#daddy five x naive reader

[mykinkyyandere]

I just thought about something.

What if Yan!Five offers a teddy bear to his darling as a reward for example or just to give her some company and since then, she always stayed in her room. Five thinks his darling finally became obedient but he realised she acts that way just because she considers the teddy bear as her bestfriend, wants to spend all her time with it, even kiss him, hug him as if the teddy bear was a real person.

How would he react ?

AO3

Warnings: Yandere, kidnapped & isolated reader, grown-up Five

⠀

This crazy man understands your situation. He was lost before he had you, the love of his life. He tried to fill the void inside him with a... mannequin. He named her, talked to her, and kept himself sane as much as possible. But all this was when he had nothing and no one. Then he found you and he was complete. He needed neither a mannequin nor his siblings. You were his only family and he forgot everything else.

But you have him. You're not lost, you're not stray, you're not in the middle of nowhere. You have a man who takes very good care of you and loves you very much. Then why are you so attached to a stupid teddy bear? He's definitely jealous, oh definitely. All he wants is for his baby to surrender herself completely to him, not to whine to play with the teddy bear. He rewards you and you kiss the teddy when you don't even want to kiss him? He's your bestfriend, he's your boyfriend, he's your family. He's everything and everyone you need.

He no longer gives you anything in any living form. His will be the only living face you will ever see. He also cuts off the teddy bear's head and burns it.

[babygirl-riley]

His Girls

Simon had to go into work throughout the craziness of the Riley household he lost his plastic skull mask. Only to find his youngest chewing on it.

Warnings: PURE fluff, seriously dad!simon, swearing

A/N: I am OBESSESSED with dad!Simon and to FEED my addiction @ave661 just keep coming in clutch! Go subscribe their pateron! Just a small drabble for you all ❤️

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family edition

Simon was running around throwing on small amount of gear, only going to the base. He put his mask on and realized he missed placed his skull that was suppose to be with it. “Daddy,” His five year old cried. “I don’t wanna have you go.” She held his leg.

“Daddy has to,” You said as your pre teen followed you. She was rambling on how she wanted to go to the mall with her friends but couldn’t. “Millie enough.” You said behind you to his oldest.

“Dad.” Millie looked at him and he shook his head.

“Do what ya mum says.” He looked down at Allison and kneeled down. Millie scoffed and walked off. “I’m not gonna be long promise. We will go get ice cream.”

Allison pouted. “Okay.” She walked out before Simon turned to you.

“I can’t find my fucking mask,” He cursed ripping through everything. “I had it ‘ere now it’s gone.”

You nodded. “Have you checked between the drawers?”

Simon nodded walking out. “Dad! I promised Jackie that I would be there, now what do I do?”

Simon loved his kids he did but damn he didn’t expect having all girls would make his head spin. You even joked about how soon Millie will start her womanhood and then they were fucked. Simon jogged down the stairs looking in the kitchen. “Millie, your mum said no, you think I’m going to say yes after? Ya know not to make promises that you don’t know if you gonna keep.” He explained not looking at her.

Millie groaned. “Listen though everyone goes out with their friends to the malls at this time. Not later. Plus they all can’t go.”

Simon snapped his head up looking on the counter. “I thought it was just Jackie.” You said having his baby youngest in your arms. She was wrapped in her blanket as she set her down in the living room that we connected to the kitchen.

Tessa giggled as she looked up at the tv. Playing with something in her hands. Simon sighed irritated, time was running short, he was running behind, and his patience running thin. Millie and you were arguing back and forth, as Allison came running down the stairs to watch tv. Simon inhaled deeply looking around again. “Your father agrees with me. I am done talking about this. You are not going, we have to be at Nana’s today.” You said putting your foot down.

Simon looked up and waited for Millie to respond. She just rolled her eyes and stomped off, you pressed fingers against your temples. “Alright Simon I am going to look in Allison’s room maybe she was playing with it.”

Simon nodded as he kept looking through and stood for a moment thinking where it could be. Trying to think where the fuck he put it. Nerves were high. He was getting anxious of being late. His thought started to swirl making his anger higher. Until he heard a small giggle.

Simon looked down to see Tessa on her back gnawing on something. Larger than her for sure. His eyes softened when they made eye contact, the blanket moving over to the side to see his mask. He inhaled with relief as he knelt down. “You bugger.” He whispered ripping his balaclava off.

Tessa giggled, he always loves the sound of his girls laughing giggling. It made him miss and think of Millie when she was this young. Innocent. Naive. Hell Tessa even had the same outfit that Millie wore. When both of you kept having kids and they were girls, he couldn’t or wouldn’t let you get rid of this outfit. It was his favorite.

Simon sat Tessa up and turned her towards him. She stopped chewing on it but held onto it. Her way of rebelling of him leaving for the day. Simon chuckled and grabbed the top of it. “Daddy will be back sweet girl.”

Tessa just had her large brown eyes set on him. Simon looked at the features, seeing Tommy and his mom in them. Making him think of his nephew Joseph and how Millie and him could have been close. How you could have a friend with Tommy’s wife. He often thought about it when looking at his girls. Millie definitely was a slit image of you though, personality to features.

Allison would just attach whenever she wanted to, independent like him. Tessa though was definitely daddy’s girl, anytime he would walk into a room she would know. Hell when you were pregnant with her she would move when hearing his voice. When he forgot to take the mask off she giggled and reach for it. Anytime he came home she was thrilled, screeching and giving sign to pick her up.

Tessa giggled as she reached for his thumb grabbing it. These moments he loved, the small gestures. The smiles. Giggles. It made him have that stir inside, the one that wants him to have another baby. His girls were his angels, so why not have more? More of these innocent kids that he made. His pride and joys. He didn’t want to go, he rather be here, with his girls. Go get ice cream now. Simon sighed as he looked up the stairs to make sure Millie wasn’t standing there so he could go say a proper goodbye for the day.

Allison came next to Simon as she hugged his thigh and looked at Tessa. “Daddy said we can get ice cream Tess! Sooner he leaves the sooner we get ice cream!”

Simon smiled down at her, he thought how smart she was becoming. Her sentences making more sense. Allison was like him, truly. Short tempered. Emotional ball. At the same time though she was thick skinned, she could take a hit until she can’t take it. She was caring, always sharing even if she didn’t want to. Would try to make everything more lighter when things got tense. At 5 years old.

“Exactly,” He felt his plastic mask loosen up and he softly took it away. “I love you baby girls.” He said kissing both of their foreheads. “I’m gonna say bye to ya sister, watch Tess yeah?”

“Yes sir daddy!” Allison chimed as she started to gather Tess’s attention.

He looked down at the stairs watching Tessa giggle and squeal at her sister. Simon walked towards Millie’s room, hearing her soft rock play behind the door. He knocked softly as he heard the music turn down. “Who is it?” She said snarky.

“Dad.” He said softly, he heard the knob unlock, having him note of that being a potential problem. She walked to her desk, sitting in her chair looking away from him. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Like him, distant once he was angry. “Have fun at Nana’s.” He softly said walking to her to place a kiss on her head.

“Love you.” She mumbled looking over at him.

“Love ya too dovie. I’ll see ya after work.”

She nodded to his comment as he walked out to face you. You sighed smirking. “Of course daddy comes to save the day.”

Simon smirked as he walked up to you placing his hands on your hips. “She’ll come ‘round,” He whispers kissing your neck. “Want baby 4?”

You pushed him off, giggling. Your stomach swirling with excitement. “Oh no Tessa have you the swirl,” He kissed your neck again, mumbling a yes. “Oh stop it, you’re gonna be late. Get going.” You giggled pushing him gently off before kissing his cheek.

When you turned he slapped your ass. His favorite thing to look, touch, grab. You scoffed, shaking your head while chuckling. Heading down the stairs to the other two girls. Simon smiled as you watched the two play, his girls. His angels. And the thing was…He would never change a thing.

[talaok]

Poor, naive, Marcus

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Joel is the boss of a group of criminals in the QZ, and you're his little bunny everyone knows better than to look at, but when Marcus, one of his guys, breaks that rule, Joel decides to teach him a lesson.

Warnings: I'm not gonna lie, this is 2.8 k of porn so... violence, smut | very very much exhibitionism, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, and of course lots of daddy-kink, praising, and pet naming

a/n: This is self-indulgence at its core, you guys don't understand how much I love them

Btw this is kind of a part 2 to this

He was drunk enough not to realize what he was doing, or drunk enough not to care at all.

His hands were roaming every inch of your body, groaning and painting as if just the feel of your skin was bringing him pleasure, which, truth be told, it probably was.

Your eyes were closed, but you didn't need to see to know people were staring, everyone was staring, whispering, gasping as they watched Marcus, oh poor Marcus, dance with you in the middle of the bar.

The people on the makeshift dancefloor had taken one, two, five steps away from you as if they sensed what was inevitably coming.

But Marcus, poor naive Marcus, he was too busy burying his face between your shoulder and neck to even notice.

"you smell so good" he groaned, forcing you flush against him and his evident bulge.

You couldn't help but chuckle.

Just one of the many advantages of being, or better, having been the boss' bunny.

"thank you" you whispered, playing with his long messy hair as he started kissing your neck as if his life depended on it.

"You like that?"

"yeah Marcus, you're doing good" You stifled a laugh, as he looked at you like a lost puppy

"O-ok" he nodded, "It's just that- you're very beautiful, and I-"

You only needed to smile to shut him up

"Marcus" you cooed "stop talking"

He nodded, again, and you returned to swaying your body to the music, his lips back on your skin.

You heard the people moving out of the way before you heard the door slam against the wall.

You shouldn't, you really shouldn't have, but the smile on your lips just really brought itself to life.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He wasn't talking to you.

Marcus, poor Marcus, looked like he was about to go number one, right there in front of everyone.

The quiet whispers that filled the smoky air just moments before had ceased,

even the music had stopped.

That's what he did.

The boss had arrived, and time had stopped.

You turned around, and there he was, in all his glory... he did look disheveled though, like he had run here, like you had interrupted something you were sure must have been very important.

But he wasn't looking at you, the primordial rage in his eyes was solely directed to the man next to you.

"You deaf? I asked you what the fuck you think you're doing" He took a step closer to him.

Joel wasn't that much taller than Marcus, but right now, hell, right now he looked seven feet tall, and ready to crush him with his bare hands.

"I-I"

"You what?" he gripped the collar of his shirt "What?" he spat, inching closer to his face.

"I didn't- I din-"

"I haven't even broken your yaw yet and you already can't talk" Joel snickered, 

"Bunny, if you wanted to make me pay, you could have at least found yourself a man"

You had to bite your grin down, 

No, you're still mad at him

"I didn't know you were together!" Marcus suddenly yelled.

Joel took his sweet time tearing his gaze off of you.

The skirt you chose, the same short, short one he had gifted you, had definitely been noticed.

"She-She told me you broke up. T-that it was over- "

"Did she, now?" 

"Y-yes, Boss, I swear" he nodded vigorously "I would have never touched her if I'd-"

And just like that,

Marcus' words died in his throat once Joel had wrapped his big hands around it.

"N-no- pleas-e"

He was barely breathing, his eyes looking like they were ready to pop out of his skull.

"Joel" you breathed

He didn't budge, not of one inch.

His fingers stayed still around Marcus' neck

You sighed, stepping closer, close enough to place a hand on his shoulder, close enough to stand on your toes and reach your mouth just right to his ear.

"Daddy" you whispered "let him go"

And so he did.

A sigh of relief was breathed by everyone in the room, everyone except Marcus, who was currently coughing his way back to life.

Joel's dark eyes were trained on you now.

"EVERYONE OUT"

Bodies scurried out the door in less than ten seconds. 

Marcus, oh poor Marcus, went to get away with them.

"not you" Joel didn't even need to glance at him to grab his forearm.

He stumbled backward, panic oozing off his every pore.

"B-boss"

"Shut the fuck up before I make you" 

That's all he said, before he pushed him to the side like a piece of trash.

Marcus nearly knocked over a chair.

"Joe-" you tried, as he walked closer to you.

"You told him we broke up" he cut you off

"We did" you reminded him, with a tilt of your head

"I don't remember agreeing to that"

You scowled

"That's not how breaking up works"

"and why not?" he was close enough to move some hair out of your face, his poisonous touch lingering on your skin like a curse and a blessing altogether.

"because I'm not one of your men, Joel, I do what I want"

He chuckled at your words, the vibrations of his voice bouncing off the filthy walls.

"Oh trust me, bunny, I know" he spoke, his mouth inches from yours "I know"

"Well then you should also know that we're done"

He watched you for a moment longer, before turning to Marcus, who was staring from the corner.

"Did he touch you?" he asked, turning back

"I think you already know the answer to that"

"Did he kiss you?"

You stayed silent.

Not because the answer was yes, but because a part of you, if not all of you, enjoyed torturing him.

"did you?" he turned back to the terrified man "Did you kiss my girl?"

"n-no" he immediately spat "No Boss I would n-"

"Is he telling the truth?"

You bit your lip, watching his eyes fall to the motion.

"He kissed my neck"

And in a second, his gun was in his hand and he was stalking toward Marcus.

"Don't kill him"

"why not?"

"yeah please listen to he-" With the barrel of a gun to his temple, it seems talking didn't come as easy.

"I'd have all the reasons," he said "he touched you"

You looked at him, really looked at him.

"Don't" you told him, and of course, as always, he obeyed.

"Sit down" Joel ordered him, but he was shaking.

Time stilled as he pulled the trigger, the wall behind Marcus crumbling as a bullet flew right through it.

"sit down or the next one goes through your skull"

He didn't need to be told twice.

"the things I do for you, bunny" he shook his head, sighing as he walked back to you.

You let your gaze travel to Marcus. He was seated to your right, staring at you, begging, pleading you to do something.

Poor, naive Marcus, he really didn't know what he had gotten himself into.

Joel was watching you like you were a drug and he an addict in withdrawal.

"where?" he asked his voice dangerously low.

He was inches from you. He had never been good at keeping his distance, and you were backed up against one of the tables.

"where what?" 

"where did he kiss you?"

"I already told you Joel," you said "My neck"

"here?" he breathed, his digit grazing the skin just below your ear 

You shook your head 

"lower?"

You nodded

"Here?" his finger was against your pulse

"lower" you could only whisper

"here" he bent down to murmur against your skin, before letting his lips do the rest.

He kissed you, and there it was... that electricity only he was capable of riling up in you.

"Joel..." you whimpered, as he grabbed your waist and started a slow trail of hot hot kisses up your neck.

he groaned, feeling the effect he was having on you.

"Now see Marcus" he spoke more loudly now in between kisses "That's where you went wrong... She likes it a lot more when you kiss her here" he smirked, kissing you below your ear "Ain't that right, bunny?"

You bit your lip, stifling your answer

"don't get shy now, bunny, tell him"

"I do" you surrendered, biting down a moan "I-I"

"I know sweetheart, I know" he cooed, his trail finally leaning towards your mouth "I know" he murmured a moment before kissing you.

His lips crashed with yours in a mess of moans and whimpers, as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth.

One of his hands was gripping your ass, undoubtedly hiking your skirt up enough for more of your skin to be showing, while his other hand was holding the back of your head and pushing you flush against him, leaving you no room to breathe.

"fuck bunny" he groaned "he kissed you like this?"

"no-no" you mumbled, reaching for his mouth again.

"And he touched you like this?"

You let out a gasp, as his hand made quick work of seeping into your panties.

"Did he?" he ghosted your mouth as two of his thick, oh-so-thick fingers slid between your folds, getting closer to your entrance.

"N-no he didn't"

He licked a stripe up your neck and whispered to your ear

"And who are you this wet for, bunny?" he teased, as his thumb found your clit "Did Marcus there do this?"

He bit your earlobe as he pushed two fingers inside, and what came out of your mouth was more a scream than a moan.

Both your arms flew to the back of his neck, holding for dear life.

"No!" you wined, as he started moving his digits in and out and curling them right into that spot he knew so well "It's all you daddy- all you" you promised, your voice so thin it was more of a whisper.

"hear that Marcus?" he asked the man to his right as if he wasn't two knuckles deep inside you 

"I don't think he heard bunny" he murmured sultrily as his thumb started circling your bud "Tell him darlin', tell him how wet you are for me"

"Ah-I'm-I'm so wet daddy, I'm so so-" You had to shut your eyes and bite down your bottom lip as the feeling got to be too much.

"that's my good girl" he breathed, his fingers still working relentlessly "You comin' bunny, you gonna cum for me?" 

You could feel your orgasm approach.

"mh-mh" you could only hum

"no no now" he tutted, grabbing your chin to have you look up at him "Use that pretty mouth of yours and answer me"

Your walls were squeezing his fingers and with each rut of his thumb against your clit a shock of electricity made its way up your spine.

Marcus was watching, you realized, as you opened your eyes. He was staring, knowing that he shouldn't have, but not being able not to.

"f-fuck" you moaned "I'm-god Daddy I'm coming!"

"that's better" he smirked "That's real good sweetheart" he breathed, watching you come apart "Now give it to me, come all over my fingers bunny"

And to that- to that you came, wailing and moaning like you were desperate, and screaming was the only way to make it better.

Your eyes were still closed as he retracted his fingers, and only when you heard a low humming, did you open them back up again.

He had his fingers in your mouth, sucking on them as if they were a lollipop.

"She's as sweet as honey Marcus" He looked at him " 's too bad you're never gonna get to taste her"

"is he bunny?" he asked, leaning into you again

"no"

"that's right" He grinned "now," he said, "what do you say we show Marcus what else he's never gonna get mh?"

"how 'bout we show him how you're all mine, and only I get to touch you?"

"yes" you could only whimper, as you nodded slowly, your brain a fuzzy mess.

"Yeah?"

"yes, daddy, please" you begged now, your hands raking down his chest until they reached the tent in his overused jeans.

"God bunny, you have no idea what you do to me" he groaned kissing the corner of your mouth.

"jump on the table"

You did so with no hesitation as he unfastened his belt and zipper in record time.

"You gonna be good for me now?" he asked, pulling his painfully hard cock out of his briefs "Gonna let me take care of you like you need to?"

"yes" you kissed him "Yes please please pl-"

"always so good for me" he bit your lip, moving your panties to the side and positioning himself at your entrance, the head of his dick rubbing against your slit.

"my pretty bunny" he breathed, finally pushing in.

"fuck" you cried, wrapping your legs around him...or at least trying to.

He groaned loudly, his head falling to your neck " 've missed you baby, missed this pussy so much-"

"I missed you too daddy" you confessed, 

"barely slept last night without you by my side bunny" he groaned, starting to move and causing a gasp to your throat "Couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you y'know" his words tickled against your ear "I don't want you to ever do that again bunny" he spoke, his thrust so slow and yet so agonizingly deep "I need you" 

And there it was, the Joel Miller only you knew.

"I won't" you whispered, one of your hands gripping his hair while the other kept you stable on the table 

"you promise?"

"I promise Daddy" You kissed the skin of his neck you could access "It's me and you"

You felt him smile against your shoulder 

"me and you" he repeated your words, leaning away to look at you.

You both smiled at each other like idiots, but before you could fully take the moment in, he thrust out and inside of you so harshly and so fucking deeply that your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

"oh my god" you started chanting, your head falling backward.

"you're so tight" he breathed, rolling his hips as he angled his cock to ruin you completely "She's so tight Marcus" he spoke more loudly, grinning like a bastard.

You chuckled, followed by him, and before you knew it, he was kissing you, and it wasn't a pretty kiss, oh no, it was a mess of moans and groans and teeth and yet it felt better than anything else in this world.

"fuck" you moaned "You feel so good, daddy" 

"yeah?" he sucked in a breath, still smirking "Say it a little louder- tell Marcus who only gets to touch you- who you belong to baby"

"you daddy" you screamed "I'm yours- only yours"

"that's right" he picked up his pace "and is anyone else ever gonna touch this precious little body of yours?"

"n-no" you muttered, ecstasy taking over your body "O-only you"

"atta girl" he murmured his hands gripping your waist to force himself deeper "You gonna give me another one bunny?" he watched your fucked out self "You gonna squeeze me real good like you do and let me fill you up with my come, sweetheart?"

"yes" you whined "Yes please fill me up, Daddy"

"After you bunny, you know how it works" he smirked

"I'm almost there-" you gasped "I'm coming daddy. I'm-"

And before you knew it a tsunami of pleasure had overcome you. Your legs were shaking, your eyes were teary and every part of your body felt both on fire and never more alive.

He came with a loud groan right after you, painting your insides with endless ropes of his come.

" I love you bunny," he said, after catching his breath

"I love you too daddy" you promised, kissing him with a gentleness he only enjoyed receiving by you.

"I wish we could go for another round but I got business to take care of" he sighed, nodding to... Oh right, Marcus was still there.

You couldn't help the giggle fleeing your lips.

He shook his head as he watched that heartstopping smile of yours "You go, David will take you home, I don't want you to see this" he said, pulling out of you and tucking himself back into his pants.

"Joel..." you pouted, "you said you weren't gonna kill him"

He raised his eyebrows "You were serious?"

"of course I was" 

"bunny..." he groaned, letting his forehead fall to yours

"No. No Joel I don't want you to kill him"

He looked into your eyes for a moment, trying to understand how serious you were.

"Can I at least have a little fun with him?" he asked

"Fine" you agreed "but don't hit his face" you said, making him frown "I kinda like his face" you explained

He smiled before meeting his lips with yours again "Your wish is my command, bunny"

[corroded-hellfire]

Scout's Honor - Eddie Munson x Reader

Collaboration with my dearest @munson-blurbs

An As You Wish story

Summary: The annual Father-Daughter Girl Scout Square Dance comes around but Eddie and Steve are saddled with some car trouble.

Note: Everyone needs to go thank Bug for this incredibly adorable idea!

Words: 2.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Men. 

Can’t live with them, can’t…convince them not to go fishing on the day of their daughters’ Girl Scouts events. 

Eddie and Steve had promised you and Nancy that they would be home in time to take Eliza and Mia to the annual square dance. 

“We’ll get an early start,” they’d said, ignoring Eliza’s insistence that she won’t go with her father if he reeks of fish. He’d just laughed, kissed her cheek, and reiterated that he would shower before the dance. 

Maybe you’re naive for believing him. And yet, when the phone rang and Eddie’s sheepish voice explains that Steve’s car broke down—codeword for ‘we ran out of gas’—you’re wholly unsurprised. 

“I always made fun of Wayne for fishing.” Eddie muses, the payphone crackling as he exhales. “Called it an old man activity. This is what I get.”

You grit your teeth, hand clenched in a fist. “Just…get home,” you hiss, hanging up the receiver and massaging your temples. 

Who could have ever foreseen such an outcome?

While you’re stewing over the men’s incompetence, Mia remains levelheaded—just like her mother—and proposes a solution. “What if Luke and Ryan take us?”

Her suggestion is almost certainly rooted in her crush on your younger son, but it proves to be a worthwhile idea, nonetheless. Eliza’s face lights up, and before you know it, your five-year-old is dragging her brothers from their room. 

“Please?” She pouts sweetly, batting her doe eyes up at them. “Daddy and Uncle Steve can’t make it, and we can’t go all alone.” She lays it on thick, knowing full well she doesn’t have to—the boys would do just about anything for her. 

Ryan and Luke raid Eddie’s dresser drawers for flannels, finding the ones that he had nabbed from Wayne’s trailer. The girls don cowgirl hats, excitedly giggling as they climb into the back of the minivan. It’s still strange for you to see Ryan behind the wheel, but your heart swells with pride as you watch him double-check Eliza’s booster seat before pulling out of the driveway. 

At seventeen years old, Eddie Munson spent his Saturday nights selling cheap weed at high school parties—many of them, ironically, thrown by “King” Steve Harrington. 

At seventeen years old, Ryan Munson is spending his Saturday night taking his little sister and her best friend to the Girl Scouts square dance. 

“Everyone buckled?” He calls back, already knowing that they are. Still, he waits until he receives a chorus of yeses before he drives off. 

Luke turns around from the passenger seat. “Now, do we have to make a perfect square?” He keeps a serious expression, much to Ryan’s amusement. “Like, what if it’s a bit oval-y? Do we get kicked out? Do you two get banished from the Girl Scouts?”

Eliza and Mia are both used to his nonsense, and they burst into a fit of giggles. Ryan cracks a smile of his own, eyes trained on the road. 

Precious cargo and all that. 

When they arrive at the old VFW hall, the girls immediately pull them over to their group of friends. It’s a sea of young girls and their dads—and some moms—but nary a big brother in sight except for the two Munson boys. 

Ryan barely has time to feel out of place. The emcee, a middle-aged woman with bright pink lipstick and a too-wide smile, grabs the mic. 

“Welcome to our Father-Daughter Square Dance!” The room erupts into applause, quieting down only to hear about how this fundraiser supports the Girl Scouts of Indiana. The scouts repeat their pledge, which is met with more cheers, and then a western tune bleats over the old sound system. 

Eliza grabs Ryan’s hand as the emcee calls out instructions. Mia is a bit shyer with Luke, but they still manage all of the steps without stomping on the other’s toes. 

“Liza, I’m sorry Dad couldn’t make it,” Ryan says between songs. 

