting up fully on the edge of the table. He’s thrown in a slight shadow as your body blocks the lit surface behind you. You love the change in the angle, the difference in your height making him tilt his head up to meet your gaze, his own eyes full of adoration and awe. 

Removing your shirt entirely, Marcus quickly unhooks your bra and tosses it onto the table with your shirt. He rolls up his sleeves, his tie draped forgotten over the back of a nearby chair with his jacket. Desperate to feel more of him, you busy yourself with undoing more buttons of his shirt and running your hands across his chest and shoulders and back, wherever you can reach. Marcus reaches for you and helps you off the table, your skirt staying bunched at your hips and waist. 

“Turn around for me,” Marcus commands in his gentle, coaxing tone. You obey, and close your eyes a moment while they adjust to the white light of the table surface. Strong hands explore the curves of your ass, caressing, squeezing. 

“Feet apart, sweet girl.” His words are right behind your ear, a low rumble of satisfaction elicited as you follow his order immediately. You place both hands on the edge of the table, readying yourself for him. 

“Mmm, good girl.” You feel him moving behind you and shudder a bit – he’s undoing his pants, pulling his length out. Then he’s there, body pressed against yours, kissing the back of your neck, hard cock leaking on your ass. Your pussy is already pulsing in anticipation.

Marcus drags the tip of his nose up the line of your neck and nips at your earlobe. “Are you ready to take my cock, sweetheart?” He brushes your hair back from your face and you can only nod vigorously. A firm hand tilts your chin up.  

“I need to hear it, baby. Say it.” The suspense is torture, you need him inside you, stretching, filling you, in the way only he can. 

“Yes, Sir. Please. I need it.” The intensity of your need weaves a tremor into your voice. 

“What do you need?” Marcus grinds himself into your ass with a grunt, his hands gliding over your back and breasts. 

“I need your cock, Sir.” 

“Then you better take it.” Blood rushes in your ears, your breathing gets more labored. 

Marcus removes one of your hands from the table, guides it back towards him and you reach between your bodies. He places a hand over yours, wrapping your fingers around his shaft. The heft of him, the heat, the grip of his hand on yours as you give him a tentative stroke – “Good girl,” his breath hitches.

Marcus’ hand on your shoulder lowers your upper body closer to the table. You tilt your hips up at a better angle, offering yourself to him, then line his cock up at your entrance and try to push back. Marcus stills your hips, holds them firmly in place with both of his strong hands. 

With anyone else, you’d be embarrassed at the pitiful whine you let out, but it’s different with Marcus. It’s always been different, and right now you’re too far gone to care about anything else. You just need him inside you one last time. 

“Shh, it’s okay, sweet girl, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.” Marcus speaks softly, soothingly. “I’ll give you what you need.” He drags the head of his cock through your folds, getting it slick and ready.

Marcus inhales deeply through his nose, then enters you in one slow, smooth movement, pulling a moan from deep in your throat, and a stuttered exhale from him. You both take a moment to catch your breath and relish the sensation of being joined again. The stretch, the fullness – it makes your head swim.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Marcus mutters. “You’re so good, so perfect…” His hands caress your back and hips, then he’s moving – slowly, mindfully working you open with each press of his cock. He slides one hand up between your shoulder blades to the back of your neck, digs the fingers of his other into the flesh of your hip. You can tell he’s trying to hold back, give you time to adjust. But soon, he pulls out almost all the way, only to slide home again with more force, your forward momentum stopped by the table.

His pace quickens slightly, each thrust elongated and ending buried deep inside like it belongs there. The hand on the back of your neck moves to grip your shoulder, pulling you back onto his cock, forcing a breathy moan from your lungs on each snap of his hips. The edge of the table digs into your belly, but the feeling of being trapped and utterly at the mercy of Marcus’ increasing heat and ardor only fuels the flames kindling in your lower belly. 

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good. You always take my cock so well. My perfect girl.” Marcus’ unceasing string of praise elevates the stimulation to new heights and you feel the first flutters of another orgasm starting. Marcus feels it too and groans, slowing his rhythm to a torturous pace so you feel every drag of the head of his cock inside you.

Whimpering, you fight the urge to beg. Marcus knows what you can take, knows how far he can push you. He knows when you’re working hard for him, lavishes you with praise and adoration, and always rewards you with the best sensual, pleasurable experiences you’ve ever had.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m going to let you cum for me again,” Marcus lets out a breathy chuckle. “But we’re not there just yet, okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” you respond automatically and Marcus hums in delight. He strokes the back of your neck with his thumb and gently presses down on your shoulder until your breasts are pressed flat against the warm light of the table.

“Look at you, so beautiful. You should always be in the light, always be seen and appreciated.” Folding your arms to cradle your face, you close your eyes against the light of the table and bask in the warmth of Marcus’ words. His hips never stop their fluid motion, almost lazy if not for the strength and intention behind each thrust. 

This is another of his lessons in patience. Patience has never been a strength of yours; Marcus has taught you the value of slowing down, waiting, living in the moment – especially a sensuous moment such as this. If you can focus on the here and now instead of the finish line, the end will be so much sweeter. 

“Mm, that’s right, just relax and take it,” He pulls back and spreads the globes of your cheeks to see where his cock is splitting you open. His breath hitches at the sight, “Ohh, that’s pretty. I wish you could see how beautiful you look like this, sucking me in over and over. It’s like your pussy was made for my cock, sweetheart.” 

This makes you moan even louder, your breath catching, ass pushing back involuntarily, cunt clenching around his cock. Marcus curses under his breath and shoves himself in harder, thrusts becoming shorter again, hitting even deeper. 

“Oh god, Sir. Yes, please fuck me.” the words spill out unbidden, punctuated on each slap of Marcus’ hips into your ass and thighs. 

“Does that make you hot? Knowing your pussy was made just for me? Meant for my cock.” Marcus’ words come out more strained as he fucks you harder. “It had to be, you take it so well. You fit so perfectly wrapped around me. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

He’s got you pinned against the edge of the table now, driving into you, breath coming out in pants. Sweat is forming at your temples and the back of your neck, you’re craning your neck to try and see his face, but the light of the table is blurring your vision. Marcus, always so attuned to you, must see you struggling. He stops, remaining buried in you and says, “Come here, sweetheart. Let me help you up.” 

His arms slide around you, one across your stomach, the other wrapping across your breasts to your shoulder. You push up off your folded arms, and Marcus pulls you back against him, burying his face in your neck and hair. Marcus resumes, his thrusts short and staccato. The angle has changed, the head of his cock presses more firmly against that fleshy spot inside you over and over and your vision blurs a bit at the edges. 

“How’s that feel, sweet girl? Hm?” A whine loosens from your throat. “I can feel your legs shaking, I know you’re getting closer.” Panting, you grip onto his arm across your middle, wrap the other one behind you to card your fingers into his hair that you love to muss. You’re struggling to hold the angle, arching your back almost painfully. “I’ve got you, beautiful, relax. You don’t need to strain, just hold onto me.” 

Slowly, you start to let your weight sink into Marcus’ strong arms around you. “That’s it,” he whispers encouragingly against your ear. “That’s my good girl – letting me help, giving in. I know that’s not easy, you’re doing so well.” 

He’s hunching over you, holding you against him tightly, supporting most of your weight now. “I know your body, I know how to take care of you.” Marcus grunts as his cock twitches inside you – he’s getting closer as well. The need for him to fill you is overwhelming, suddenly.

“Please, Sir. I w-want–” Your plea is choked off as the fingers of his hand on your lower stomach start to travel down. 

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you want.” He nuzzles against your neck, nips at your jaw as you turn to look at him over your shoulder.

“I want your cum, Sir.” His rhythm falters for a moment and he lets out a deep groan. 

“I’m going to give you my cum, I promise, sweetheart.” Those fingers make a beeline for your cunt. You cry out as they deftly circle your clit. “But I’m going to need you to give me one more first. Can you do that?” You’re keening, teetering right on the edge. Marcus is relentless, plunging his cock into you, applying just the right amount of pressure to your clit, and tonguing across the fluttering pulsepoint on your neck. 

“I know you can do it, baby. C’mon.” You’ve reached your breaking point as his voice goes deeper, his cock twitching inside you as he fights to keep from following you. All it takes is for him to practically growl his next command, “Cum for me. Now.” 

As he feels the pulsing of your cunt around him, Marcus crashes his mouth down on yours to swallow your cries, muffling your moans with his tongue. He grunts against your mouth and stills his hips, breathing deeply in and out through his nose as he comes back from the edge. You sag against him, legs shaking, as you ride out your high.

“Good girl,” he rasps. “My good fucking girl.” He kisses your forehead and temple, then presses his lips in a trail down to the crook in your neck where he rests and catches his breath. 

“Thank you, Sir,” you whisper breathlessly. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” Marcus says softly into your hair. “You did so well for me.” As you begin to regain the strength in your legs, he runs a hand across your cheek and cups it, kissing you gently. His other hand trails featherlight touches across your breasts, then tweaks a nipple making you gasp. 

“Do you still want my cum?” This makes you clench around him with a moan, and he smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Slowly, he pulls out of you with a small groan, making sure you’re steady enough on your feet before letting go of your waist. 

He removes his shirt entirely and reaches for the chair nearby where his coat and tie are draped across the back. Laying his shirt on the seat, he sits and opens his arms, beckoning you. Walking forward, you step between his parted knees, looking hungrily at his shiny, slick-coated cock. 

You want him in your mouth. You want to clean your cum from his cock and feel his hardness slide against your tongue until it hits the back of your throat. Saliva is already pooling in your mouth at the thought. But you know you have to ask permission first. 

“Sir, can I please suck your cock?” Marcus lets out a hungry groan and you lick your lips when his cock twitches in response. You start to go down on your knees when Marcus stops you. 

“Sweetheart, I would love to feel your mouth, especially now. But I can’t let you kneel on this hard floor. My good girl doesn’t deserve that.” He takes your face in his hands and kisses you sweetly.

“Besides,” he cradles your cheeks until you meet his eyes, “I want you riding my cock so I can watch your face when I finally fill you with my cum.” Smiling, you straddle his lap obediently, eager to have him back inside you, however you can have him. 

Marcus holds his cock to line it up at your entrance once again. Audible sighs pass both your lips as you begin to lower yourself down onto him. Marcus hisses between his teeth from the heightened sensitivity of being so hard, still so close to his own finish. 

“God, yes,” Marcus whispers when he’s fully sheathed inside you. “This isn’t going to take long, baby.” 

An electric sort of thrill fills you at how close Marcus is, his orgasm now in your hands. Rocking your hips experimentally, you search to find the best way to move together on the chair. Hands on his shoulders to steady your movements, you begin moving up and down on his cock, your arousal making the glide easy. 

“That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Marcus urges you on with unceasing praise, kisses your breasts and clavicle and moans against your neck. Leaning back, he looks up at you. “Fuck, sweetheart, you look incredible riding me. You’ve got this, keep going. Good girl.” 

Emboldened, you find your rhythm, and delight in the words and noises coming from Marcus’ mouth. Tilting your hips one way on the upstroke, and rolling them on the way back down, Marcus’ breath comes out in pants and grunts each time you bottom out on his dick. 

You watch Marcus watching you, head tilted back to look up at your face, eyes bright and shining. “Beautiful,” he whispers, as though to himself. “So beautiful, so good… So fucking perfect.” 

He grabs your ass, a cheek in each hand, to support your rise and fall. Furrowing his brow, he thrusts his hips up to meet yours. He’s getting close, trying to reach that peak. On the next downstroke you press yourself to him, grinding your hips into his pelvis and he lets out a guttural noise. 

Marcus pulls you down into a passionate kiss and you moan into each other’s mouths as he ruts up again. The chair begins to creak beneath your combined weight and vigor, but you’re both too far gone to take any notice. This combination of depth and pressure is getting you perilously close to your own climax, but you desperately want him to finish with you this time.

“Please. Sir,” you gasp. “Please, I need it.”

“I’m gonna give you my cum, baby. So close. Don’t stop.” Marcus has an arm wrapped around your waist to hold you in place as he fucks up into you, his grip nearly bruising on your hip. Running his other hand up to cup the side of your face, fingers twining into your hair. “Look at me, sweetheart. I want to see that pretty face. Fuck–” he grunts, so close. “Eyes on me… Good girl.”

Gazes locked, mouths agape, you and Marcus inch closer to that razor’s edge together. The building pressure is almost too much and you struggle to keep your eyes open against its blinding power. You need him to fill your already soaked cunt. 

“Marcus, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum – Marcus-” 

A strangled cry that sounds like your name tumbles from Marcus’ mouth as he erupts, the swell and jerk of his cock being the final push you need. He’s holding you so tightly, crushing his mouth against yours as you ride out your pleasure together. Each spasm pulls your bodies together, like waves crashing over rocks, drowned out only by your blended moans. 

Panting to catch your breath, Marcus sprinkles feather-light kisses along your brow, beaded with sweat from exertion. As you slowly come down, you begin to shiver a bit – probably from both the adrenaline and the cool, dry air of the room. Marcus rubs his hands against your arms and back and pulls you close for warmth. 

“Good girl, I’ve got you.” He reaches behind him to pull his suit jacket off the back of the chair and drapes it over your shoulders. Perhaps it’s the intensity of the physical sensations, the comedown from such a high, or something else, but tears start to prick at the backs of your eyes. 

You’ve never experienced this amount of passion and sensuality with any other person in your life. Marcus is more than just a sex partner, he’s your lover. He’s also a friend, and a rare one at that. 

Aftercare is so important to Marcus, he never lets you rush or skip it. He sits there patiently as you recover and ride out the aftershocks, huddled against him with his cock still inside you. Marcus strokes your back and kisses your temple, whispering things too quietly to hear over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. Breathing in tandem, you feel both your heart rates begin to coregulate and beat together. 

Eventually, and only when you feel ready, you begin to get up off his lap. 

“Good girl, nice and easy.” Marcus a sight to behold, sitting there. His lap is soaked, his chest and neck damp with sweat, hair delightfully mussed. 

Marcus hands you your panties and you slip them on before his cum, infused with your own, can leak too much and make a bigger mess. 

Slowly, naturally, the electricity in the air begins to diffuse and a comfortable quiet takes its place. The two of you redress and straighten the evidence room, finding plenty of opportunities to smile, touch, and help each other. You even share a couple of laughs at the wet spot on Marcus’ shirt. 

“At least it’ll be under your jacket,” you offer, trying to smooth out the deep wrinkles in your skirt a bit more.

“Yeah, I’ll just have to figure out a way to explain it to my dry cleaner.” Marcus grins, revealing his dimple.

Marcus insists on walking you to your car and carrying the box of stuff you’d packed. He laughs at the sheer amount of office supplies you’d thrown in before leaving for the parking garage.

“I’m loving the silent protest, but do you really need three staplers?” 

“The patriarchy has a lot of paperwork,” you shrug innocently and press the unlock button on your key fob. 

Marcus secures your loot in the backseat and turns to face you before you get in and drive away. His shoulders have noticeably slumped and there’s a sad half-smile on his face. You step into his open arms and he envelopes you in a warm embrace, kissing the top of your head. The prickles have come back to your eyes and you burrow into his shoulder and neck even deeper, trying to memorize his scent.

He mumbles something, but you can’t hear him, just feel the rumble in his chest. You pull back without unlocking your arms from his torso, “What did you say?”

“I said ‘I’m going to miss you,’” Marcus repeats, tucking an errant lock of hair behind your ear. His face goes blurry and you quickly blink back the tears threatening to form. 

“I’m going to miss you too, Marcus.” 

He leans down to kiss you, but you shy away and look around nervously out of habit. Marcus grabs your face and plants his lips on yours, kissing you with determination. You sink into him with a sigh, and he deepens the kiss, caressing your tongue with his own. The kiss builds until you both have to break away for breath. 

You get a naughty idea and bite your lip, glancing around. “Hang on, I want to give you something. Keep an eye out.” Hidden from view by your open car door and Marcus’ tall form, you discreetly pull your panties off from under your skirt and tuck them into the pocket of his suit jacket. 

“A memento,” you say with a wink and he kisses you again.

“It’ll keep me warm on cold nights,” he teases, with a cheeky lift of his brow. 

 The somber mood returns, and the two of you stand there quietly again, neither of you ready to say goodbye just yet. 

Finally, Marcus takes a big breath and speaks. “I…” he falters, and has to clear his throat. “I don’t know if I’m going to get another chance to say this, and I’m going to regret it forever if I let you leave without saying anything.” 

