#i can’t inhale properly anymore

[thememerman]

I went into this on Twitter but I’m gonna go into again bc I don’t have a character limit over here 🧚

THE SYMBOLISM OF CROSSHAIR LOSING HIS HELMET.

he’s had this helmet since Aftermath. It was one of our first introductions to Imperial Crosshair and the things he was willing to do (and was at first forced to do) to get ahead and be seen as someone important to a higher cause. It represented his loyalty *screams* to the empire and the new goals he had that ended up separating him from the Batch in the s1 finale.

and WHEN HE LOSES IT??? practically every trace of imperial Crosshair is gone too. he doesn’t care if Mayday is dead weight or not, he’s going to get him back to base or die trying. he doesn’t care about what the empire wants anymore. he doesn’t care about being a good soldier. he doesn’t care about orders. he’s more himself than he has been since the chip activated god only knows how long ago. he’s throwing everything to the wind because he cares, because he doesn’t want to be alone again, because he sees too much of the people he cares about *COUGHS* HUNTER AND CODY *COUGHS* in his brother and he can’t stand to lose him too. and then he does anyway. and Crosshair is so done and so broken that he’s literally willing to probably be executed for treason just to avenge Mayday’s death. he was ready to die right there on that godforsaken outpost and he’s not a commander anymore he’s barely even a soldier anymore it’s just. Crosshair. all alone. all over again

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Seven.

chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five. chapter six. chapter eight. series masterlist. the playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - Everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. At least, that’s what you and Bucky keep telling yourselves.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol consumption.

Word Count - 4.8k

Author's Note - I can only apologise for the delay on this one angels!! january blues, a crazy work schedule, writers block.. they all came to play at the same time. but chapter seven is finally here!! I hope you enjoy it. thank you for the continued love on this - words can’t describe how incredible it is.

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

“Why aren’t you more surprised?”

Stella simply shrugs, sipping her cappuccino as if she has all the time in the world.

“Babe, with all due respect… I’ve been waiting for you to initiate this conversation for like two months.”

You look at her incredulously, fiddling nervously with a chip in the handle of your coffee cup.

“…Why? How?”

She smiles softly, reaching for your hand across the table.

“You’re miserable.”

You take a deep breath, and then another. After the fifth one, you find the courage to meet her eyes.

“How did you know?”

“Because I know you. You’re a hell of an actress, I’ll give you that.”

“It’s not you-”

“I know. Hey, I know. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I do.”

She waits for you, patient as ever. You’d be lying if you said the guilt wasn’t eating you up, slowly but surely from the inside out. You feel like you’ve let her down, disappointing the one person who’s given you your dream.

You realise, suddenly, that you haven't told anyone the full truth about everything. Not your Mom, not your Dad, not Lacie. Your Tethering, Bucky, the move to California - all your feelings and emotions over the past how ever many months have been bottled up and stowed away on a shelf, never to be opened. But you have the urge, now, to unscrew the cap and pour it out across the table, regardless of the mess.

So, you do.

"It's not you. You've given me everything I could have ever wanted, Stel, and I couldn't be more grateful. You know that, right?"

She nods, squeezing your hand.

"It's just been hard... emotionally. So, I, the thing is, I just..."

You inhale. You hold it for five seconds. You exhale.

"I'm Tethered. I have a soulmate, and he lives back home. We found out literally right before you called me and asked about the business. I couldn't turn you down, I knew that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. I couldn't just let it pass me by. I knew we could do this, me and you, together. And I thought I’d be able to cope.”

You inhale. You hold it for five seconds. You exhale.

“Being away from Bucky has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. It’s like… I can’t breathe properly without him. Food isn’t as flavourful, colours aren’t as bright, the sun isn’t as warm. The separation is actually having physical effects that I’m not sure I can handle anymore.”

You inhale. You hold it for five seconds. You exhale.

“I’ve held out for as long as I possibly can. I was hoping that maybe it’d pass, that we’d get used to it and it’d all wear off. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s worse than ever. The separation is ruining us both.”

You inhale. You hold it for five seconds. You exhale.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re going to tell me not to apologise, but I am. I’m sorry. You’ve given me everything and I’m just… quitting on you. I love this job so much, Stella. I can’t even find the words to describe how much. But I think either me or Bucky will break soon. And I have to prevent that from happening.”

You inhale.

Stella looks at you with so much compassion, you fight the urge to burst into tears.

You exhale.

“Listen to me, okay? You are one of the best damn bakers I have ever met in my life. No one in culinary school even came close to you. I always knew that I wanted you on my team, by my side, in my corner - in the kitchen, and everywhere else. But-"

You chew your bottom lip, wincing when you taste copper.

“We don’t have to be in each other’s pockets. We can be business partners and not see each other everyday. These are the joys of modern technology, babe. We can call, text, video chat, and then schedule in person meetings when we can. If anyone can make a cross country partnership work, it’s us. I mean, come on.”

The weight lifts from your shoulders, slowly but surely. A glowing, molten warmth trickles through your veins, hopeful and real and alive.

“And this,” she picks up your business plan, all printed and pretty. “This is air fucking tight. I’m not saying you picked the wrong career, but… business could definitely be your Plan B.”

You laugh, ignoring the way your voice cracks slightly, still choked with emotion.

“Babe, I was going to franchise the business eventually anyway. Sure, this is a little earlier than I first thought, but why the hell not? We’re successful, we’ve done so well… what’s stopping us? We know we can do this. And I trust you. So much.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, easing your death grip on her hand ever so slightly. “I thought I was gonna ruin everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, I promise you. This is a good thing.”