Eliza gives him a small smile. “That’s okay. It’s kinda cooler to bring my big brother.”

He grins. Just wait until his dad hears that. 

As everyone is getting into position for the next dance, a new song comes on that has more banjo than Luke has ever heard in his life. 

“Oh, yeah. We’re definitely in Indiana,” he says.

Mia chuckles as she peeks up at Luke from beneath the brim of her straw cowgirl hat. A blue ribbon on one of her red pigtail braids is loose so Luke reaches down to fix it for the little girl. Mia’s freckled face blooms as red as her hair. Luke pretends not to notice, not wanting to embarrass her. The big crush on Luke became obvious when she was three, and now at ten, it’s still hanging around. The fifteen-year-old Munson boy thinks it’s flattering and only ever teases her if she starts it first. 

“Ready?” Luke asks, offering Mia his hand.

“Ready!”

“But I didn't realize any of this until I was standing alone. In a barn... wife-less. Now, you can imagine my disappointment when it suddenly dawned on me that the woman I love is about to be kicked out of the country. So, Margaret. Marry me. Because I'd like to date you.”

Both you and Nancy hold your wine glasses, neither moving a muscle as you watch Ryan Reynolds catch up to Sandra Bullock in a New York City office building. An empty pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream sits between you on the couch, two green-smudged silver spoons resting inside. 

With the men out fishing, Ryan and Luke out with the two girls, and Natalie watching the rest of the kids over at the Harrington house, your place became the ultimate Mom’s Night In for you and Nancy. A chance to drink a little, gossip a little, have some snacks and watch some romcoms. 

Your peace has finally come to an end, however, when the front door bursts open and two men who reek of murky water, bug spray, and gasoline come barging in. 

“Jesus, Steve,” Nancy says, face pinching up at the foul odor wafting from your husbands. 

You wave a hand in front of your face as if that will make the smell dissipate any faster. 

“How were the fish?” you ask, turning your head away to give your nostrils a fighting chance.

“We caught a grand total of zero,” Steve says with a sigh, his black fishing boots looking comically misplaced on him. Neither of the men look natural in fishing gear. But when a guy from work offered Eddie the use of his boat for the day, he found he couldn’t turn it down. 

“Did you bring the fishing poles?” Nancy asks, sarcasm lining the amusement on her face.

Both men give her an annoyed side eye before Eddie looks around and takes a step towards you.

“Where are the girls?” he asks. 

“Ryan and Luke took them to the dance,” you tell him. “They should be back soon.”

Steve grimaces and claps a heavy hand down on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Eliza’s gonna kill you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and spins to meet his friend’s eye.

“And Mia won’t kill you?”

Steve grins. “Not if she got to dance with Luke.” This is the only time the man has ever been thankful for Mia’s crush on the Munson teen. 

Front door still open from when the men barged in, Ryan, Luke, Eliza, and Mia walk inside, laughing and talking over one another. Ryan is giving Eliza a piggyback ride and Luke has Mia’s too-small cowgirl hat perched on top of his head. The moment Eliza’s wide brown eyes spot her father, she demands answers. 

“Daddy, where were you?”

Ryan gently lets her down and she stomps over in her beige cowgirl boots, stopping right in front of Eddie. 

“Liza, I’m so sorry,” Eddie pleads. “Our car broke down. We tried everything we could to get back in time—”

Tears build up in Eliza’s eyes and Eddie feels his heart constrict in his chest. It might as well be Eliza’s little fist squeezing it.

“You were s’post to go with me!”

Eddie sighs and runs a ringed, smelly hand over his face. “I know. And I promise I’ll go next time. But I’m glad you got to bring your brothers. 

“Did you have fun at least?” Steve asks from behind him. 

Mia nods emphatically and both you and Nancy have to bite your lips to keep from smiling. 

Eliza nods in agreement, although not as enthusiastically as her friend. “Yeah. And Ryan is a good dancer.”

Luke smirks, and if Eddie were looking at him, he’d see the devious glint in his eye. “Not as good as Dad, I’m sure.”

Loud snickers come from you, Nancy, and Steve. Eddie’s jaw drops open as he looks around the room. 

“I can dance!”

“Yeah, Dad?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah!”

“Lucky for you, we’re all right here to witness it,” Luke says with a shrug. 

Eddie scoffs and shakes his head. “There’s no music. And I don’t really think my Metallica is easy to groove to.”

“We’ve got my Billy Joel—” you start.

“Or my *NSYNC!” Mia adds. 

“No,” Eddie says. “Thank you girls, but no.”

Smirk only growing larger, Luke pats his father on the shoulder. “Lucky for you, we’ve got just what you need.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow as he watches his son take a CD out of a Target bag he was conveniently hiding behind his back. 

“How was fishing, by the way?” Luke asks as he wrestles with the plastic engulfing the case.

“Pointless,” Steve says.

“Your uncle didn’t bring enough bait,” Eddie added. Steve is about to refute but Luke speaks before he gets the chance.

“But you would have, Dad? Does that make you a master baiter?” 

Ryan is the only one who is unable to contain his laughter. The joke goes over the girls’ heads, but you give your son a soft glare anyway. Never mind that you found it hilarious, just as you know the other adults did as well, but sometimes you’ve got to be the parent. 

Luke shrugs it off and pops the finally-freed CD into the stereo and the sound of a bow sawing over fiddle strings fills the room. Your second-oldest nods his head to Eliza.

“Go ahead, Lize. Show the old man how it’s done.”

“There’s not enough room to square dance in here,” Eddie says.

Without even so much as glancing at one another, you and Nancy get off of the couch and push it back, making plenty more space in the living room. The two of you smirk at one another and Nancy crosses her arms over her chest.

“Y’know, I don’t think it’s fair that you guys get to reap the benefits of your daughters being Girl Scouts without putting in the work.”

A grin grows on your face as you see where Nancy is going with this. 

“Yeah,” you agree, “maybe you don’t need more Samoas this year.”

Eddie’s face falls, and he looks at Steve, who shrugs in defeat. Gotta hit the guys where it hurts: food. 

“All right, show us the moves,” Steve says.

Mia grins, a bounce in her step as she takes Eliza’s smaller hand and walks to the middle of the floor. “Okay, me and Liza will be partners. Just watch us.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows and looks between the two girls, one with now-messy twin red braids, and the other with a light brown cowgirl hat atop two curly pigtails. 

“Wait, if you two are dancing together, who are Eddie and I dancing with?” he asks. 

Eliza giggles. “Each other.”

“Nope,” Eddie replies. “No way.”

With an over dramatic sigh, you shrug your shoulders at your husband. “No dancing, no Samoas.”

“Damn those little coconut fuckers,” Eddie mumbles under his breath. “All right, big boy. But I get to be the guy.”

“Sure, we’ll play pretend,” Steve quips back. It’ll be a miracle if they both make it through the first dance alive.

Eliza and Mia begin to go through the motions, showing their fathers what to do. Everyone is laughing as they do-si-do and hook arms to swing each other around. 

“Did I earn my cookies yet?” Eddie asks once the next song ends.

“That’s up to your daughter,” you tell him with a shrug. 

Eddie looks at Eliza expectantly, the big puppy dog eyes that he passed down to her working their magic. 

“Almost, Daddy. You gotta dance with me first.”

“Now that, I can do.”

[perpetuallydaydreaming]

will you marry me?

5 times remus has asked you to marry him and 1 extra.

tags: remus lupin x f!reader,, fluff,, angst,, no mention of the word y/n,, childhood friends to lovers,, mutual pining,, character death

first time at 5 years old;

your eldest sister was off to marry in spring and so naturally the whole house was buzzing with excitement and terror. and you, like any impressionable child, felt the tingles of something exciting happening before your very eyes.

lulu, your best ultimate mate as you so graciously dubbed him, felt this energy too.

or at least the many flowers and coloured envelopes scattered on the table, seem to ring some alarms for him.

“this table is too small,” he frowns, stopping his pretend chopping of the leaves, and looking longingly at the dinner table, filled with scattered wedding paraphernalia.

you shrugged, ponytail swishing as you move around him.

“we have to make room, my sister is to be mary.” you confidently repeated what your mum said to you in the morning. when you had whined at the lack of play space.

now you’re humming like it’s obvious, why you were given a child’s table and now have to play kitchen with one pot instead of four because of the lack of space. the confident pretence of a child to show they’re mature enough not to complain.

“why does she have to be mary?” he asks, his shoulder bumping into you, “i thought she likes her name hilda?”

you scoff, clearly lulu does not know of the way of being mary. so naturally, you being older (by a few months) needs to teach him. or else, however is he going to be a proper grown up?

“because she wants to be a wife. so she has to be mary first.”

“a wife?” he asks intrigued, “like mummy and daddy?”

you laugh, patting his head, “only mummies can be a wife, silly. daddies are hus-butts.” you stood straighter, having this conversation with your mum before. “mother says, you have to love first and then be a mary. so you can play with them even after dinner and eat chocolates and make children.”

he seems to perk up even more, looking at you. his eyes as usual, gleaming with obvious awe, “to make children? with what?”

you pout, having no answer.

you haven’t asked your mum this question yet. too busy thinking of how many mary’s there are in your town.

still, you try to think of an answer.

you don’t want to let lulu down, you are after all his only hope for knowing things.

luckily, you’ve overheard this one conversation last week, your sister moving after she becomes mary so they can begin making a family.

you raise your head, hand on your hip and your other pointed as if in a lecture.

you said in your most confident voice. “you enter specific rooms in the house, and always make sure it’s locked. and then you wait until you can come out with children. but you must only do this if you love them. that is the ultimate rule. or else it won’t work.”

“wow,” he breathed, he clenched his fists then, looking utmost determined. before screaming in glee and confidence, the only way a naive child could. “then let’s make children! be mary and then we can play all night!”

you clicked your tongue, disappointed he hadn’t comprehended. “but you should love me first.”

his cheeks heated pink, indignant, “but i do. i love you a whole lot! and i wanna play here all the time.”

you shook your head, grim. “we can’t.” sounding so heartbroken, as much as any five year old could sound.

because you’ve already asked your mum if you could make children with lulu and she said, you’re only suppose to do that if you’re a grown up in love.

you asked, what’s the difference? you were plenty grown. 5 is one hand after all.

and your sister said to you, amusement lacing her words, a grown up to take care of you and cherish you. someone able to help you and grow with you.

you look at lulu. his thin arms and his lack of knowledge.

certainly not a grown up. not a proper man who can be with you, at all.

“i don’t love you, so we can’t.” you say this huffing, now turning completely to your make shift pot and stirring the water and leaves.

lulu cried loud that day, wailing like a little kid.

and nodding to yourself knowing you’ve made the right choice. he is so not a grown up. even if his pinched face made you feel queasy.

your mum rushing over and asking what was wrong. when you told her, she laughed out loud, and hugged you both, brushing remus’ hair out of his tear streaked face.

and you wonder what was so funny when he looked so sad.

second time at 11 years old;

remy was horrified.

you realize this as he stares at you in a crazed panic. and as always, it was up to you to be strong.

“what do you mean by that?” puffing your chest out and stood to cover remy from potter.

“didn’t you know? kissing makes girls pregnant.” he whispered, loudly in the empty halls, scandalized as he went to look at your stomach as if it will inflate this instant.

you fight the urge to cover that area with your robes. willing yourself to be brave for the both of you.

“surely… that isn’t true.”

potter scoffs, offended to have been doubted, “yes it is, i heard a prefect say so.”

you feel remy grab the back of your robes in panic. the reference enough to persuade him. you almost roll your eyes, but instead sighed to calm yourself down.

“i ought to tell you lot to be careful.” potter looked at the both of you meaningfully, and inhaling sharply as a flash of embarrassment burns into your brain.

you weren’t able to will the heat of your cheeks to dissipate, before it showed on your cheeks. your face and neck warmed red. mortified that potter knows the secret kiss shared between you and your friend, currently pulling at your robes.

it was both of your first kiss, deciding to just get it all over with, so you both can know what was so special about it.

it wasn’t much.

it felt soft, and quick.

nothing at all sparkling or romantic, like others said.

“alert your parents immediately, else you might be kicked out. and i’ve grown quite fond of the two of you, you know.” potter nodded at you, looking as if he pitied you both before crossing his arms as he strutted away.

you look at remy fully now. he was standing too close and still holding unto your robes like a lifeline.

“did you really have to tell potter of all people what we did?” you scoff, crossing your arms and tapping your feet like how your mother used to do it when she was cross with something.

he seemed to shrink into himself more, “i’m sorry, he said he saw it, and pestered me into confessing.” he bit his lips to bleed. “i didn’t know you were gonna be in trouble.” he sniffled.

and you immediately cooled, reaching forward and pulling at his chin to stop his assault and softly rubbing at his bleeding lips with your robes with another click of your tongue.

“it’s fine, he already saw, nothing else we can do.”

“so, what are we going to do now?” he asked softly, he looked at you, eyes filling with worry and sadness. “what if you are? we’ll get in trouble, won’t we?”

you bring down your arm now, before breathing out deeply.

you try to think of why it wouldn’t be true, but the tone of his voice was making you worry endlessly too.

even though you know it wasn’t all true, because your sister kissed her husband plenty of times in the house and they don’t have kids.

and you were about to point that out to him. to reassure your ever warm, too soft friend, that james potter was full of it and to relax.

but remy stood straighter, his cold hands gripping yours tightly, so much that it hurts. now standing a bit taller than you. pink lips pulled into a straight line and eyes looking straight at you. soft brown eyes no longer holding any worry, instead with resolute determination.

“marry me,” he said, “i promise to look after our children and work.” he nodded at you, as if urging you to say yes. to trust him.

a look entirely different from what you remembered from way before, yet feeling all the same regardless.

the reason of proposal was ridiculous in of itself that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“i’m not pregnant you dolt, pregnancy doesn’t work that way. i assure you.” rolling your eyes in amusement. “so don’t you go proposing like some weirdo.”

he stopped for a second, as if startled as he kept looking at you. before leaving a shaky sigh, head hanging low.

“okay,” his lips in a wobbly smile, looking weird. “good.”

third time at 17 years old;

sirius had managed to sneak in a case of firewhisky in one winning after-party in the common room.

it was safe to assume that everyone was positively sloshed. if judging from the slurring exclaims from james and a red face peter barely able to stand and sirius laughing maniacally at something marlene has said to him.

and remus being the self-appointed responsible one, had taken it upon himself to maintain sobriety the entire night. to look after the three of them in the aftermath.

resolutely sitting next to you the whole night, engaging in a missed conversation about gossip and literature.

“still feeling confident you can handle these three blokes up in your room?”

he grimaced, already rubbing his temples, probably from regret and the james’ incessant off-key singing. “i don’t really have much of a choice now, do i?”

you laugh easy, “with the way james is attempting to strip, i think not. you did volunteer, taking responsibility and what not.”

he sighed rather audibly, over the soft music of the party that was already dying down. most of the attendees already settling into their respective rooms.

and you look at remus, slumped into the chair, and laugh to yourself.

still so helpless, you think. you guess you had to step up again. pick up the slack a little bit.

you try to trick yourself into thinking you were tired and miffed about it, but you find you quite like feeling needed. especially by remus.

whom of which seems to be way into being responsible now and being a proper grown up. one that follows curfew and plans his day.

he barely looks at you for help anymore.

he always has an answer to questions now.

as the boys depend on him for being the responsible one in their little foursome.

off to late night adventures and pranks. no longer the crying, awe struck, nervous kid you grew up knowing. makes you feel kind of sad.

“alright then,” you exhaled, “i’ll lend you a hand for dealing with the demons.” you stood up whilst downing your drink, a sweet concoction by dorcas.

he looks up at you, eyes looking bloodshot and tired. he softly shook his head, “you don’t have to.”

you frown, clicking your tongue and placing a hand on each of your hips. “i said i’ll do it, so i’m going to. now stand up and let’s go.”

he looked at you just a second longer and sighs looking away, a soft smile etched on lips before looking at you again. looking won over.

standing up, dusting the invisible dirt on his trousers and nodding.

he towers over you now, seemingly out of no where.

you realize this as your neck strain looking up at him. as you gather the rowdy, intoxicated boys back to the dorms.

something sirius was extremely grateful for and the others echoed.

“thanks for— for taking care of me darling,” sirius breathed hot into your face before pecking you on the cheek.

“yes, you’re very welcome,” you hummed amused, tucking his covers into his sides, making sure he couldn’t move out of bed.

sirius giggles, “it feels like being tucked in by a mum,” before looking at you serious, eyes wide and looking more sober than he actually was, as if realizing something.

“you’re the mum in the group!” he exclaimed.

“im the what?”

james overhears this and exclaims his agreements.

“oh you are! you’re the perfect mum size!” james said.

you turn to him, “and what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask hotly.

“you’re very caring and mum-like, and you scold like a mum too, sometimes you even talk like one,” peter mumbled.

you look at remus, giving you an amused look, lips stretching like close to laughing.

“this is going to be the last time i’m helping you lot, if you call me mum one more time.” you threatened lightly.

sirius hums loud like he doesn’t believe you, “it’s not all bad, not like you’re gonna be a single-mum. remus is gonna be the dad after all.” he said like he was so sure.

and james, of ourse, echoed his agreements.

“obviously,” james tutted from his bed, tucked in tight by remus.

“yesh,” peter slurred, “he looks like—remus looks like he knows how to read maps.” he breathes out, like on a verge of sleeping.

james gasps, “he does! remus is a map reading dad, nothing has made more sense than this moment right here. you are meant to hold a map in your hands remus, you’re a daddy compass.”

remus looks perturbed, eyebrows scrunched and lips into a tight frown. he shakes his head then, before closing each of their curtains, not even bothering to justify james’ quip. “night lads,”

“night dad,” sirius teased from his bed, before shuddering excessively, “never thought i’d say that again.”

you snort out a laugh before you could help it. “good night everyone.”

you look at remus, and see him gesture to come outside.

quietly walking out of their room and closing the door behind you.

“come, i’ll walk you out.” grabbing your hand softly and pulling you down the corridor to the stairs. dropping his hold just as quick as if he hadn’t meant to hold it in the first place.

“sorry about the lads, the lack of filter is unfortunately not the effect of alcohol but is just them naturally.”

you chuckle softly, rubbing your tingling palms on the side of your skirt.

as if you didn’t know that already. those three have already been a staple into your everyday life for majority of the year. they, quite frankly, grow on you like some persistent vine on a house.

“it’s fine, it was quite tame compared to the usual rubbish they spew most of the time.”

remus looks at you, barely able to hide the smirk emerging from his lips.

“don’t tell me you liked them calling you mum?” the teasing lilt in his voice impossible to miss.

you lightly push on his shoulders. “don’t be disgusting, being called their mum is weird enough. and you implying i like it just makes it even weirder.”

“well imagine being called daddy compass by one of your mates, it’s gonna be hard looking at james tomorrow morning i’ll tell you that.”

you laugh excessively loud at this, before covering your mouth sheepish as you remember the time.

you look over at him, up and down as if assessing, “but you do look like a dad who knows how to read maps. wears khakis all the time and has a moustache.”

he rolls his eyes at you, as you grin in mirth, “well does that mean you’ll do me the honours of marrying me to avoid the life of a single parent to three demon boys?”

you laugh, shaking your head, “not exactly selling your case to me, are you?”

“won’t you reconsider though?” he moans, like he’s pained but you see the glint in his eyes even in the dark dorm room stairs. “it is after all for the children.”

you know he’s joking, hardly a night of partying counts as anything like a proper proposal.

but your brain can’t help but supply the thought that he looked quite fuller now. arms looking sturdier, and harder. he is acting more responsibly, all the professors trust him.

he was almost like a proper grown up now.

and you remember the echo of the ultimate rule in your childhood.

you shake your head, and an easy smile spread on your lips. stopping at the stairs for your dorms, “over my dead body,”

and he laughs, the sound echoing in the trashed common room, “well alright, good night, beautiful.”

“good night remus.”

fourth time at 19 years old;

you knew james was serious about lily when you lot had graduated from hogwarts. but you didn’t know the extent of the seriousness until he said this after one of the order meetings.

“i’m going to ask lily to marry me.”

james had said this with such conviction, so sure and full of affection. you can’t help but feel awed.

he suddenly seemed mature. not like the doofus you’ve come to know and consider a confidant through these trying times.

but a proper adult, one who does taxes and knows how to set up an appointment for medical check ups and fights in wars.

james suddenly feeling very far away from you.

you feel remus shift, his leg pressing into yours. you look at him to see what he wanted, but saw he was just looking at james, eyes set hard.

you shook yourself out of your stupor. standing up abruptly, not meaning to leave the familiar press of remus’ leg against your thigh.

“that’s—that’s great news james, i would have never guessed you—oh you’re all grown up!” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, and him wrapping his around your middle with a giddy smile.

“thank you, mum.” he laughs, the on going joke still running strong. you squeeze him extra tight and pinching his arm for extra measure. before pulling away. “i never thought you had it in you to propose. i’d have half a mind to propose to lily on your behalf.”

he laughs, a bashful blush resting on his cheeks. “i figured, why wait, you know? tomorrow isn’t promised, and—i think spending every moment together is we all can do. i don’t want to die with regrets. i love her.”

you breathed in deep.

sirius coming forward too and slapping james in the back before giving his own congratulations and then peter and then remus too.

you were happy for them both, truly, having found one another even in these difficult times was awe-inspiring.

and then you start to wretchedly wonder if you could have that too. if only the circumstances were a bit different. would you have been given enough time to find another? enough to love? enough to marry?

you find your gaze sliding to remus, how strained his smile looked and wonder if he’s thinking the same.

he looked back at you, as he always does, and smiles gently. less strained now. like he was resigned.

you try to imagine if the circumstances were a bit different and he would find someone to love. someone to marry.

you feel your navel, coil in a bundle of nerves. a tension in your neck making you almost irate.

he gestured for you to follow him out.

like being compelled and weak, you follow without a question.

the night air was chilly, and feeling some sort of static on your skin, like building an unnerving suspense.

remus just sat and gestured for you to sit beside him.

the seat was cold, and you sat rigid like ice.

it’s been a while since you’ve last sat with remus like this. the order keeping all your hours occupied, mission after mission. surviving by the skin of your teeth.

all the world has gone fucked now, it didn’t feel quite real some time—like some sort of veil has just been pulled over your head making you see things clearer for the horrors awaiting your fates.

and in your mind loud with noise and worry, you almost didn’t hear him.

“why don’t we do it?”

“what?” you turn to him, hoping his face show an inkling, a clue as to what he had said.

he looked at you then, eyes still so warm even with the atrocities he’s faced and eyes still so bright in the night. a twinkling light reflecting in his eyes making him look younger. prettier.

“why don’t we get married?”

you lean back slightly in shock, “what?” you repeated, because you didn’t understand. this came so suddenly, words weirdly familiar but the intent wildly different than from all the others you’ve heard before.

you looked at his eyes. searching, still, for a clue or something that might make sense because what?

he laughs, the warm, soft sounding one you can barely hear. but it was just the two of you outside and it was quiet and you were sitting so close, so you hear it—loud and clear. the sound making you feel warm. “is that so crazy?”

he looked like a boy, happy and hopeful. his leg was pressing into your thighs again. the pressure grounding you.

his hands fidgeting deep within his pockets.

“i think we work well enough.” he added, with a small smile.

you feel something in your heart stutter, “work well enough,” you repeated. “glad to know i reach your standards for a bride, sir lupin.” you almost scoff. masking the bitter simmer of disappointment of his reason. and the coiling nerves still tightly wound in your navel, feeling heavy, making it harder to breathe.

he shrugs, “well you know, a lot of applicants have been killing themselves to be chosen. i reckon you ought to feel honoured.” he grinned over to you, still joking.

you rolled your eyes, “of course,”

“yeah?” he perked up, suddenly sitting straighter, his knees bumping into yours in his haste to look at you properly. “you want to?” he seemed shocked, overtly so, that it makes you laugh. a heat blooming on your face at his apparent willingness to marry you before shaking your head to avoid any confusion.

“no to the proposal but yes, that it is indeed an honour.”

he deflates, “ah,” he said softly, before laughing like he was embarrassed. “i just—i kept thinking what james said, about tomorrow not being promised—and, i, well i thought—“ he clears his throat before continuing. “i thought i might see what the fuss was about,”

you nodded, “‘m afraid marriage isn’t so simple. you have to love one another for a start.” you added somewhat bitterly, looking away.

“so you keep reminding me,” he says, laughing awkwardly.

fifth time at 38 years old;

you feel as if your life was reaching a crescendo.

the night glooming, brooding like the sky knows to colour it of fear and nerves.

it was going to come down to tonight, so it seems. whether we win or we lose. the end or the beginning. all those families we’ve lost and the families we’ve created. all our hopes and dreams sacrificed into this one night.

“you feeling alright?” remus asked to your left.

the glooming sky somehow illuminating his face all the same.

“as alright as anyone can be when facing a dark wizard.” you smirked, shrugging.

he laughs, still sounding so warm and soft.

you feel his fingers brush yours. you had half a mind to remind him to get ready and hold his wand tight.

you notice how keeps forgetting to do that. opting to hold unto you, just like he did before when he was a child from another time.

he only offers a closed lipped smile, looking at you the same way he has always looked at you. his stare the most familiar thing, it might as well be a part of you.