His words come out quickly, but his voice is thick with emotion. 

“You shouldn’t go. I mean, I don’t want you to go. You won’t talk about why you’re leaving, but I get it – I do, even if you think I don’t.” You have to look away, and swipe harshly at the tears beginning to spill over. 

Marcus gently cups your face and thumbs away one tear, kisses another off your cheek. Your throat constricts, and you can’t find the words you’d say to stop him if you could. He keeps speaking, every word breaking your heart a little bit more. 

“I really think that there's something special here, with us, and I–” His voice breaks, and you see emotion swimming in his eyes. You cover his hand with yours, and turn your face into his palm, placing a kiss there. 

Tears are falling freely from your eyes now, and there’s a deep, aching part of you that needs to hear what he has to say, even if it kills you. 

“I care about you. Very much.” He meets your eyes as he says this. “I don’t expect you to feel the same–” 

Rising up on your toes, you quickly seal his lips with a bruising kiss. You and Marcus cling to each other in a crushing embrace. 

“Please,” you say against his lips, kissing him again. “Please, don’t–,” another kiss. A sob breaks loose from your throat. “I can’t–”

“I know,” Marcus whispers, ghosting his lips across your cheek, temple, forehead.

“I have to go.”

“I know,” he presses his forehead to yours. “I know.”

Pulling back, you can’t tell if the wetness shining on Marcus’ cheeks is from your tears, or his own. His arms remain locked around you, holding you to him.

“I have to go,” you repeat in a hushed tone. Marcus nods and presses his lips to your forehead one last time. 

“Goodbye, Marcus.” Without looking at his face again, you turn away, breaking free of his warmth.

You manage to get in your car and drive a full block before you finally break down.

Check out my Rumor Has It Series Masterlist for the whole series!

[crimson-calligraphyx]

Tag List: @cheyfi @kingdomof-omens @daylightlvrs @blade-in-red @ladyveronikawrites @jay02bo @itsmrsfuentes @cncohshit @catj422 @iamdesolate

A/N: Sorry this chapter is meh.

Home didn't feel like home anymore. There was always this weight pressing down on me whenever I walked through the front door, plagued with guilt and shame. It got even worse when I would walk into our bedroom, seeing both of our wedding rings placed on the bureau, taunting me of our marriage that was falling apart.

I no longer felt deserving of wearing the ring.

Of course, I still loved Noah—but I wasn't in love with him. Not the way I had been before his career took off. It killed me to admit to even myself, which is exactly why I haven't said it to him either. I'm sure he knew it, though.

The affection and lust were there at times, which of course would cause me to fawn over him, but there was no trust, no communication. 'I'll fix this' he'd say, but he'd continue to break promise after promise. Even so, his way of fixing things was spending a day or two out of the month with me, or showering me with roses, thinking that would make things right.

Eventually, I stopped holding my breath, I stopped getting my hopes up. Instead, I got used to the way my heart sank with disappointment day after day, I got used to sleeping in an empty bed, I got used to his silly little attempts to smooth things over.

It wasn't just me who lost trust in our relationship; he did, too. He didn't trust me to stay sober while he wasn't home—granted, that was fair from my past behavior—but he accused me of doing so when I hadn't. On multiple occasions.

Either way, we didn't trust each other. How do you stay with someone you don't trust? It was evident that this just wasn't fucking working, and that left me feeling broken and hollow. Just an empty spot where my heart was supposed to be.

So, I filled that void with booze and lots of it. I was getting cut off from the bar as of late; the closer it got to Noah's return from tour, the heavier I drank.

It was selfish, and one of the factors of the disarray that was my marriage, but I didn't care. Clearly, as I was sitting here, sucking down whatever was placed in front of me—so long as it clouded my mind to the point that the apprehension of his arrival would dissipate.

I shouldn't feel this way about seeing my husband, but I wasn't sure what was going to happen between us. I knew I had to tell him about the turmoil inside my mind, but what would that lead to? Would we try to patch things up for the millionth time, or would we throw in the towel and go our separate ways?

Both of those options made my stomach flip. The thought of trying again, only to end in more disappointment was equally as devastating as the thought of us divorcing. I didn't know what to do.

"No wedding ring, huh?" A voice pulls me from the depths of my mind, the voice the same as nails on a chalkboard. "Guess you finally came to your senses." Anger immediately flares through me, but I try my best to suppress it. "What do you want, Steven?" I hiss through clenched teeth, my eyes zeroed in on the empty glass in front of me. "I don't want anything," he answers curtly. I spare him a glance. "Then why are you here?"

He stands there, hip propped against the bar, beer in hand with a smug grin spread across his lips. He doesn't say a word, just looks at me with that stupid smirk that says 'I told you so', mischief shining in his abnormally pale green eyes. His hair was cropped short now, a shadow of stubble lining his jaw—I'd be lying if I said he wasn't the least bit attractive.

My eyes dart to the fresh shot glass filled to the brim that was now settled in front of me. I huff a dry laugh through my nose; I didn't order another shot. I picked up the glass of what appeared to be chilled Sambuca, swirling it carefully. "Trying to condition me again?" I asked, bringing it to my nose and being met by the familiar scent of anise. "Whatever do you mean?" He furrows his brows in faux perplexity, but the smirk never falters.

Again, I found myself letting out a dry laugh as I brought the shot to my lips. I see his eyes drop to my mouth, and he runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me knock it back. I swallowed it with ease, sighing a chilled breath of satisfaction after placing the shot glass down on the bar. I dug a few bills out of my purse, slapped it on the counter, and stood. "Thanks," I tapped him lightly on the cheek, brandishing an overly sweet smile as I passed by.

He snatches my wrist, pulling me back to him. He still has me in his grasp as he leans down, so close that I can smell the cheap IPA he has on his breath. "There's more where that came from," he says huskily, and my skin prickles when his warm breath brushes against my mouth. "I'll be here when you hop off the bandwagon for good." "Fuck you," I seethe, yanking my arm from his hand. "That's the goal," he winks, straightening up to take a sip of his drink with a smirk. "Catch you later, Liv."

My body trembled with rage; I wanted so badly to wipe that smile clean from his face, but I knew that I shouldn't make yet another scene at the bar. I grit my teeth and turn to leave before I do anything I'll regret later.

Tears quickly welled up and fell from my eyes as I clumsily made my way home. I wasn't sure if they were from anger or sadness or shame—whatever the case was, they didn't stop falling until I stepped foot inside my home. The shock I felt cut the supply off right away. I cautiously shut the front door and hastily wiped my tears away with a clearing of my throat. "You're home early."

Noah glances over at me, the hood of his sweatshirt over his head with the drawstrings pulled tight, and my heart leaped right into my throat. He looked unwell, his skin paler than usual, eyes black as coal and sunken in as he stared back at me with sorrow. "Yeah," he starts, his lips beginning to curl into a minuscule grin, only to be interrupted by a rumbling cough. I felt myself depreciate as his coughing fit continued for an uncomfortably long time, rendering him hunched over and breathless.

"My God, Noah," I gasped and closed the gap between us, bracing him with a hand on his chest. "Are you okay?" He nods as he heaves, turning away from me to grab a tissue from the box in the living room. "As if you care," he wheezes, covering his mouth with the tissue as he continues to cough. "I do care, Noah. You’re not doing well—" He cuts me off with his hand, showing me the tissue that now brandished a spot of red. My eyes widened in panic, my first thought being that he coughed up blood, but upon further inspection, I quickly realized the 'blood' had texture to it.

It wasn't blood, it was rose petals.

“You don’t love me anymore,” he says, barely audible. My heart plummets to the pit of my stomach, my blood runs cold from the shame that coursed through my veins. I could see the heartache in his eyes as they shimmered with tears threatening to spill, I could feel the anguish radiating from him as we remained silent, neither of us sure as to what to say.

I shake my head in denial. “Of course I still love you—” “But you’re not in love with me.” He crumples the tissue in his hand and squeezes his eyes shut, a tear or two rolling down his face. He's right. I couldn't deny it, and it fucking killed me. "I'm sorry, Noah," I whimpered, tears pricking my eyes. "Me too," he whispers, shaking his head. "I failed at being a good husband."

The remorse in his voice was heavy, weighing me down, crushing me. I wanted to take it all back, I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything was going to be okay, that we'd figure this out, but I couldn't. Everything was so heavy, I couldn't move. I just stood here cemented in place, knowing that I was killing my husband, and I fucking hated myself for it.

I didn't mean to fall out of love, I didn't mean for him to get sick with this disease. I wanted us to make it through this, Goddammit. I wanted us to flourish, maybe have kids one day, grow old together and be that stereotypical elderly couple sitting in their rocking chairs on the porch as they reminisced in the good times.

He makes his way over to me and places his hand on my cheek, wiping away the tear that slipped from my eye with his thumb. I nuzzled my face against his palm, relishing the warmth while I could. He looks down at me with longing, a sorrow-filled smile tugging at his lips as his eyes search mine. "I'm sorry for all the pain I put you through, Olivia," he says lowly before pressing his lips to my forehead firmly. "I love you. Always have, always will," he whispers against me.

I closed my eyes, a sob making its way out of me as he slowly moves away from me, his fingers lingering on my cheek a moment or two longer. I feel him brush past me, and I turn to face him, seeing him walk towards the front door with a bag now slung over his shoulder. "Wait," I called out, furrowing my brows. "Where are you going?" He reaches the door, stopping with a sigh when the doorknob is in his hand. "I'm staying with Nick, at least for a little while," he tells me, his voice strained from holding back either a cough or a sob, I couldn't tell. "I-I need space to process. It just... it hurts—" The cough finally made its way out of him.

If my heart could sink any lower, it did at this very moment as I watched him cough so violently, he struggled to breathe. I could practically hear his lungs rattle with each inhale. "I'll see you later," he manages to say meekly.

Everything moved in slow motion as I watched him pull the door open and saunter out of our home. The door shuts, the soft click of the latch echoing in my head, and I sank to my knees—that was it. Noah walked out of my life.

Even though I knew that this was coming, I couldn't stop the screams from escaping me as I felt myself falling at light speed. I hit the ground so hard, it knocked the breath right out of me, dizzying me. I was so disoriented, so lost as the room spun around me, I almost forgot where I was.

I was in a living nightmare that was our home, and I couldn’t wake up, I couldn’t escape it. Every little thing here would be a constant reminder of Noah, all the good and the bad, everything that lead up to this point.

There would be no new memories, no new experiences. Not even the simple things, like slowly waking up and relishing the warmth of each other. I’d never get to drink in the way the sun accentuated the hidden golden hue in his eyes, or leisurely trace the shapes of his tattoos. I’d never get to see him walk into the bakery and share breakfast with him again, I’d never be able to watch the sunrise or sunset with him—I wouldn’t even be able to do that alone without thinking about him and having my heart shatter even further.

My stomach was in knots just thinking about all these things, and suddenly I wasn’t in the foyer anymore. I was in my bathroom, hands planted on either side of the toilet bowl as I vomited from the rollercoaster of emotions I was riding.

|Chapter 15|

[heartsofminds]

at every table, i’ll save you a seat - sneak peek 2

“Bradley kisses his teeth before laughing. “You’re never too old to relish in the magic that’s The Little Rascals.” or Bradley’s convinced you’re trying to ghost him when it couldn’t be further from the truth. 

A/N: sooooo i know i promised a new piece tonight but my parents came to visit and i haven’t been able to edit as much as i would like, and there are still two more scenes that the inner perfectionist in me is not satisfied with at all. but here’s the last and final preview of the bradley wedding fic. thank y’all for being so patient with me and for loving my work so well. this fic will be hitting everyone’s dash (in full) this week for sure! but for now, please enjoy this snippet and let me know what you’re most excited for! 

Your heart starts beating in your chest erratically; a tell-tale sign of white-hot panic that makes your knees buckle and heat grow on your scalp. 

And you’re. . . starting to sweat? 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Bradley spots you while you stand paralyzed at the cash register. Your fingers are shaky and a lump in your throat starts to form. You feel like a deer in headlights when he begins to stalk forward to approach you. 

“I’ve gotta bone to pick with you, missy,” his voice booms, his steps coming to a halt. 

His hands spread and turn as he leans on the table; eyes locked on your face. 

Your adrenaline kicks in and your feet start to move faster than your brain. A harsh swallow plagues your throat before you book it to the kitchen; french braid slinging heavy on your back and the bucket of lime wedges on your mind. 

Bradley zips around the oval-shaped bar top and grabs your waist before you make it out of the opening. His hands squeeze your sides softly. If you were in your right frame of mind, your cheeks would have flushed.  

“Uh-uh,” he says, whipping you around to face him. His grip falls to your forearms; holding you firmly but not enough to hurt. “What’s your deal, kid?” 

His breaths are exasperated. When he left work today, he had no idea that he would be chasing you around the bar like a goddamn dog who had gotten off its leash. Despite being in good shape (which he takes pride in, given the number of shirtless runs he does in his neighborhood) he still finds himself a little winded. 

Your eyes are almost bulging out of your head. His touch feels electric and you feign the ability to even think about opening your mouth to respond. Bradley Bradshaw is here, right in front of you, and almost holding you hostage. 

Hostage is dramatic, you think. But so is chasing you. 

“I-” you start. Another harsh swallow forces its way down your throat. At this point, you think that swallowing your spit is the only way you can remind your body to breathe. 

Bradley’s eyes soften at your frazzled state. He takes his hands off of you and drops them back to his sides. 

“I- I need to get the lime wedge bucket,” you rush out, the entire sentence sounding like one phrase. 

“Let me come with you,” he says. 

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You’re not allowed back there.” 

“Yeah well, you’re not allowed to ghost me about a wedding you invited me to, but look where we are,” he counters back. His legs start toward the kitchen hidden behind gray steel doors near the back. 

You stand frozen; trying to catch your breath and looking around to still see an empty bar with no signs of life. 

“Are you coming or not?” he calls out, a smile on his face juxtaposed to the annoyed expression he wore a few minutes ago when he caught you. 

And if it were anyone else, you would be utterly annoyed. You would refuse and start rattling off how it’s a health code violation for patrons to be in the back serving area or how it was inappropriate or how you didn’t want anyone to come in and clean out the Hard Deck while you were distracted. 

But because it’s Bradley and because you have this stupid big fat school girl crush on him, you don’t say anything even though you so badly want to. 

He’s already a little annoyed with you, you think. He doesn’t want to hear you ramble on top of that. 

Your sneakered feet follow him into the terracotta quarry-tiled kitchen in the back. He moves to the side to allow you to step in front of him in pursuit of the infamous lime wedge bucket you had your heart set on. 

The silence between the two of you is deafening, but you can’t even rub two of your brain cells together to form a coherent sentence that won’t leave you hunched over in embarrassment. Having a crush as an adult is downright embarrassing. But having a crush as an adult on an older, more refined adult is absolutely humiliating. 

The industrial refrigerator stands sleek and tall. The door weighs as heavy as it looks and you damn near pull your shoulder out of socket every time you attempt to open it. More than often, Penny has to come save you and open it because you can never seem to get the resistance of the rubber door gasket to give way. 

Thankfully, the door opens with a heavy tug and the bucket of limes was left on a shelf you could reach. You pop the fridge door closed with your hip before you start a fast-paced walk back to the bar; leaving Bradley behind to scramble up to you once again. 

In hindsight, your body language and lack of talking makes you seem furious and annoyed. And maybe you are, but it’s mostly frustration and annoyance pointed at yourself because you can’t just be fucking normal. 

No, because you have to be the odd one out of your family. You have to be the one cousin who got dumped by her “perfect” dentist boyfriend (who treated her terribly, but you never complained aloud to your family for your fear of being called ungrateful and unbecoming). You have to be awkward and sensitive and young with a silly-ass schoolgirl crush on a gorgeous man who David of Michelangelo envies.  

The bucket of lime wedges is slammed on the counter before you realize what your hands are doing. 

Bradley rounds in front of the cash register, a sheepish look on his face. “Hey, kid. I’m sorry for barging in on you like that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

A wave of guilt breaks the tide in your brain. He’s apologizing, and it’s sincere. It’s certainly not anything you’re used to. Usually, everything is your fault and you find yourself pushing your feelings aside to accept a half-assed apology. 

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you to something that’s such a big deal and then refused the details,” you say. 

And you should stop there, you know, but you do that stupid thing you do about having to over-explain everything and keep going. Word vomit to the maximum. 

“I mean, I think I kind of bombarded you about it? I know you said that you would go and that you didn’t mind, but it’s really a lot to ask of someone to come with you and fill in for your ex in front of your shitty family who has a cow because you didn’t get married right after undergrad.” 

You rock back and forth on your heels and you pinch your fingers together to help soothe yourself. The anxiousness exuding off of you is obvious and Bradley can’t help but feel extremely guilty for making you feel horrible on top of what feelings you were already dealing with. 

“You can really say no, Bradley. My feelings won’t be hurt if you do. Honest,” you whisper, finishing your statement. 

Feeling small isn’t foreign to you in the slightest. 

His eyes soften even more. He recognizes the doubt written all over you. He’s felt that way so many times before. 

“I said what I meant, and I really wanna go to that wedding with you. Honest to God, I mean it,” he says, taking a seat on a stool nearby. “I just need to know what the plan is so I can pick you up and everything. Don’t want my suit to clash with your dress now, do we?” 

A small giggle leaves your lips. “Alright, Casanova. You’ve convinced me.” 

He extends his hand out to you. “Deal?” The large palm looks inviting, but you’re sure the adrenaline coursing through your veins has made your hands clammy. 

Your brows knit together and your lips pull themselves into a straight line. “What the hell are you doing?” Suddenly, you’re self-conscious about the potential armpit stains that may have soaked your tank top. 

Goddamn nerves. 

He contorts his expression into one of faux offense. “Making you shake on it. What the fuck does it look like?” 

You let out a breath through your nose. “I mean, exactly that, but don’t you think that’s too. . .” 

“Sophisticated? Formal?” He grins as if he had just won the lottery. 

“Little Rascals -esque.”  

Bradley kisses his teeth before laughing. “You’re never too old to relish in the magic that’s The Little Rascals.” 

“What happens if I don’t shake?” you question, fingers drawing circles on the surface near the cash register, “Will I be a target of the He-Man Woman Haters Club?” 

“Unfortunately, I can’t confirm but I can deny only if you shake on it and promise me a dance.” 

You shake your head before he finishes his sentence. 

“I’m a terrible dancer.” 

“Then I’ll make sure my dress shoes are steel-toe,” he reasons, shrugging his broad shoulders. His biceps subtly flex and you almost bite your lip but the fact that he’s so close and can see your expression makes you withhold. 

“You really wanna go still?” 

“How many times do I have to say yes, kid? I want to go with you and I promise you that we’ll have the best time ever. Is that clear enough?” 

[inuyassa]

You Came?

In a small port town, a simple shop owner befriends a master swordsman.

zoro x female reader

Zoro swung open the shop door, all three swords at the ready. “Guess who's back?” He announced, placing the weapons on the counter.

Y/n sighed from behind the counter. “Do you think you could go one day without getting into a boss battle?” “Have you met my captain?”

Y/n paused. “Touche,” she said, looking down to inspect the damage. “This repair is gonna cost ya,” she said. “And I can’t keep putting things on your tab…”

Zoro laughed nervously. “Look, you know my money situation, I don’t have it all up front but as I get it, I’ll give it to you, promise.”

Luffy and his crew had been in this little port town for almost two months, and in that time, y/n had done repairs on Zoro’s swords about twice a week. Between his rigid training and magnetism for trouble, there wasn’t much downtime. Y/n knew they were pirates the moment they set foot on the docks, everyone did. But, they carried themselves with such warmth and charisma that the townsfolk were willing to turn a blind eye and let them enjoy their portstop. In the meantime, Luffy helped overthrow a tyrannical Marine outpost that had plagued the town for years, and they even agreed to stay ashore for a few months in order to fend off anyone else who tries to come and take the post back.

The first time Zoro came into y/n’s shop, he was covered in blood and his blades looked beaten to hell. It took a few all-nighters but she managed to restore them to their former glory. Ever since then, Zoro would bring them in for the slightest smudge. He never paid her, and she tried to act like it bothered her, but she enjoyed his company so much, she let it slide.

“Look,” she began. “You’re up to your ears in IOU’s with my shop, so heres what I’ll do.” She leaned over the counter, screwdriver in hand to give her a more authoritative point. “You can buy me dinner and we’ll call it even.”

Zoro’s nose and ears turned bright red. “Huh?” “Dinner, all the meals I skipped tending to your very particular swords, I’d say you owe me at least that!”

Zoro nervously rubbed the back of his neck, between the red face and green hair, he looked like an anxious strawberry. “Yeah, sure, I can do that.”

Y/n clapped. “Great! Meet me at Fisheyes tonight, 8 o’clock. I’ll have a round of drinks waiting but the rest will be your treat, deal?”

Zoro smiled. “Deal.” ***

“I’m an idiot,” y/n sighed, downing the last of her beer. She eyed the mug she had ordered for Zoro, the temptation too strong to overpower. “Fuck it,” she breathed, lifting the mug and taking a few solid swigs.

She had been at Fisheye for over an hour, and Zoro hadn’t been bothered to show up. What did she think would happen? She just told a pirate that all the labor she’d been doing was free and he didn't owe her anything! If he was even a mediocre pirate, he’d be smart to take that offer and run.

She thought Zoro might have been different…

She settled her check and headed home.

*** Y/n walked outside, the early morning light cut through the cool, crisp air. The sound of gulls and crashing waves were always such a comfort. Even after the night she had, it was hard to be sad this close to the sea.

“Can anyone tell me how to get to Fishey?!”

Y/n heard a desperate, yet familiar voice. She glanced to her left and saw Zoro, walking limply against the railing of a dock. His eyes were sunken, dark bags underneath, almost as if he'd…

“Zoro?” Y/n called. He looked up at her and the most pathetic smile spread across his face.

“Y/n! Boy am I glad to see you!” Filled with a surge of energy he ran towards her, stopping, out of breath when he reached her. “I know I messed up,” he began, hands on his knees, hunched over. “But, I can explain-” “Were you…lost?”

Zoro glanced up at her, a look of confusion and embarrassment came across his face. “I…uh…”

Y/n laughed. “Holy shit,” she bellowed. “You didn’t stand me up! You couldn’t find the damn restaurant! How did you manage to get lost in a town as small as this one?!”

Zoro’s face now read pure disdain and annoyance. “It’s a special skill,” he groaned.

Y/n had lean against her door, her sides ready to split from laughing so hard. “How-I thought you took your swords and ran! I was so poutty last night I thought you stood me up!” She fell to her knees, another fit of laughter overcoming her. Zoro blinked consfusedly before squatting down.

“You really thought I stood you up?” He asked. “I mean, sort of…” Y/n managed to calm herself down.

Zoro scratched his head before sitting down in front of her. “I mean, if I was gonna skip town, I’d at least have said goodbye. I’m a pirate not a monster. Besides, no one besides me and the man who forged it has been able to care for my weapons the way you do! Why would I leave without one more repair?”

Y/n wiped a tear from her face, her stomach felt tight from all the laughter. “How did you manage to find my shop as many times as you did?”

Zor pointed to the docks. “That’s my ship,” he said. He then pointed to y/n’s shop. “That’s your shop. Even I can make that journey.”

Y/n started to giggle again. “Well, I’m honored to be among the few that Zoro can find without a map, leash, or Nami.” “I still owe you dinner,” Zoro interjected. “How about I come by after you close up shop? Then we can walk there together.”

Y/n nodded. “Yeah, but, how can I be sure you’ll find my shop after sightseeing all day?”

Now it was Zoro’s turn to laugh aloud. “I’ve been up all night! My ass is heading to the ship to sleep until dinnertime!”

[sailor-toni]

Danny Fenton Football Captain and the East Coast Vampire Ch 2

You can also read it on A03, FF.NET, and on Wattpad

The inside of the house was worse than the outside; the walls were black and flaked off in small burnt bites whenever a breeze looked at it the wrong way. The wooden floors were in a similar state, they cracked and creaked under with every step they took. The wood itself looked and smelled rotted through, well what was left of it. Some parts felt as thin as paper. And all around them was the thick scent of mold mixed with animal feces. Paulina used the walls to keep her balance on a thin piece of flooring and found her hands coated in black soot and mold. She made a gagging sound and tried to wipe it all away on her skinny jeans, spreading the darkness all over her. 

“Nobody touch the walls. There is some stuff on it, and it’s getting everywhere,” Paulina said. 

“Stuff? What kind of stuff?” Danny snickered.

“Yeah, is it white stuff Paulina?” Dash said. 

“You guys are gross! I’m not talking about that!”

CRACK! 

“AH!” Something large, fuzzy, and small ran past Dash’s leg. 

“What was it?” 

“Where did it go?”

“It touched me! EW!” Star cried. 

The creature ran through the house till it tumbled until a patch of dying sunlight. Revealing it to be a large squirrel. It stared at the kids as it rubbed his little black head before running off into another part of the house. The group took a breath of relief. 

“I don’t know what everyone was so scared about? It was just a dam rat,” Dash said.  

 “Hey! I heard you were the first to scream!” Danny said. 

“I was just doing this to spook the rest of you. I knew it just some dumb animall. And look! You all fell for it.”

Everyone groaned and said some version of “Shut up Dash” while Danny and Valerie said “Fuck off Dash.” But Dash just laughed as he led them further into the darkness. The smell became stronger as they went in. When they passed what must have once been a grand staircase with a broken chandler frozen in decay and dust below it in a deep hole. The ceiling had small holes burned into it allowing the sunset to high up what remained of the broken crystal trapped in the floor. The smell of decay was freshest at this hole. Star pretended to gag while Paulina held her crop top over nose, tears welled up in her eyes. 

“Are we there yet?” Valerie coughed, trying not to let the stench into her body. 

“Almost! We need to get to the sitting room. That is where everyone says the ghost is,” Dash pointed ahead into darkness. The sun was now below the horizon and the path before them was only lit by phone flashlights. When they passed through the sitting room doorway, Danny’s nerves lit up like fireworks. Goosebumps spread like the plague all over his body. 

“Hey Danny,” Kwan whispered. “Are you okay bro?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” Danny replied. 

The sitting room was lighter than the other rooms of the house but that was only because of the large broken windows around the smashed fireplace. The fireplace’s iron gate had twisted and melted into a solid form of water; the black bars twisted away from the fireplace and towards the shattered windows. Above the fireplace was what Danny thought was a cross. The top two arms and head were still there with the silver peeking out from mountains of soot, but the bottom had melted down into a stream of soot covered sliver that led down to the metal twisted maw of the fireplace. 

“Okay so we all have to sit in a circle around the board,” Dash began. “And everyone has to have one hand on the planchette, and nobody can remove their hand, or move from the table until we tell the ghost goodbye and let it go,” Dash sat in front of the doorway and watched as everyone took their spot in the semicircular room. Danny sat to the side and examined the Ouija board. It had a strange energy emitting from the old wood. The letters had been hand painted and showed their old age in the small cracks along the paint. And the planchette. Someone had painted a portrait of Jesus Christ that looked like it came from a medieval bible on it. His right hand extended towards the point. A small black dot on his palm represented a hole and the three thin red lines must have been blood. When his fingers brushed the planchet a painful spark hit his hand. He flinched but moved forward, small sparks hit his fingers as if the board resisted his very being. 

“Is everyone ready?” Dash asked. 

“Yeah as long as you don’t scream like a child again,” Valerie said. 

“Pff I won’t, but nobody can leave until I call the ghost off. Okay, or else the ghost will follow us home!” 

“We get it Dash. Don’t let go and don’t leave the circle. Anything else?” Kwan said.

“There are a few other rules. We have to ask questions one at a time, and the ceremony starts when the candles are lit,” Dash pulled a pale yellow candle from his jacket and placed it near him. 

One by one everyone placed their hand on the planchette, Paulina was shaking a bit while Kwan and Valerie both had a mix of doubt and uncertainty painted on their faces. Star elbowed Danny with her free arm. 

“Don’t worry Danny, if you're scared, just know I can fight any ghost who shows their ugly face around here.” 

“Thanks, but I’m not scared.” Danny replied. Star mouth okay and looked back to the board. 

Dash lit the candle, the flame went from a small bud to a large flame. “Oh spirits,” Dash spoke. “We come to you with questions that only the dead can answer. If you are here please show us a sign.” Nothing happened. “Oh great spirit I call you here to answer our pressing questions.” Nothing happened. 

“Oh no, it looks like nobody is home. Let’s go to Nasty Burger,” As if it had agreed with Danny, the planchette slowly moved to the word yes . 

“It moved?” Kwan cried.

“Dash, you're moving it,” Paulina said. 

“No, Star is moving it,” Dash said.

‘What? I can’t move it, everyone else has their hands on it. You guys would like to be able to tell if it was me.” Star said. 

“Then Danny did it, it moved after he talked about leaving,” Paulina said. 

“It wasn’t me!” 

“It had to be you, it wasn’t us,” 

“If it wasn’t Danny, or Dash, or Star….then it had to be the ghost? Ghost, what is it like, your name?” The board responded to Kwan’s question.

“ M-A-S-T-E-R-S ” the board spelled out. 

“Masters? Who names their kid Masters?” 

“Maybe it's a last name? Ghost is Masters, your last name or first?” The board moved to yes .

“What is your first name?” 

“ M-A-R-I-A ” 

“Maria Masters? I Think I heard that name before.” Valerie said. 

“Mrs. Maria, how did you die?” Sash asked the next question

“F-I-R-E”

“Whoa, was that like, painful?” The board moved to yes

“Dash!”

“What?”

“Was that painful? It's a fire, of course it's painful!” Valerie shook her head

The board began to move again

“G-E-T-O-U-T”

“Wait what?” The planchette moved over the board spelling out get out over and over again until everyone's hands were shaken off the board. A new message began to build itself now 

“H-E-I-S-C-O-M-I-N-G”

“Who is coming?” Danny asked

“P-L-A-S-M-I-U-S ” The board shot itself into the fireplace with a loud clang! Dash ran over to grab the board, but his fingers were burned as the room lit itself on fire. 

“No, that's my grandma’s!”

“Dash, there are more important things right now!”

“Get to the ground and crawl out!” Valerie shoved Star and Kwan to the floor

“But it's gross!”

“PAULINA!”

“Okay okay!” Paulina dropped to the floor and began to army crawl her way out of the room, Star and Kwan were quick to follow her. Danny turned his head to see Dash throwing himself into the fire, pulling the board from the pit. 

“DASH WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” 

“MY GRANDMA WILL KILL ME IF THIS THING GETS BURN!” 

“DASH YOU DUMBASS!” Valerie screamed, running to the blond and throwing him back away from the flames. The board edges were black and flaking but besides that it looked okay from a distance. The half of the paint on the planchette had chipped off, and now Jesus was missing part of his face. But it was fine. Very fine.   

“Oh Thank God,” Dash breathed. 

“You can thank God later, now move!”  

Ahead of them they could see Kwan pulling and pushing against the front door. Smoke was filling the hallway and obscured their vision and caused any vermin to fly out of the woodwork and run in every direction, scampering over the teenager’s feet.

“Fuck it!” Kwan yelled before launching himself at full force at the front door, His head and shoulders crashed through the door before the rest of his body fumbled through the broken door. Star and Paulina watched as Kwan's body hit each and every step on the way down. 

The smoke followed behind him, its black plumes soared into the night along with the ghost’s ear-drum searing screams. The two girls took no time in addressing their friend’s health, and instead each one grabbed one of Kwan’s legs and dragged him down the front path and back towards their bikes. Rag-dolling his body along the dirt and stone. 

Back in the house the ghostly woman’s screams shook the walls around the remaining three. Dash pushed the Ouija board and planchette closer to his chest while small whimpers escaped his shaking lips. The building began to splinter around them releasing soot, dust, and black mold into the flames, fuelling them until they had engulfed the back of the house. A wooden beam cracked and flew past Valerie’s head, a loose nail ripping out strands of her hair. A second rumbling sent the beam’s latter half crashing down below it. Danny threw her aside and prayed the darkness would be enough to trick her eyes. The wooden beam felt like loose jelly as it phased through his back and lodged itself into the floor behind him. 

“Fenton! Oh god are you okay!” Dash screamed. 

“Yeah! I’m fine! Now keep going!” Danny pulled Valerie back to her feet and pushed her before him, keeping her in between him and Dash, who true to his name, was dashing to the front door.

Flashes of white and pink flew past his vision, destroying chunks of wood around his body. Even in the heat Danny’s breath was as visible an October fog. The ghost was unaffected by the flames and was shooting hot bolts of ectoplasm at them. Whatever she was saying was cut off by the roar of the flames consuming her translucent form. Danny began to fire back, sending small bolts of green energy her way. Each time a faint glow of green circled his palm before firing through the flames and struck the ghost. The silent battle raged on as Dash and Valerie lunged and jumped out of the house and took to the ground running. They ran towards their bikes fleeing the heat behind them. 