“i love you.” he breathed. and your heart hammered, your world tilting on its axis. shifting the very fabric of your universe.

and he looked relieved like he couldn’t wait to hold unto it any longer. and then he repeated it. more sure. louder. affectionate. looking straight into you. his brilliant, soft, warm eyes so full.

you wonder when did his gaze start to look at you like that?

and then you see;

his eyes looking as it did when he was five, shining with obvious awe.

his eyes when he was eleven, with resolute determination.

eyes when he was seventeen, glinting with mirth in the dark crevices of the dorms.

the look he gave you when he was nineteen, looking so boyishly happy and hopeful.

and now as he’s thirty-eight, looking at you with so much love, and longing, and pain, and joy.

“when this is all over,” he breathe, “will you marry me?”

so much time has passed by now that you had once thought it was too late for you. too late with him. something you always thought but could never have.

he was now undeniably a man. arms littered with scars and unwavering confidence as he looks at you. but his eyes still glimmer and twinkle all the same.

the undeniable rampage in your chest, your eyes searching for an answer or a clue for what he’s thinking.

“i love you,” he repeats, and gazing at you with that familiar eyes of his.

and you laugh because you found your answer. so you’ll give him his.

“yes.”

extra;

the battle was brutal, bodies piled on top of one another. those too young to know what they even fought for. those for their own ideals. and those caught in cross fires.

but it was over. and the good guys won.

but with so many lost, people thought, how could i possibly cheer?

but there was this type of solace when you’re gone. there was no more pain. all those gone can only do one thing, to let go. at least that’s what harry thinks.

staring down at the family he could’ve had.

your limp cold hand holding remus’ equally cold ones.

he wonders if someone intertwined your hands, or if you simply died holding on to each other. never to let go.

he realized it didn’t really matter. you were both gone. forever, but together.

he thinks of the comforting hugs you’ve given him in the short time you’ve spent with him, and the many stories remus told. and in this fierce pain he wonders if you ever saw the shiny, glinting ring in remus’ dresser hidden away ever since he was eighteen.

[gxthicwxrm]

Hi! Saw you were looking for hotd requests.

How about arranged marriage au with Daemon x fem!reader. They have 1 or more kids but Daemon doesn't seem to like her. After an attack on her and the kids (she's a trained assassin/warrior), he realizes how much she does for them. Maybe she goes unconscious for a few days and Daemon has to look after the kids.

Ignore this if you don't want to do it! But thanks and have a good day!

Hello! I am so sorry for the late reply!! I did a few changes, I hope you don't mind. I plan to use this prompt for Aemomd and Aegon as well. However I hope you enjoy!!

Fire Like A Targaryen

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Wife!reader

Warning: blood, assault, mentions of rape and murder, angst

Word Count: 1,907

Masterlist - Part Two

---

You drums you fingers against your swollen belly, feeling little feet meeting the flesh beneath your hands. "Hello, my little love." You hum to the unborn baby that dances in your stomach while the baby's father disappears somewhere, surely his doting niece following closely behind. 

You have been married to Daemon long enough to know the feelings he has for his niece, even if he doesn't realize himself. His neglect of husbandry duties always increased as we spent time in King's Landing, nearing the Princess of Dragonstone. However, you didn't blame your husband's inability to love you, on the Princess or even her lover. Sometimes people just don't love each other.

Giving up long ago for his affection, you decided to make the best of your time with simple pleasures: reading in the garden, learning to cook with the maidens, painting with the richest of colors. Quickly, you adapted to the riches of the Targaryen's royalty which dulled the ache you felt for her husband. 

The night of the wedding, the pair never consummated the marriage, it left you feeling like a pawn in a game. He stumbled in drunk, tripping over his feet before dragging himself up the bed, practically crawling towards you. Unable to deny your growing love for this mess of a man, you reached your hand out and guided him towards yourself. 

Slowly, he looked up at you before clasping your cheeks in his hands, pressing his cold lips against your warm ones. Hungrily, his hands fly to your sides and pull you against his bare chest. Moaning into your kiss, both sets of hands begin exploring each other. For once, you felt at home, like this was how the two of you were supposed to be, together. However, your bliss died when his lips whispered one that was far from your own.

"Oh, Rhaenyra!" He mumbles into the flesh of your neck, leaving little bruises training down your chest as he moves towards your breast. His words crash around in your head as you lay beneath Daemon who finishes and falls asleep beside you, wordlessly.

Despite the pain of that night, you gained motherhood. Daemon was happy to be a father, scared but happy. He never told you, but you could tell when he'd ghost his hand over your bump or give you an extra piece of bread with dinner. He even held your hand during the birth of your daughter, Alysannne.  He may not love you, but he loves his child. Although, a small part of you wished this child would make him love you. You were naive to think Daemon would ever love you.

But, years have passed since your daughter was born. Alys is five, running around her father as he brushes Caraxes in the Dragonpit. 

"Mommy!" Her tiny voice echoes on the stone walls once she sees you walking towards herself and her father. Looking up, Daemon's eyes meet yours, offering a small smile before turning back to the huffing Caraxes. 

"Hello, my little one. What are you doing out here? Look at you, you are all dirty!" You pick at your daughter's ripped gown, covered in soot. 

"We were playing with Caraxes! Daddy said he'd let me fly with him!!" The little girl runs between her parents and the Blood Wyrm, kissing the dragon's cheek as she pets him. 

"Well, she is her father's daughter." Daemon chuckles, putting his hand on the small of your back as Alys dances around in front of you, twirling her ruined skirt. Affection from him was no longer rare but quick. His thumb caresses the exposed skin of your back, soothing the pain of carrying a child. His unused hand finds itself cupping your belly.

"How has he been treating you, today?" Daemon's smooth voice steals your attention from the girl before you. Looking down at his hands, you rest yours beside his but he moves, so his fingers are right over yours.

"He's been good. Hasn't been kicking me a ridiculous amount which is a new change of pace." Your attempt at a joke brings a smile to your husband's face who kneels down before you and kisses your clothed belly, much to your surprise.

"Be good for your mother. Cherish her, my little Dragon." He whispers, but you were still able to here his words. Standing back up, he cups your face.

"I'm going to take Alys flying before she makes Caraxes eat me. He listens to her more and more these days." With a peck on your cheek, he's running towards his daughter and his dragon. 

"Don't forget Alysanne needs to bathe before dinner with your brother. She may be a dragon but she will not smell like one." You call them, laughing at your own words. 

"Yes ma'am." Daemon smiles at you before telling Caraxes to fly,just streaks of red melding into the blue sky above. 

Waiting for your family, you sit in your chambers, rubbing oils on your stretched belly while the water for Alysanne is being gathered by your maids.

Grabbing a book from Daemon's bedside table, you absently flip through the pages; glimpses of words and stories fly by along with the pages.

A creak of the door alerts you, bring you to your feet as you cover your stomach with the slits of your gown.

"Mommy! We flew so high!" Alysanne pushed the door open enough to slide between the wood, running to her mother's side, a severant boy coming in behind her with two buckets of hot water. Alysanne leans into your side as you take in the dirt covering her face.

"Oh, my little girl, what did they do to you? Did they roast you?" You giggle, tickling at her sides. The servant moved slowly beside you as he filled the white tub.

"No, I roasted them, mwah ha ha." She laughs, stomping and pretending to breathe fire as she runs around you in circles.

"Okay my dragon rider. It's time to bathe. Come on." She taps her daughter's shoulders, moving her towards the steaming bath. Looking towards the lingering servant, Y/N felt bad dismissing him but was cautious why he was staying so long.

"Thank you, sir. Your kindness won't be forgotten." You turn towards your child and still feeling the man in your room, pull the curtain around the tub closed, canceling your still clothed daughter. She was eerie of this man in their room, unsure what to think of him.

Slowly, he straightens to look you in the eye, a cold shiver runs through your body as you see the glint of a dagger in his hand. 

"No! Guards! Daemon!" You shout as the man lunges, knife pointed towards your belly. The man kept coming at you, backing you in the furthest corner away from your daughter, who peeked from the curtain. Moving to run around him, his arm grabbed you by the stomach and shoved you down. Flying backward, your head hits the ground, a loud crack echoing through your mind as you look around for a weapon. The man is stalking you while you try to move toward the bed across you. You knew Daemon kept a dagger under the left-hand side of the mattress. If you could just get to it, you could save your children's lives.

The sound of glass breaking stops you and your attacker, both looking toward the direction of the crash. The tub. 

A fear like no other took over you as the man started towards your daughter's hiding spot. Reaching for his legs, you try to pull him down, screaming but to no avail as he kicks you. One landing in your swollen belly, making black dots cloud your vision. Wetness trickles down the side of your face, but you keep dragging yourself behind this man, desperate to stop him from hurting your child. 

Using the table nearest, you pull yourself up and grab Daemon's letter opener. This man would not leave this room alive; you'd make sure of it even if you died trying. The man throws open the curtain but pauses. Creeping behind him, you see Alysanne isn't behind the curtain anymore. 

"Where is she?" The man asked himself. He turns, locking eyes with you before grabbing you by your hair and pulling you to your knees. "I said," Where is she? You dumb bitch!" He goes to smack you but stops as you shove the letter opener into his hand. Letting you go, you drop back down before dragging yourself to your feet.

"You fucking cunt! I was going to let it be quick, but now you will watch me rape your little girl and slit her throat before I do the same to you." He spits, pulling the blade from his hand and coming at you. His words once would've made you cower and hide, but now light you up like a flame. A fire burned in you to keep going and fighting despite the pain radiating over your body.

"You won't lay a finger on her. Over my dead body." You knew this would be a fight you'd lose. You have no weapons, training, or husband to protect you. It was up to you to protect these children, and you would do it even if it killed you. The Man grabs at you again, but you slap, scratch, and claw at his face this time. His hands find their way around your throat while yours dig into his eyes, a gut-wrenching scream comes from the man as he yanks away from you, but you don't stop. Lunging at him, you push his body against the tub, hitting his head before you wail on his chest, tears flowing down your face as the man beneath you go limp.

A scream of frustration leaves your throat raw as the adrenaline leaves your body. 

"Alysanne? It's okay to come out now, darling. It's okay." Your thoughts cleared. Where is your daughter? Stumbling off the man, you pull yourself up and turn, trying to find your daughter, when suddenly she slides from under the bed, rushing to your side. 

"M-mommy! I thought, I thought he was-" 

"Shh, it's okay now. Everything is going to be okay." You hold her to your chest, trying to soothe your nerves. The door swings open to your relief, and Daemon rushes in, sword drawn with the Gold Cloaks rushing in behind him.

"What happened? Are you okay? Alysanne? The baby?" Daemon's questions shoot at you, each before the words can find you. Staring up at him, blood smeared across your face, bruises forming, and tears filling your eyes. Daemon has never seen you like this and never plans to again.

"Mommy killed the bad guy. He tried to hurt us, but she saved us!" Your daughter summarizes to her father, who turns to his wife, shocked, before pulling her and her daughter into his arms, kissing each other on their foreheads. He always thought she lacked the fire a Targaryen has. But at every turn, she has proved him wrong. Not only did she give him a dragon and another coming, but she became one in the process.

[evansbby]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 (𝐏𝐎𝐘𝐓 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark Steve, heavy misogyny, a/b/o dynamics, stalking, smut, daddy!kink, swearing, 18+, minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You walk into the lecture hall and Steve doesn’t know how to act.

𝐀/𝐍: Well, it’s finally here! This is a prequel of my fic Preying on You Tonight, completely in the point of view of everyone’s favourite toxic king, Steve! This is around 11k words. Please enjoy!

The first time Steve sees you, it’s like he suddenly can’t breathe. And the funniest thing is, he doesn’t even see you at first – he senses you, as ridiculous as that sounds. He’s just sitting there in the middle of the lecture hall, prodding the back of Bucky’s head as his friend lays slumped over on his desk, looking comically hungover – dark eyebags, rumpled clothes, red eyes – the works.

And then Steve feels this strange sensation, this prickling feeling at the back of his neck that makes his heart beat faster too. Almost like he’s nervous or anxious – which is stupid because Steve is never nervous or anxious. Even during the biggest football games of the season, with hordes of people in the crowd and even NFL recruiters watching, Steve still doesn’t break a sweat.

So, why does it suddenly feel like all the air’s been forced out of his lungs?

And then it hits him. It’s only the tiniest hint of the most incredible scent that he’s ever smelled, but it hits him like a fucking freight train. He remembers being really young, and his mother would grow magnolias in her garden. He remembers being almost obsessed with the smell, and inexplicably being drawn to the garden countless times before temptation finally gave in and he plucked a handful of the delicate flower, smelling it greedily.

His mother had just laughed – she never got angry at him. And Steve still remembers how he’d clutched the flowers tightly in his little fist all throughout lunch; because now that he had them, he could never let them go. And they smelled so intoxicatingly good – creamy and sweet, like vanilla with swirls of lemon. They smelled like spring, and Steve always liked spring. He’d kept the flowers by his bedside table (in his drawer, so his dad wouldn’t see).

But soon enough, the flowers had wilted – and that had made Steve mad. “What’s it gonna take to keep them alive?!” He’d demanded his mother, probably only about five years old yet angry at the world and angry at his flowers for dying on him. And his mother had patted his head, and soothed him with kisses.

“Love, Stevie. It takes love to keep them alive. Love, and patience and nurturing.”

And Steve remembers looking at his mother, then looking down at his poor, dead magnolias… A beat passing before he’d promptly thrown them to the ground and stomped all over them. If they were weak enough to just die like that, then he had no use for them. No matter how good they smelled.

But now, in the lecture hall on the first day of his senior year of college, Steve smells those magnolias again. Creamy and seductive yet reminding him of innocence, and youth, and memories of spring and new life. Just the right level of sweet, tickling his nostrils pleasantly, before he takes the deepest whiff of his life, like he just can’t get enough of the addicting smell.

And then he sees you.

Half-hidden by the most outrageously large hoodie he’s ever seen, with your books clutched to your chest and the shyest little smile on your face, you tentatively enter the lecture hall and Steve feels like his heart has stopped.

But… why?

He’s not blind – he can see you’re pretty. Very pretty. Softly pretty, is how Steve would describe it if he had to. All shy and hesitant as you make your way into the gigantic lecture hall, like a little butterfly in a jungle. He sees how you smile around, but you don’t seem to know anyone because you take a seat in the front row all by yourself, looking all intimidated and scared and excited and nervous, all rolled into one. And it creates the most attractive combination and he can’t stop staring at you.

You’re an omega, you have to be, judging by your demeanour and your scent – although the intoxicating smell seems to be fading away slowly as the minutes go by. And Steve wonders what exactly you’re doing here. There are barely any girls in this class – and absolutely no omegas. In Steve’s opinion, a World Politics class is no place for an omega to be hanging around – especially one as weak and delicate-looking as you. Maybe you’re lost, because you don’t look like you belong here at all, not in this lecture, and not in this university either – or any other university for that matter.

Steve firmly believes that omegas like you should be at home – cooking or cleaning or waiting patiently on all fours to be fucked by alphas like himself. And that thought – as out of the blue as it was – immediately has his cock thickening in his slacks.

But you stick out like a sore thumb, with your patchy little book bag that looks like it’s been DIY-ed out of a pair of old jeans, and your little sneakers that are still scuffed even though he can tell you’ve tried to scrub them clean and polish them and make them look new. You’re not from here, you’re not like the people he’s grown up with. He’s never seen you before – who the hell are you?

And why do you smell so good?

“Well, well, well – fresh meat.” Bucky is suddenly no longer hungover, eyes alert as he follows Steve’s gaze and locks in on you.

Tiny, little you in the front row of the lecture hall, unpacking all your textbooks and already starting with your notes despite the fact that the lecture hasn’t even begun yet. What could you possibly be writing down? The damn date?

And Steve feels an inexplicable wave of irritation because it’s not just Bucky who’s staring at you. He can see Thor, Andy, Ransom and Curtis, amongst others, lean forward with sick interest gleaming in their eyes at the sight of a little omega like you in their midst.

“She’s gorgeous.” Bucky whistles lowly, nudging Sam, who is also staring at you appreciatively. And it makes Steve want to gouge both their fucking eyes out. And he’s trying to keep his cool but it’s hard to do that when his breath seems to hitch every time he looks at you, and it’s confusing the fuck out of him because you’re just some random omega. And never before has an omega got a reaction like this out of him before.

“She’s probably lost.” Sam snorts, “I wonder if she’s an omega.”

Steve blinks, “She is. Can’t you smell her?”

The two alphas shake their heads before Bucky leans forward on the table to get a better look at you, “She’s probably on suppressants, but she looks like an omega. All shy and weak and shit.” He licks his lips, “That’s really fucking hot, if you ask me.”

Nobody fucking asked you! Steve wants to sneer but he manages to control himself.

“I call dibs.” Bucky announces, sitting up straight and baring his teeth like some sort of comical predator, and never in his life has Steve felt more irritation than how he does right now. Actually, irritation is an understatement – if Bucky wasn’t his best friend since childhood, he’d definitely have punched him in the face or at least verbally insulted him enough to knock him down a few pegs.

Suddenly, Steve’s happy that you’re wearing that ridiculously large hoodie because at least your body’s shielded from all the less-than-innocent gazes that seem to be drinking you in from all angles. And how fucking dare they look at you? When Steve saw you first? Smelled you first??

She’s way below my league, Steve has to remind himself. He’s Steve Rogers, star alpha quarterback and captain of the football team. From one of the most distinguished families in New York, with a future in both the NFL and politics, both with his own talent and his father’s connections.

And then there’s you. With your clothes that clearly look like they’re hand-me-downs, and your scuffed trainers and the fact that you’re probably a nobody scholarship student fresh out of some trashy, no-good neighbourhood. Nope, Steve knows he’s leagues above you, and he knows that the lucky omega he ends up with will be from an esteemed and traditional family. And that’s definitely not you.

So then why does his heart skip a fucking beat when he sees you smile softly at the professor who has just entered the room? And why does he want to rip the professor’s heart out and feed it to him for daring to smile back at you? Dumb fucking asshole professor… Steve could have him fired in a heartbeat. How dare he look at you, how dare Bucky look at you, how dare anyone look at you–

“She’s fucking the professor.”

“Huh?” Bucky stops dead in the middle of explaining his elaborate plan to seduce the class’s newest omega. “What did you say?”

Steve runs his hand through his hair and shoots his friend a smug smile, “I recognise her now. I saw her earlier today when I went to the professor’s office. He had her bent over his desk – and I’m sure it wasn’t the first time.” The lies roll off his tongue smooth as butter, and he feels not a pang of remorse as he watches the dreamy look on Bucky’s face morph into one of disgust.

“Yeah, she’s just a trashy bimbo omega from some small hick town,” Steve continues, relishing the gullible looks of immediate disdain on both Bucky and Sam’s faces. And he knows word will spread fast – it always does around here. “And I’m pretty sure I heard a rumour about a girl sleeping with the dean to gain admission – that was definitely about her too.”

Sam scoffs, “So she’s probably a stupid no-brain slut. As if this place wasn’t going downhill already, now they’re taking in hick-town omegas too.”

Steve narrows his eyes at Bucky, who is still staring longingly at you.

“Hey, Buck. Speaking of slutty omegas – Natasha was asking about you the other day.”

The brunette tears his gaze away from you, “She was?”

Lying comes quite easily to Steve. “Yeah, Sharon mentioned it. Maybe you should give her a call, I know Nat’s an easy slut but at least she doesn’t fuck professors and deans to get herself through college, right?”

Manipulating his friends is almost as easy as lying, and Steve smirks as Bucky finally nods and gets his phone out. And Steve leans back, letting out a sigh of relief because he knows word travels fast, and soon none of these half-wit alphas would be giving you a second glance. And maybe a small part of him knows that spreading this rumour is unfair on you, but in a way, he’s doing you a favour. He’s just protecting you, isn’t he? From all the unwanted attention?

***

Bucky: Heads up, your girlfriend is about to walk in through the front door.

Steve stares at the text for a few seconds, mild irritation brewing inside him. But he feels no real sense of panic or urgency as he glances down at the girl on her knees in front of him – Priya or Ria or something, he can’t remember. Not that it matters anyways. He tugs on her hair, smirking as she protests with her mouth full of his cock.

“Hurry up. My girlfriend’s on her way over.” He informs Priya/Ria, who starts sputtering and trying to push herself off him but Steve keeps her head in place, lazily thrusting in and out of her mouth as he quickly texts Bucky back.

Steve: Stall her for a few minutes.

Bucky replies with a thumbs up and Steve tosses his phone aside, trying to focus on what’s right in front of him. And in this case, it’s a scantily clad girl whose head is currently bobbing up and down on his dick. Steve sighs, clutching her hair harder and increasing the pace of his thrusts, wanting to cum quickly and get rid of her straight after.

He’d already fucked her half an hour ago before taking a smoke break during which she’d unfortunately stuck around. And there’s a part of Steve that doesn’t even care, that wants Sharon to walk in on him getting blown by some random bitch. And it isn’t the first time he’s cheated on her either. The way Steve sees it, why stick to one girl when you could have every single one? And he’s confident that there isn’t a single girl at this university who wouldn’t spread her legs for him.

And then his thoughts fall on you. Fragile, innocent little omega who is now forever labelled as the campus slut. But would you spread your legs for him? Steve bets you’re inexperienced, judging by how shy and studious you look, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get you to sleep with him. Fuck, he can’t help but imagine you on your knees in front of him, eyes wide as saucers and tears dripping down your cheeks as he fucks your face. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He cums embarrassingly quickly, images of you pouting and crying as he shoves his big dick down your throat flashing before his eyes. And God, he knows he can do better than you, better than some lowlife scholarship omega with scuffed trainers and a dumbly peculiar taste in oversized hoodies. Yet he can’t understand why just the singular thought of you blowing him had him cumming faster than Sharon or any of the other girls ever could.

He doesn’t really have time to mull over any of this, however, shoving Priya/Ria off his dick and tossing her clothes at her while she sputters on the floor.

“Get dressed, Sharon’s downstairs.” Steve tucks his dick back into his sweats before grabbing his phone and settling down on his bed.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, why didn’t you tell me she was coming over today? You know she’s head cheerleader this year? If she sees me here, she’ll kick me off the squad!” Priya/Ria laments but Steve is already bored, finding a random Tetris game on his phone more interesting than whatever this bitch is spewing as he lets out a yawn.

Priya/Ria complains and panics for the next three minutes, and Steve doesn’t spare her a second glance as she grumbles her way out the window. Annoying slut. Speaking of which, Sharon bursts into his room not three seconds after Priya/Ria leaves.

“Baby!” Sharon squeals, launching herself at him at top speed, and Steve holds onto her waist gingerly, letting her cover his face in kisses. “I missed you so much!”

She’d been skiing in Vermont with her family for the past two weeks, and it had been a damn good two weeks for Steve. Quiet and peaceful without his girlfriend’s dumb chatter acting as an incessant background noise to his thoughts. In fact, he wouldn’t have minded if she’d extended her trip and stayed away for another two weeks, because hooking up with other girls sure was a lot easier when she was gone.

“I thought about you every night, babe. I really wish you’d come with me!” She gushes, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulders as she straddles his hips. God. Now he has to make conversation with her and pretend he’s interested in her dumb bullshit family life. How has he been keeping up this act for two years now? I mean sure, Sharon’s a good fuck but she’s not that good.

“I told you, it’s football season.” He yawns, hoping she’ll get the hint and fuck off. Or she could stay, he didn’t really care as long as she kept quiet. But Sharon does the complete opposite, instead launching into a whole account about how he should have been there and how good the snow was and how many new outfits she bought and how many pictures she took and blah blah blah. Honestly, all her mindless chatter does is consolidate the fact that he needs to break up with her soon.

“And I would’ve come up to you sooner but Bucky kept talking to me.” Sharon wrinkles her nose, absentmindedly tracing shapes on his chest before laying her head down on it and snuggling up into him. “I think he has a crush on me.”

Steve snorts at that, “Bucky does not have a crush on you.”

She whips her head up, “What makes you so sure?”

Because me and Bucky have the exact same taste in girls and it’s not you, Steve wants to say but he manages to refrain. “He likes quiet girls,” Steve finds himself saying instead except he’s talking more about himself now, “Shy girls who know their place.”

Sharon rolls her eyes, “All you alphas are stuck in the past, aren’t you?” She sighs before bumping her nose against his, “It’s a good thing I lucked out with you, babe. Can you imagine where we’d be if you hadn’t asked me out sophomore year?”

I’d probably be free, Steve thinks to himself. In many ways, he’d been a different person two years ago when he’d asked Sharon out for the first time. He’d always been traditional, wanting to settle down with the right omega after he graduated, definitely have a few children. And even if he had thought Sharon would be his long-term girlfriend-turned wife by the end of college – he certainly didn’t think that anymore.

Nope, Sharon wouldn’t be the one he’d be marrying, she was useful for a good fuck now and again but nothing more than that, not wife material. She definitely wouldn’t be the omega who would eventually carry his children and his legacy.