The brief moment without his friends was enough to allow him to build up more energy in his sweaty and stained palms. His eyes turned a sickening neon green as white streaks began to show in his black hair. “Hey didn’t you listen to the rules! When we say goodbye you have to leave!” Danny said, his hands engulfed in a large orb of neon green. “So, bye!” A neon green beam blasted through his palms into a spear of light, striking her in the stomach. She flew backwards crashing through several black burning walls. Quick on his heels, he turned and leaped out of the front door, crashing on the ground and rolling down the path. 

Outside was ablaze in orange light as the fire spread from tree to tree evaporating the leaves and sending ash into the air. Sirens could be heard approaching the inferno. 

“Danny!” Valerie called him. “We need to go!” He didn’t need to be told twice. Running to his old bike, Dash dropped the dam board into Danny’s basket. 

“Are you fucking serious Dash?” 

“I didn’t bring a bike! Are you seriously going to leave me behind?” Dash said. Danny thought about it. His eyes stuck in a hard stare at Dash, until a ghostly scream from the house spooked the thoughts out of his head. 

“Fine but next time bring your own damn bike” Dash hopped on the back and the two rode away from the house and flew down the hill speeding away from the attention of the neighbors. 

Several blocks away, the group of soot stained teenagers crashed against the edge of the McDonald’s parking lot. The golden arches and fluorescent street lamps lit their heaving bodies. Paulina rubbed Star’s back as she used her inhaler, while Valerie was shining her phone flashlight into Kwan’s eyes.

“According to google it doesn't look like you have a concussion.” Valerie said, putting her phone back into her pockets. 

“Thank god. I can’t afford to get a concussion at the start of football season,” said Kwan. 

“Kwan,”

“Yes, Valerie?”

“We almost died,” 

“Don’t remind me. I can’t afford to die at the start of football season,” At Kwan’s words the girls paused, and just stared at their friend. A moment of silence followed before they dropped the topic. The creaks and groans of wheels announced the arrival of the last two members. Danny has sweat pouring down his face as he peddled Dash into the parking lot. 

“Are you guys okay?” Star asked. 

“Yeah we’re fine,” Dash said. 

“Speak for yourself Dash. God, how do you weigh so much?” Danny said in between heavy breaths. 

“I’m not fat, you just need to get more muscle,” Dash said as he hopped off the bike. 

Danny let the bike fall to the ground with a clunk and a clang. Then, he crumpled to the asphalt next to his friends. “Never again, you guys can go to the next haunted house by yourself,” He said. 

“Yeah, I think I’m done with haunted houses for now,” Paulina said. 

“I second that. God what the hell was that?’ Star said. 

“A ghost?” Kwan said.

“Well duh, but… It wasn’t like the other ghost in town. Like before you start there was that gross meat ghost and the fat one obsessed with boxes or something, but those guys didn’t act like that ,” Star said. 

“Maybe this one was on her period?” Dash chuckled, but it slowly died down as the three girls glared at him. 

“Danny, are you okay? You have something stuck in your hair?” Valerie said. 

“I do? What is it?” 

“It’s some white stuff, here let me-” She tugged at his hair. 

“Oh! OW! Uh thank you but I can get it later. Hopefully it will come out of the shower,”

“Uh sure,”

“What do we do now?” Kwan spoke up.

“I guess we go home, and hope nobody saw us at the house,” Paulina was the first to peel herself up from the ground. Holding his hands up Danny was helped up by the others, and one by one they disappeared into the night. 

[meanderingfamilytree]

Contains: GN!Reader, M!Bailey, choking, asphyxiation, mention of a gun (minor), rough sex/hate sex, the kink is definitely not negotiated in advance

Bailey’s eyes are startlingly flat as it flickers up and down your body. As if he is testing you of your worthiness, but not of your perpetual smile, or genteel manner, and more of the heaviness of your pocket or the rather lavishly decorated pomp of your office. He shouldn’t overdo it. Your reputation precedes you, and it is a small enough town. Most people are well aware of that you are one of the wealthiest, if not the wealthiest. You are not used to being judged in such a manner. But it suits Bailey, or at least what you know of him and his dogged existence.

You indulge him. It is a strange feeling, running into Bailey after all these years. It feels like yesterday and tomorrow and a decade ago that you two sat in the same classroom, taking the same lessons, only mildly aware of the other’s presence in that faint, floating way of classmates. In the past few years or so, you increasingly ran into him in highbrow parties, presumably working on making connections, but you never felt the obligation to offer a nod or a smile.

“Am I asking for too much? I received shining recommendations about business with you from a few of my colleagues.”

You quickly bore of his searching eyes, as amusing as they were. It is the particular lilt of your voice, or the undying arrogance permeating through the very tip of your chin that signifies your ease with holding the upper hand. Perhaps he noticed the hint of irritation. Bailey snaps out of it, pursing his lips, and gets back to business.

“Some of the orphans just reached majority, so they are relatively inexperienced, but I could make it work. There are others who will be quite eager to,” he takes a pause, perhaps in preparation for the absurdity of the next word, “work, for you. Do you have a preference? Of course, the costs will vary, but—” 

“How much do you cost?”

Silence falls as heavy as the sordid grey of the clouds. A thunder rumbles from a distance, almost too ominously, enough to tempt you with a bubbling laugh. You hold it in. You’re not that stupid, and you certainly do not have a death wish. In fact, it is highly likely that you are precariously close to Bailey saying fuck it all and pointing a gun at your head. Your only saving grace is your prosperous bank account.

He grinds his teeth. Stoic resignation does not suit him, but it shoots a sharp thrill down your spine. You shiver. 

“I, am, not, for sale,” he spells out. 

You tilt your head. “But I want you. Not those orphan brats.”

“Not part of the merchandise. Non-negotiable.”

You finally cannot help yourself from laughing. It is a biting, tinkling sound, and Bailey looks practically murderous. 

“You know, some of my friends used to say that you offered a good fuck for a good buck back in school, I mean. Those weren’t just schoolchildren rumours, were they?”

“Get the fuck out, you little—“

Bailey’s hand latches onto your throat, with an uncontrolled fury. It is fascinating to see how quickly he stops himself, swallows it all, his anger scalding his throat. A burning longing settles inside of your stomach at the sight. You lean in, ignoring his uncomfortable twitch as your lips brush against his ear. What you whisper is a devil’s temptation. A promise, an offer, piercing Bailey where he is the weakest, the greed that grips him like a plague.

You fuck him right there and then. 

It is perhaps more perverse than fucking one of Bailey’s prized orphan brats. Legs spread open as he pushes forward with a brutal force, your breaths laboured and bordering on pain, you taste a tangy sweetness on the end of your tongue. You feel like you are back in high school. You feel a hundred years old. You feel yourself slipping in and out of consciousness, and god, maybe you are going mad but madness feels as pleasant as sin. When you start chanting, BaileyBaileyBailey, frantic and desperate and out of control, his hands cover your mouth, shutting you up quite literally. It seems that he is far too angry to even maintain a pretence of decorum for his most well-paying client. Your fingernails dig into his back with a vindictive edge, but he doesn’t stop choking you, and the painful lack of air combined with the ruthless fucking is enough to make your eyes go wild and lost, choking in moans.

He pulls out before he comes, painting his cum over the expensive fabric of your clothes. A rush of air and a firm hand between your legs is enough to rub you to completion, and you remain just there, panting, savouring the pleasant lull of the aftermath. Your office desk is thoroughly ruined, paper and pens strewn around in a mess. Bailey pulls up the zipper of his trousers, ready to leave.

“I’ll have my assistant transfer the money to your bank account,” you whisper, not able to bring your voice any louder than that after all the manhandling. He doesn’t reply. The lack of response is what makes you abruptly pull his left arm close, grabbing a nearby pen. You write your number on his wrist.

“The offer still stands. Bonus payment if you can make it good as this time. Call me if you are willing.”

“Fuck you.”

Bailey snarls out a curse. You smile at him. As he storms out of your office, all indignant anger and well-hidden humiliation, you are increasingly certain that he’ll cave in about a week or so.

You thumb over the marks he left on your throat. You hope that he calls back before they fade away.

[buckybarnesowl]

Keep Me Cool

Pairing: Bucky x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are on your third undercover mission acting as a couple. Things go awry when you fall ill. Cue caretaker!Bucky to the rescue.

Word count: 4.5K+

Warnings: none; fluff and slow-burn pining; sick reader (I know it’s an overdone trope, if you hate it just move along)

A/n: I was feeling down so here is a 4K+ caretaker!Bucky sickfic that no one, absolutely no one, asked for because it’s my go-to comfort trope and Bucky is my go-to comfort character.

“You okay?” Bucky asked with a hint of quiet concern. His azure eyes moved from your clenched fist pressing down on the armrest up to your equally clenched jaw. You took your time releasing a breath in an attempt to let go of the tension that had slowly been infiltrating every muscle. Semi-success.

“Yeah, I just hate this type of flying, you know?” you responded under your breath, gesturing vaguely around you.

Bucky nodded. He also preferred the quinjet. But undercover recon missions meant you had to blend in as regular civilians. And civilians didn’t fly around in S.H.I.E.L.D.-owned private jets.

The seatbelt sign finally turned off. You sighed with relief. Even in business class, everything was too tight, too close. The air was dry and always too cold until it was too hot. You couldn’t wait to land.

Bucky surrounded your now relaxed hand with his own, squeezing ever so softly, just as the stewardess stopped at your row with the drinks cart. Despite this being the third time the two of you had gone undercover as a couple, you still weren’t used to his touch. To the fluttering it awoke in your core.

Willing away the warmth you felt flooding your cheeks, you asked the stewardess for tea and water. “Milk, no sugar, please,” you smiled thinly after she asked you how you took it.

“Black coffee and water for me,” Bucky requested when she looked at him next.

Just as you were settling into the flight, the man in front of you started coughing and sniffling.

“Ugh, of course,” you groaned, burying your head in your hands.

“What is it now?” Bucky asked with a chuckle.

“Mr. Walking Fucking Petry Dish,” you mumbled in a low voice, glaring as you pointed towards the seat in front. “There’s always one. Like, haven’t you ever heard of cold meds? It’s the twenty-first-century. We’ve practically perfected a pill that masks any symptom you might have. But no, instead people like this guy go around spreading the fucking plague on airplanes to all of us who have no choice but to sit idly as they infect us all!”

Bucky blinked at you as he pulled his lips in, trying not to laugh at your whispered meltdown.

“Y/N, I’m sure everyone will be fine.”

“Says the man who can’t even get sick,” you huffed discreetly.

“Maybe it’s allergies. Or the dry air. Plus, you know they filter the air on planes now, right?”

“I know,” you growled, turning to look out the window.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you try and get some shut-eye? It’s still another two hours before we land,” he suggested, still grinning at your antics. You adjusted your gaze back to him as he handed you the pillow and thin fleece blanket the stewardess had provided when you had taken your seats.

“Fine,” you sighed, grabbing the offering. “Thanks. Wake me up before we start descending?”

“Of course, doll.”

The way his eyes crinkled. The pet names. How he kept himself relaxed when you were so clearly uncomfortable. It’s as if his mission wasn’t to run surveillance on a HYDRA operative but to ensure your comfort and wellbeing.

It was all fuelling the flutter that was becoming a flame—a flame you quickly needed to smother if you wanted to make it through this assignment. You couldn’t risk the distraction. Besides, Bucky was your teammate. Your friend. You weren’t supposed to have feelings for him. You shut your eyes and hoped the pull of sleep would extinguish the fire.

┉✪┉

You stirred at the gentle shake by a gloved hand and a low but velvety voice, “Y/n? Doll? We’re about to start descending.”

You moaned, still under the prise of sleep as you gabbed his arm to wrap it around you. It took a few seconds before you jolted forward, flinging him off. Your eyes were wide and your face burned with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered.

“You’re fine,” he replied with a quiet laugh. Then brushing your cheek with a leather covered finger, he leaned towards your ear, “We’re undercover remember? It’s ok to be affectionate.”

A chill ran through your entire body as his breath warmed your neck, goosebumps forming in its wake. You swore he was enjoying this, making you squirm. But you couldn’t tell if it was because he loved getting a rise out of you or because he might actually be feeling the same spark. You shook the thought from your head, not prepared to know the answer.

Bucky and you always teased each other. Your sass and his surly sarcasm meshed well and meant you had a lot of fun. It’s why Steve always paired you two for these missions. Your chemistry was undeniable, making it easy to appear as a couple when required. But ever since the last undercover mission you noticed his ‘acting’ had become increasingly convincing.

You began gathering your things in preparation for landing to break the awkward tension you were now feeling. You couldn’t wait to get off this fucking plane.

┉★┉

After checking in, you entered your shared hotel room. At least there was a king bed. You had reamed Steve out for the double bed you had to share last time.

“Mind if I shower first?” you asked, not wasting any time.

“Of course, doll, go ahead. I’ll start setting up the equipment.”

There was that pet name again. It’s not like you were in public. He didn’t have to keep the act up behind closed doors. You nodded and grabbed your favourite black sweats along with your toiletries bag and headed to the washroom.

The hot water pulled a sigh from your lungs as it washed away the film you always felt after flying. You took your time, allowing the scent of the hotel shampoo and conditioner fill the room. After drying yourself you applied your daily regiment of lotion—your grandmother always told you it was the secret to keeping the wrinkles at bay. Then you pulled on your sweats and brushed your teeth before freeing the room up for Bucky.

“Took your sweet time, huh?” Bucky grinned from the bed, flipping through the channels to see what was available.

“Takes time to keep up these good looks,” you quipped. You took stock of the suite’s layout while going to deposit your things by your luggage. A small lounge area and a kitchenette, next to a dinette that would act as your work station. The work station that Bucky had already set up for you.

“Thanks for setting all that up, by the way,” you added sheepishly, making your way over to the bed.

“No problem. I know how much you hated that flight. Figured I’d let you unwind.” His lips were relaxed in a soft upturn and his ocean eyes reflected the flickering of the television as they looked at you sweetly. He was going to do you in during this mission if he kept that up.

You yawned as you laid down beside him. “Want to just order some room service? I’m beat and we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

He agreed. He told you his choice and you phoned it in while he took his turn in the shower. You both ate and watched Bringing Up Baby, an old Cary Grant film that Bucky had landed on before he’d gone to go freshen up. When you fell asleep halfway through the film, he carefully pulled the plate off of your lap. Then he grabbed the extra duvet from the suite’s closet and covered you. You grumbled softly as you turned onto your side, never waking. Bucky chuckled quietly and crawled into bed beside you, under his own covers.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he whispered, placing the ghost of a peck into the back of your head. Then he turned out the lights and joined you in sleep.

┉✪┉

The scratch at the back of your throat, right where your sinuses began, was unmistakable. It was your body’s tell-tale sign that you were getting sick. It didn’t happen very often, once every few years, but when it did boy did it knock you out.

“Fuuuck,” you groaned, “that fucking douchebag!” your thoughts flashing to the man on the plane. You lurched up suddenly, remembering where you were. The bed was empty. Bucky was already awake and seemingly not in your shared room. Where’d this blanket come from? Did he—

Just then the key card reader clicked and the door opened to Bucky pushing a room service cart in.

“Breakfast is served,” he announced as the door shut behind him.

You cleared your throat, trying to push away the discomfort. “Is there coffee? I could use one of those to start.”

“Coming right up,” he said.

“You’re sure chipper this morning,” you grumbled.

“Gotta balance out the brooding scale. Doesn’t work if we’re both grumpy at the same time, now, does it?” He winked at you as he handed you your coffee.

You took a sip. Exactly the way you liked it. “No, I guess it doesn’t. Th-thanks for this,” you said, voice cracking, followed by a sniffle.

He frowned, “You ok? You sound a bit rough this morning.”

“Yup, fine, just waking up still,” you lied. Bucky eyed you suspiciously as you drank your coffee but continued with his breakfast.

You couldn’t afford to be sick, not on this mission. S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten intel on a HYDRA IT operative who would be attending a conference. In addition to monitoring his hotel room that local agents had bugged for you before your arrival, you and Bucky were to attend the conference as a couple beginning a start-up to find out if he was recruiting for HYDRA. You were the tech geek and Bucky was your rich husband ready to invest.

No, you couldn’t be out sick. Bucky knew nothing about IT except the basics for missions. He’d be ousted within a day without you there.

After forcing yourself to eat a small plate, you opted for a quick shower to wake you and hopefully ease what was now a dull ache between your ears and throat. After drying off and applying your lotion, you blew your nose with a sigh that turned into a cough. And there it is. Fuck me. You got dressed and left the comforting steam of the washroom.

“I’m just going to pop down to the pharmacy before we go,” you informed Bucky.

“Everything ok?” he asked, forehead creasing with worry.

“Yup, just forgot to pack tampons,” you said casually. That’ll shut him up.

“Oh, uh, ok. Meet you in the lobby in 15?”

“Sounds good,” you smiled.

You grabbed your laptop bag and large purse and made your way downstairs.

You bought tissues, lozenges, the herbal ‘Breathe Easy’ tea you always drank when you got a cold, and of course, meds. You were going to have to find a balance between staying medicated, but not so much so that you were off your game. You can do this, you’ll be fine, you repeated as you popped two extra-strength daytime cold and sinus tablets, downing them with your bottle of water. Then you blew your nose one more time and tossed a lozenge into your mouth before crossing the street back to the hotel.

Bucky was waiting in the lobby as planned, flashing you his signature grin.

“Got what you needed?”

“Sure did,” you replied, patting your now full bag.

You suddenly realized you were surrounded by conference attendees. But Bucky was one step ahead of you. He wrapped his gloved fingers in yours, then hovered his lips over your forehead before pressing a kiss into your hairline. Then he pulled you towards the shuttle that was waiting to bring everyone to the events of day one.

┉✪┉

“Well that was a complete bust,” Bucky sighed, flopping down onto the loveseat next to the kitchenette/dinette area, removing his jacket and gloves.

“Not completely. We did manage to get his itinerary for the week, and I snapped a few photos of people he seemed to be chatty with. I’ll send them to Nat and see if she can run them th-through—”

You trailed off, suddenly overwhelmed by a tickle in your sinuses, causing you to sneeze three times into your elbow.

“Ok, I’ve kept quiet all day, but I can’t take it anymore. You’re sick.”

You sniffed hard, followed by two more sneezes. You frantically searched your bag for a tissue and more meds since the last dose had clearly worn off.

“Fine. Yes, I’m sick. But it’s just a cold. I’m handling it. I can handle it.” You urged, before breaking into a coughing fit.

“Sounds like it,” Bucky said, dripping with sarcasm. He walked over to where you sat at the kitchenette table and placed his flesh hand on your forehead. You leaned into the coolness of the touch.

“Jesus, Y/N. That feels worse than a cold.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled suddenly feeling lightheaded. “I just need some more meds.”

“You and I seem to have very different definitions of fine. What you need is to lie down. I’ll finish sending today’s report to Nat.”

“Bucky, you can’t just take over the whole mission on your own,” you croaked out, pushing his hand away. You got up, annoyed as you walked to your luggage to grab your pyjamas. Despite your brain wanting to fight him on the offer, your body wouldn’t let you pass up the prospect of a warm bed.

“Doll, no one’s talking about me going solo. All I’m saying is you’re clearly not well so let me do some of the heavy lifting okay?”

You sighed in acceptance. He smiled in relief, a sympathetic look in his eye.

As much as Bucky wanted to call Steve right then and there and end the operation so he could nurse you back to health, he knew you’d never let him. So instead he resolved to seize every opportunity available to take care of you when it arose for the duration of the trip.

┉✪┉

You weren’t sure how long you had been out for, but it must have been a few hours as you noticed the darkening sky through the balcony door. You rolled onto your back and pushed yourself up to lean against the headboard. Your body contracted with a harsh cough as you raised a hand to your brow to try and rub away the pressure building behind your cheeks and eyes.

“Hey, how you feeling?” Bucky asked softly, looking up from the makeshift surveillance setup.

“Sick,” you whimpered out.

“That bad, huh?” He knew if you were at the admission stage it wasn’t good.

You nodded. How did it get so much worse so quickly? you wondered.

Bucky stood up and went rummaging through one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. duffle bags. He pulled out a first aid kit. Opening it, he shuffled through various bandages, compresses, and antiseptic pads until he found what he was looking for. He tore the packaging from the sterilized thermometer then came and sat next to you on your side of the bed.

“Here, let me check,” he instructed.

You obliged and lifted your tongue, blinking as you tried to clear away the thick haze fogging your brain. Bucky rested his flesh hand on your burning cheek, casting an apologetic look at you that filled your chill-wracked body with a fleeting warmth. Then with his metal fingers he brushed away your hair that was sticking to your sweaty forehead as you both waited.

The thermometer beeped and Bucky removed the instrument from your mouth. His nose scrunched as he frowned.

“101.8. Fuck, that’s too high. You’re not getting out of bed for the rest of the evening. I’ll order you some soup, and then get you some more meds. You’re gonna rest and I don’t want to hear anything about it.”

You sunk back down into the bed as your teeth started chattering from being out of your cocoon for the past few minutes.

“O-okay,” you mumbled.

Bucky sighed, having expected a fight from you. “You should get sick more often. So much more agreeable,” he teased, bringing the covers up around your shoulders. You squinted a glare at him, but he just laughed. “I’ll be back,” he assured as he kissed your forehead.

“Hey Bucky?” You called out hoarsely. “D-do you think you could also make me some tea? I bought some this morning from the pharmacy. It’s in my b-bag.”

“Sure thing, doll,” he smiled. He’d never seen you so weak and needy. It made his heart swell even more than it already had for you. He was going to have to come clean after this mission. He couldn’t deny it anymore, nor did he want to. God, he wanted you. Even when you were sick and whiny, he wanted you.

┉✪┉

The week carried on the same. You double-dosed yourself with medication during the day, somehow made it through the conference sessions while collecting intel. Then you would collapse into your shared bed and not get up again until morning. Bucky took care of all of the daily reports before switching into nurse mode. He made you tea and ordered you soup, monitored your temperature and brought you tissues and meds. After the third day, your fever spiked and you were just so tired of being sick that you broke down after returning to the hotel.

“You’re okay, doll. I’ve got you,” Bucky comforted as he pulled you onto his chest, wrapping his vibranium arm around you.

“I’m s-sorry. I’m such a mess. This mission is a disaster,” you sniffled then choked on your sobs, coughing into your shoulder and away from Bucky.

“It’s not your fault. It’s the guy on the plane’s fault,” he said, wiping a stray tear from your cheek after laying your head back on his chest.

“That fucking guy. I told you he would infect us all.” You swallowed thickly, wincing at your raw sore throat.

Bucky noticed your discomfort and reached over you to your bedside table for the glass of water that was there. “Here,” he offered, lifting you up. You accepted gratefully.

“Could you—and don’t you dare fucking say a word—but would you mind resting your hand on my forehead?”

He grinned, knowing exactly what you meant. He returned the glass to the nightstand and wrapped his arm back around you, bending his elbow to place the cooling metal above your brow.

“Hmmm,” you purred in relief.

“Better?” Bucky’s gravelly voice echoed in his chest. You simply nodded, fluttering your eyes closed. “Good,” he replied, softly pressing his lips to the top of your head. He held you like that all night, hoping you would feel better in the morning.

┉✪┉

You didn’t. And that’s when Bucky called it in.

“She’s really sick, Steve… Yes, she’s been taking meds all wee—... Fuck, I don’t know, I’m not a doctor… don’t “language” me… She’s congested, bad cough, and a high fever that won’t break… Fine, I’ll run today alone, but I want a quinjet pick-up by this evening… I don’t think this is just a cold, Steve. She needs medical attention… Right, thanks.”

You heard bits and pieces from Bucky’s conversation, but your fever-wracked brain couldn’t figure out what it meant. He read the confusion on your face and moved to sit down beside you.

“It’s going to be alright, doll,” he consoled, brushing his metal hand across your forehead. “I’m going to let you sleep today and then we’re going back home, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered out, breaking into another coughing fit. The pressure in your head and ears was almost too much to bear.

Bucky sat you up so you could take a sip of tea he’d prepared for you before calling Steve.

“Here take these,” he encouraged, swapping your mug for two pills. You obeyed and swallowed them with the tea he handed back to you. “If you need anything, I mean anything, I want you to call me, okay? The phone is right here. I’ve left two more pills on the nightstand, and I’ll call you when it’s time to take them.”

You nodded. “You, you coming back?” you asked feebly, eyes filled with worry that he was leaving you.

“Oh, sweetheart, of course I’m coming back. I’d never leave you behind. Sleep now and I’ll be back before you know it.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, pulled the covers up around you as you drifted off.

┉✪┉

As promised, Steve came with the quinjet that evening, landing on the roof of the hotel to avoid being noticed. You were so incoherent when Bucky returned from the conference that he had to carry you while Steve grabbed your bags. As soon as the jet took off you started whimpering, pressing your hand to your right ear.

“Y/n, what is it? Does it hurt?”

You could only nod, the pain so intense it felt like your head would burst.

Bucky didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t give you any more meds. Suddenly he remembered heat helping his sister when she would get an earache. He ripped off his jacket, took off his shirt, and gently pressed your sore ear into his now bare chest. He knew he ran hotter than average and hoped it might provide at least a bit of relief. Your shoulders dropped and you sighed softly, so he took that as success. Bucky wrapped his jacket around you and held you there, not wanting to undo any of the comfort he might be bringing you.

Though that comfort was short-lived. On the descent, you screamed out in pain just as Bucky registered the popping sound with his enhanced hearing.

“Buck! Talk to me! What’s going on?” Steve called out from the cockpit.

“It’s her ear. I think it might have ruptured,” Bucky replied, voice wavering.

“We’re almost there. I’ve already rung medical. They’re ready for her.”

“Hear that? We’re almost there, doll. Almost home,” he whispered into your hair. Your vision blurred then went dark.

┉✪┉

You awoke to the sound of steady beeping. You groaned. There was a throbbing in your ear and the lights in the sterile room were too bright.

“Y/n? You awake?”

“Bucky?” you rasped, coughing instantly from your dry throat, grimacing at the pain of it all. Bucky moved quickly, bringing a cup with a straw to your lips. “Mmm, thanks,” you said between sips, feeling relief from the cool liquid. “What happened?”

The last thing you remembered was Bucky talking to someone and then telling you he was leaving.

“You got really sick, sweetheart.” Your cheeks burned at the new pet name. “I made a decision to end the mission a day early and got Steve to pick us up. Your eardrum ruptured as we were descending. Dr. Cho said it was from the pressure change. She figures your cold turned into a sinus and inner ear infection. You’re going to be on antibiotics for two weeks, but you’ll be fine.”

You blinked, trying to take everything in. Your fever had obviously lowered a bit from whatever was in the IV you were hooked up to, but you were still hazy and feeling like absolute shit.

“I… thank you, Bucky. For taking care of me.”

“Of course,” he said, squeezing your hand.

“No, not of course. You didn’t have to. We’re teammates and friends. But you shouldn’t have had to deal with all that. I’m not your responsibility. It’s not like we’re dating or anything,” you trailed off, looking down at your clasped hands. A longing settled in the pit of your stomach.

He cleared his throat and your eyes shot back up to meet his.

“You know, we could be… dating… that is, if you wanted to.” His gaze washed over you like a tidal wave, knocking you down as it swallowed you whole.

You stared at him blankly, praying you had heard him correctly through his waves crashing around you.

“Bucky… I don’t know what to say…” you whispered, biting your bottom lip. A warmth was spreading through your body that wasn’t from the fever, the heart monitor giving away your sudden nervousness

“Y/N, I couldn’t stop thinking about you after our first undercover mission. I tried to push it away and keep it together. Instead, on the second one, I fell even harder. I didn’t want to make it awkward for you. And I would have been happy just being partnered with you on these missions if it meant I could pretend. But when you got sick, I knew it was a lost cause. All I wanted to do was take care of you. I couldn’t stand seeing you suffer and I would have done anything to take it away. I… I’ve fallen in love with you, Y/n, and I don’t know what to do.”

You blinked at him for a second. And then your expression softened.

“Kiss me, you idiot.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s eyebrows raised as he squeezed your hand.

“Yeah,” you replied, grinning from ear to sore ear.

Bucky knew you were still unwell, but he couldn’t help himself. He cupped your feverish cheeks, the contrast of his flesh and metal hand making you swoon. Then he hovered his soft lips over yours, placing a tender kiss to your mouth. He sucked your bottom lip ever so slightly, barely pushing his tongue to it before pulling back for air.

“You’re a pretty good kisser, Barnes,” you mumbled before turning into your elbow to cough.

Bucky brought the cup back to your lips, “You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.”

After sitting back, you pushed yourself over to one edge of the hospital bed and patted the other side. “C’mon up, then. I need my cold compress.”

Bucky laughed, but obliged your invitation. Once settled, he raised his vibranium arm so you could nuzzle into his chest. Then he lifted the extra flannel sheet to cover you before resting the metal prosthetic around your shoulder. Finally, he placed his cooling hand onto your forehead, rubbing delicate circles around your temple with his thumb.

You thrummed at the comfort, letting your eyes close. “What if someone sees?” You whispered, not caring in the slightest, but wanting to gauge where he was at.

“Then they’ll see what they probably all guessed would happen anyways.”

You could hear the smile through his quiet reply. You chuckled, wrapping your arm tighter around his waist. “You’re probably right.”

You sighed, the cooling comfort on your forehead and the heat from Bucky’s chest radiating to your ear was doing more than any meds ever could.

“Bucky?”

“Hmmm?” he questioned, his chin resting on top of your head.

“I love you,” you confessed quietly, squeezing your arm more tightly around him.

“I love you more, doll.” He placed his flesh arm over yours, pressing his lips into your hair and started to hum softly.

Steve chuckled to himself when he found you both asleep in each other’s arms. “Guess I owe Nat 20 bucks.”

la fin

[eijishimas]

in secret.

masterlist.

content warnings: all characters are aged up. f!reader, oral sex (m! receiving), penatrative sex, unprotected sex (use protection irl pls!), fingering, slight exhibitionism.

notes: my first post on this new sideblog— i’ve really sinned here. there are soft parts in this too tho. enjoy.

wc: 2.4k

The dim glow coming from the lamp on Reki’s bedside table was the only source of light in the room. You were on your knees, situated between reki’s thighs while his pants were pooled around his ankles. His shirt had been acquainted with the floor, his chest and torso now on full display for you. His cock was straining against his boxers, causing him massive discomfort but he bit it back with a nervous smile. “Should we really be doing this? I mean, my mom’s home—“

“We should be fine as long as you’re quiet, right honey?” Your tone was sickly sweet as your fingers kept dancing up and down his tanned thighs. Nothing had really happened between the two of you, yet here Reki was, hard and horny and wanting you to just relieve him of the pent up stress he had been enduring throughout the week. He swallowed dryly, his hands gripping at his messy bed sheets. The low fire in the pit of his stomach was being fed by the bedroom eyes you were giving him. You were smiling, your eyes never leaving his as your mouth pressed featherlike kisses to his clothed hard on. Reki hissed, eyelids drooping as his face felt like it was burning. The red in his cheeks was so cute to you. You wanted to absolutely ruin him.

Your fingers hooked the waistband of his underwear, finally allowing his cock air to breathe as you pulled them down to the floor. A low moan came from your boyfriend as his dick met the cool night air. He really was trying to be quiet, but you both knew how long that would last. Your eyes were fixated on him, how his dick curved up and how his head was already a deep shade of crimson. He had been waiting for this. Precum bubbled at the tip of his cock, the head looking shiny to the point where it made your mouth water. You wet your lips, your own thighs rubbing together to subdue the familiar aching feeling plaguing you. Tonight was about Reki. Tonight was about giving him an outlet to release that stress and emotion he didn’t know how to deal with. It was about him.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” you cooed, your hands now dragging up his inner thigh. His dick twitched, his amber eyes hazy with his pupils dilated. He watched with such awe and infatuation as your tongue lolled out of your mouth only to swirl around his overly sensitive head. Reki’s hands fisted at his sheets, his abdomen tightening while his breathing quickened. You hadn’t even started and he was already so needy. Giggling to yourself as you watched his pretty expressions, you allowed yourself to take more of him into your mouth. The warm, wet sensation of you around him made Reki’s head spin. He didn’t want to look away from you slowly taking his cock down your throat inch by inch. The feeling was so addictive, his blush deepening as his body felt hot all over.