And then for some unexplained reason, Steve’s mind shifts to you. How shy you were in class, how you kept to yourself with your eyes downcast. He may have falsely labelled you as the campus slut but he was sure you were a virgin, or extremely inexperienced at the very least. And then an image flashes through his mind: you, all knocked up and round with his baby. In a pretty dress of his choosing, cooking him dinner with an obedient smile on your face. Fuck. He feels his cock harden almost immediately.

“Ooh, you missed me, didn’t you?” Sharon sits back up and grinds down on his crotch with a mischievous smile on her face. “I can’t believe you went without sex for two whole weeks. It must’ve been torture for you.”

“You can’t even imagine.” Steve says distractedly. Sharon’s pulling his sweats down and undressing herself but he’s still got his mind on you. God, you’d look so sexy if he got you pregnant. He wouldn’t allow you to wear your stupid hoodies anymore. No, it would be all skirts and dresses – how an omega is supposed to dress. And then he’d bend you over and fuck you real good, like you’ve never been fucked before. Or maybe he’d let you ride him, all pregnant and weepy and shy on top of him, your eyes shining like you worship him…

He's painfully hard now, and Sharon’s jerking him off while he pretends it’s you. You, all innocent and unsure of what you’re doing. Looking up at him and begging him to tell you how to do it, how to please your alpha. You’re a stupid, no-good scholarship omega who is clearly below his league, but in this moment all Steve can think about it how goddamn fucking sexy you’d look holding his cock, or sucking it – or sitting on it.

“Mm, keep going, baby.” Steve murmurs, pretending like you’re in front of him right now instead of his insufferable girlfriend. “Make daddy feel good.”

He’s so deep into his daydream that he doesn’t even notice that Sharon is fully undressed until he feels her line the tip of his dick against her leaking hole. He manages to swat her off just in time, reaching out to rummage through his nightstand drawer and tossing a condom at her.

Sharon’s face falls before she scoffs, “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t use protection. You never used to.”

“Just put it on.” Steve isn’t in the mood for her bullshit. If he fucked her raw, then she’d most likely get pregnant. Then he’d have to marry her and take care of her – which wouldn’t be ideal, especially since he’s now planning on breaking up with her. But he’s happy he’s trained Sharon well enough to know when he’s not fucking around. Without another word, she unrolls the condom onto his dick before sinking down on it, moaning like a fucking porn-star as she does it.

He flips her over so she’s on her hands and knees and he doesn’t have to look at her. This way, it’s easier to imagine that it’s you. And Steve’s now accepted the fact that if he wants to get off, he’s going to have to think of you. Fuck, he bets you’d cry if he ever fucked you. Either cry or pass out from how good he’d make you feel. He bets you’d beg him to knot you, to give you his babies. And he would. Fuck.

Sharon lets out a moan and a string of curse words along with his name, and Steve has to forcibly shove her face into the pillow to zone her out. Because all he really wants to do is picture you. Fuck, he wishes he could cum inside you, hear you squeak and moan while he completely ruins you for any other man. Except there wouldn’t be any other man because you belong to Steve.

Mine, he thinks with gritted teeth, picturing your nervous little smile when you’d entered the lecture hall that morning, all mine.

***

“A little birdie told me that that little omega is only a freshman.” Bucky says, perking Steve’s interest immediately as they walk into their World Politics lecture a few days later. “Which means she’s either really fucking smart to be taking a senior class, or she fucked her way up.”

“She definitely fucked her way into the class,” Steve finds himself saying, “Omegas aren’t smart, so there’s no way she’d have gotten into the class otherwise.” He feels a wave of irritation, however. A freshman. In a senior class. And an omega, no less. There was no way, no fucking way.

And there you are again, sitting front row with all your pens lined out in front of you like some stupid, eager omega. His nose twitches, trying to sniff your addictive scent but it seems that whatever cheap suppressant you’re taking is extra strong today, because he can’t detect it at all. And this irritates him even more, because, embarrassing as it was, he’d been looking forward to spending the lecture smelling your goddamn fucking scent.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Bucky pipes up when they cross by your table, and you look up immediately. And Steve can feel his heart in his fucking throat because you make direct eye contact with him and not Bucky. The brunette seems unperturbed, however, “I’m Bucky. This is Sam, and this is Steve.”

You look up and nod at each of them. “Hi, Bucky. Hi, Sam. Hello, Steve.”

For a moment, it feels like Steve’s in heaven. And it’s the fucking cheesiest thing in the world, but it’s in the way you say his name. All soft and shy and clearly self-conscious yet in an extremely cute way. Fuck, what was he, fifteen years old? He doesn’t care, though, he wants to hear you say his name again. And preferably not whilst also saying his friends’ names in the same sentence.

And it irritates him that Bucky spoke to you first. Steve had seen you first therefore it only made sense that he should’ve spoken to you first too. It also irritates him how close Bucky and Sam are standing to you, and how you’re shooting them a small smile right this instant.

Steve is silently seething, and Bucky and Sam are grinning at you like you’re some kind of spectacle. You tell them your name (and his heart skips a beat when he hears it, because it fits you perfectly and he feels like he’s known this name all his life).

And then, no one speaks for a while, and he sees you shift slightly, clearly uncomfortable as you bite your lip. For a second, he wishes he could read your mind, but it doesn’t matter because you have the world’s most emotive face. He can practically see your thoughts as they race through your head. He knows that you’re intimidated by him, by all three of them – but that’s nothing new. And then you open your mouth to speak.

“H-How are you guys finding this class so far?” You ask in a voice sweet as honey. And Steve hates how other alphas around the room have whipped their heads towards you again. He hates how Sam’s features have softened as he looks you over, and he hates how Bucky’s got that predatory look in his eye again, the same one he had last time. He knows he has to do something. Fast.

“Funny, we were going to ask you the same thing.” Steve says, and you blink up at him.

“Me? I, uh, I really like it.” You say shyly, and he can tell that you have trouble maintaining eye contact with him but you try your best as you continue, “Some of the concepts are challenging, but I’m really enjoying it.”

“Oh, I bet you’re really enjoying it.” Steve grins, pointedly glancing at the professor before fixing his gaze back on you, innuendo dripping from his tone. Bucky catches on and chuckles, as does Sam.

You look confused, “Um, I don’t understand–”

Sam snorts, “Don’t play dumb.”

“Is it the class you’re enjoying, sweetheart, or what happens after it?” Bucky joins in.

You shake your head, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And sure, there’s a voice at the back of Steve’s head telling him to quit it and back off. That sensible voice that shows its face from time to time, telling him that you don’t deserve this at all. But he chooses to ignore it, and maybe it’s because he’s been irritated ever since he found out you’re a fucking freshman omega in a senior class where you don’t belong. Or since Bucky spoke to you first before Steve could, and he could see that interest in Bucky’s eyes. Either way, he ignores the voice of rationality in his head. He’s Steve fucking Rogers, after all. He can say whatever he wants to.

“Wearing grossly oversized outfits to hide your body won’t hide the fact that you’re a slut.” Steve says it softly, but everyone hears it. And he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way your head whips up to look at him, the way your lower lip quivers and the way your breath hitches.

“Wh-What? I’m not a… a–”

“A slut? Come on. Everyone knows you spread your legs to get into this class. That’s probably why you sit in the front row, too. So the professor can get a good eyeful of the campus slut before you got to his office after class.” Steve smirks, although it isn’t very satisfying to see your face crumple at his words, and he feels a pang of guilt that he tries his hardest to ignore. You shake your head.

“No! I didn’t–”

“Omegas like you don’t belong in a class like this,” Sam pipes up, and you bow your head. Steve can see your hands trembling under the table as you clasp them in your lap. And God, you look so small, so weak in your big fucking hoodie that nearly swallows you whole. You look like you’re begging for an alpha like him to protect you. But what’s he supposed to protect you from – himself?

He watches you for the rest of the class. You sit there, determinedly taking notes as if three alphas didn’t just embarrass and insult you at the start of the lecture. You don’t ever raise your hand to answer any questions, but Steve can tell that you know all the answers. It’s the way you mouth them cutely, the way you nod when the correct answer is said – as if you knew it all along. It’s the way your nose scrunches in concentration as you read every word of the lecture slides before writing it all down. In a way, he admires your persistence and devotion to your goddamned notes. Omegas are known to be devoted – but to their alphas, not World fucking Politics lectures.

You still look morose and deflated by the time the lecture ends, taking ages to slowly pack your book bag. Sam and Bucky leave, but Steve hangs back. Talk to her! The voice in his head urges him. Tell her you mistook her for someone else, tell her you didn’t mean it! Ask her out! And he lets himself imagine it for a second, asking you out on a date. Picking you up and presenting you with yellow roses, taking you to a restaurant that’s way too fancy for you, and you’d probably be wearing that goddamn hoodie, too.

He almost smiles, before shaking the thought away. I’m not that pathetic, he thinks. Some random scholarship omega isn’t worth taking on a date. There’s a peculiar longing within him but he stuffs it deeper down inside himself. Girls long for him, not the other way around and it’s best if he remembers that.

That doesn’t stop him from following you out of the lecture hall, however. It’s cute, the way you lug your bookbag on your shoulder. You’ve stocked it so full of unnecessary textbooks that it’s weighing you down like a tonne of rocks. His hands itch to help you, but he has to hang back because you don’t know he’s there, and also because you’re now on the phone.

He can’t hear what you’re saying, or who you’re on the phone with. But after a few minutes, your shoulders prop up and the pep in your step returns. Whoever is on the other end of the line – probably a friend or your mom – has managed to cheer you up. He gets close enough to hear you say:

“Yes. I’m going to try harder to make friends. Don’t you worry about me!”

It’s sickening. How cute you sound. And it’s even more sickening how he finds himself following you all the way back to your dorm room, keeping his head low and a small distance between the two of you. And sure, he’s never fucking stalked a girl before and this is definitely unhinged behaviour, but it’s like he can’t help it.

And it’s kind of fun observing you. At one point, you stop in front of a rose bush to smell the delicate flowers. Steve thinks back to how he’d imagined asking you out and giving you a bouquet of yellow roses. He lets himself imagine some more: you bringing the bouquet up to your nose and inhaling gently, a pretty smile on your face as you stand up on your tiptoes to kiss him and tell him thank you.

The picture sits pretty in his mind for a good ten seconds, a smile touching his lips before he aggressively wipes it off. Stop being a sappy fucking loser, he tells himself, before refocusing on his omega. You’re making your way into your dorm building now – it’s one of the cheaper ones on campus. The dorms in there are about the size of postage stamps, and it makes him think of everything he could provide for you: money, clothes, gifts – anything you asked for.

Ask her out! The voice inside his head is beguiling. If he asked you out, he would no longer have to deal with Sharon. If he asked you out, Bucky and the rest of them would all back the fuck up. So then what was stopping him? What was stopping him from marching straight into your stupid tiny fucking dorm room and telling you that he’d pick you up tomorrow at 7 for dinner?

She’s below my fucking league, he reminds himself, although that excuse seems to be getting flimsier and flimsier. He’s distracted from his inner turmoil, however, when he sees you appear in your room through your window. You neatly place your bag on your desk before pulling your hoodie over your head. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and he watches closely as your tank top is next, joining your hoodie on the floor.

Steve’s lost count of how many girls he’s seen naked in his lifetime, but none of them hold a candle to what he’s seeing right now. The way you slip your leggings down, stepping out of them, now just in your bra and panties. Fuck, you’re so sexy. So fucking sexy, and he can feel himself getting rock hard. And half of him wants to reprimand you, chastise you for being so fucking stupid to be changing without drawing your curtains first. He should take you over his fucking knee for that…

But the other half of him just stands there, transfixed. You wriggle into a tee, your legs still bare and your cute ass on display for a few more seconds before you put on a pair of pyjama shorts. It’s when you sit down on your desk which is facing the window, that he finally backs off. Forcibly ripping his gaze away from you and walking away, the vision of you ingrained deeply in his head.

That night, in the privacy of his shower, he cums harder than he ever has before. Just the sight of you changing replaying over and over again in his brain. Nobody has ever had such an effect on him before, and he wonders what this means. Even after he’s jacked off, he can’t seem to shake you out of his mind. It’s like his eyes are itching to just see you again, drink you in again.

Finally, from the depths of one of his drawers, Steve pulls out an old sketchbook that his mother had bought for him on one of his birthdays. She was the only one who knew that he could draw, and she kept encouraging him to do it despite the fact that Steve hadn’t touched an art supply for years now. But it’s like his fingers are itching to put the images in his head down on paper.

And once he starts drawing, it’s like he can’t stop. It comes so naturally to him, like he’s known your face for years and committed it to his memory. He draws you sitting front row during the lecture, trying his hardest to capture that look of concentration on your face, the furrow of your brow, the way you bite your lip. He even draws you in your ridiculously oversized hoodie, how it practically swallows you whole. And he finds himself smiling at how cute you look in it – despite the fact that omegas aren’t supposed to wear things like that.

One thing becomes abundantly clear to Steve that night. He wants you. He wants to own you. He doesn’t want you to belong to anybody else, not now and not ever. But aren’t you out of his league? So then what?  Just fuck her once and get her out of your system, he tries to tell himself. But would that be enough? Girls have always been easy subjects for Steve, but for the first time in his life, he finds himself confused, and his thoughts seem to be at war with each other.

It's only been a week since he first laid eyes on you but it’s like he can’t get you out of his head. He wants you to be his, yet at the same time he can’t believe that he’s fallen for some random scholarship omega. Fallen? No, he hasn’t fallen for you. It’s just lust. Just lust. Just. Lust.

It has to be, right?

***

The next World Politics lecture falls on a Friday – and it’s been three whole days since Steve has last seen you. Three torturously long days filled with Sharon’s irritating squawking and incessant presence in his room. Steve finds that she no longer makes him hard, and every time he fucks her, he finds himself longing for you in her place. You wouldn’t howl so annoyingly when you came, or scratch at his back like a stupid bitch. Actually, he wouldn’t mind if you scratched his back while he fucked you dumb into the mattress, your eyes glazed over and tears running down your cheeks as he knots inside you again and again.

And that’s what Steve’s daydreaming about before the start of the lecture, when he feels a light tap on his shoulder.

“Ex-Excuse me?”

He turns around and his heart skips a beat. You. In a huge green hoodie, almost eye level to him despite the fact that he’s sitting down and you’re standing up. Fuck, you look really cute, all shy as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. And Steve isn’t used to girls coming up to him. He knows he’s very intimidating, as are Bucky and Sam, who have now also turned to gawk at the little omega standing in front of the three of them.

Steve doesn’t know what to do, because up until a second ago he was in the middle of imagining you naked underneath him while he fucked you so hard you saw stars. And now here you are, standing before him with a Tupperware container in your hands, looking uncomfortable and shy as ever.

“Look who it is, Little Miss Campus Slut.” Sam is the first to speak.

Steve watches you blink and take a deep breath before you speak. “H-Hello, Steve. Sam. Bucky.” You nod at each of them, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the sound of you saying his name – he just wishes he wasn’t lumped in with his friends every time.

“I th-think we – uh – I think we all got off on the wrong foot last time,” Your voice shakes as you speak, and Steve finds your stutter kind of cute. “I kn-know you guys were probably joking but, I – uh…” You swallow, and Steve has to admire your guts. He can tell you’re practically shitting yourself with how nervous you look. You shake your head and smile softly, “I made these. For you. I mean, all three of you. As a kind of peace offering.”

You open the Tupperware container and hold it out towards him. Inside, there are about a dozen brownies, cut into neat little squares. The smell alone is heavenly, and he can see that some of them have pieces of caramel oozing out. From his peripheral, he can see Bucky lick his lips.

“I baked them this morning,” You say proudly, “A friend of mine told me that there’s nothing a batch of brownies can’t solve. So, these are for you, and maybe now we could be friends?”

Sweet, naïve, innocent. God, you’re everything Steve wants in a girl. And for a second, he lets his thoughts run wild again. This time, he imagines you baking brownies for him – solely him – in a big house he’s bought for the two of you. You’re heavily pregnant and wearing a cherry print apron, and you sit on his lap while you serve him the freshly baked brownies. An alpha and his little omega, knocked up and completely devoted to him. A perfect family. The perfect life.

Which is why it makes little sense when he slaps his hand upwards, knocking the container out of your hand and sending the brownies flying everywhere, landing on the floor in a sorry heap by your feet. Sam and Bucky burst out laughing, and Steve smiles coolly, although he doesn’t really feel like smiling on the inside. Why did he do that?

Because she’s a stupid scholarship omega, and I can do whatever I want, he answers his own question but even he has to admit that his reasoning is less than satisfactory.

Your eyes widen in shock before your face crumples, “Wh-Why would you do that?”

Steve shrugs, “It’s not very nice of you to try and feed us your weird, contaminated brownies. I mean, we don’t know where your hands have been, do we? Oh wait, we do.” He looks pointedly at the professor at the front of the room before looking back at you, a smug smile on his face that he tries hard not to let falter when he sees the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“I worked re-really hard on those.” You look like you’ve wilted, and there’s that one part deep inside him – maybe his soul? – telling him how fucked up he is for doing what he’s just done. But it’s just a joke, he justifies to himself.

“Don’t get all emotional just because we don’t want your STD brownies.” Steve says, trying hard to keep stone-faced as he watches you flinch and gasp at his words.

“I-I-I don’t have an STD!”

“I-I-I don’t care.” Steve mimics your stutter, making his voice all high-pitched. Sam and Bucky laugh again, along with a bunch of other people who are within earshot. And the look of hurt that crosses your face seems to ingrain itself in his brain, searing him from the inside out till he almost feels sick. Fuck. Why did he keep going?

Because she doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He’s made fun of billions of others in the past, and this shouldn’t be any different, right?

With your lower lip quivering, you swallow back your tears. And he’s surprised when he sees you narrow your eyes at him, “Th-That was really mean.”

And maybe it’s because you’re glaring at him and he doesn’t like that, or maybe it’s because you look so fucking small – standing there with your chin upturned and hands shaking in anger at being wronged. But Steve feels himself getting hard – rock hard. Part of him wants to gather your quivering body in his arms and kiss you and hug you and protect you from it all. But a larger part of him feels this strong need, this hunger, to control you. You look so small, so hurt, so submissive. He can see licks of anger through the tears in your eyes, however, and he wants to snuff it out. Control you completely. Make you bend to his will and listen to his every command.

“Y-You shouldn’t have done that.” You say quietly and Steve narrows his eyes.

“Shouldn’t have done what, omega?” He chews the word around, savours it before spitting it out, and he loves how your eyes widen at being called by your designation. He’s never called anyone by their designation before, and the surge of power he feels over you when he does? Fuck, it’s irreplaceable.

“Th-That’s not my name.” You try and stand your ground but really, it’s not like you’re any match for him. “Don’t call me that – p-please.”

“Why not? That’s what you are, after all. Your name doesn’t matter to me – whatever it is.” (He knows exactly what your name is, because he’s spent the past few days thinking about how great it would sound if you put his last name next to it, but that’s beside the point).

“And I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me what to do, omega.” He adds smoothly, noting how you bow your head in submission, but there are still angry tears glistening in your eyes and he can see your hands balled into fists by your sides, and you’re opening your mouth as if to argue with him. Snuff it out, he tells himself, snuff out any fight she has left in her.

“Don’t think you can talk back to an alpha. Just because you fucked your way into college doesn’t mean the rest of us are going to give you special treatment.” He says, every one of his words dripping in acid. And he wonders how far he can take it, how much further he can control you…

“Now, I want you to keep your mouth shut, walk back over to your seat and sit down and remain silent for the rest of the class.” He orders you before shooting you a smirk. “Now.”

He watches your eyes widen when you realise that it’s an alpha command, and then you’re walking away, head down and an empty Tupperware container in your hand. And the pure power trip Steve gets from it all has adrenaline and excitement pumping through his veins and straight down to his cock. Fuck. He’s never alpha-commanded an omega like this before. Sharon sometimes but it’s never been as gratifying as this.

It's in your stance, how weak and little you look as you walk dejectedly back to your seat. You’ve listened to him, and the power he gets from that is unbeatable. And addicting. He wants to feel it again. Sure, he’s always been domineering with girls but with you, it’s different. You’re different. So perfect and shy, so pretty and submissive… Fuck, he’s so hard now.

He leans back in his seat, staring at you while you get your books out with shaky hands. That’s when he notices that you’re crying, your hands keep reaching up to wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie and your shoulders quiver uncontrollably. Shit. Steve had made you cry, and his heart pangs with guilt. But it’s confusing, because there’s a dark part of him that’s so turned on right now, that wants to lick your tears up then embarrass you some more. Then you’d cry some more and he’d push you down to your knees, shove his cock in your mouth and really give you something to cry about.

But he also wants to gather you in his arms, hold you in his lap and comfort you. Tell you that he didn’t mean it, that he doesn’t know why he’s doing all this. Well, he does know why – but sometimes he isn’t convinced by his own rationale. Control you. Comfort you. Control you. Comfort you. Control you–

“Hey, these are pretty good.” Bucky’s voice knocks Steve out of his reverie, and he looks down to see his friend scooping up pieces of brownie off the ground.

Sam groans, “Please tell me you’re not eating the floor-brownies.”

“What? They’re good!” Bucky defends himself with a mouthful of the sweet treat. “Shit, you know what? I wouldn’t even mind getting an STD. I think she’s worth it. So fucking hot and she bakes too? I wonder what else she can do.”

Steve rolls his eyes, wanting nothing more than to punch Bucky in the skull for calling his omega hot. Because of course, Steve’s already consolidated in his mind that you’re his. He just has to figure out what exactly he wants from you. For now, however, he’s content with staring at you from afar, and imagining how pretty you’d look baking brownies for him and bending over while he made you cum on his knot over and over again.

***

“You know, I’d let you mark me if you wanted to.” Sharon says one day, out of nowhere. Steve’s walking her to one of her classes (or more like, she’d seen him walking with his friends and dragged him away).

Steve barks out a laugh, “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you? We’re both seniors, about to graduate and we’re in a serious, committed relationship.” Sharon squeezes his hand, and Steve feels a sudden urge to throw up. What a dumb fucking idiot Sharon was, as if he’d ever mark her. He’s still trying to figure out how to break up with her – he absolutely hates talking to her and he doesn’t even consider her a good fuck anymore. She’s lucky he’s kept her around for this long, yet has the audacity to talk about marking.

“You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that.” He says, hoping to drop the subject but of course, she doesn’t seem to want to let it go.

“Come on, babe. I remember back when we first started going out, you told me that you wanted to marry me and have a ton of kids! I remember thinking how cute you sounded when you said that.”

Steve doesn’t even have the energy to correct her. Sure, he’d said that he was a traditional alpha just like his father. He wanted to get married young and have kids young too. However, he’d never mentioned wanting all of this with Sharon, but of course the dumb bitch had selective hearing and liked to make stuff up, but that wasn’t Steve’s fault.

He lets her talk for the duration of their walk up to her lecture, and all he contributes is a disinterested grunt now and again. But Sharon loves the sound of her own voice, so she doesn’t seem to notice his lack of interest in conversing with her. Finally, outside her lecture hall, she stands up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. And it’s while he’s kissing his girlfriend that Steve feels a prickle in the back of his neck. Almost like he’s being watched.

He opens his eyes, looking straight ahead beyond Sharon’s shoulder. And there you are, sitting in the courtyard. You look like a fucking angel, bathing in the sunlight that peaks out at you through the branches of the tree you’re sat underneath. And you’ve got this almost curious look on your face as you watch him kiss his girlfriend. He makes eye contact with you for about five magical seconds before you realise that he’s watching you, all while his lips move against Sharon’s.

Quickly, you bury your nose in the book you’re reading, and he can see your eyes widening in alarm. Somehow, he knows your heart’s racing – because his is too. And he feels this longing for you, wishing so bad that it was you he was kissing instead of Sharon. But you’d been watching him! What did that mean? Maybe you liked him how he likes you?

I don’t like her! He tells himself stubbornly, she’s below my league… But he doesn’t know who he’s kidding with that excuse anymore.

Bidding Sharon goodbye, he can’t help but feel this gravitational pull, tugging him over to you. For a second, he imagines sitting down next to you, asking you what you’re reading and watching as you happily tell him. And he’d be interested in what you have to say, because you’re not a stupid bitch like Sharon or any of the other girls on campus. You’re special. And so beautiful.

He watches as you slowly lose yourself in whatever book you’re reading, and you’ve got a fucking juice-box next to you which you sip on every so often. God, could you be any cuter? You look so innocent, and for one dark second, he wishes he could just take you and lock you up in his house. You’d be safe over there, inside the house and away from any college like a good, traditional little omega. And he’d buy you a whole library full of books to keep you happy, and you’d cook and clean and dote on him and carry his babies, and that would make him happy.

Steve finds himself walking over, casting a shadow over your figure as he looms above you, and you look up at him fearfully. Fuck. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the way you’re looking at him right now. Like you’re wary, scared – like he’s this formidable alpha that could completely ruin you – which is all true.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is.” He says softly, and you gulp.

“H-Hello, Steve.” You attempt a smile but you’re shaking like a leaf. And he’s surprised that you’re still greeting him nicely despite how horrible he was to you in the last lecture.

“What are you doing?” He asks, but it comes out sounding like a demand.