“Fuck,” he swore quietly, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle the sound of pleasure that escaped him a little too loudly. He was whining, your cheeks hollowing to create a sucking sensation that had Reki’s thighs shaking ever so slightly. You stayed still, letting him just feel all of you around him. You moved skillfully around his cock, your head bobbing up and down while your hands pressed against his quivering thighs to keep them open. His hips were threatening to lift off the mattress, Reki feeling greedy for wanting more of the feeling of your tongue enveloping his entire cock. The noises that escaped past the redhead’s lips were such music to your ears. You knew he was restraining himself from being so loud, but the pants and heavy breathing that he couldn’t control were getting you wetter each minute that passed. He whispered out your name like a prayer, always keeping his eyes on you no matter how much they wanted to roll back and succumb to the intense pleasure he was feeling from you sucking his dick. And still, his eyes refused to leave your face. Your jaw slack, your lips stretched around his throbbing cock. It was all so much. It was beginning to get too much for him.

“Baby— Ah! Princess wait,” he breathed out raggedly through his fingers. He didn’t want to cum right now, not when he hadn’t even touched you. Hearing his pleas, you obliged them.

Your nose brushed against his pelvis before you slid your mouth off of him with a soft pop. His cock glistened with your saliva, looking even more ethereal in the low lighting of his room. A stray string of spit connected your bottom lip to his cock. You moved your lips to kiss the underside of his dick, a dull hum resonating within your throat to give him the feeling of vibrations on his achingly hard cock. All the while Reki was reaching for your face, wanting to just touch you, any part of you.

“Reki,” you spoke his name, your tongue licking a long stripe from the base of his dick all the way to his head, “I love hearing you. I love it when you get all worked up like this,” you told him as you felt a hand cupping your cheek. He tilted your head up to look at him. His face was beet red, his headband lopsided from the amount of times he had been raking his hand through his hair the entire time throughout your ministrations. The amount of love he held in his eyes made your heart melt. “I love you,” he uttered out. He hadn’t even cum and despite that, he was already such a sappy mess for you. “Wanna make you feel good,” he mumbled, guiding your head up as he leaned down to meet your lips. He was so sweet, his giving and caring nature more prominent through his actions more than ever. The way he kissed you held such passion and love, his tongue slipping into your mouth with ease. Flutters erupted in your stomach. “Can I please?” he asked politely, his dick continuing to ache and throb against your stomach. You smiled against him.

“You know I’m all yours already, honey.”

You stood up before your boyfriend, his eyes ravishing your body. He was practically undressing you himself with how intense his gaze was. You took his hands in yours, nodding your head as a form of consent before Reki finally slid his hands beneath the thin fabric of your shirt. You sighed, his warm hands meeting your supple breasts. You weren’t wearing a bra since you had intended to sleep over anyways. Reki’s mouth was on yours again, open and willing to let you take over tonight. You were always more than happy to take the lead with him. His hands pinched at your nipples, the feeling sending shivers up your body. You moaned into his mouth, letting him know directly and exactly what was making you feel pleasure. Your cunt was dripping for him, you were sure your slick was coating your thighs. Your fingers tugged at his messy locks as you made out sloppily on his bed, his hands massaging your breasts before he eventually pulled your shirt up and over your head so it could join the rest of your discarded clothes on the floor.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he told you in a soft voice, a smile spread across his lips as he drank in the sight of your naked torso like a glass of water. He eagerly pressed open mouth kisses to your neck, biting down on the spots he knew were most sensitive for you. He had memorized your body, knowing exactly what places made you squirm with anticipation and excitement for his touches. “Gorgeous. Stunning. Can’t believe you’re all mine baby,” he kept repeating praises to you over and over, making heat prickle in your stomach. “Tonight’s supposed to be about you, darling,” you giggled, your lips being captured by him once more. “Yeah, but I still gotta let the best girl know she’s the best,” he hummed cheekily, making you roll your eyes with a grin on your face. Even when you were about to go down on him, he could be such a dork. “Love you,” he mumbled, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck not long after he had sucked a couple hickies to your collar.

“I love you too. Now c’mon, I’ve got a dick to ride.”

He laughed at your words, pecking your lips and asking again with his eyes if what he was really doing was okay. You nodded, again, reassuringly. With the okay, Reki let your short shorts fall down your legs along with your panties, his eyes widening at the sight of how wet you were. Testingly, he rubbed your slick folds with two fingers. You moaned, head falling against his shoulder as your hips began to rut against his hand. He was entranced with how your essence coated his fingers, a single digit easing into your core. You clenched around him, whimpering as you wanted more of him inside you. You wanted all of him inside you. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear, your fingers raking through his disheveled locks. Your body jolted as he added another finger, your hips moving forward for any sort of friction. Your clit brushed the head of his cock, causing you both to groan. The anticipation was finally getting to the both of you. You wanted him.

“Reki please,” you gasped out. His fingers curled as they were pushed in you up to his knuckles. “Need you, now,” you demanded despite you fucking yourself on his long fingers. Reki wanted to give back all the pleasure you had given him just moments before. He laid back down on his bed, letting you sit on top of him. Your legs straddled his waist, aligning his dick up with your pussy before you slowly sunk down on him, his entire girth disappearing within your slick heat. His hands had a firm hold on your thighs, his mouth forming in the shape of an ‘o’ as your pussy swallowed him whole. Nothing but pure bliss was on his mind. Despite Reki’s cock being on the average side in terms of girth, he certainly made up for it with length. You could feel him reaching deep within you, your pussy squeezing him in the most erotic ways possible. Your hands rested on his chest to steady yourself as you lifted yourself back up off of his dick before roughly impaling yourself once more. The moan that flew out of Reki made him slap his hand across his mouth. “Baby, fuck, oh shit— So tight,” he swore, his free hand snaking down to your dripping cunt to thumb at your clit.

Your body felt like it was being engulfed with heat, your hips rutting vigorously against his as his bed creaked below the two of you. His hair was sprawled out across the pillow like a halo around his head, his eyes half lidded as he watched your tits bounce right in front of his face. He looked mesmerized by you, his hips stuttering and bucking up on their own to match your movements. The sound of skin slapping and quiet, discrete moans echoed off the walls of Reki’s room. His name rolled off your tongue as if it were second nature, his fingers rubbing at your swollen, puffy clit as you rode him closer to your high. Your inner walls fluttered around him as you arched your back, taking a moment to grind down hard on his dick. His eyes were entirely focused on you and the way you looked so angelic on top of him, your thighs trembling as the wetness of your pussy dripped down to his balls. He was so close, but he wanted to cum with you. He wanted you two to experience your highs together. And he knew exactly how to do that.

He stopped stimulating your clit, his hands set on your hips to switch your positions so he was on top. He draped one of your legs over his shoulder, pressing you down hard into his mattress before he began to drill right into you. His brows were knit in concentration, this new angle suddenly giving him access to the one spot inside you that made you see stars. “Fuck!” you sobbed out, completely forgetting that you weren’t alone in the house at the moment. Though at that point, you didn’t care, throwing your head back as your vision started to dot with white. Your hands were clawing at his back, your nails leaving nasty red marks down his skin. You could hear the headboard of his bed continuously banging against the wall from how hard he was fucking you. “That’s it princess, I know exactly how you like it. Cum for me,” his voice was low and gravelly, his thrusts getting sloppier as he approached his own climax. He brought his head down to yours, your foreheads meeting as he babbled on about how fucking amazing you felt squeezing his dick.

The knot that had been coiling inside of you finally snapped, Reki’s name seemed to be the only word your brain could recall as you came hard around his cock. Reki’s hips met yours one last time, his seed shooting long, thick ropes inside of you, filling you right up to the brim. There was a moment of pure bliss between you two, your breathing uneven as Reki’s hair fell in front of his eyes. Reki kissed you sweetly and slowly, pure euphoria dripping from his body as he dragged his softening cock out of your used and overly sensitive pussy.

“Feel a bit better?” you asked of him gently, your body spent from a good session of fucking. Reki looked at you with glowing eyes, a smile present on his face as he kept delivering soft kisses to your face. “I’m always better when I’m with you!”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“Ah well, you love it anyway, hah! Wanna watch a movie and cuddle?”

You snickered, legs feeling numb and your heart full of nothing but love for the redhead on top of you. “Sure, sweetheart. After we clean up.” He nodded, resting his head for a moment on top of you between your tits. The after sex glow was real as evidenced by the way he cuddled into you.

“Or after we cuddle, that’s fine too,” you teased. If you were being honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

all works © eijishimas 2021. do not reuse, modify, or repost.

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[tainted-wine]

Primal Dissonance

Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

So anon was like:

And since I’m total ass at writing short drabbles, or maybe it’s because they called me senpai, I ended up with a whole-ass fic. This took a different route than planned but I hope you enjoy, anon!

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: Dubcon, Pheromones, Mindbreak, Feral Hawks, Rough and Public Sex, Tit Abuse. This totally isn’t as dark as it sounds.

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Hawks has been getting noisy. Not in the usual sense; he’s always a motormouth. No, he’s been making sounds that you’ve never heard him make.

At first you thought he was sick and something was irritating his throat, but on one occasion when you offered him water after hearing the sound, he almost looked offended. You concluded that it wasn’t an illness.

You later noticed that the noise often happens when it’s just the two of you together. During late night movie viewings at his place, he’d hold you close and release a constant hum, the vibrations from his chest and wings soothing enough to make you drift into sleep in his arms. You never saw the look of disappointment in his face as he decided to cuddle you for the rest of the night.

Just a few days later, he spots you during one of his patrols and presents you with a surprise expensive gift. A ruby pendant, the same brilliant shade as his feathers, was placed around your neck by gentle gloved hands.

“Hawks—why—what did I do to deserve this?” You asked while your eyes reflected the gemstone’s sparkles.

“Just wanted to give a pretty gift to my pretty girl.” He gave you a kiss, and waves of soft hums leave his mouth and into yours, flowing through your body, stimulating all of your nerves and triggering pleasant shivers. One makeout session later, and you both pull back to lock eyes. He’s looking at you expectantly, but you don’t even know what the hell he’s expecting.

You look to the side awkwardly. “Thank you, Hawks. It’s beautiful, but I…don’t have anything to give in return. This was a complete surprise, after all.”

His eye twitches, but he smiles and embraces you. “That’s fine, chickadee.”

A pigeon appears during your hug, and the soft coos emanating from it give you an epiphany.

“A pigeon! That’s what it is! You’re cooing like a pigeon!”

This time it’s his smile that twitches. Did you say something wrong? Whatever it is, he brushes it off with a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

That was also the day you noticed his rising body temperature. You asked once again if he was feeling ill, and at least this time he didn’t appear to be upset when he answered ‘no.’

On the next night you spent in his home, he—and you’re still not over this—took your hand and pulled you in for a dance. It wasn’t some silly jig in which he blindly moved to a random pop song, it was a slow classic love song, and he moved both of you in an elegant dance fitting for a ballroom.

It was the last thing you expected from the hero that normally took you on KFC dates or, if he had the time, reserve a spot at his favorite yakitori place. But there was no way you could say that you didn’t like the way his feet glided across the floor, wings acting as a living cape that made each of his movements look all the more graceful, and you followed his pace as best as you could.

You clung onto him more tightly than intended when he dipped you after a spin, sharp avian eyes boring into you before he buries his face in your neck, and that’s when you feel more than hear the cooing return. It’s a tune that never fails to make you feel so warm and safe; you have no idea how his gentle sounds have such influence over you.

He looks pleased by your relaxed state, pulling you back up and brushing a few stray hairs out of your face. “So?”

You smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I didn’t know you had such grace, Hawks. Now hurry up, or we’re going to miss the movie for tonight!”

You scampered off into the kitchen to prepare the popcorn, completely oblivious to the baffled look your boyfriend was giving behind your back.

A few days later and you’re more certain than ever that he’s coming down with something, because now there’s a constant sheen of sweat all over his skin, and his breath sounded labored even when he was just sitting around. Since he ignores all of your pleas to stay home for just a day or two, you come up with another solution. Hawks pouts like a child when you tell him that a little nature and clean air might restore his health, but he still accepts your offer for a date at a nature park because hey, spending a day in natural beauty with you sounds great.

You practically dragged him into a bus after telling him several times that he shouldn’t tire himself out prematurely by flying both of you there. One long scenic drive later, you both arrive at your beautiful destination. The park was huge and lush with flora of all kinds, from tree-filled paths to endless flower fields.

Exploring everything this paradise has to offer with Hawks sounds like a dream, but your main goal was to loosen him up and help him feel better, so you avoided the populated areas, passing the cycling roads, the play areas, the bug houses, all of the charming attractions until you reached the long stretches of vibrant colors. The flower park.

You and Hawks began a slow stroll hand-in-hand, taking in the seemingly endless blooms, the trees shedding petals onto the walkway—all of it served as the most delicious treat for your eyes.

But when you looked at the winged hero to see if he was enjoying the scenery as much as you were, you saw that he was staring at you. His face was slightly flushed, but you couldn’t tell if it was the result of his feverish temperature or if he’s finding this whole date very romantic.

“The flowers are over there, birdbrain,” you joked with a squeeze of his hand.

His wing wrapped around you and pulled you in closer, encasing you in his abnormal heat. “The only flower that matters is right here.” There was a rough breathlessness to his voice that made the otherwise corny line sound sensual.

And then the coos returned, bringing you back to that pleasant world where everything was warm, soft, and safe. The red feathers surrounding you quivered and rippled like ocean waves of scarlet. You were supposed to be making him feel at ease here, not the other way around.

A chorus of chirps snapped you out of your stupor. You broke out of the hypnotic embrace and spot a bunch of small bouncing figures in the white lilac tree in front of you. “Aww, look at all of the little tits, Hawks!” You point at the flock of singing critters.

Hawks snorted immaturely.

Before you could withdraw your arm, one of the Japanese tits flew over and perched on your still-extended finger, leaving you bug-eyed and your mouth agape. “Hi there! You’re a brave little guy, aren’t you?” You said softly, hoping not to startle it. It tweeted in response, fluffing up its black and white plumage as it looked up at you curiously. “Hawks! It’s so cute!”

Red wings bristled, but you were too enamored with the friendly bird on your hand to even look back at your boyfriend. It continued to sing, the tits sitting in the tree joining in to create an adorable medley of chirps, tweets, and peeps. “Such a nice sound, I never realized how amazing these little guys are.” You keep watching the beady eyes that stare right back at you, feeling the bird’s little feet move quickly as it adjusted itself to get more comfortable.

And with a powerful slug from a hardened red feather out of nowhere, the tiny tit is knocked off of your finger and sent flying like a fucking golf ball.

Your pointing hand was still out as you looked on, eyes and mouth now wide open in horror instead of awe. The poor bird managed to right itself before it hit the ground, flapping frantically to ride the light breeze and fly past its tree of brethren and off into the distance, its sloppy turns and sudden drops betraying how dazed it was.  

With your short-lived friend out of your sight, you turned to the man that ruined your magical bonding session, multiple negative emotions boiling inside you and ready to spill right onto this bastard. “Hawks!” You’re prepared to blow his ears off with every ounce of frustration, every concern that’s been plaguing you for the past week thanks to the strange changes that he refuses to talk about, but then you freeze.

The man’s face has darkened, eyes narrowed with its pupils shrunken into beady slits, lips pressed together in a tight frown—he looked enraged. But the terrifying look wasn’t directed at you, he was looking up at the innocent tits still residing in the tree and paying no mind to the violent treatment of one of their own. As his wings slowly spread with feathers sharpened, your chest constricted once you realized what was about to happen.

“Stop!” You threw yourself at him, grabbing at the outstretched limbs in a pitiful attempt to stop them, the bladed edges cutting your hands. It was still enough to shock and prevent him from launching any of the deadly weapons at the birds. You felt his feathers return to their soft fluffy state as he stumbled from your weight. “What the hell are you doing? What, are you pissed that it chose my hand instead of yours? The hell is wrong with you?”

Now he was aiming the glare at you, and you couldn’t help but shrink under the intimidation. His voice was shockingly low. “Just what game are you playing at here? Gushing over another bird’s song right in front of me?”

You eyed his still-expanded wings as you tried to make sense of what he said. “What?” Was all you could say.

“Here I was thinking you just had extremely high standards, but maybe you’re the type that likes to play hard to get, or make your guy jealous and see how he handles it.” He took a step toward you, and you took one back. “Well let me tell you, I’m not handling it very well.”

What he was implying would have made you burst into laughter if he didn’t look so threatening right now. “You’re…jealous? Of the bird that was on my finger?”

He laughed, or at least tried to, but the shortness of breath made him cough. The sudden anger must be worsening whatever has been making him hot and throaty for the past days. He needs to calm down for his own damn sake. “I guess I shouldn’t be, should I? Not for a girl who gets wet over any bird that does something as simple as approach her.”

“Excuse me?” Did you hear that correctly? No joke, did you really hear that shit correctly?

Hawks just keeps on going, taking your bewilderment as more mockery. “I give you something shiny, you don’t say anything.” A flash of several feathers and you feel your arms being pulled in front of you, the red tufts tying your wrist together.

“I put on a nice dance I practiced for, and you don’t say anything. Did you even notice that I cleaned and decorated the room that night?” You’re panicking from your tied hands and don’t see him fire another barrage that goes for your ankles, their tugs forcing you to lose your balance and fall hard onto the ground with a pained cry. Your hands are forcefully pinned above your head. “Hell, you seem to enjoy my song every time you hear it, so what’s the deal?”

While your heart is on the verge of exploding from its anxious beats, the gears in your head are spinning as you try to figure out how exactly this whole miscommunication even happened, but they keep jamming, filling your head with sparks and smoke of pure confusion. “What song? You haven’t been singing anything!” You yell as you fight against the feather-made cuffs around your hands and feet, but there was no breaking free. They suddenly felt as strong and durable as elastic metal.

Hurt flashes across his face and you don’t understand why goddammit, but it’s quickly masked with another scowl. “You mean the song that’s lulled you to sleep? The song that never fails to put you at ease every time? I can sense it, you know. How calm and pleased you feel whenever you hear it. I know it’s not the loud obnoxious tune of a songbird,” he glances at the tree that continues to emanate various calls as he kneels over you, nearly straddling your waist. Smart of him to keep his groin out of the range of your knees. “But you still enjoy it, right? I’m not too upset that you compared it to a shitty pigeon.”

You only stutter in shaky breaths as he lowers himself and presses all of his weight onto you, your eyes shut as he nuzzles your face lovingly. He feels like a furnace, the sweat from his face slathering onto yours from his rough rubs.

That’s when you smell something potent. You’ve picked up traces of it from him throughout the week, a strange but not unpleasant mixture of salt and sweet. You assumed it to be some sort of shampoo or cologne, but now it’s hitting you full force and it’s making your body…respond. With each inhale, the exotic scent sends a tingle down your abdomen and a release of wetness that dampens your clothing. What the hell is happening to you?

Hawks pulls away and sniffs the air. Your feminine aroma has him moan so suggestively that it makes your core heat up even more. “Oh, so this is getting you going?” He questions in a judgmental tone before something appears to cross his mind, and he laughs with a slap to his forehead. “I’m such an idiot. I’ve been doing this all wrong, haven’t I? You’re not a bird.” He kisses at the side of your face and licks the shell of your ear before whispering, “You’re a mammal. You don’t choose a mate by their pretty gifts or fancy dances.”

The lustful haze invading your mind almost distracts you from whatever is tugging at your pants and pulling them down. “H-Hawks…” You accidentally moaned. You were too out of it to even properly convey your worry. Your pants are removed and something tickles your hips to remove your panties next—that’s when you identify them as more feathers.

“With mammals, males just take what they want. They catch her, hold her down, and fuck her on the spot.”

You gasp when your lower body is completely stripped and exposed—a mistake—Hawks’s intoxicating smell rushes into your mouth and nostrils, making you clench and gush. He lifts himself just enough for the living binds around your wrists to pull and drag you off of the stone walkway and into the blooming batches. The flowers were just tall enough to probably hide you from anyone at a distance, but the winged man crawling over and sitting in front of your feet would easily give you away. “Hawks, someone…might see us,” you mutter.

He only chuckles. “Good, I want them to see. Are you little bastards watching?” He looks up at the lilac tree that now looms right over both of you. The resting tits have gone quiet, most likely intimidated by the large bird-human hybrid that continued to glare at them.

The response was ridiculous enough to temporarily free you from your trance. “I’m not worried about the birds, you dumbass.”

“Hmph, of course you’re not. You’d let them all join in if I’d let you, wouldn’t you?”

You have so many questions about how that would even work.

But you’re interrupted by the feathers around your ankles pulling your feet apart, easily overcoming your resistance and spreading you wide open for the hero in front of you. You have to look away from just how soaked you are, juices flowing from your swollen pussy and onto the soft soil, some of it sticking to your parted thighs in strands. The sight makes Hawks salivate.

“I’m at the peak of my rut and I’m tired of waiting. Gonna make you mine.”

It’s all he says before his entire mouth is on your cunt, tearing a startled cry from your throat. The peaceful sounds of the wind and rustling leaves are overshadowed by the absolutely filthy slurps, sucks, and growls between your legs. He was being a greedy savage that simply wanted to drink you up. There were no careful methods or patterns, just a hungry tongue that lapped at every inch of you and lips that sucked on anything they could grip.

You could barely even writhe from the onslaught, what with your arms pinned over your head and your feet held down so strongly that you couldn’t even move them across the dirt. You kept your sights on the rich colors of various flowers that encircled you as the sweet-smelling haze enveloped you again, enhancing your pleasure. Despite Hawks’ sudden loss of his oral skills, the feral nature of it all—the smothered snarls against your sex, the startling feel of his teeth carelessly grazing your sensitive flesh, and the lewd sight of his face covered in your glistening juices as his glassy eyes opened and stared into yours as he ate you alive—his voracity had you boiling over.

He gulped your essence loudly, welcoming every drop of the orgasmic flood into his mouth. All of the colors in your vision blurred more with each mind-numbing pulse. You weren’t even aware of the shameless wails that left you until the blissful waves finally subsided.

Once he had his fill, he finally pulled away from your mound and boy did he look like a hot mess. His cheeks were a deep red that was slowly spreading across his cum-covered face, a beady string of your fluids hanging from his lips before dripping off. He was climbing back over you and when the fuck did he take his pants off? He must have unbuttoned and removed them while he was licking you into heaven.

He still manages to look smug while he takes in your spent form, your slightly parted lips impossible to resist. Your mouth was suddenly locked with his, the breath you were desperately trying to get back stolen from you. And then the scent returns, this time accompanied with a powerful salted lemon flavor that assaults your taste buds. The taste of your own pussy was insignificant; his aroma in both your nose and mouth is nearly suffocating, your still-recovering inner walls already squeezing out more of your slick.

His tongue thrashes about in your mouth to paint his sweet saliva on every spot he could reach. You swallow it up thirstily and feel an immediate response in your throat that somewhat frightens you. Numbness overtakes your mouth and your throat relaxes completely; you felt like it was suddenly impossible to choke.

Hawks messily pulls away, breathing heavily and licking his lips. “Look at you. All it takes is a whiff and taste of a rutting male to turn you into a submissive little bitch.” You’ve never heard him speak like that, but like every action he’s taken since you’ve been at his mercy, it doesn’t fail to arouse you for reasons you still don’t understand. “Do you want some more? Hmm?”

You’re nodding before your crippled mind can comprehend the question.

The drugged kiss has you dizzy. You’re doing your best to keep track of his movements as he straddles your chest, his cock coming into focus and pressing against your lips. He doesn’t give you a command, you simply open up like a trained whore.

You’re moaning from the addicting taste of his length that pushes all the way to the back of your throat. Once his pubes are flush against your nose, your eyes roll back and you lose all sense of…everything. Everything except for that exhilarant fragrance and flavor.

Even as he begins to move in your mouth, your tongue swirls all around the sweet meat in an attempt to taste him all over. You’re throbbing wildly, but the feathers prevent you from bringing your thighs together for some much needed friction.

He was thrusting in and out at a pace that should have you gagging, but you take the pounding smoothly. Everything was murky, save for the pleasure that was slowly consuming you. You think the birds are singing again, maybe.

Something was smacking against your chin…rather loudly, you think. Hawks’s balls. How obscene, the way he’s hunched over you and fucking your face so roughly, but it’s hard to feel embarrassed when it’s all making you feel so damn good. Drool gathers and drips down your mouth. Your throat has become a second pussy, and he was fucking it like one.

The scent has your entire body on fire and you wish so badly that you could touch yourself. It was too powerful, each breath filling you with more burning tension. Your desperate whines came out as bubbly gurgles around his hammering dick. Your climax is dangling right at the edge. All you need is just the smallest touch on your drenched, deprived pussy.

His thick intrusion suddenly leaves your mouth, allowing oxygen to properly enter your lungs and for the pooling saliva to be swallowed. Hawks says something as you cough and sputter, but everything is still too muffled.

“Good……….not yet……….finish inside.” That was all that you were able to catch. You frankly don’t care. You immediately want his overpowering scent back.

When something pushes past the entrance between your legs, you cum instantly. Your scream is silent, or maybe you just can’t hear it, as your restrained limbs twitch like mad from the excruciatingly pleasurable contractions.

You’re already being fucked roughly while you’re still coming down from your orgasmic high. You’re rocked against the flowers and the soft earth beneath, your peaceful surroundings a stark contrast to the raunchy act currently taking place among them.

Hawks leans in once again, and you have to turn away and hold your breath because you truly felt like one more whiff of that mouth-watering smell would bring you the most euphoric death. His mouth drew closer to your ear, harsh pants in sync with his rapid thrusts. There’s no way a body was meant to handle so much stimulation, yet you didn’t want it to end.

You wanted this powerful man and everything that he had. You want him to fill your womb with his seed…bear his strong and healthy offspring…then let him take you all over again…

There’s a soft rumble that brings you back down to earth, clearing your mind just enough so that all of your senses work properly again. The smudged colors return to their original shapes, and the cooing that vibrates through both of your bodies can be heard loud and clear. His song.

“That’s it, baby. I’ve got you right here. Just give in to me.” Hawks sounds on the verge of losing his voice, weak and graveled, but his singing and hips aren’t letting up.

Finally, fucking finally, the feathers release your limbs. Ignoring how boneless they feel, you use all of your strength to wrap your arms tightly around his neck, and your legs lock right above his ass. You cling onto him like a parasite and moan freely, trusting his low and soft vocals to keep you grounded as his citrus aura captivates you again.

Your involuntary clenches ruin him and take him to his peak, several more hard and deep pumps bringing you to your final climax. Both of you cry out loudly enough to scare away the tits still resting in the tree, the small flock flying off to find a quieter perch.

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

Good. That showed the little bastards.

Hawks smiled triumphantly as the small birds fled the erotic scene. Once he was certain that none of them were coming back, he returned his attention to you. Your chest heaved with each audible breath, your entire body drenched in sweat, just like his. He laid a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking lovingly as you close your eyes for much-needed rest after almost losing your mind.

He did it. He finally claimed you, and all he had to do was just show a little dominance…and expose you to a hefty dose of pheromones. It was clearly way more than you could handle—maybe the face-fucking wasn’t the best idea, but it looked like you were enjoying yourself enough. No harm done.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Hawks was a cool-headed man. He’s managed to stay calm and collected in the direst of situations. Still, when he slowly turns around to see a man dressed in the park’s staff uniform, blushing at the sight of a sweaty couple with no pants on among the innocent blossoms, he can’t help but feel just a wee bit fucked.

“H-Hawks? It’s really you? Wha-?” The poor guy is lost for words from the fact that he just found the number 2 hero banging someone in public.

Eh, he’s talked his way out of tighter spots.

With a smile, the winged hero sends a few feathers to his discarded pants and withdraws a pen from its pockets.

“How about a deal, buddy? An autograph from yours truly and a coupon for my merch. All you gotta do is walk away and forget what you just saw.”

[angelamajiki]

[ a father’s love ]

PARING: StepFather! Aizawa x StepDaughter! Reader

SYNOPSIS: Your stepfather took you in with open arms after the death of your mother. Depression gets the better of you and Shouta promises to take care of you. But just how far is he willing to go to see it through?

CW: yandere, pseudo-incest, mentions of stalkers, mentions of death, depression, mental health issues, pregnancy, noncon, somnophilia, bondage, daddy kink, praise kink, afab reader

AN: my first collab with the bnharem server!! the theme was roommates (i ran with the term loosely) read the other member’s takes here! mind the tags as usual and enjoy!! :)

The death of your mother shattered you. A freak accident with a villain attack had her crushed under rubble from a collapsed building. Your stepfather, Shouta, suggested that you move back home with him after her funeral. As tempting as the offer was, you were determined to make it through University and handle yourself like a big girl, an adult ready to take on the world. You had only moved out a few months before her death, independence calling to you after you received your college acceptance letter.

A few months and an eviction notice later, you crawled back to him, the only remnants of your family. Open arms enveloped you, bringing you solace and comfort in your dire time of need. You felt like a child, bundled up in his arms as you sobbed, screaming at the cruelty of the world. Depression hit you hard and deep, flunking you out of your classes and preventing the bills from being paid. You had no other alternative but to accept his offer.

“You time and space to grieve properly, kitty. The most logical thing to do is take a breather.”

Ah, kitty. He always knew that was your favorite nickname, calling you that ever since you were a little girl. He also always knew just what to say. Patting your thigh, he stood up and extended his hand to help you up as well.

“Let’s go step up your room. I'm sure you need a nap after that cry.”

He gave a wrinkly smile before disappearing down the hall.

Skeptical at first, you were unsure if it was the right move to return home. You needed time to figure out what you wanted, what you needed. A break from life would give you a chance to sort things out, right? And Shouta was more than prepared to use this opportunity to show you he would be all that you needed and more.

The man was nothing short of doting and generous. A shoulder to cry on, a good laugh, a friend, a father. He helped you piece your broken soul back together. Whenever he wasn’t patrolling, he was at home with you. When your depression seemed to drown you, Shouta was there to pull you out of the water. He made sure you ate, helped brush your hair when it was matted, and got you into clean clothes daily. It was the small things that he did for you that helped your demeanor change.

—

“Up and at ‘em, kitty. Breakfast is on the table.”

You grunted, burrowing deeper into your bedding. A chuckle reverberated in his throat as he rubbed your lower back soothingly.

“C’mon, I know you haven't been eating lately. Let's get some food in you. I made your favorite.”

—

But as time passed, his help could only do so much. Your mental health continued to dwindle, plummeting into the ground when her first anniversary passed.

—

Gentle strokes of a brush smoothed through your tangled hair. Shouta was kind enough to help you when your head got matted into a rat’s nest, being incredibly tender and gentle with you. Tears streamed down your face, broken hiccups and sobs bubbling from your chest. You were trying to hold it in, he could tell. A sweet kiss was placed on the back of your head as he enveloped you in a comforting embrace, letting his hands sip down to your hips to rub circles in.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

He was the only one that was.

—

The domestic dynamic the two of you fell into hardly felt like one of parent and child, but more as two lovers sharing a home they built together. The pair of you even adopted a new cat together in hopes of cheering you up. You can't say that you disliked it. It felt...nice to have your presence matter when it was a struggle even to be alive. Shouta always checked in on you; whether he sent you an update from work or shared a cat video. He really was the best father anyone could hope for, even when your depression got the worst of you.

Your depression started to manifest itself in many forms. Lately, you’d been having vicious nightmares, only to wake up with an unknown stickiness on your thighs. Recalling the night terrors was something that evaded you, but you knew you were being violated. Perhaps your body wet itself from the fear of the dream? It was the only logical answer you and Shouta could come up with. Depression sure had funny ways of physically manifesting itself. You thought that would be the end of it, putting the situation behind you.

It was until it started happening nightly. The nightmares only seemed to prolong themselves, worsening to the point where you could vividly dream of being assaulted. Your underwear was now soiled too, and it definitely wasn’t your doing. Fearing you had a stalker, Shouta installed brand new locks on your windows and doors, hoping to soothe you. He was a Pro-Hero, so he certainly had the means and know-how to protect you. It put you at some ease, but it continued to the point where your stepfather decided sleeping in the same room would help you feel safer.

It didn't.

The nightmares themselves only seemed to get worse, but Shouta was right there to comfort you as soon as you woke up shouting in a panic. He would take you into his arms and hold you until you fell back asleep. You felt like a child. But he didn't judge you.

After a month of strange behavior, the stress caused you to gain some weight. Visiting a doctor was your best bet to get an answer. He took you to your appointment, letting you hold onto his arm for comfort as his hand rested comfortably on your thigh. The two of you were mistaken for a couple by a nurse. What a strange, intimate relationship the pair of your tangled yourselves in.