“Just reading.” You answer, and he can see that you’re trying to hide your shaking hands. The book rests open in your lap, and you look so sweet, sitting down by his feet. It makes him imagine nasty things, like wanting to pull you forward by your hair, make you mouth at his crotch in front of everyone in this courtyard, make you beg for his alpha cock before he shoves it down past your quivering lips.

Which is why it doesn’t make much sense when, in one fluid motion, he steps down hard on your juice-box, the liquid spurting out and splattering all over your top, and the open book too, immediately leaving large, blotchy stains on both.

“Oh no!” You lament, panic overtaking your features as you immediately begin to fan out the book, shaking it and trying to get the water out. But all Steve can focus on is your wet top – it’s oversized but it’s not a hoodie, at least – and the way it clings to your skin. You’re so fucking hot, and you don’t even realise it – you seem more preoccupied by the damn book.

“It was a library book!” You say quietly, tears forming in your eyes and Steve feels another pang of guilt because he’s made you cry again. “I can’t… I can’t afford…” Your voice trails off.

Steve smirks, “You can’t afford to replace the book, can you?” It consolidates every assumption he’d made about you. You come from nothing and you’re a no one, with your hand-me-down clothes and DIY bookbag. He truly could give you anything and everything you’d ever want, and he lets himself imagine it. Him buying you bags and bags of clothes, helping you put them on, dressing you up like his own little doll that smells sweet like magnolias and is devoted to him. He bets you’d be so thankful – you’re not used to any kind of riches after all – and you’d worship him in return.

And all of this gives him an idea. A way to exert even more control over you, and give you a bit in return too. Grabbing his wallet from his jacket pocket, he fishes out a hundred-dollar bill. You’re too busy trying to shake the liquid off your book that you don’t even notice it when he reaches forward and tucks the crisp note into the hemline of your top.

You gasp, “What’s… What’re you doing?”

“You know that report we have due next week, don’t you?” Steve muses, scanning your face carefully. He sees your throat bob as you swallow, hanging onto his every word as you hold the hundred-dollar bill between your fingers gingerly. “Why don’t you do mine for me, omega?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “Th-That’s dishonest! And I have my own report to do–” You try to hand him the money back but he bats your hand away. And he knows he could easily use an alpha-command on you and make you exactly what he asks of you, just like how he made you walk away in the lecture last time after the brownie incident.

But he craves true control over you, and maybe he can manipulate you? Mould your pretty little mind into wanting to please him? He knows you’re biologically wired to please him; your base omega desires want nothing more than to make an alpha proud – he knows that. He could play into that, use that. Manipulate you, and find out just how far he can take this sweet control over you.

“Come on, omega, I really think you should do my report.” Steve keeps his voice even, his eyes boring into yours with intensity, and you look like you’re about to melt under his gaze. “Otherwise, you’ll disappoint me. And you don’t want to disappoint me, do you?

Almost as if you’re hypnotised, you shake your head no. And Steve can’t believe how easy this is, and he wonders whether his scent smells good to you, and whether it has any effect on you. It must do… because you look like you’re about to turn into putty in his hands.

“B-But it’s cheating.” You whisper.

“That doesn’t matter. You’re going to do my report for me, and you’re going to put all your effort into it. Because at the end of the day, that’s the only thing an omega like you is good for. Pleasing an alpha. You want to please me, don’t you?”

He loves how he can practically read every single thought that crosses inside that pretty little head of yours. He loves the look of conflict on your face, how you’re trying to fight against your base desires. It makes him feel powerful, strong – how someone can have that much control over another human being, it thrills him.

Finally, you nod, and whisper a delicate “okay” that goes straight to Steve’s dick. You’re so beautiful and submissive, he can’t help but reach out to tap your cheek condescendingly. What a good girl, he wants to say, but that would be overdoing it. Instead, he just smirks and leaves, loving how you sit there, stunned and with the hundred still between your thumb and forefinger.

He goes home that day and jerks off thinking about you and all the power he exerted over you today. How easy it was to make you cry, then manipulate you into doing exactly what he wanted you to. He pumps his dick to the thought of how innocent you are, how sweet and pretty and how you’re everything he’s ever wanted in a girl – he just didn’t know it until now.

He also thinks about what you’re going to do with the money he gave you. Replacing the library book wouldn’t cost that much, and he hopes you spend the rest of the hundred on clothes or jewellery for yourself. That way, it would be like he bought something for you, he bought it for you and now you’re wearing it on your skin. Something he bought. Because you belong to Steve. And then he cums hard, slapping the bathroom wall so hard that one of the tiles chips.

Then, he cleans off and gets his sketchbook out. He draws you sitting under the tree with your little juice-box. He makes sure to make the drawing as detailed as possible, down to the top you were wearing and the way you looked so engrossed in your book. At the last second, he adds one more detail. A jagged mark on the side of your neck. His mark. Then he slams his sketchbook shut and buries it under his bed.

You give Steve his finished report only two days later, at the start of the next lecture. Quietly, you scurry up to him and wordlessly hold out the typed-up paper placed neatly in a binder. He snatches it from you, making sure to remain stone-faced except you don’t even make eye-contact with him – which is mildly irritating. But he guesses you’re too scared of him, and this proves to be true because you quickly walk back to your seat as soon as he takes the report from you.

Sam whistles lowly, “Out of everyone in this class, you made the slut omega do your paper?”

“Good luck redoing the whole thing, unless you want an F.” Bucky adds.

Steve opens the report to scan through it, and the hundred-dollar bill flutters out from where it was tucked in the first page. Huh. You’d returned the money. His heart can’t help but sink, because here he was trying to help you and you’d thrown it back in his face. Curiously, he watches you in your usual seat in the front row. You’re texting someone on your phone and he feels a wave of jealousy. Was there someone else taking care of you? A boyfriend?

He pushes that thought out of his mind as soon as it enters it. No. You’re too sweet, too pure to have a boyfriend. You’re a lonely little omega, and the only person who talks to you on campus is Steve. That’s how he’s painted you in his head and that’s what you are.

But now he wants to find out more about you. And it’s easy enough, going to the admin office and flirting with one of the secretaries. Easily noting down the password to the computer that had all the freshman student details on it, and when the giggling secretary excused herself to go to the bathroom, he quickly typed in your name.

And all your information pops up on the screen in front of him. Home address (some random, desolate hick-town, just as he suspected), your phone number (he quickly saves it on his phone) as well as your mother’s contact details. No father. Interesting. It meant you probably had some sort of daddy issues that Steve could undoubtedly take advantage of in the future.

Back in his own room, Steve stares at your number on his phone. He could easily call you right this instant, or text you. He could thank you for doing his report and offer to take you out. And then he’d show up at your doorstep with a bouquet of yellow roses, take you to the most expensive restaurant in town and then he’d drive up to a great spot he knows, where the two of you could stargaze and then he’d kiss you for the first time before taking you to the backseat of his car and making love to you, all soft and sweet – because you’re soft and sweet.

Steve has to forcibly push these sappy thoughts out of his head. He’s not a lovesick fifteen-year-old kid, for fucksakes! He’s an alpha, way above the league of some small, hick-town omega who comes from a broken home. It’s just lust, he reminds himself, lust and control. That’s all you want with her, Steve. Remember that.

Weeks go by where Steve doesn’t miss a chance when it comes to bullying you. It’s just an extremely easy thing to do, despite the fact that sometimes, it feels like he’s putting his heart through a shredder when he sees you bow your head and cry. Why can’t he just leave you alone? Why is he so goddamned obsessed with you?

He stares at you a lot, too. And sometimes, he finds you staring back at him before you quickly look away. She has a crush on me, too! He thinks to himself before shaking his head and trying to focus on something else. But he can’t. You’re everywhere. Even when he hooks up with other girls now, he picks ones out who have the same features as you. Same hair colour, same skin-tone. That way, it’s easier to pretend it’s you when he’s fucking them from behind.

But it’s not you. You’d be so much better. So much sweeter, so much more subservient. And Steve wants you so bad, it’s starting to become a physical need.

He, along with Bucky and Sam, sit in the row behind you on the day everyone gets their graded reports back. He does it so he can catch another whiff of your scent which he hasn’t smelled since the first day he saw you. But to no avail – your suppressants are too fucking strong and this irritates him no end.

Bucky and Sam spend the lecture poking fun at you, juvenile jokes which Steve doesn’t even find funny despite the fact that he’s the one who started the whole ‘campus slut’ movement in the first place.

But from his position behind you, he can see you type in your passcode to unlock your phone, and subconsciously he commits it to his memory. He wonders who you text and call, what friends you have. Ever since he looked you up on the computer system, he just wants to know every single thing about you. And he knows he’s acting like a fucking creep – sometimes he has the strong urge to just grab you and smell you, smell your hair and your neck and just bury his nose into you. It’s insane. No other girl has made him feel like this, but it’s like he can’t help it.

Steve gets an A+ on his report, and when he glances at you holding your own paper, he sees you got an A+ too. Which means you submitted two top tier research papers. A smart omega, he thinks to himself. And he hates that you’re smart. Well, he admires you for it but he hates that he admires it. Because you shouldn’t be here writing reports on world politics. No, you should be inside a kitchen. Or in his bed.

He watches you smile and clasp your hands together, clearly happy with your grade. And he hangs back again, waiting for Bucky and Sam to leave at the end of the lecture before he approaches you.

“Congratulations, omega. Did you let the professor put it up your ass so he’d give you the highest grade in class?” Steve asks nonchalantly.

But this time, you don’t even protest against his lie, or even look at him. No, you keep your gaze diverted, staring intensely at the floor before you scrunch your eyes up. Shit. You’re well and truly afraid of him – he can practically see you shaking. And is it possible to feel bad yet get hard at the same time? Steve doesn’t know anymore, he’s always hard when he’s in your presence.

He watches you scurry away, looking intimidated beyond belief. And as you leave, you accidentally brush up against him. Your whole body, brushing up against his front, and Steve feels like someone’s kicked him in the fucking balls because it winds him. His heart seems to skip several beats and he feels like he can’t breathe.

Your body had only made contact with his for a few seconds at most, but he can’t believe the effect it had on him. Your soft little body, like a boost of serotonin straight to his heart. And his cock. Fuck. You practically half-run out of the room in a bid to get away from him, and you have no fucking clue that you’ve left him reeling. He’s 6’6 and weighs about 240 pounds but an unassuming little omega has almost knocked him off his feet.

And this incenses him. It embarrasses him. It confuses him.

I need to fuck her; he thinks to himself. I need to feel her again. Claim her. Make her mine.

Maybe then I’ll get her out of my system once and for all.

A/N: And there we go! i know yall may be a bit disappointed since this does not advance the plot at all and nothing really happened but!! this is just meant to be an insight into Steve’s head!! i know a lot of you want to know what he was thinking so here you go!! I do want to note that he DOES come across as a fucking psycho askfsdajkfn but he’s a dark character what can i say??? He develops a lot from here tho! ANYWAYS, please leave feedback, i’d love to know what you think! I hope you enjoyed!! bye dhfsdnk

[shotgunbunny]

═๑♡𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬♡๑═

WC:4.7k+ GIF by gay-bucky-barnes

dark!Sherlock X reader

{warnings: NONCON/DUBCON!! reader is sold!! mentions of prostitution in Victorian era!! misogyny!! age gap!! blood but not a lot at all!! dirty talk!! virginity loss!! breeding kink!! insane Sherlock!! murder!! like this is dark baby!! manipulation!! brainwashing?/Stockholm syndrome!! kind of a sugar daddy?!! dacryophillia!! spitting!! }

Sherlock was accustomed to lady company quite often but the problem was the fact he didn't get satisfaction from any of the the ladies. After every intimate moment he shared, a numbness settled over him faster than he expected and he would lay there miserable all while his company was perfectly satisfied.

Sherlock heaved a sigh over his problem. He didn't want to be detached from his emotions during sex anymore. He craved to be wrapped up in pure bliss with the overwhelming feelings of love too. And that was apparently too hard for the detective to find. So he had decided to take on this problem like a case.

He stood at his desk staring down at the chart of paper. He needed someone who would fit his type perfectly, and even he didn't know what it was. He grunted frustrated over this. That didn't help him get any closer. By the time he had decided to just look at a local whorehouse, convinced that there would be a lady there who would help him due to their experience, night had fallen over the London streets.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and left his cane behind, trying his hardest not to be noticed by any that would recognise him. He headed down to the pleasure house that is simply known as 'THE PINK STRAWBERRY.' Apparently there, all the women smelt and tasted of strawberries and Sherlock was positively excited to see if this was true. He entered the establishment, allowing his eyes to drag along the men that were sat in the velvet chairs.

He headed to the desk where a man dressed in a dark 3 piece sat. He looked up at Sherlock and smiled. "What can I get ya' sir?" He spoke nasily and it made Sherlock irritated yet he hid it, determined to solve his issue. "Do you have anything new? Any new deals? Anything intriguing?" The man looked around before looking Sherlock up and down. "You ain't a pig are ya'?" He whispered the question and Sherlock leaned forward, "I am not." Technically not a lie, he was a detective not a police officer after all.

"Good then. I got a new deal indeed. A new girl just came in. Innocent as can be. Naive and dumb, perfect for molding. You can have her for the night. Or you can have her forever at the right price." Sherlocks interest peaked as he thought about the offer. The molding part definitely appealed to him. Don't get Sherlock wrong he was glad that feminism was making a move into society, but he needed a submissive wife. He had worked hard and supported enough so he deserved a reward.

"I'd have to meet her." The man stared at Sherlock suspiciously before he heaved out a sigh and slid a key to him. "You get five minutes. And then it's decision time. Got it?" The man stated it all firmly all while staring Sherlock down. "Understood sir." With the agreement made the man directed Sherlock to the room where this new woman was.

He unlocked the door feeling his palms slightly sweaty from nerves and excitement over the prospect that there might be someone by his side soon. He kept his eyes on the floor as he entered the room and then turned to close the door, preparing himself to see you. He turned and his breath was instantly knocked out of his chest.

You sat in the messy silk sheets. Clad in a white nightgown that was short on you and only just hid your lady parts. The sexy lingerie pushed your breasts together perfectly and you looked like an angel. Your hair framed your face perfectly and your big doe eyes stared up at him questioningly. Scared even. He scanned the rest of you, your lips were big and plush, your skin looked soft and your legs looked positively sexy to him.

Sherlock moved to the bed and sat in front of you, cooing as you slowly moved away from him, cautious of the strange man. "Do not worry angel. I am not here to hurt you. I wish to get to know you. My name is Sherlock, what is yours my darling?" You continued to stare up at him with those big eyes, mesmerising him. You whispered your name to him, your voice a melody to his ears. He repeated your name, feeling his heart flutter over how he pronounced every syllable of your name and how it would perfectly match up with his last name.

You stared at the hulking form of the man that sat on the edge of your bed. He was handsome yet he intimidated you. His eyes were a beautiful cold stormy blue, yet the way they observed you made you uneasy. It was like he knew everything about you just from a glance. His dark brown locks looked so soft and you couldn't help be drawn into the contrast of how he looked both hard and soft at the safe time. His broad shoulders and muscular arms that were tight against his suit had you squirming over how he looked almost godly. He was a specimen of a man, but you knew he was here for something you had tried to save. Your virginity.

"Is it okay if I call you angel?" He asked gently soothing you to a degree and you nodded your head at him. Still keeping your eyes on him. "You know angel, I was given an offer to buy you. I can get you out of this place and keep you safe and warm. All you'd have to do is be my wife. I can assure you there are no bad intentions behind this. I simply wish for a pretty girls company." His voice was soft the whole time and he allowed himself to reach out and hold your small soft hand in his large one. Embracing the size difference between the two of you and how he would have to go easy on you.

"I-I wanna get out of here. But I don't even know you sir. How can I trust you?" Your curious gaze lingered on him and he smiled softly bringing your hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles. "You just have to trust me angel. You can ask me anything you want and I shall answer." You examined him and his soft demeanour trying to conclude if it was fake or real.

"O-okay. Why do you want a wife sir? You're already h-handsome enough. I am confused as to why you've come to a whorehouse to find a wife. It's almost ironic." Sherlock chuckled at your mumbles. "I need someone pliable to my needs. I've struggled with connecting my emotions to sexual activities so I'm seeking an emotional bond first. A whorehouse is where women are used to finding a man's pleasure, I believed they helped me. And indeed they have, they've brought me to you."

You blushed at his words, yet you remained confused over them. You had no idea what to expect from the hulking man and if you rushed into a relationship with him, you were scared of where you'd end up.

"Can I confess something Mr. Sherlock?" He resumed his soft smile allowed his gaze to soften too. "Ofcourse angel, anything to keep hearing your heavenly voice." You blushed at him before bringing your gaze to his, allowing your eye contact to hypnotise him. "How do I know you won't hurt me?" Sherlock got off the bed before he kneeled down with his hand on his heart staring up at you in the bed from his bowing position and spoke confidently. "I promise you, I would never raise my fist at a woman and I would most certainly never even dream of hurting you angel." You smiled finally and nodded at him.

He stood up and resumed his place on the bed, allowing his final few minutes of getting to know you be filled with you shy mumbles of what you liked and who you are. A knock on the door startled you and he placed a large hand on your leg comforting you. The door then opened revealing the man from the front of the house.

He started displeased of Sherlocks hand on you thigh and spoke loudly and confidently. "So, do we have a deal?" Sherlock turned his head to look at you and you stared at him. You saw his eyes scanning your reaction and you looked away with a blush, not wanting to give away the fact that you were hopeful to be leaving here and even excited to become a wife. Sherlock grinned at your shyness. "Yes we do have a deal." And with that Sherlock threw a bag stuffed with coins and notes at the man making him gasp at the amount inside.

Sherlock turned to you, and grinned making you smile too. "Come angel, let's go home."

✧──────────────────────────────────✧

Adjusting to life with the detective was a hard one, a terrifying one. You never really agreed to be with Sherlock, you felt like a cattle being sold off to the next consumer where you would eventually be slaughtered and devoured. You were forever grateful to God above for saving you from marrying Sherlock as he had no time at the moment or the coming moments to take your hand.

He had often argued with himself over it and you stood looking at him. You remember when you came into his office and saw him staring at his chalk board filled with writing and conclusions and you heard his frustrated mumbles clearly. "Stupid fucking pricks. I will marry her, she will be mine and that'll show them. I'll make sure she's fucking filled with my kids, so that then you can't deny letting me marry her. And I'll ofcourse get kids. What a perfect scenario." You gulped and tiptoed away terrified.

You were often alone at Baker Street, staring longingly out of the window trying to figure a way out of this hell hole. Yes Sherlock never raise his hand at you but his insults were vile and left you heartbroken and self conscious. He often reprimanded you for ending up in the whorehouse rather than waiting for him, and when you went to respond about your father selling you he would cut you off with a glare filled with a darkness that filled your stomach with dread.

Because of the long periods of time being locked up in his house, you had become accustomed to the lay out and began to hatch out a plan of escape. You had to plan it carefully making sure that the detective didn't suspect and that you were 2 steps ahead of him. You mapped out the floorboards and the windows, even single structure of the place and began planning any route that would lead you to the streets where you would bolt and never look back.

After you had planned four pathways perfectly so that even the mighty Sherlock Holmes wouldn't even suspect, earth shattering news was given to you. You see while you thought you were cautious and cunning, you were actually sloppy. Sherlock noticed every move you made, he overlooked your plans while you slept and chuckled at how silly they were. From going under the floor boards to jumping out the window.

He knew he had to find a way to discourage this, afterall he had spent money on you and was promised a moldable doll that would fulfill his needs. And don't get him wrong, he was most definitely attached to you emotionally. Everything you did drove him crazier in love with you. From something as simple as you gentle morning breathing when you were at peace to your more fiery moods when you were planning an escape erratically. He loved your passion, your gentleness and your ever growing desires to escape.

See he also had a plan too which would boost his love for you and unite you both. Yet first he had to discourage you, crush you. And he did this by killing your parents, making sure it ended up in the newspaper where he then gave it to you. He watched with sadistic pleasure as your eyes filled with tears over their deaths. Yet he did not predict you throwing yourself into his arms and sobbing.

You longed for some form of comfort, even if it was with the man that held you prisoner. His arms were warm and for a small second that bled into a week, you felt safe. You felt comforted grieving in his arms, he promised to take care of you and he had. He was. "My Angel, you know that I adore you. I will keep you safe forever, you just have to stop fighting. Let yourself fall into being Mrs. Holmes and I'll promise you whole the world." He whispered gently into the crown of your hair, you hummed, your throat aching from crying so loudly.

And after hearing his words of adoration, you let yourself sink into him. Into his love and his comfy and soon he began surprising you. He brought you home beautiful dresses, jewelry. Anything you wished for he would bring to you. It was then that Sherlock realised the key to your heart was through money and beautiful things, so he decided to spoil you in hopes to catch you when you fell deeply in love with him.

He remembers the time he got you to wear your potential wedding dress. A long white dress covered in lace with long arms. You walked out shyly and coughed quietly. Sherlock turned and his mouth opened slightly, his eyes widened slightly and a blush coated his cheeks. With quick firm steps, he headed towards you and placed his large hands on your waist. You looked down meekly, mumbling, "What do you think?" Sherlock brought his hand up to your chin, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. He flashed you a charming smile before he gently spoke with passion and love swirling around his eyes. "You look perfect angel. Truly sent from heaven."

All too soon you found yourself surrounded by gold and rubies, and as beautiful as they shined, but it only helped prolonged the aching in your heart. The need to run free and choose your own fate began to rise up in your blood again and you began devising your escape again. And Sherlock caught on immediately feeling his heart ache that his gifts weren't enough to satisfy you. But it was no matter, you would be thankful soon, you would worship him for the gifts he bought you.

✧──────────────────────────────────✧

Tonight was the night that you escaped. You were ready, Sherlock had told you he would be working late and you faked a pout and spoke gently, "I hope you hurry home soon, I get lonely with you honey." To which he placed a kiss on your forehead and then on your lips before rubbing your noses together and replied in his soft gruff voice, "Don't worry angel, I'll be with you sooner than you think." And then he headed out the door locking it.

You looked outside and saw the darkness spread down the streets and the with a sigh, you dragged yourself to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. You were prepared to fight for your freedom. You stared in the mirror, you were dressed in your comfiest dress and you were thankful you took your corset and other accessories off. You put on sensible shoes and then heaved a breath in and out and started to undo the window lock. You heard a click and smiled.

You got up and pushed yourself out of it so that you were sat on the ledge. A cool breeze swept past you and you breathed it in. You looked down your heart hammering at the giant drop that you faced. There was a large bin beneath you thankfully yet you were still terrified. You closed your eyes and pushed off the ledge suppressing your scream the best you could. When you peaked your eyes open you saw your in the large dumpster and saw that many pillows were stacked in here to cushion your landing.

Your blood turned cold at this and you quickly scrambled out. You fell out and as you pulled yourself up, you heard the familiar taps of a cane. Sherlock knew. You froze and turned to stare at him. His face was blank and he stared at you. He spoke clearly. "You may have thought you were 2 steps ahead of me angel. But I am always a leap ahead of you. So I give you the choice. Go back to our room and your punishment won't be that bad and I will forgive you for your temporary lapse in judgement."

A pause played between the two of you and you felt tears gather in your eyes. You had come so far, you were so close. You waited for him to speak feeling your heart hammer. With a heavy sigh from Sherlock, he spoke again, his voice deepening a warning evident in his tone. "And if not, then try running and see what will happen angel. Because I can promise you, I will tear your wings off and break your halo before you can even apologize."

Your heart raced and you slowly turned gulping. You had worked too hard and with that one thought playing through your mind you sprinted and a dark laughter soon followed you. And before you could even make it to the first lamp post you were tackled onto the ground by his hulking figure. He spoke hotly into your ear, "I warned you. Now you're gonna deal with the consequences." He pulled you up over his shoulder and stomped to your shared apartment. He kicked the door down and the kicked it closed.

He stormed to the bedroom and threw you onto the bed. You gasped trying to catch your breath from crying and the fear that was vibrating in your chest. You watched as he quickly stripped from his clothes in anger. His predatory gaze settling on you immediately after his cock sprang free. You couldn't bring yourself to look at it. Instead you continued begging with your eyes to stop this but you were only met with his cold, dominating gaze.

"Strip." He said, his voice a hiss. You shook your head crying more. "Do it or I'll do it for you." You let out a pitiful sob and within seconds he was upon you and tore your dress open. Buttons popped off and seams torn, your breasts spilled free and within a few moments of them being exposed, Sherlock brought his head down and took a nipple into his mouth. Licking and sucking it, you felt yourself grow wet for him yet you held back your moans. A squeal left your lips as he quickly bit your nub and smirked. All the hike his thumb was pinching and caressing the other.

He pulled away and stared down at your tits. "Just wait til these are full of milk for our children. Your breasts will get so heavy, and I'll happily hold them. Fuck this little body is so perfect. Pretty tits to match your pretty face. I can't wait to mark them up with my bites and my cum. And don't give me any crybaby shit, this was your choice whore."