The doctor ran some tests and had your blood drawn. The results were to be emailed to you in a few days. Shouta calmed your nerves with a tender kiss to the forehead, reassuring you that everything would work itself out.

The notification for the email came in a few days later while Shouta was at work and you were lounging in the living room. Patience was never your strong suit, so you took his laptop from the coffee table, only to open up to a camera feed. Coming from your room.

The blood in your veins ran cold as you looked into the memory drive of the feed. Maybe he set up a camera to see what was happening during your nightmares? That had to be it; how could you assume the worst of your sweet dad? The only saved footage to be found was him fucking himself deep inside of your sleeping body.

“I see the results are in.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. He always had a habit of sneaking up on you.

“What-” You couldn’t find the words to describe your anger. “What the fuck is this!”

Disgust. Rage. Dispair.

Your only family left had turned against you.

“You were upset at the loss of your family, kitty. So I decided to give you a new one.”

He couldn't possibly mean…

“You’re pregnant.”

Bile rose to your throat as you gagged at the mere thought of his words. Pregnant? With your father’s child? His betrayal cut you more profoundly than your mother’s death ever could have. But it couldn't have made more sense—his touches, his comfort, sleeping in your room, the nightmares that plagued you.

“You’re sick!”

You shouted, tears streaming down your face as you continued to pummel insults and nasty spats at him. You lost your voice by the end of your rant, panting and heaving while sweat beaded your brow. He just stood there, taking everything in with a grain of salt.

“I understand, kitty. I really do. I should have been straightforward with my intentions.” He confessed.

The capture weapon around his neck snagged you the second you moved on the couch.

“Let daddy make it up to you. I'll make everything better for my pretty little kitty.”

It secured you to the sofa, keeping your legs spread and your hands behind your torso. On his knees in front of you, Shouta was ready to serve his apology with his tongue. Panties and sweatpants were ripped at the seams before being tossed aside.

He caressed your thigh with a delicate touch, pressing his lips to the other side. A kiss was pressed to your clit before long slow strokes of a hot tongue lavished it in attention. He kneaded your thighs gently all the while, humming as he began to alternate between licking and suckling on your sensitive nub.

Your head thrashed about in your binds as you shouted in protest.

“S-Stop it right now! Get off of me, dad!”

In a desperate plea, you hoped that hearing you call him dad would force him back into reality. Instead, he groaned and took a breath.

“Call me that again, kitty.”

A hot mouth sealed over your wet cunt as he dove his tongue between your folds while sucking with his lips. The pleasure was undeniable; his tongue was too experienced to ignore how his ministrations made you feel. Toes flexing and curling, you cried out of a mix of frustration, disgust, and humiliation as he continued to work at your dripping hole. This pig was getting off on the fact that he was fucking his daughter. It made your soul shatter all over again, the one he worked so hard to rebuild.

You continued to sob, moans now added to the mix, as he worked a finger inside of you. He made a curling motion after plunging in knuckle deep. A pleasured shout broke between your cries.

“I'll take it that’s your sweet spot, pretty girl? Good to know.”

He continued to abuse that spot, slowing down just a touch with his tongue to drag out the ride to the peak. Can't have you coming too fast, now can we? Your moans and whimpers spurred him on even more as he wiggled another finger inside you.

Removing his mouth, he focused on stretching and loosening up your tense body. You were lax when sleeping, so sliding in was a pinch with his size. But now he has to deal with you thrashing and struggling against his bonds. Disgust and pleasure churned together in your gut, feeling the incoming orgasm approaching hard and fast. Shouta felt you clench around his fingers and added a third, using his thumb to swipe your clit back and forth. With a final cry, you came on his fingers with a shout as your body convulsed in the capture weapon. You found what little peace you could in your short-lived post-nut clarity, taking a moment to breathe and center yourself.

Your father gave you no such chance to do so, immediately springing his cock free and rubbing the tip against your clit to gather your wetness. A chuckle sounded in his throat as he watched you twitch even more from the stimulation that was starting to border on being painful.

“Relax, kitty. Being tense won't do you any good.”

He slowly nudged his cock into your hole, groaning as he took his time bottoming out inside you. Praise spilled from his lips as he let you adjust, feeling your pussy clench tight around him. Good girl, good kitty. He shushed your sobs, smoothing the tears off of your face with the pads of his thumb. Murmurs of good girl and taking me so well slipped your senses. The pace he set was slow and deep, letting you feel every agonizing inch of his rather impressive dick.

Your flowing tears were kissed away as he proceeded to thrust faster and deeper. The sound of skin slapping against one another filled the room, even above your now weakened crying and whimpers. Sweat beaded on your brow plastered your hair to your forehead. His breath was warm against your cheek, his moans of pleasure so close to your ear forced you to stay in the moment.

Shouta swallowed your cute noises with a kiss, cupping and stroking your cheek with his right hand while his left pinned your hips down into the cushions. He did his best to stop your tears, pushing the hair off of your sweaty face. A few minutes passed filled with kisses, cries, and deep thrusts before he maneuvered you to be seated in his lap. Back pressed into the cushions, he lazily thrust up into you, hands grabbing your now bouncing ass. His thumb made its way back to your clit as he rubbed it in small circles, grinning at your cries of pleasure that you couldn't hold back. Dark brown eyes fluttered shut as he groaned and moaned proudly, increasing the speed of his thrusts as he felt himself getting closer and closer.

He usually lasted longer while you were sleeping; he does have quite a bit of stamina from his hero work. But something about seeing your flushed, torn face, hearing your whimpers and cries, he can't help but cum rather quickly for his own record. The pleasure was manifesting itself within you again, a second orgasm hitting you like a speeding truck as you gasped and choked for air at its intensity. Shouta was soon to follow, grunting and moaning loudly as he filled your cunt with his spend. He rode out both your orgasms, relishing in the silence between the two of you. It was better than hearing your broken, choked up wails.

It was wrong; he knew that. Breaking your trust, violating you, sabotaging your personal life, he couldn't help but be selfish with you. But he always knew what was best for you, always knew how to take care of you when you couldn't.

Foreheads pressed together, he caught your sagging body against him in a warm hug, stroking your hair when you started to sob uncontrollably.

“Let it out, kitty. I'm here for you.”

[beann-e]

“ honestly Suna sometimes it feels like your just sitting there — calculating — thinking of ways that you can piss me off” you let out in a huff of anger as you slammed your hand onto the arm rest placed in the middle of the car. Voice loud enough to be heard from a mile away and then some “ And then you don’t even fucking care “

“ I’m sorry you feel that way “

“ seriously ? seriously Suna “

“ oh I’m sorry would you like me to say it jokingly? “

The silence that towered over the both of you was tall and it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon “ WELL WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY “ his hand came up to run down his face as he sighed

“ look I'm sorry baby but — “

“ but nothing — I'm tired Rin—I'm tired of you screwing with me“ you groaned “ honestly at this point just fuck off “

he moved to pull the keys from the car unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door as your jaw hung open “ what the fuck Suna — “

“ I'm fucking off you ungrateful bit—“

“ you asshole — all of a sudden you take everything literal right ?? huh only when you want to right “

“ y’know what— no you fuck off —ok y/n “

“ see that’s what I'm talking about “

“ honestly I doubt you even know what you were talking about in the first place “

your steps quickened as you followed after the male who stopped at your front door imputing the code and opening your house door “ This is what I mean by you keep fucking with me Suna “

“ oh “ he moved to sit down on the couch arms flung behind it and legs spread wide out in front of him. “ is it really— because , the 40 minute argument in the car about your best friend hitting on me didn’t quite make that clear “ he scoffed shaking his head along with it “ your shitty reasoning must of gotten lost on one of the many streets of Japan y/n “

His eyes glowing body perking up with his next sentence “ yknow what how about you go find it hmm then we can have this little talk sometime later -- preferably when I'm sleeping id hate to be awake for another one of your hellish complaints babe.”

your anger was only growing as the argument continued “ you fucking douchebag I bet you don’t even know why I'm pissed off “

He let out a small sigh of a laugh his legs shaking and hitting each other in a wave before they resumed their earlier position “ I don’t“

“ and you don’t care either do you “

“ I don’t “

Your heart broke for the first time ever in your relationship with the stoic male after hearing his words and tone. In all the time you and your boyfriend had been together you two never argued about his lack of emotion or care.

It never bothered you

It never affected you

until it did

4 hours ago

You smiled up at the taller male as his mouth continued to run while talking to the rest of his volleyball team. This was the first time you’d ever seen him talk for more than 5 minutes with anything other then yeah’s and small mhmms.

The both of you had been invited to a class reunion and you only decided to go because of his new teams constant nagging

Suna had been telling you all week to find something else to do and that you didn’t have to go with him. That it would be too boring and long and that you would be better off having fun without him.

Of course you put up a fight but, ultimately lost and decided to hang out by yourself for the earlier half of the day spending last weeks paycheck on this weeks shopping spree

it felt nice to treat yourself but you couldn’t help but want to treat your boyfriend too. The thought of him being bored alone plagued your mind and you had to get it out.

The only way to do that was to go to the reunion.

Now how you imagined it would go is you show up in your fancy new dress surprising him smile a bit , talk up some of the host and sneak your way in and then mingle and go home and cuddle and kiss your boyfriend all night

funny thing is somewhere in that prewritten script you had created you didn’t realize imagination is not always reality.

The sight of your boyfriend leaning against a wall with a glass in his hand and his other on the string of your best friends dress had you reeling in the disgust that you wanted to spill so badly on the floor right now

All you’d done was go to the restroom but now you sat with your eyes widening while you watched his eyebrows come together in annoyance with the string that wouldn’t come undone.

Your best friend faced away from him back to his chest and a small smile on her face. Cheeks heated from his touch and in that moment you cursed her for having a look on her face that made it visible how much she enjoyed his warmth. You wished she didn’t make it so obvious how the closeness to your boyfriend was making her feel

how it was encouraging her

Your heart broke when you seen Suna finally relax and blow air out of his cheeks before nodding softly almost thanking the gods that he figured it out and it was over

Your feet moving before you could even process what to say to either of them.

“ y-y/—“

your hand came in contact with your best friends face before she could even finish the loud slap echoing through the room as everyone turned to find the source of the noise

Eyebrows raising when they noticed it was not only a slap but a full on one sided battle between you and the girl who everyone seen as nice and quiet during your school years

They never knew of the undercover bitch that was lurking behind the surface. They’d never see the way she was smirking as she took every hit given to her in stride. Your boyfriends hands wrapping around your torso as he looked down and seen that you were hovering over her ripping her to bits

You never letting go of the grip your thighs held around her own as she whispered to where only you could hear “ aw poor y/n’s defending someone that doesn’t even want em—gonna go to jail for someone so unloyal huh “

Your eyes lit up with pure hatred as the security made their way over to you reaching to take you from Sunas hold and lessening your grip on the woman beneath you

“ sir we need you to let her go “

“ don’t touch me until you actually make it all the way to police academy you fucking lowlife. “ you spit out “ how the hell do you only make it to security much less high school reunion security “

“ the hell do you know — you don’t even know how hard police academy is asshole “

“ ah I bet your kids’ll be real proud “ your eyes squinted at his name tag “ todd — you kiss your wife with that mouth “

you laughed eyes rolling from him to suna “ or are you like this asshole and kiss your mistress with it instead ? huh toodles ? “

“ ha — ‘m gonna have fun with you--ya little prick. sir — let ‘em go or else i’ll pull out the big guns — they snuck in here and now their disrespecting an officer “

“ big guns “ your laugh circulated through the room “ ‘k sure let me stop before I get pepper sprayed “

“ my hands already on the trigger you lil bitc— “

“ hey “ sunas voice growled behind you “ watch who the fuck your talking to toodles“

“ just— get—get the fuck off dude I didn’t go to police academy so I could avoid this — their full on disrespecting me come on man get off“ your face scrunched up in annoyance as you saw the security look like they were about to cry

“ well I mean — “ he sighed “ it’s not like your a real officer right“ suna sighed out as he began to bite his lip in worry “ I mean we can let this slide right ? “ he nodded looking towards the males name badge “ uh toodles“

He coughed “ todd — I mean todd “

“ I’m sorry but, even if I could “ his gaze dead set on you “ which I really don’t want to — seeing as though they disrespected me “

His voice sounding proud as he continued “ and I'll have you know I'm security guard of the mouth asshole “

“ oh whoop dee fucking do Tinkerbelle ”

“ y-fucking-/n “ you could feel the way Suna was seething above you breath hot and you could tell his face was made up in a snarl “ if you don't shut the fuck up I swear on Atsumu’s unwashed boxers ill leave your ass prison letters starting tonight “

“ see —— sir I'm trying “ he sighed “ I really am trying to let this go but — “

“ their with me — “

“sure “ he scoffed “ I'll need to see some relations or — “

“ their my s/—their my plus one “ his eyes moved to look at everyone surrounding you guys then back to the position he now held you in before finally dropping you to the floor. Your heart dropping and ears tuning everything out from that point on.

Everything on mute until you got in the car and were finally met with his low voice as he buckled you in and walked to his side turning the car on “ y/n “

You turned to look out the window “ y/n that — “

His voice was so hard but so weak “ y/n that was so fucking embarrassing “ Your body shivered at his words

“ having to watch my fucking s/o almost get fucking arrested “

His hands tightened their grip on the wheel “ then turning around and having to talk you out of it in front of our whole graduating class “

his voice went deadpanned as he swerved a bit on the road mixing lanes “ and — and my team — oh fuck my team “

he started to breathe a bit heavier as you began to feel bad hearing the sadness in his voice. His body shifting in his seat “ all so you could “

he laughed a bit at the situation “ all so you could take your ugly ass insecurities out on your friend ? “

he scoffed looking from you to the road and back to you “ when did you two even stop being friends huh ? did I miss that or ?? do friends just go out and leave bruises on each other or is that something new? What-- is it like a new TikTok trend -- a fashion statement huh ?? the fuck is it because, I'm not a friend person so maybe you know something I don’t “

He scoffed “ maybe — maybe I'll never be a friend person after something like that. If friends are just beating each other’s asses in broad day light out the fucking blue then I'll just stick with ‘tsumu at least I know I can beat his ass if he were to pull some shit like that “

‘ friend ‘ you thought silently

“ poor kid didn’t even see it coming “ he shook his head at you turning back to the road “ holy hell that’s shameful y/n “

he whispered “ I don’t even wanna think about the rumors that’ll spread about us tomorrow “

The car was quiet only for a minute as Suna re arranged his thoughts before he could beat into you again “ friend Suna ? “

your voice was dry “ Rin do friends help each other out of their clothes ? “

your eyebrows creased “ do they focus so intently on another woman while their own is in the same room “

“ I didn’t know you were there “

“ SO YOU ONLY TAKE FRIENDS CLOTHES OFF WHEN IM NOT THERE “

“ NO I “

“ YOU ONLY TOUCH OTHER WOMEN WHEN IM NOT THERE “

“ y/n jus— “ he took a deep breathe and let it out “ just shut up its not like that “ he let out an uncomfortable and tired scoff of a laugh “ it wasn't like that “

“ it’s always shut up Suna it’s never ‘ what’s wrong y/n ‘ ‘ are you ok y/n ‘ it’s just ‘ shut up I don’t wanna talk so you don’t wanna talk either ‘ “

you locked eyes with the male in front of you “ I'm done Rin I'm— I'm done “

“ you cant leave me-- heh not after that shit you pulled back there  “ 

“ fuck if I cant--you don't look like my legs to me and as far as I know their still Bluetooth connected to my mind so-- “

“ you'll be an overnight clown you-you need me y/n “ he shook his head “ we need each other “ 

“ no you need volley ball because you need money-- because guess what asshole as of right now-- your homeless”

“ fuck you as if “

“ we’re over Suna don't let my words finally hit you when you walk out the shitty door”

“ that’s fine by me “ he scoffed “ get the hell out for all I care — I'll pack your shit for you “

“ no— I'll pack your shit asshole your living  in my house bottom feeder “

“ if you don’t shut the fuck u— “

“ then what ? huh what — you’ll leave me “

“ I swear to god I'll —”

“ you’ll what cheat on me with my best friend ah I'm so scared — “ your voice holding nothing but mock enthusiasm “ I can just imagine the way you’ll kiss her when I'm not there — these thoughts for some reason almost feels real y’know “

you watched as the man you’d taught yourself to love for 7 years since high school finally walked out the door. His perfume from earlier still hanging in the air long after the door slammed. Your mind racing when you were finally brought to one thought

‘ how did we end up like this and how the hell do we get back ‘