He soon tore the rest of your dress off followed by the rest of your clothing. You quickly tried to shield yourself but he was too fast. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head and smiled wickedly at seeing your naked body on display to him. You slowly brought your gaze down his body, getting wet at the sight of his muscular arms and his chiseled body. And then staring in shock over his big cock. It was long and girthy. A prominent vein running from the bottom to just under the tip.

Sherlock settled between your legs, you were hip to hip and with a grunt, he grabbed his cock, and slid it up and down your folds before pushing into you ripping the air from your lungs and replacing it with a scream which was quickly muffled by Sherlock's massive hand. He stared down at where you both connected and groaned feeling your pussy tighten around him trying to lubricate itself around his massive cock.

"Fuck. You're tight little pussy is fucking perfect. So warm, so tight. It's fucking hugging my cock. Your pussy is a big a whore as you. You wanted this, you wanted me to fuck you. You wanted me to shove my big cock into your little pussy. Awwh look at your tears, you look like such a slut. Maybe that's why you were in the whitehouse, cause you're just a fucking slut."

He looked down at you and smirked and your closed eyes, he moved his hand from your mouth to your chin and then pried your lips open with his thumb and then spat into your mouth. He then held himself up with one hand, remaining perfectly still letting you adjust to his cock. He then spat on two fingers and brought them down to you clit and began rubbing viciously. He then stared down at you again and pressed his mouth to yours.

He swallowed your groans and moan and let his tongue swipe around you mouth letting him taste every part of you before pulling away while sucking on your tongue. When he pulled a way a wire of spit attached you both for a second before it broke and splattered on your face. He smirked and the felt how wet you were and licked from your cheek to your temple. You fluttered your eyes closed until his hand gripped your jaw, and took away the small bit of pleasure you were feeling. You stared up at him mortified.

"You will look at me. Understood, I'm warning you. You keep your pretty eyes on me. With your fucking pretty crocodile tears. You keep looking at me or else it will get worse. I'd hate to lay my hands on your pretty face an leave a nasty mark there."

He then began to rock his hips and let his thrusting start slow and steady. Letting your virgin cunt get used to his cock and his thrusting. He moved his gaze from your eyes to where he was in you. As he pulled out he saw bits of blood on his cock and he groaned feeling a sense of glory over taking your virginity. And after he felt that glory he let himself go and began thrusting with wild abandon.

"You were a fucking virgin. God that's so fucking perfect. My good girl. You saved this cunt for me didn't you. Ofcourse you did, you had no idea what to do with it until you met me. This is my cunt now. I'm gonna cum in it, so it's fucking mine!"

You began moaning and whining feeling bliss wrap around you everywhere. You brought you legs up to knot around his hips, needing more of him even though you didn't want more. Your small hands travelled to his broad back and began scratching it, needing to grasp something to hold onto reality from the pleasure you were feeling. You felt the knot in your stomach and unwinding and then you finally felt go and came all over his cock with moan that echoed in his head.

He placed his head in your neck and planted kissed and sucks everywhere. Covering you in his love bites and the pure fact that you were purely his in that moment nudged him closer to his climax. And then he felt your pretty pussy flutter around his cock and cum all over it. And soon he lost control and came in you. Making sure to fill you up and not let one bit go to waste.

"Fuck did so good. Did perfect. Gonna make me a father aren't you. Such a perfect little angel, such a good girl for carrying all my kids. Did so fucking good taking my cock, gonna get a ring on that finger tomorrow and then I'm gonna fuck you until you can't think of anything but me. My angel. Gonna make you love me as much as I love you."

He laid on top of you and peppered your face in kisses, whispering things into your ears that you didn't hear as you were too blissed out and were close to falling asleep while he still had his cock in you. You let your eyelids close and your breathing slow as you drifted to sleep with Sherlocks cum dribbling out of you.

✧──────────────────────────────────✧

You and Sherlock had moved into a much more spacious home and it was truly wonderful. The garden was big and filled with flowers and he would pick one single flower a day and present it to you before explaining the meaning. You were positively drowning in his love. So much so that you had stopped fight against it and allowed yourself to sink into it. And in return you gave Sherlock all the love in your heart too, allowing for your mind to be vacant with everything except Sherlock and your family.

Enola adored staying over to play with her nieces and nephews. In total you and Sherlock had 5 children, not counting the one that was currently in your stomach. With 3 strong boys and 2 gorgeous girls it seemed like life was complete. Enola taught them key things even if they were little, but they understood. You blamed that on Sherlocks genes afterall he was the smart one.

Speaking of, you just heard the front door close and the sudden parade of small feet dash down the hall to see their father. You giggled and continued making dinner for everyone all while pregnant and a baby in your hip. Little James was quite the mother's boy and he was clingy. Yet they all were at his age. He babbled to you as you stirred the stew, he listed colours and insects trying his hardest to remember what insect came out of a cocoon.

You heard the childish laughter getting closer and the heavy footsteps of you husband. Sherlock watched you, absolutely mesmerized by how perfect of a mother and wife you were. Don't get him wrong he still supported the feminist notion slowly rising, but he could not bring himself to allow you to do any of it. Seeing you as a reward for all his hard work. He drew his attention to James sat on your hip listening to his confused babbles.

"A butterfly my dear James." Your son's eyes lit up and you gently placed him down for him to wobbly toddle towards his dad for his daily cuddles. You smiled content at the homely and domestic atmosphere. You zoned out looking at the blue sky, still stirring the stew, completely missing Sherlock dismissing your children to go and wait in the dining room.

With gentle steps, Sherlock curled himself around you, and you leaned back into him and turned your head up and slightly turned it, and he placed a soft gentle kiss on you lips and gazed into your eyes lovingly. "How were the children, Mrs.Holmes?" You smiled, "Enola came over and kept them busy drawing, yet James decided to cling to my side and question me as to why my stomach has gotten so big."

Sherlock chuckled and moved his large hand up to your stomach cradling your pregnant belly. He placed a soft kiss in the crook of your neck before gently whispering, "And how are you my love, is our little one treating you okay?" You sighed happily feeling peace radiate through your bones and into Sherlocks. "I'm fine, they were kicking up a storm this morning but I think that's because they weren't ready for daddy to leave for work."

He hummed, "I apologize my angel. Truly, this one is going to be a little devil and I think that's my fault entirely." He said smugly. You giggled at him, and allowed him to keep cuddling you as you made dinner and settled into your husbands embrace and his dark love.

[0bticeo]

may the odds be in your favour | coriolanus snow x fem! reader

series masterlist.

part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5.

chapter summary: blood will have blood.

“what makes you think that, put in the same circumstances, we wouldn’t turn ourselves into beasts to survive?”

there’s silence. there are twenty four gazes pinning you down to your seat. there’s coriolanus snow, blue eyes a shade darker than they were before you started talking. you meet his gaze and sense something shifting. it’s in the way he leans a tad bit closer, lips parted as though to speak – no. to taste.

wc. approx. 2000 words.

cw. sexual tension. probably innacurate anatomical description. manipulation. reader and coriolanus being assholes. death threat (implied). religious imagery. sleep deprived author.

weeks pass. snow greets you every morning at your front door and extends his arm to you until you have no choice but to link it with your own. occasionally, he brings a rose, gently tucking it in the lapels of your coat. in your hair, fingers gently brushing your cheek. in your breast pocket. 

you know it to be a blatant claim. here you are, proud descendent of the ash dynasty, allowing him to own you. you tell yourself it’s only for a few months. that, whatever the outcome may be, there’s no way that damned prize will escape you. you ignore the growing ache between your thighs, the way you lean into snow’s touch when he leads you back home. 

let him think he’s playing you like a fiddle. let him think he’s turned your own game against you. let him think, and weaponize the truth to your advantage. 

you have very few things left to your name. pride is one of them. you won’t discard it for his name.

what you will do is this. you will sit next to him in class, head held high, legs crossed under your skirt. you will not pretend you’re not enjoying the way his gaze burns into you whenever you turn one of his arguments against him in rhetoric class. oh, rhetoric.

etched in white remnants of chalk against the blackboard is the question you’ll have to treat today. there’s silence in the class, as you all take it in.

what are the hunger games for?

date’s fourth of february. in five months, maybe, you’ll get an answer that doesn’t rely solely on theory. that doesn’t rely on the minds of know-it-all, privileged bastards whose only experience of life has been luxury. for now, your only choice is to take your seat next to coriolanus snow and lean back ever so slightly, trying not to roll back your eyes.

they talk, all of them. felix ravinstill, arachne crane. 

the hunger games are a proud display of savages from the districts—to remind us that we are better than them.

clemensia dovecote. lysistrata vickers.

the hunger games are a reminder of what befalls the districts. that they should not stand against the capitol.

sejanus plinth.

it’s barbaric.

at that, your attention shifts. you focus on him, the one from district 2. the one whose father’s wealth was enough to bring to the capitol. the one with the dark curls and passionate fire in his eyes—he dreams of justice and fairness. interesting.

he doesn’t talk. no, he argues. finally someone who understands the noble art of rhetoric.

“putting them in an arena to fight—they’re doomed the moment their names are chosen! it’s inhumane, having them slaughter each other for our own entertainment!”

you watch him, cheek cradled in your palm. he’d make a good lawyer, you muse. the naive, righteous type. 

you watch the others. the way arachne crane rolls her eyes so far back in her skull you think they’ll stay stuck. the way felix ravinstill snickers, barely conceals his disdain for the district boy, for daddy’s precious boy. it’s palpable, the way they all disregard him. doesn’t matter if he’s wealthier than half the class—he’s district.

“what about you, ash?”

fucking snow.

you glance at him, from the corner of your eye. he’s been watching you, too. wonderful mise en abîme. you watch them, he watches you. who watches him? are you all being watched?

ah, he’s waiting. they all are. as if your opinion matters to them. as if it matters at all. but you have to put on your usual show, display your wit. so you lean back against your chair, lips drawn in a sharp, sharp smile, and say:

“why, it’s a dreadful reminder of human nature is all.”

there’s silence, then. twenty-four gazes are on you, and they’re waiting. 

what are you, a messiah?

snow smile, judas dressed in red.

“go on, ash.”

you do, martyr thrown to the lions.

“so far, the general sentiment has been that we’re better than them, those savages from the districts—don’t look at me like that ravinstill, i’m only quoting you.” 

you pause. you can’t outright tell them they’re influenced by a centuries-long tradition of countless philosophers. you’ll lose their interest.

“we think they’re savages. we see what we think is proof—footage of the games, of how they use anything at their disposal to slaughter themselves for our own entertainment, as plinth wonderfully put it.”

you nod in his direction and watch the glint of confusion is his eye, perceptible even from afar. poor boy will be torn to shreds if he doesn’t learn to conceal his emotions better. this is the capitol—worse arena known to panem.

(you think of your father’s flesh being torn by a man-beast’s bloody teeth in what was supposed to be a beacon of civilisation. you think of the dark abysses of his eyes, of the silent promise in them – you’d be next.)

you intend to make that fact known to those oblivious to it.

“what makes you think that, put in the same circumstances, we wouldn’t turn ourselves into beasts to survive?”

there’s silence. there are twenty four gazes pinning you down to your seat. there’s coriolanus snow, blue eyes a shade darker than they were before you started talking. you meet his gaze and sense something shifting. it’s in the way he leans a tad bit closer, lips parted as though to speak – no. to taste.

“those are bold words from such a young lady, miss ash. you shouldn’t speak so lightly of such grave matters.”

you realise that in the brief time your gaze met snow’s, your classmates have looked up. up towards esteemed casca highbottom who stares you down, short silhouette all-encompassing. there’s something in his tone that makes your blood boil.

you smile, sweet and sharp.

“then maybe we shouldn’t brooch the subject in rhetoric class, sir.”

the odds switch and twist and turn with each passing second. you might get a glimpse of what’s in store in the way the dean’s hand trembles as it reaches in the recesses of his robe – morphine.

he gulps down the contents of the small vial in one go.

“class is dismissed for today.”

when you leave the room, you feel the weight of his gaze like a knife between your shoulder blades.

you don’t like the feeling of it.

**

philosophy’s only worth it if you’ve got someone to discuss with. unfortunately, you don’t. rhetoric class doesn’t count. after the dean’s impromptu interruption, you don’t get to debate. not anymore. instead, he makes you pour over law texts – capital punishments for traitors. you think of it as a warning and keep your mouth shut.

what you do enjoy is anatomy class. which is why you’re currently in the library, pouring over a heavy tome, nibbling on your lip as your fingers trace over the shape of a drawing. it’s beautiful, an inked figure detailing the different veins in the neck. jugular. internal. external. carotid artery. dorsal scapular artery. your finger follows the pattern, lips parted in an inaudible murmur as you stare ahead. inferior thyroid vein-

“what are you doing?”

fucking snow.

you have half a mind to throw him an annoyed glare and go back to your drawing.

“what does it look like?”

he raises an eyebrow. inquisitive bastard, that one.

“studying. badly.”

this time, you raise your head.

“and does the great coriolanus snow have a better way to memorise the anatomy of the cervical region? enlighten me.”

he slides on the bench next to you. close. close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him. to smell him. roses, as usual. the same fragrance of the roses he gives to you each time he notices one withers away. (you don’t tell him you’ve kept them. each of them, pressed neatly between the pages of what books remain of your family’s once grandiose library.)

he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing the pale expanse of his neck. pale as snow. how very fitting.

“well? Where’s the external jugular?”

you let out a chuckle and move closer to him, until your fingers trail down his neck, following the path of his vein.

“what’s next, snow?”

he gulps, adam apple bobbing up and down ever so slightly. Leans into your touch as he glances down at the book – your fingers dig into his neck, until you feel his pulse, quick as the fluttering wings of a jay bird.

“inferior thyroid vein.”

there’s no pattern to the veins he’s asking you to map out on his skin. your fingers move slightly to the left. if you squint, you can make out its contours, faint blue line under the pale, pale skin. You wonder if you’d see it better if you’d blow on it. you do, softly, until you feel his breath catch in his throat – he coughs.

“next.”

“anterior jugular vein.”

you chose to start your path from the bottom, lightly pressing your finger over the button of his shirt – not yet undone, this one. you trail up.

“next.”

“external carotid artery.”

you chuckle at that. Ssomehow, you’ve moved closer to him. His hand has come to rest on your hip, steadying you as you trace the patterns that make up his life. you look up at him. he meets your stare, stark blue eyes darkening. pretty, deadly eyes.

“do you know the difference between the jugular vein and the carotid artery, snow?”

you move to his jaw, pressing your fingers lightly against the bone, until you’re all but cradling his face between your hands, a breath away from his lips.

“tell me.”

“the carotid’s harder to reach with a knife.” you lean forward. his eyes dart to your lips. “however, If i were to succeed, it would take you two minutes to die.”

when you lean back, you’re the one smiling.

"thank you for helping me study, snow. it's been most... enlighting."

[marvelsuperfangirl]

Bucky Barnes’ Fic Rec

 A/N I’m creating this fic rec mostly to be able to find all my favourites without too much trouble, hope you’ll enjoy it as well!

By the way, I didn’t write any of those fics, all the writers are credited and their blog linked to make it easier for y’all to find their work.

New fics will be added here and there from time to time

Chubby!Bucky :

Chubby !bucky masterlist – ofstars and vibranium

Buckycuddlebuddy – chubby !bucky masterlist (chubby!bucky)

Chubby!Bucky x Personal Trainer!Reader - boxofbonesfic

Spoiling Chubby!Bucky - angrythingstarlight

Chef’s Kisses - ofstarsandvibranium (chef!bucky)

Roommate!Bucky :

And they’re roommates – golden-barnes

So, This is love - ofstarsandvibranium

“My turn ons?...”   -  persuasivus

Favorite Mug - ladyvesuvia

Student!Bucky :

Disturbances - toastedkiwi  (college!bucky)

Twelve - toastedkiwi (collge!bucky)

Study skills – jobean12-blog

Roommates - Kaikat (student!bucky) 

Interested -  imaginedocx (college!chubby!bucky) 

No Such Thing - sanguineterrain (college!bucky) 

Her name - barnestruck

Softcore - kaikat

Naive - sebystann

Save Me - espinosaurusrexex

Biker!Bucky :

And he’s feeling good – angrythingstarlight (biker!bucky)

All Bikers are Hell’s Angels -  sweet-barnes (biker!bucky)

The boogeyman and other monstrosities - pellucid-constellations

Biker!Bucky smut - holylulusword 

Fighter!Bucky :

Fight for You - revengingbarnes

Angel - toastedkiwi (ufcfighter!bucky)

Prize – metalbuckaroo (fight club!bucky)

  Artist!Bucky (artist, tattoo artist, musician...) :

Timid Touch - aries-writingblog (artist!bucky)

Petals and Ink - onceuponastory (tattoo artist!bucky)

Lotus Flower Bomb - nexusnyx (musician!bucky)

Groupie Luv -  qyllenhaal  Smut  (rocker!bucky)

Make it count - serpienten

  Coffee!Shop / Bar AU :

Bucky with a smiley face - winterdrag0n

Perfect Blend - moonlightsolo

gin, tonic & a lemon on top - romantic-barnes

Favorite Bar - westviewtroubles

On the job - gentlybarnes

The regular - angie-likes-to-art

How you get the girl – barnesafterglow

Mafia!Bucky :

Barnes Bakery - hallowdeaths  (Mafia!Bucky) series

Mafia Bucky & Tattoos - angrythingstarlight

Kinanabinks’ Mob!Bucky Series

Mafia!bucky / « leaving notes in each other’s lunch box when they know i twill be a steessful day at work »  - lokithealligator

Alpha!Bucky :

Break Lights - boxofbonesfic

Zealous-whispers-of-us-redux  - Masterlist ( alpha!bucky  x vampire!reader )

How they met.. - angrythingstarlight

Medical!Bucky:

Flashing Light - pellucid-constellations

Convalescence - pellucid-constellations

Drunk in love - toastedkiwi

How you get the girl - captainscanadian

Athlete!Bucky :

For the love of the game - pellucid-constellations

Out of bounds - foreverindreamlandd (athlete!bucky) 

Anger issues – hailhydra920

Beefy!Bucky :

Beefy!Florist!Bucky Universe - navybrat817

Beefy Burrito - jobean-12

Soul tie (A hair tie love story) - jobean-12

Soul tie 2 - jobean-12

Soul Tie 3 - jobean-12

Whatta Man (Soul Tie 4) - jobean-12

Alpha!Bucky :

Being alpha!bucky’s soulmate – thefanbasewhore

snuggles - toastedkiwi

Miscellaneous :

Here’s looking at you, kid - boxofbonesfic

Mr Grinch -  alisonsfics (enemy!bucky)

Snowfall, softly - sweetdreamsbuck (lumberjack!bucky)

Neighborly Behavior - angrythingstarlight (neighbour!bucky)

Learn your lesson  - avengersfangirlimagines (avenger!bucky)

“My turn ons?...”   -  persuasivus

Waiting it out - ofstarsandvibranium

Five confessions Bucky makes - capatinrogerss (avenger!bucky)

motioncvpture - “Don’t come in...”

Morning Kisses - Buckybleu  (avenger!bucky)

It’s too early for this shit - persephonesinfernos

Moderator – toastedkiwi (streamer!bucky)

Cowboy !Bucky / I.IG.Y.M.H.W.Y.T.I.A.M.M.T.H.M.I.T.W – mcuimaginesandstuff

Unlovable - thewxntersoldier (Bestfriend!Bucky)

Barrister’s beau – jadedvibes (lawyer!bucky)

Simply delicious – 440mxs-wife (chef!bucky)

Getting scared gone too far – subwaysurf45

Favorite - barnestuff

main thing baby – nexusnyx

your roommate’s boyfriend – schmucksbucks

“what are you going to do, sue the ghost?” – vibraniumcollar (sugar daddy!bucky)

[mykinkyyandere]

five and y/n’s talk about her more chaotic behaviors with watching the butterfly and all that?

AO3

Warnings: Yandere, kidnapped reader, daddy kink, grown-up Five

⠀

"Here baby, come sit on my lap." He grabs your waist and pulls you towards him. He holds your chin with his other hand and makes you look at him.

"From now on I don't let you to get excited about anything on your own. Hey, hey... Don't argue and listen to me before you cry, okay? Yeah, good girl." He strokes your hair and then holds your cheek.

"You have to let me know even your slightest move. You asked for it, baby. You're so careless. I can't help thinking you're trying to escape from me. Now give daddy a kiss."

[iwantjaketosullyme]

𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅱ: ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ᴛᴜʀɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴀ

➺ pairing: aged up!lo'ak x f!metkayina!reader (fluff) ➺ series summary: lovesick!lo'ak does all he can to win the heart of oblivious!reader ➺ chapter summary: ❝ If one movie trope is true then surely they all are, right? ❞ (w/c: 1.6k) ➺ warnings: drowning (for like 2secs), mention of near death experience, lo'ak's general lack of brain cells (he gets it from his daddy🤭) a/n: lo'ak romcom shenanigans officially ensue !! extra helping of lovesick!lo'ak with an appetiser of neytiri nd lo'ak mother/son moment nd a sprinkle of jake x neytiri bc they're my parents fr. does this count as a fix-it fic?? bc neteyam is v much alive nd well in this lmao. na'vi dictionary at the end :)

« 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬┃𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭┃𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 »

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Before he knows it, Lo’ak feels the warmth of your arms around his middle and although he is not in the optimal position to enjoy it, drowning and all, his heart soars at the feel of your touch. You haul the both of you towards the surface, soft legs brushing alongside his as you kick and kick and kick, mind set on getting him to safety.

Lo’aks ears perk up as they register the whistle-click sound of you calling for a nearby tsurak. Now above water, he has just enough wherewithal to look up and watch as Niie dutifully responds to your call with her speedy appearance. Traitor.

Small gasps of air are just about enough for him to regain some cognizance, eyes watching curiously as Niie allows you to make tsaheylu and mount her without so much as a fuss. In your rush to attach yourself and your impromptu rescuee to Niie securely, you do not realise his partial recovery.

As you breathe methodically, attempting to stay calm as per your training, you assume that the glazed-over look in his eyes is from Lo’ak coming in and out of consciousness and instruct Niie to make for the village, urgency communicated through the sacred bond.

His mind races as he feels your body pressed up against his. You had propped him up in front of you, so that his back would be leaning against your front, seated on top of Niie. He processes the situation and begins to fantasise about you, his sweet saviour. What he would do to kiss your inviting lips. Perhaps when you get back to shore you’ll be so desperate to save him you’ll give him mouth to mouth, just like in the movies. 

That’s it!, Lo’ak muses to himself. All I have to do is play it up! If one movie trope is true then surely they all are, right?, he thinks naively. Though he may have grown substantially over the past five years in both stature and mental strength, he still had the emotional intelligence of an adolescent Na’vi.

Paired with the idealistic nature of tawtute romantic movies, this makes for an interesting combination, to say the least. Intent on fulfilling his desires, he enacts his half-baked plan with gusto.

He gently turns his head so that it lolls to the left and rests on your shoulder. Bleary eyes look up at you as he smiles deliriously, further selling the idea of him being out of it by rolling his eyes into the back of his head dramatically. He hears you murmur a soft “Oh, Great Mother” and smiles inwardly, willing Niie to put her back into it so you can get to the village and he can get his kiss sooner.

Finally reaching the village shore, Lo’ak remains in character, pressing his eyelids firmly shut as you let out a short grunt, heaving his body off of Niie. You lug him onto the sanctuary of sand, so caught up in your aim of helping him that you do not hear Ao’nung’s concerned and confused shouts as he runs towards you.

Going into autopilot, you lay him flat on the sand and sharply press a flattened palm just under the ‘X’ of his ribs. Without a moment’s delay, your harsh jab jerks his lungs into action.

Before he has a chance to register that his plan is failing spectacularly, he sits up, torso rising out of reflex as he hacks up short bursts of water. The image of his mouth opening and closing reminds you of a baby payoang and despite your efforts, you do not succeed in hiding your amusement.

Lo’ak’s ears begin to ring from the unexpected purge of water from his lungs and his hearing clears just as Ao’nungs bellowing laughter and your sweet giggles reach his ears that are folded back in embarrassment. He wallows in self-consciousness for a second, before allowing himself to bask in the warmth of your gaze as you look down at him and ask if he is okay.

After giving you a hurried “Irayo!”, Lo'ak immediately makes for the Sully family marui, eager to recount his story to somebody, anybody. As he approaches the marui, he sees a full head of braided hair through the slightly ajar opening. Must be Neteyam. He lengthens his strides, entering the marui with an excited “Ayo bro, you won’t believe what just happ-” 

He is swiftly cut off by a mildly irritated “I am not your bro. I am your mother, boy” and as he walks in fully he is met with a disapproving look only a mother could execute perfectly. 

“Ma- Ma sa’nok,” Lo’ak stutters, caught off guard and still recovering from the somewhat traumatic experience he’d had less than half an hour ago. “Oel ngati kameie.” He greets her respectfully, bringing his fingers to his forehead and hoping it’s enough to stave off whatever bone she has to pick with him now.

When she abandons the root vegetable she was chopping, rises from the woven mat she was previously seated on and stalks up to him like predator to prey, he knows he has no chance. Eywa help him.

“What kind of time do you call this? I thought I told you it was your turn to help me prepare lunch today?” Oh, right. He had set out for the water so early, day had not yet broken. When he cranes his neck to look to the sky now, he realises it is mid-afternoon. With all the excitement of the day he had forgotten the promise he made to his mother.

Neytiri’s beads clack against each other, head moving in sync with her questioning, whole body communicating her displeasure. “Or is my adult son incapable of keeping his word?”

As the scathing words depart from her mouth, Neytiri instantly regrets them. She knows that ever since the return of the Sky People had nearly threatened his brother’s life, Lo’ak had done everything in his power to avoid disappointing his parents. Even betraying his naturally adventurous and rebellious spirit to do so. Inching towards him slowly, her eyes search for his after seeing his head drop, jaw setting stubbornly and eyebrows furrowing. A look from Lo’ak she knows all too well. 

When he eventually braves eye contact with her, he is relieved to find the apologetic question lurking within them – will you forgive me? 

With a gentle sigh, he drops his head forward, leaning down so that it rests on her shoulder. He mumbles a quick, but sincere, “’m sorry sa’nok” into her shoulder, her hand coming up to lovingly caress the back of his head. She lets out an appreciative hum as the two sway back and forth, before resuming their conversation with an inquisitive “So what was it that you were so desperate to say that you mistook me for your tsmukan, eh?” And with that, Lo’ak tells her all about you.

He speaks of the embarrassment he still feels warming his cheeks, considering the fact that he spent the first ten minutes of meeting you staring like a creep and the next ten flapping about like a payoang struck by the fateful arrow of a crossbow. Deciding to be vulnerable with her, he tells her of Cupid’s arrow of love that he has heard of in multiple tawtute movies, how he knows he too has been struck by it.

Of course, she asks to know who this ‘kyoopid’ is (she refuses to watch tawtute trash) and to his dismay, his explanation is met by an affronted “Eywa is the only divine being!” before she warns him that she had better hear him sing the loudest at communal worship in the coming evening. 

He groans playfully, allowing himself to find amusement in his mother’s idiosyncrasies before insisting that Eywa does not want to hear his croaky voice. The mother and son wile away the time, preparing lunch together while Lo’ak bares his heart to her, telling the story of his newest love to his oldest love.

As the cooking of the meal nears completion, Neytiri’s tender gaze meets her son’s and she asks, “What is the name of this girl then? So I can thank her for saving my skxawng son?” And interrogate her to see if she is fit to mate with the son of Toruk Makto, she adds in her mind.

It is with that query that Lo’ak realises that he did not, in fact, ask you for your name. He never will beat those ‘skxawng’ allegations, will he? In an uncommon moment of romantic flair, he tells her about the Greek goddess of love, Aphrodite (Kiri had been talking his ear off about Greek lore since she found a book about Greco-Roman mythology from Grace’s recovered belongings). As if experiencing an epiphany, he decides that this will be his nickname for you. After all, you danced like you too, were born of the sea. 

While Neytiri insists that she will not allow her ears to be poisoned with any more tawtute nonsense, she is secretly happy that she is the first to hear of Lo’ak’s romantic developments and makes a mental note to laud it over Jake in the near future.

Soon enough, it is late afternoon and the Sullys are all gathered to eat the meal prepared with love. When Jake hears the story, he cheekily remarks with his typical refined rasp, “Y’should thank your old man for those good ol’ Sully genes that make a pretty girl wanna save ya, boy” as he directs a wink across the table at Neytiri, ignoring the indignant chorus of "Dad!" chimed by his disgusted children.

Used to his jesting by now, Neytiri rolls her eyes and retorts, “If not for the Great Mother you would be long dead by now, skxawng.” The marui fills with the joyous laughter of the four children – Neteyam’s brief chuckle, Kiri’s amused scoff, Lo’ak’s mocking guffaw and Tuk’s high-pitched titter. As Lo’ak observes his parents, he lets his mind wander and begins to imagine what domestic life with you would look like. For you, he decides, he’s happy to never beat those skxawng allegations.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

na’vi dictionary

tsurak- skimwing // tsaheylu- sacred neural bond // tawtute - sky person, sky people // payoang - fish // irayo- thank you // marui - tent // sa’nok - mother // oel ngati kameie - I see you // tsmukan- brother // toruk makto - rider of last shadow // skxawng - idiot 

© iwantjaketosullyme tumblr 2023

☼ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵:

@heirtothekingdom , @bebkyu , @amiah24 , @inlovewithpandora , @alathan13 , @girlnred , @ggujkie , @aemondhoe , @malandrinhass , @itsyagirl01 , @mookiepookiesblog , @idekstopasking , @thelxnelyworld , @whitch123 , @camila-alejandra26 , @draiochtwrites , @leoloeleosworld , @seokmin130

𝘭𝘮𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰/𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 <3

[septembersums]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐲 9 | 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤

| MINORS DNI | taglist | masterlist | wc: 2.9k | part 1 |

pairing: toji fushiguro x reader

summary: you've never met your mysterious sugar daddy, but you know that you're lucky to have found one who's so fucking hot. he's dangerous, but you like dangerous-- you like him.

or...

toji decides it's the perfect day to pay his pretty baby a visit. he's waited more than long enough to fuck her.

content: | gun play | smut | public sex | rough sex | facefucking | blowjob | vaginal sex | mirror sex | afab reader | accidental creampie | sloppy sex | sex worker reader | sugar daddy toji | guns as sex toys | toji fucks you in a lingerie store |

an:: there's a part 1 to this fic, but feel free to read it as a standalone ;)

| ao3 | discord | twitter | main | kofi |

Things got more serious with your anonymous subscriber after that night, more personal, more intimate. Whereas before, he'd drop into your stream once a week to give you some cash and some compliments, it was impersonal and distant.

Now, you're talking throughout the day every day, and more at night.

Giving him your phone number might've been a mistake, given your line of work and the amount of money that he has, but he has this irresistible charm about him that you can't seem to shake yourself from thinking about.

There's also this sense of danger that you get from him that's equal parts terrifying and exciting all at once. He doesn't tell you what he does for a living, and you're afraid to ask.

That's not to mention... The money. You're not naive enough to think that someone has that much disposable income without doing some shady shit to get it.

It's enough that you're looking at new apartments, enough that you're buying yourself expensive jewelry on a regular basis, enough that you're carrying a versace handbag now, and you don't even have to worry about the price.

You find yourself getting so comfortable with him that you almost don't worry about being frugal anymore.

And he doesn't ask for much in return for being your glorified sugar daddy, all he wants is the ability to see your body whenever he asks. If he asks to see your tits at work, by all means you run off into the dressing room and show off for him.

Even though he's seen every part of your body already on your streams, he still wants more from you. You accused him of being greedy once or twice as a tease, and he wholeheartedly agreed.

He is greedy, he wants it all.

A couple months pass, and you learn things about him that you never thought you would. For instance, he's thirty-five, a bit older than you (a little over ten years older, to be precise).

Sometimes he sends you pictures of himself, but only from the lower half of his face down. He's usually smoking a cigarette, showing off his scarred chest and abdominal muscles.

There's a scar that runs perpendicular with his face, through the right side of his pretty lips, moving down his chin. You subconsciously find yourself looking for people who have that matching scar when you're walking down the street, but to no avail.

His abs are so well defined that you can imagine how they'd feel under your tongue. He's muscular and tall, vascular everywhere, but especially right around his happy trail.

Your sixth sense was so right, he's hot, hotter than he could've been in your wildest dreams.

He's got veins and ridges that lead toward his cock that you'd love nothing more than to run the flat side of your tongue along, before moving lower and sucking his--

The bell at the front door rings, letting you know that someone's walked into the shop. You shake the unholy thoughts away, straightening out your shirt before you greet them.

"Hi, welcome in to..." your voice trails off, your eyes widen, you shake your head and finish your greeting quickly, telling him your name and asking if he's looking for anything in particular.

He's tall with black hair and thin, green eyes. He's wearing a black face mask, but his eyes crinkle up like he's smiling when he sees you. He's wearing a black sweater, black pants, and combat boots. The only colorful thing in his ensemble are those mesmerizing emerald eyes of his.

You must've been hit with a random wave of deja vu when you saw him, because you could swear that he's familiar...

"Nah, I'm just looking around. Thanks, baby," he says with a friendly gaze, or at least you think it is...?

The mask hides the majority of his features-- most importantly, it hides his mouth, which is the part of him that you're most interested in seeing right now.

But it can't be him. If it were, that would either be one hell of a coincidence, or a terrifying breech of boundaries that you'd rather not think about.

"Alright," you answer, trying to sound chipper, "just let me know if you need help finding anything."

He looks around for a minute, and you realize how incredibly alone you are in this store right now. You're the only one working today, after all. It's a small boutique, it's not rare for you to be the only person here.

But now it's just you, and this mysterious, large man who's wandering through the aisles and sneaking cheeky glances at you when he notices you're staring at him.

He catches you staring for the third time since he's walked in, you mutter a "shit," to yourself, as you turn around and try to make yourself look busy.

In reality, you're just pretending to fold thongs that don't need to be folded and biting your cheek like it's going to be your last meal.

"Actually, I might need your help after all," he purrs, now standing behind you and startling you.

"Shit-- I mean, sure! Of course. What-- uh-- what are you looking for?"

You curse yourself for stammering, but dear god he's so large and intimidating. When he's standing right in front of you, you can clearly see that your head is about level with his pectoral muscle. He must be a foot taller than you, and so broad that he blocks the warm, sensual overhead lighting.

He looks around at the aisles and displays that are filled with nothing other than bras, panties, bodysuits, and thongs, and he comes to his decision.

"Lingerie, I guess."

You mentally slap yourself. Well, duh, of course he's looking for lingerie in a lingerie shop.

"Sure, yeah, of course," you mutter, coming around the counter to help him out, "is there a style or a color you're looking for?"

As you move through the different sections sort of hastily and nervously, he leisurely strides behind you, seeming to take pleasure in how nervous you are.

"What do you like?" He asks. His voice is sweet and smooth like molasses on your tongue.

"I... like all of it," you answer diplomatically, "because I work here, of course. These in particular have been popular this month," you state, guiding him towards the newest and most expensive bodysuits.

"Black lace with intricate patterns to accentuate your curves. They're elegant, sexy, and... crotchless," the last word comes out accidentally, but the man chuckles regardless.

"Hmm," he hums, leaning over your shoulder to look at the fabric in your hands, "and why would they be crotchless?"

He smells like dior, you think, but there's a hint of cigarette smoke overtop of it.

Oh, fuck.

"You... can't think of a reason?" You ask, testing the waters a little playfully.

"I can think of several," he replies, "but I wanna hear you say it."

His arm slips around you, and you watch with baited breath as his larger hand encloses yours. And you know these hands-- you know the vein that pops out on this thumb, you know these deeply scarred knuckles.

"For fucking," you reply softly, as his other hand wraps around your waist, pulling your back tightly against his chest, "it's made like this so that you can get fucked when you're wearing it, without having to take it off."

There's a rumble in his chest sort of like a growl, as he runs his nose along the junction where your shoulder and neck meet, inhaling your scent deeply.

"You shouldn't have come here, Toji," you mutter quietly, as his hot breath sends shivers crawling up the length of your spine, settling on the back of your neck.

"Mm, you're right," he hums against the side of your neck, having pulled his mask down at some point while you weren't paying attention, "and I shouldn't have locked the door behind me when I walked in, either."

"You did that?"

You hadn't even noticed-- too busy trying to figure out if he was who you were hoping him to be, but he locked the door and turned the sign around to closed.

"Mhm," he purrs, pressing a featherlight kiss to your pulse, "go try this on for me, baby."

"What if I don't want to?" You ask indignantly, trying to hold onto some semblance of self-respect before you inevitably fuck this man at your workplace.

"Oh, you don't want to?" He laughs against your earlobe.

A scarred hand moves lower, thrusting itself into your panties. You gasp, your knees threaten to buckle, as he toys with the wetness that's pooling in your underwear.

"You say that," he mutters huskily, "but your body tells me you're lying. Look at you, creaming all over my fingers like a whore."

"Fuck, Toji," you moan, pressing your face against his neck, "don't stop."

He's a bad listener, because he stops right as you say that, retracting his fingers from inside of you. He turns you around, thrusting his slick-covered fingers into your mouth.

You suck on them diligently, running your tongue along his fingers and between them, giving him lovestruck, wide-eyed stare as you do so.

"Fuck, you're hot," he hisses impatiently, as he grabs your waist and crushes his lips to yours.

His kiss is deep and fierce, your tongue laves over the scar on his lips, he moans when you do so. He licks your tongue and explores your mouth, sharing the taste of your cum between the two of you.

When he pulls back, there's a string of spit between your kiss-swollen lips, and his hands are gripping both of your asscheeks aggressively.

"Go put on something sexy for me," he demands, slapping your ass hard with one of his big hands before pushing you away from him and towards the dressing room.

You resist the urge to giggle at the absurdity of it all, as you finish fastening the straps of the lace bodysuit you chose for yourself, crotchless of course.

When you step out from behind the curtain wearing nothing but lingerie, thigh-high stockings, and the heels you just so happened to choose today, Toji practically growls at the sight of you. The sound that escapes him is nothing less than animalistic.

"Fuck, I've wanted you for so long now," he rasps, as you approach him, "get on your fuckin' knees for me."

He's sitting on a seat right in front of the big mirrors at the end of the hallway, waiting for you with his legs spread and a salacious grin on his face. You listen to his command, lowering yourself down to your knees in front of him.

"May I?" You ask, running your hands along the tops of his thighs, moving towards his belt.

He puts his hand on your wrist right before you reach his belt-buckle, grinning at you somewhat mischievously. You scrunch your brows up in question, as he reaches down and removes a fucking gun from his waistband.

"Were you expecting things to go badly today?" You ask, trying to lighten your own momentary panic with a joke.

"Not with you, baby,” he purrs, watching your eyes follow the gun with intrigue as he holds it in his big hands, "wanna touch it?"

"What's it for?" You ask, running your fingertip along the smooth metal barrel luxuriously.

Toji smirks down at you, "What do you think?"

It's the danger about him-- that's what gets you every fucking time. The feeling in your stomach where you know that you should run in the opposite direction, far, far away from this man, but you don't want to.

“Is it loaded?”

“Always.”

You watch his movements, making sure his finger stays away from the trigger, as you turn the barrel towards yourself. You're dripping slick onto the stone flooring beneath you, as you run your tongue along the side of the gun seductively, holding eye contact with him.

"God, baby," he groans, "you're fucking crazy, huh?"

Instead of answering, you kiss the tip, before sucking it into your mouth. Your lipstick smears along the barrel, just like it does on those sex toys you suck for him.

"So fucking hot," he breathes, "you trust me that much, baby? I could kill you right now."

You groan along the barrel, before slipping it out of your mouth, watching the string of saliva link your lips to the glistening metal.

"You won't kill me," you reply, reaching underneath his arms to unzip his pants, "I trust you... At least enough to let me suck you off first.”

"Mm, fuck, you might be right about that," he groans, as you free his cock from his briefs.

It’s bigger than even the pictures made it seem. Thick and pretty with a few prominent veins running along either side.

You slide your tongue along his length, moving from the tip to the balls in wet strokes, before sucking the head into your mouth. You bob your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks so that your mouth suctions around his cock perfectly.

He moans, grabbing a fistful of your hair and forcing you to take it deeper, all the way down to the base. He's groaning with every bob of your head, all the saliva that's dripping down his length.

"Fuck, that's it," the growls, "that's it-- deeper-- relax your fuckin' throat, just like that. Just like that."

Tears stream down your cheeks, as you take his as deep as he can possibly go, and he fucks up into your mouth like he'll die if he doesn't fit as much cock as he can into you at once.

"Goddamn, baby, fuck that's good," he growls, before using his grip in your hair to pull you off of him entirely. His hand grips the base of his cock, holding it tight so he doesn't cum on your face.

He's panting now, his cheeks are flushed pink, and his cock is leaking precum.

"Ride me right fucking now," he orders, pulling you up onto his lap, "as much as I wanna cum on your pretty face, I need to feel this pussy for myself."

You're already dripping when he reaches between your thighs to massage your cunt, shoving two fingers inside of you a little aggressively. You bounce up and down on top of them, bracing your hands on his shoulders.

"Look," he grunts, grasping your jawline with two fingers, forcing you to turn your head around and look at your reflection, "watch."

In the mirrors, you can see his thick cock pulsing against your entrance, you can see yourself straddling his lap, your asscheeks spread apart by his hands. You can see the cum dripping from your hole down onto the tip of his cock, so wet and ready for him to fuck you.

And then he grabs your waist, impaling your smaller body onto the thick length of him. You watch it enter you, inch by inch, thicker and wider than any toy you have. He hits your cervix when he's fully sheathed inside-- you can feel it.

"Your pussy is so tight," he groans, bouncing you up and down on his wet cock, "so fucking tight-- so fucking good-- even better than I imagined it when I was fucking my fist to those videos of you."

"Fuck, Toji-- Fuck-- Fuck--" You're moaning and falling apart already. The tears on your cheeks haven't even dried yet, and he's breaking you in half with this monstrous third leg of his.

He touches you everywhere, but he gropes your ass the most, holding your asscheeks apart so that he watch himself impaling your cunt with every bounce of your body.

He likes seeing how much he stretches your pussy out when he drives himself into you, he likes watching your face contort with pleasure like it does every other night, he likes watching your tits bounce and inevitably fall out of that bodysuit.

When you cum on him, it's a gush and a cry of his name, and he fucks you through it like a man fresh out of prison, a man fresh out of hell. He kisses you deeply, searching the inside of your mouth like there's gold inside of you that he'll fuck out if he tries hard enough.

He massages your clit, he bounces you along the length of his cock until your legs shake, and you're gushing and creaming around him again, and again.

He won't last much longer, he's soaked in you and biting down on your neck while you wrap your arms around his, boneless and just taking whatever he gives you. He's panting and growling against your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth.

"Gonna cum, baby-- fuck, i'm gonna cum," he moans, "where do you want it? Hm?"

But no, it doesn't matter where you want it. It matters where he wants it, and he's already pulling you off of his cock, back down to your knees again, shoving himself into your mouth.

You take him willingly, desperately, staring up at him with hollowed cheeks while he bucks into your mouth only three times before gripping your head with both hands and cumming down your throat. You gulp and swallow, as he fucks his release onto your tongue.

"That's it, fucking swallow it for me-- yes, yes, yes, take it-- take it-- fuck--" he growls, watching some of it dribble out of your nose when you pull away.

Panting for air, he takes a look at you in the mirror, on your knees before him. The lighting in the dressing room is immaculate, so maybe that's why he sees a little bit of his own cum leaking out of your pussy onto the black floor beneath you.

You're cleaning him up with your mouth, as he gazes down at you affectionately.

Oh, well, doesn't really matter if he didn't pull out in time. He was always going to make you his. If something happens... well, that's just more incentive for you to say yes.

taglist: @septembersummer | @violetsaffron5 | @lilithlunas | @blackdxggr | @mimizsworld | @km7474 | @lemonlover1110 | @levixbby | @nobody289x |

[wttcsms]

💖 second couple syndrome! one shot event;

˗ˏˋ second couple syndrome ´ˎ˗ when you find yourself rooting for/being more invested in the secondary couple as opposed to the main pairing

˗ˏˋ about this event ´ˎ˗ just like how secondary couples don't get much screen time to develop their story, this event is accepting requests only for characters that are underloved, underappreciated, and/or undervalued. whether it's because they're forgotten by the fandom in general, the fandom itself is underrated, or their canon screen time totals up to six minutes and five lines of dialogue, it doesn't matter. this event is their shot at being the main character and getting the happy ending for once!

˗ˏˋ more about this event ´ˎ˗ going with the secondary couple theme & playing on the fact that this is for the more "forgotten" characters, the prompt requests are going to be based on pairings that would most likely be the usual secondary couple's trope!

˗ˏˋ rules ´ˎ˗ -> this is for underrated characters only. while there's no hard min/max, if i look up your requested little guy and he has more than 4 pages worth of fics on ao3 or his tumblr x reader tag is very much still active, i don't want to see that request!! for ex: don't ask for oikawa or gojo. be so for real with me rn -> please specify whether you want nsfw or sfw. -> the prompts to pick from aren't hardcoded, meaning it doesn't have to be that specific au!! if you want, i can tailor it to canon, or if you kinda get the gist of what i was getting at, you can follow that pattern & create your own 'second couple pairing trope' &lt;;3 -> fandoms i write for: haikyuu, bnha, blue lock, cod, jujutsu kaisen, aot, genshin impact, honkai star rail

˗ˏˋ prompts to pick from ´ˎ˗ -> instead of the ceo x secretary, it's the ceo's right hand man x the secretary's bestie -> instead of the troubled pop star x heart of gold bf, it's the pop star's stressed out manager x pop star's equally stressed out publicist -> instead of the high ranking employee x lower ranked employee, it's the two interns who are both competing for the one full-time offer -> instead of the good girl x mysterious bad boy, it's the good girl's boy best friend (who's been hopelessly in love with her for a while) x the new girl in town who's her complete opposite -> instead of the college tutor x the athlete, it's the athlete's coach x the athlete's professor whose class they're failing -> instead of the dilf x babysitter, it's the newly divorced woman x her new hot neighbor that's always willing to lend a hand -> instead of the down on her luck stripper x rich ceo (who just happens to be at a strip club??), it's the sarcastic nightclub bouncer x babyfaced reader whose real ID he just broke -> instead of the barista x her future sugar daddy, it's the owner of the cafe x the owner of the cafe's biggest competitor -> instead of the lawyer x down on their luck client, it's the police officer x the district attorney -> instead of the mortal x the god, it's the two immortal gods who've had a bone to pick with each other for eons -> instead of the journalist x the celeb, it's the up and coming podcaster/social media star x their number one hater -> instead of the normal girl x the ceo getting into a marriage of convenience, it's the ceo's shopaholic sister x the normal girl's brother who happens to be the deliveryman -> instead of the hot, rich older man x the poor naive girl, it's the hot, rich older man x the spoiled heiress who's not so easy to impress or get -> instead of the maneater x womanizer, it's the happy go lucky lover girl x cute lovable idiot with zero game & has never had a girlfriend ever -> instead of the soldier x the civilian, it's the mercenary-for-hire x spy on the run -> instead of the knight x the princess, it's the king's royal advisor x the princess's lady-in-waiting

˗ˏˋ requests ´ˎ˗

[marvelcriminalhoe]

His Sinful Devotion

Part 5

Older! Dark! Church guy! Steve Rogers x Innocent! Naive! Preachers daughter! Reader

Warnings: Age gap, Dark, manipulation, dubcon-ish, power imbalance, Talks of god, talks of praying, talks of courtship. Steve is hardcore manipulative I’m serious, reader is hardcore innocent, groping, innocent kink(is that a thing???), praise kink, daddy kink. P & V action (but not sex). Naked humping (Is that how I describe this? idk) . I think that’s all? Idk let me know if I’m missing something. Obviously this is very much nsfw and 18+ only

AN 1: I posted this to my second account on mistake :/ so here it is again lol! If you're here for smut, its at the end. If you're here for storyline, it's at the beginning. If you're here for both, enjoy :)

Word count: 3,793 Series Masterlist

The annual church retreats happens every summer, starting during the first week of June. The church owns a small campground with a few single cabins, along with two dorm style cabins, one for the men and one for the woman, and one big cafeteria shared between all of them. 

The first retreat is the kids camp, where the all the church kids, ages 7-12 spend 3 nights, learning the layout of the Bible, pushing their bunk beds together to talk all night without getting in trouble, and playing down by the water in the sun. 

You loved those times when you were a kid. Those five days were really the only time you had friends all year, since your parents were so strict, and unlike the other kids who all went to school together, you were homeschooled. 

The next retreat is the teens camp, aged 13-18. They get to spend 5nights at the camp. They also have more class time, learning more about sin and the devil, how to not be like “the world”. Nights are spent sneaking into the kitchens for leftover dinners, days spent whispering about which boy or girl is cuter while trying to make it seem like you’re singing the right words during worship.

This is when retreat started being a little less fun for you. Cliques start to form around this age, teens usually sticking with the group of friends they have all year, which is something you weren’t accustomed to. But you still had fun, even if you were off reading passages while the other teens were whispering about crushes. 

The third week is for the single young adults, ages 19-24. They spend their 7 nights at camp, learning how to navigate the world and help turn more people to Jesus. There’s no sneaking out to the kitchens or whispering during worship. The Young adults that do go to retreat usually want some sort of career in ministry and enjoy the connections they make. They also might be looking for potential spouses, but it’s not as obvious as when you’re a teenager. 

The past two years, you’ve got to enjoy this retreat, make some acquaintances with people your age in the church. There’s a lot less games and lots more reading than the retreats passed, but you didn’t mind. 

This year however, you will be attending the adult retreat. It’s for ages 25 and up, but if happen to be younger than that and you are courting, engaged, or married, you can attend as well, since a lot of the courses during the 7 night stay are relationship based. 

Your parents thought it would be a good idea so you and Steve can attend some of the classes together. Steve also wanted you there, since he would be teaching some of the classes himself. Why would he spend 7 days away from you when he didn’t have to. 

It’s been about 2 months since Bucky’s visit, almost 3 months total of courting you, and Steve has you exactly where he wants you. You follow his every word, follow his every command without complaint. He felt like he hit the jackpot with you awhile ago, but now, molding you into the perfect little wife, he knows for sure. 

And after this week, everyone else will too, he’s sure of it. 

Steve hates the church retreat. Every year, same he attends, and every year it’s as if the single bachelorettes of the church vie for his attention. But this year, with you by his side, he’s almost looking forward to it.

Steve finishes packing his bag and grabs his phone, checking the time. He��s meant to be picking you up in 30 minutes, which gives him enough time to jack off before. He’s not sure if he will be able to sneak off with you this week, the retreat going to be packed with the rest of the adult congregation. He also didn’t think he would be able to stop himself if he had you blow him off on the way there. It’s only a 10 minute drive from your house to the camp grounds, and 10 minutes isn’t nearly enough. 

As he washes himself off, changing into a new set of clothes. He grabs his bag and drives to you. He’s quick to knock on your parents door and help you with your bag when you come out. 

“You look beautiful angel.” Steve smiles over at you as he gets back in. 

No matter how many times he’s complimented you, you still get flustered every time. You still don’t understand why Steve, this extremely handsome, most eligible bachelor of a man, has picked you out of every woman in the church. Steve is great, perfect even.

Sometimes though, you get a little, scared, of him. He’s never done or said anything hatful to you. He’s only ever been extremely sweet and loving. But one Sunday at church, when one of the men at church made you a little uncomfortable, Steve stepped in, and the way his voice got low and dark, paired with the murderous glare he had, sent a cold chill down your spine. 

But whenever you think of that moment, you shake it off. Steve is a wonderful church going man. He’s nothing short of perfect. 

“Thank you.” You return his smile, “you look very handsome as well.” 

Steve rests his hand on your thigh for the rest of the drive. When getting to the camp grounds, Steve kisses you sweetly after grabbing the bags out of the back, handing you yours. 

You split off, you going to the woman dorm as Steve heads to his private cabin. You can’t stay in the same cabin, considering you are only courting, so you will be in the dorm with the other women. 

You unpack your bag, making your bed on one of the lower bunks, smiling when it’s completed. The bunks are only twin beds, which can be a little uncomfortable when the springs poke into your back due to thin mattresses, but you don’t really complain about it. You have used the same twin sheets and comforter for the camp bed since you were 13. White with pink and yellow flowers embroidered all round. It’s almost like a tradition for you at this point, and it always makes you smile. 

As you turn around, you see Sharon at the bunk across from yours, unpacking her own things. 

“Hi Sharon.” You greet her.

She looks up from her suitcase, face falling when she sees you, “Oh, hi.” She blinks a few times, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, “I didn’t know you would be attending this retreat.”

“My parents believed it would be beneficial since me and Steve are courting.” You shrug. 

“Hmm.” Sharon nods, going back to unpacking her suitcase. 

You feel like she’s disappointed you’re here, and it makes you a little uncomfortable, but you shake it off, thinking she’s probably just tired. You bid her a goodbye as you head to the dinning hall, helping set things up for the week wherever you can. When you’re done, you head back to the dorms to wash for dinner, but stop when you enter through the door, hearing what’s being said in the room. 

“What is she, a child? Why is all her stuff so innocent looking.” 

“I know! I can’t believe she’s courting Steve.” 

“Well, she won’t be for long if I have anything to do about it. Steve wants a real woman, not some idiot little girl.” 

The woman in the 

Tears threaten to spill down your face, making you bump your shoulder into the door panel as you scramble to leave. You’re eye sight is blurry as you stare at your feet, sniffling and trying to get as far away from the dorms as possible. 

You know you aren’t the most sharp when it comes to relationships, mostly due to your upbringing, and you aren’t unaware of how people view you as naïve. The kids used to make fun of you, as if you wouldn’t understand the words they would spew. But you did, and this feeling, is not one you’ve learned to deal with well. 

You don’t understand why people feel the need to be rude and judge, especially with the fact you only ever really interact with people that are supposed to also be meme era of the same church. Supposed to follow the same ‘do not judge’ command. Sometimes you feel like you’re the only one that actually tried to do that. 

Maybe you are naive.

“Hey sweetheart!” You hear Steve’s voice call out to you. 

Steve.

You have Steve. 

He’s never once been mean to you or judges you. He’s only ever been caring and sweet. 

You wipe your cheeks as you look up, seeing a smiling Steve walking towards you. When he gets close enough to see your red eyes and puffy face, his smile turns to a frown, rushing to you and bringing you into his arms, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” You shake your head, burning it into his chest. The warmth in his arms is comforting, something you’ve found the last few weeks. 

“No.” Steve pulls you back, voice hard but eyes still soft on you, “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” 

You look down, trying to blink away the tears that want to fall again, mumbling out, “Th— the other woman were just saying some things.” 

“Saying what?” Steve asks. 

Were they making fun of you? 

Steve will not hesitate to hurt anyone that hurts you. No one can make you cry except for him, and he only wants to make you cry out of pleasure. 

“They said I’m not a real woman and the—they don’t kno— know why you’re courting me.” You let out in a broken whisper. 

All Steve can see is red. 

How dare they say such things to you. 

How dare they question him, question his actions. 

He wont stand for it. 

“Come on.” Steve grabs your hand, dragging you back to the dorms. You don't try to pull away, following obediently. Steve doesn't even bother knocking politely to make sure everyone was decent,not caring he wasn't technically allowed in the women's cabin. 

When the door swings open with a bang, Steve charging in, the women gasp. 

“Steve!” Sharon stands up, ending resting on her chest, “Goodness you scared up.” 

He does nothing but glare at her and her little group of bitter, single church woman. He pulls you in front of him, not turning his glare away from the others in the room when he addresses you, “Pack your things up, angel.” 

“Oh, is she leaving the retreat?” One of the woman speak up, watching as you move to follow the order. 

Steve can hear the underlining amusement in her question, and the red starts to turn to black, “No, she's not. She will be staying in my cabin, with me.” 

All the women’s eyes go wide at the harshness of his words, how scary he looks. 

“Do you think that’s appropriate?” Sharon speaks up, the only one that seems to not be affected by his tone, acting as if his eyes weren't piercing through her. 

Steve smirks darkly, turning to you, having finished repacking your bags and was now watching them all innocently, “Go stand outside sweetheart, I’ll be there in a second.” 

“Okay.” You nod. 

Steve waits until the door closes behind you before he moves his gaze back to the other four women, “This ends here. If you ever say or do anything the hurts her again, I will not hesitate to make you lives a living hell. And believe me, my hell is a lot worse than the one we preach about. Do I make myself clear?”

The woman all nod their heads, fear in 3 of their eyes, one with distaste. Steve leaves,heading outside and grabbing your bag from your hands and interlacing your fingers together as he leads you to the cabin he's been assigned. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Lets go get you settled, yeah?” 

“Steve,” You pull on his hand to get his attention, “I can’t stay with you. Its not proper.” Whispering the last sentence. 

Steve laughs softly, “It’s okay. I’ll handle it. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” 

And Steve means that. He’s not letting you out of his sight again. 

The cabin Steve was put in is very small, just a small lounge room, bedroom, and bathroom in it. All the furniture, like the rest of the cabins, is old and outdated.

By the time you've unpacked your bag again, it’s time for you and Steve to go to the dinning hall for dinner. 

Steve keeps you glued to his side all night, not that you complained. It’s something you've grown accustomed too since courting him. It’s probably normal to always want to be close to your significant other, so you assume that’s why Steve does it. 

One of the elders come up and ask Steve some questions regarding the reasoning for you not staying in the women dorms anymore, giving Steve a smile after he reiterates some of the story why, “You’re a good man Steve, looking out for your lady like that. That’s what a husband does.” 

“Thank you.” Steve shakes his hand, as the last sentence of the man runs through your mind. 

That’s what a good husband does.

You’ve only been courting Steve for a few months, but comments around the two of you getting married have been happening around the church more frequently. You’re not sure if you’re ready for marriage, ready to be a wife. 

But then again, it’s the one thing your parents have always tried to prepare you for. How to be the perfect church wife. 

It makes since, you suppose, that you and Steve will get married one day. Everything just happening much faster than you were aware. 

Are you in love with Steve though? 

Sometimes you think you are. You know you at least care for him deeply and you suppose that’s a part of being in love with someone. You do enjoy spending time with him, even when you get a little uneasy when he asks you to do things that seem bad. He always assures you it’s okay though, and you know Steve wouldn’t lie to you. 

He has no reason to. 

After dinner, Everyone heads to one of the outside chapels to listen to a message and sing some worship songs, before retiring to their beds. 

When you enter the cabin, you stop by the couch in the lounge room, “I should sleep here.” 

Steve furrows his brows at you, shaking his head, “Absolutely not.” 

“It’s more proper—“ 

“Angel.” Steve cuts you off, “What kind of man would I be if I had my girl sleeping on the couch when there’s a perfectly fine bed 10 feet away.” 

You shift awkwardly where you stand, “I just don’t want people to talk.” 

Steve smiles brightly, walking over to you and rubbing your arms in what he wants to be a comforting notion, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of anyone that says something bad.” 

“Okay.” You say quietly, Steve’s smile growing wider at your acceptance. You both quietly get ready for bed, changing your clothes and brushing your teeth. 

You’ve never shared a bed with anyone before, and as you crawl underneath the covers, you can’t help but be a little timid, staying almost on the edge of your side. 

When Steve gets in bed, he looks over at you and frowns, “Why are you all the way over there?” 

“I— I’m nervous.”

Steve chuckles, “Why you nervous, baby?” grabbing your arm softly and pulling you closer to him. 

You shrug, “I don't know. I’ve never shared a bed before. You aren't supposed to.” 

“Mmm.” Steve nods, tilting your chin up so you look at him as he tucks some of your hair behind your ear, “That’s true. But it’s okay for us to share a bed.” 

“It is?”

“Of course it is.” Steve smiles, “We just can’t have sex.”

Your eyes go wide at his words, putting you in a flustered state like every other time he uses such crass langue. 

Steve’s smile turns to a smirk as he gently pushes your back down onto the pillows and bed, moving himself to be positioned on top of you, “Which we won’t. But, since we do get to share a bed this week, we should at least have a little fun, right?”

You blink up at him as his hands move to the bottom of your sleep top, taking it off and throwing it to the floor, his mouth effectively finding your bare breasts underneath. This is something Steve has done before. One of those ‘‘you feel like you shouldn’t be doing’’ things from earlier. But it does feel good, and you trust Steve. 

A small moan leaves your lips, making Steve’s dick harden even more. He’s been hard since he he saw you crying earlier. He doesn't like that those women hurt your feelings, but he's not upset about the fact he gets to share bed with you all week, which give him the opportunity to do whatever he wants to you. 

Well, not whatever he wants, considering he can’t have sex with you. But he can still use your body for pleasure in other ways. 

And he will. 

He positions himself better between your legs, making them spread around him as his clothed hips meet yours. His hand massages one of your breasts and his mouth envelopes the other. He moans around your hardened nipple, savoring the breathless gasps from you. He switches to the other, making both your breasts plumb with his mouth. 

Once he is satisfied with your breasts, he uses his hands to get rid of your shorts, leaving you in only your underwear. His right hand goes to rub over your mound, making you closing your eyes as you arch your back into him at the feeling. He continues rubbing you over your underwear until an evident wet patch is formed.

His cock is unbearably stiff to a point he can’t handle anymore and he removes himself from you, throwing his clothes on the ground with yours. 

You’ve never been bare at the same time, and despite the fact you still have your underwear on, your heart starts beating faster out of the implication of what this might mean. 

“It’s alright.” Steve assures you, having seen the fear in your eyes at the lack of clothes for both of you, “Just need a little bit, Angel. Just a little release. We won’t have sex, promise.” 

He grabs the fabric of your panties, slowly moving them down your legs, until it’s discarded on the floor with the rest of the clothes. His voice is thick with lust and wanting, a sprinkle of darkness in it you don’t properly hear due to heartbeat in your ears, “Just need a little bit, baby.” He says, looking down at your body. But you don’t think he’s even really talking to you. 

He slowly, so slowly you think he’s waiting for you to say something, brings his hips closer to yours, groaning loudly at the contact of his bare skin on yours. He has to close his eyes so he doesn't just dive right in, taking you here and now. 

We can’t have sex.

Steve knows that. He knows he can’t just devour you right now. All of his plans would be ruined. But god does he want to. He didn't think anything could feel better than when he has your mouth around him. But this, his dick slowly sliding through the lips of your pussy? 

Heaven. He has entered heaven.

If anything, it just makes him harder at the thought of what it will feel like when he can actually be inside you. 

Steve rubs himself against harder, his cock finding a home between your lips and he groans, rubbing himself faster. He knows you’re getting something out of the friction too when your low whimpers turn to loud moans. He wants more, and needs a way to ground himself, grasping your wrists, forcing them above your head.

“God, baby.” Steve moans out, cock sliding through your wet lips. Hips rutting against yours almost painfully. His balls slabbing against you with each thrust, “Feel so good. My good girl. So good.” 

He looks down at you, and he thinks this is where you look the most perfect, underneath him, completely at his mercy. The friction of his cock rubbing against your clit causes you to shake as you come, and again, like the very first time he made you come, he relishes in the knowledge that he will be the only one to ever know how you look when you do. He will be the only one to ever make you come. 

“Steve.” You cry out in a whine as he continues to rub his cock over your clit, riding you through your orgasm. It’s too much, feels like to much for you. But Steve doesn't stop, instead, rubbing himself against you harder and faster.

“Just a little more, sweetheart.” His voice is hoarse as he tries to keep control of himself, “Let me just use you a little more, okay? Doing so good for me.” 

His words, his praise, the fact he hasn't stopping with his attack on your clit, all push you over the edge again, making you shake as practically shriek at the feeling of your second orgasm. You have to close your eyes due to the black spots in your vision. 

It pushes Steve over the edge, seeing you lose yourself like that, his head dropping down to your neck again as his finishes with you. His come spurts out over your stomach, thighs, and cunt, mixing his wetness with yours. 

He looks down to you as he starts to come down, blissed and covered in him, it makes him hard again, but he has some of his self control back. That control doesn’t stop him from rubbing his come over your breasts and stomach, mixing his own scent in with yours. He hums when he’s done, leaning down to give you a soft kiss to your lips and releasing your wrists. You’re desperately trying to stay awake, the festivities of two orgasms exhausting your body. 

Steve lays back down on his stomach, not bothering to clean either of you up. 

He wanted to mark you. 

He pulls you, so you’re laying on his chest and chuckles when you try to stay awake, “Sleep, sweetheart. We have all long week ahead of us.”

And Steve can’t wait for it.

********

Taglist: @mansaaay @sofi1sstuff @sidechrisporn @namelesssav @spencerreidsthings @withasideofmeg @sidechrisporn @dontbescaredtosingalong @katiebby04 @emberenchanted @1-800-punch-a-pimp @siriusjohnpotter @evanswife1918

[eomayas]

sneakin’ • kjm

pairing: junmyeon x f reader

synopsis: reader and junmyeon are having an affair

genre: smut, light angst, cheating au

warnings: cheating, swearing, choking, oral (m receiving), daddy kink, 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!

this is wrong. what you’re doing is wrong. but sometimes, the wrong thing feels so right, doesn’t it? it would explain why you’re currently kissing a man who’s not your boyfriend.

it’s easy to look at this objectively and say you’re a shitty person—you are—but this isn’t some fling you’re gonna forget about in the morning, no. this is real, and it’s means something to you. more than it should, given that he is not your boyfriend.

but it’s hard to resist junmyeon. you knew you were screwed the moment you laid eyes on him, and he smiled at you and made your stomach flip, something you haven’t felt in months. you should have broken up with jaehyun the moment you felt something for another man, but you had hoped it was just a fluke, a glitch.

it wasn’t.

it’s why your hands are in his hair, and his are sliding up the back of your blouse. it’s been so long since you’ve been satisfied, and junmyeon knows exactly what you need, which is why you’re here after work, like you are every wednesday and friday, sometimes thursday, and have been for the last four months. you tell jaehyun you’re working late, that you’re going out for drinks, that you’re working out. trust me, you’re getting exercise, just not the kind he thinks about.

sometimes, you feel like jaehyun knows—nobody can be that naive, that you go out for drinks every friday night and never wake up with a hangover or alcohol poisoning, that you go to the gym once, maybe twice a week, and have nothing to show for it. that you’re working late most nights, when your job is to sit behind a desk and file reports. there aren’t enough reports in the world to warrant working two, three hours later each night.

junmyeon unhooks your bra, your blouse still on, and you pull away, your chest heaving up and down. he looks at you in a way that makes you feel seen, something you haven’t felt in awhile. it’s easy to say that jaehyun probably got comfortable with your relationship, which is fine. but that initial flame that got you together, has burned for him, which means it’s burned for you too.

you unbutton your silk blouse and pull it off, along with your bra. junmyeon eyes dart to your chest, and he freezes when he sees purple marks across your breasts, one’s he didn’t make. “what are those?” he asks, looking up at you with hard eyes.

you sigh. “junmy-“ you start, but he cuts you off.

“did jaehyun do that?” he asks, his voice serious. you want to reply who else? because really, who else would it be if not your boyfriend? but you only nod. “you’re fucking him again?” he asks, disbelief and a hint of disgust in his voice.

you frown. “i mean, he’s my boyfriend, junmyeon,” you say, tired of the conversation already. junmyeon only stares at you, a bit angry and much too jealous than he’s allowed to be. he’s not your boyfriend, so he can’t technically be mad that you’re getting fucked by the man you sleep next to every night. but he can’t help the jealousy that he feels that you allow jaehyun to mark you; to claim you, when you dont allow that from junmyeon, you’re the furthest thing from beint jaehyuns, and if you really did belong to him, you wouldn’t be palming junmyeon through his slacks right now.

“is he?” junmyeon questions, just to be an asshole. you sigh, feeling irritated with him.

“yes, junmyeon. and he has been for five years,” you say, a pang of guilt hitting you right in the chest. but you ignore it. junmyeon rolls his eyes and sighs through his nose. “don’t be like this. you know what it is.” you say, tugging on his hand. he only looks away, and you want to say something slick, but you’d rather not ruin your night and take it out on your actual boyfriend.

instead, you scoot closer to him and grab his jaw, kissing down the slope and the underside of his chin, and down his neck. junmyeon stays solid against you, his hands refusing to touch you. your fingers undo the buttons of his shirt quickly, and he makes no move to help you push it off. “quit it,” you say, as if you’re talking to a child. he just looks at you, unimpressed.

you get off the couch and get on your knees, pushing his legs apart to wedge yourself between them. he looks down at you and clenches his jaw, trying to keep his composure at the sight below him. you keep your eyes on him as you unbutton his slacks, and this time he lifts his hips to help you get his underwear and pants down his legs. so easy, you think.

his dick is half hard, so you wrap one of your hands around it and start slowly pumping it, your eyes still on junmyeon. he licks his lips as he watches you, and runs a hand through his hair, shifting on the couch.

some precum leaks out the tip, and you spear it over his head with your thumb and he lets out a deep breath. you decide to play with him, since he wanted to be annoying earlier. you kiss the tip and give his shaft kitten licks. he swallows thickly every time you kiss the head of his dick, wishing that you would just take him all the way in your mouth. “y/n,” he says, his chest moving up and down faster than it previously was.

“hmm?” you lick a slow stripe from the base of his dick, all the way to the tip, and his hips buck upwards. “tell me what you want, daddy.” you say. you don’t know when you started calling him that, but one night you did and haven’t stopped. it’s usually to get what you want when you’re in bed together, but sometimes you like to tease him with it because you know it boosts his ego.

“fuck, girl. i want you to put that pretty mouth of yours to good use,” he says, gathering your hair into a ponytail. you look at him through your lashes as you open your mouth and wrap your lips around him, taking a deep breath through your nose. “atta girl.” he mumbles, his grip tightening on your hair as your start to slowly move him in and out of your mouth.

junmyeon gets impatient and grabs the sides of your face and starts moving you back and forth, forcing your head all the way down on him, whimpering when he hears you gag, and then pulling you back up. you rest your hands on his knees for support and let him do all of the work. you hollow your cheeks and he groans, his grip faltering. you take advantage of this and take control again, swirling your tongue around the tip and using your hands to stroke whatever you can’t fit in your mouth.

you know he’s close when he grunts out your name and and his legs start to shake. you look up at him to see him with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, his chest glistening with sweat. it’s an erotic sight that you want tattooed behind your eyelids so you can never forget it.

when he does come, it’s all over your chest. you don’t allow him to come in your mouth; you feel it’s too disrespectful and do it for the sake of jaehyun, though sometimes you want to have a taste of him.

you don’t waste any time pulling your dress pants down either, getting completely bare before him. junmyeon looks up at you with lidded eyes, and stretches his arms out to circle around you. you think he’s being sweet until a harsh smack comes down on your ass and you yelp. it stings, but it makes you wet, and he can tell because he does it again, and by the fourth time he has you bent over the arm of the couch, quivering in anticipation.

junmyeon drags two fingers over you slit teasingly. you press your thighs together and push your ass back against him. he swats at your ass again and you let out a moan. “you like that shit, huh?” he grumbles, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking you back. you like when junmyeon is rough with you, especially when you can tell he’s pissed off (like right now), because it makes the evening all the more fun.

he grabs the base of his dick and lines it up with your entrance, pressing the tip against your folds. “junmy!” you whine, looking at him over your shoulder. he gives you a cocky smirk, the one that you claim to hate but really love. “please, daddy?” you whine, putting a deeper arch in your back and pressing against him, trying to slip him inside. you pair your words with a look over your shoulder, and that hard wall he’s built up with you begins to crumble.

junmyeon leans over and kisses you messily, groaning when you reach back and stroke him a few times. you guide his member to your entrance again, and push him inside, your mouth falling open against his lips when he breaches your hole. “s-shit,” you stutter when he pulls back from your mouth and starts to move in and out.

it also wasn’t fair to you or jaehyun that junmyeon was some of the best dick you’ve ever gotten in the past five years—in your life. jaehyun isn’t bad in bed, but he’s been severely lacking the last year, maybe too. and it’s probably because both of you got complacent with your routine; suck him off, then missionary. maybe it’s because you never asked for what you wanted that you’ve wound up here, bent over the arm of a couch in the apartment of your lover when you should be at home with your boyfriend. or, maybe, it’s also because junmyeon is just bigger and longer than your boyfriend.

you scream out his name as his hips snap against your ass relentlessly. he yanks your head back by your hair, and grabs your throat with his free hand. he practically holds you up on your toes as he gets you from behind, supporting you on shaky legs. “this pussy belongs to me,” he grunts, his mouth next to your ear. you only whimper in response, and he gently bites your earlobe. “tell me; whose pussy is this?” he asks. he’s stepping into dangerous territory, and he’s know it. but he also knows that your boyfriends name is not going to leave your lips.

a moan is all he gets out of you, and that doesn’t satisfy him. he drops his hold on your neck and hair, letting you fall over the arm of the couch. instead, he grabs your hips and slows down his strokes, pushing all the way in and making you feel every inch of him. “i asked you a question, y/n,” he says, rubbing a hand over your ass before delivering another smack. your body lurches forward and you yelp, barely holding yourself up because your legs feel like jelly. “talk to me, baby.” he says, prolonging his thrusts even more.

“fuck!” you mewl, gripping onto the sofa to keep from falling. “it’s yours, junmy! shit—go faster, fuck!” you cry. he wants to make you beg and scream for it, but he’s throbbing so he decides to give you what you want.

when you release, it’s with a lewd moan of his name. he comes shortly after you, stilling his movements before blowing his load inside of you. it’s not on purpose, and you know it, but it pisses you off because you’ve only given him simple rules: no marks, and no cumming inside. you had an IUD put in six months ago, which probably should have signaled the end of your relationship with jaehyun if you were actively avoiding have his kids. but it’s fine, in terms of junmyeon, because there is no threat of bearing his seed.

“shit, y/n, i’m sorry,” he mumbles, quickly pulling out of you. you whimper and crumple to your knees, catching your breath and resting your forehead on the arm. you hear junmyeon retreat, and then come back seconds later. he lifts you off the floor and wipes you down in silence. he can’t help but feel the tiniest bit turned on at him leaving you with a part of himself. there’s no visible evidence that he was there, but he knows it.

once you calm down, you gather your clothes and get dressed in silence. you can feel junmyeon looking at you, but you don’t acknowledge him. you feel weird about knowing that he came in you, and you probably should feel worse for letting him hit it raw, but you don’t. you only feel bad about letting him nut in you. “y/n,” junmyeon says.

“what?” you ask, not looking at him as you hook your bra back on. you pull your blouse on, and he gets up wordlessly and helps you button the back, his touch feather like on your neck. “thank you.” you mumble. he nods soundlessly, and gathers the rest of your stuff. there will be no pillow talk tonight, or another round, like most nights.

no, you’ll go back home to jaehyun, shower and scrub off any traces of junmyeon before your boyfriend can smell him or see him on you.

you’ll go home and pretend this never happened, that it isn’t happening, and then do it all over again in a few days.