She thinks for a moment, lost in her own thoughts. Suddenly, she grins at you, nosy and mischievous.

“So a soulmate, huh?”

You groan, burying your face in your hands - but you can’t fight the smile that spreads across your cheeks.

“Yeah. It’s been… complicated.”

“He’s that super hot guy that came to see you, right? The one that looks like he could be a model?”

Laughing, you nod, making mental note to relay this to Bucky on the phone later.

“How did it happen? Was it like, a stranger on the street moment?”

“Nope,” you recall fondly. “We knew each other already. He’s my Dad’s best friend.”

Her jaw drops open, eyes flickering across your face.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit, babe.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s amazing. Shit, no wonder you’ve been under so much stress. What did your Dad say?”

“He… doesn’t know.”

“What?”

“We need to tell him, I know we do, but it’s just so complicated. I’m worried that it’ll change everything, and not for the better.”

It’s been eating away at you, lately. The fact that your parents don’t know originally made perfect sense, but now? It’s been almost a year. You’ve never kept anything from them for that long. Now, you’re worried that you’ll never be able to undo the damage of lying and keeping secrets from the two people you always promised never to do that to.

"Look, I know I'm not exactly qualified to give out soulmate advice, but... you can't change this. It's literally been written in the stars. Your parents will understand, okay? But the longer you wait to tell them, the worse it'll be."

“Yeah. You’re right. It’s just - it’s tough. It’s gonna change everything, forever.”

“But isn’t that the beauty of it? It’s going to change everything, forever.”

You jump out of your seat and wrap your arms around Stella, holding onto her as tightly as you can. She hugs you back fiercely, speaking a thousand words without saying anything at all.

“Proud of you,” she murmurs into your hair.

“For what?” you laugh.

“Putting yourself first. Your health, your mental wellbeing, all of it. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Love you,” you whisper, fighting back tears of relief.

“Love you too, my baker extraordinaire.”

You sit back down and take a breath, deep and full. Relaxing into your chair, you allow yourself to finally think about the next steps.

“So, I was thinking about going home and scouting out locations. I have that list of places that you read over in the business plan, but I thought of a couple more last night a few miles further out. I’ve pre prepped a few days worth of our best sellers, so you should be good without me.”

“Of course, babe. I’ve circled a couple where I really liked the look of the listings you’ve printed, and written a couple of notes for you to look over - just logistical stuff. Go back home, see your family and your soulmate,” she smirks, raising her eyebrows suggestively, “and just relax. God knows the stress lately has taken a couple years off your life. Please, get those years back on the beach or with your man or something.”

You laugh, shaking your head. She’s right, though. The stress has been resting stagnant in your muscles, tight and wound, making everything harder. You can’t wait to sit on the sand in Bucky’s arms and feel the tension melt from your body.

“You’re the best, Stella. You know that right?”

“So I’ve been told. Many, many times.”

Hours later, Bucky watches you on video call, laptop propped up on the dresser as you pack your bags excitedly. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he picked up, anticipation of the future lighting up his bones.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You show up at your parents house without warning.

You thought about calling first, but decided it’d be much more fun to surprise them. It’s a Friday evening, and you know they’ll both be sat out on the back deck, drinking wine and recapping their weeks. It’s getting warmer on the East Coast, the sounds of spring and summer slowly filtering through.

Your Mom throws open the door, her face lighting up with glee.

“Babygirl!”

She throws her arms around you, rocking you back and forth so forcefully you’re worried you might fall over.

“My baby,” she exclaims, beaming grin almost blinding you. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s kind of a long story. I’ll tell you all about it.”

She grabs your face in her hands, forcing you to look her in the eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, smiling as the setting sun warms your back.

“Yeah, Mama. I am.”

She believes you. For the first time in a long time, you believe you too.

“Come on. Your Dad is gonna be so excited to see you.”

You leave your bags in the car, prioritising seeing the man who’s currently shaking his hips to the soft salsa music that’s playing.

“Nice moves, Casanova.”

He whips his head around, laughing when he sees you stood against the doorframe watching.

“You like em? I need a partner, babygirl! Come on!”

He grabs your hands, pulling you further into the yard so you have more space. You take up a terrible ballroom dance posture with him, cackling as he dips you backwards and almost drops you.

“Don’t kill my baby, please Jack!” your Mom calls from the kitchen window.

She returns with a glass of pink wine in her hand, gesturing for you to come and get it. Your Dad spins you over to her, steadying your shoulders when you trip over his shoes.

“It’s like The Universe knew you were coming to us tonight, darling. We opened the strawberry wine and everything.”

“My favourite.”

You get comfy on the loveseat, sitting across from your parents who are pressed together on the outdoor sofa. The wine is sweet and sugary and exactly what you needed.

“So, what are you doing here, kiddo?”

“It’s a little… complicated. But the good kind of complicated, I think.”

You start at the beginning. Well, almost. You leave out the part about finding Bucky, waiting for him to be with you when you tell that part of the story. You agreed that you’d talk to your parents about your relationship together, and you’re not about to break that promise. You do, however, explain everything else to them.

They listen carefully, nodding and smiling to let you know they’re still with you. When you talk about the difficulties you’ve faced, they wear matching frowns as your Mom fights back tears. Eventually, you sit in silence, waiting for their reaction.

“I wish you’d said something sooner.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just… I thought I could do it on my own.”

“Honey, you never have to go through anything alone. That’s what we’re here for - we’re like, your built in therapists. Both me and your Dad would have happily listened if you’d called us, no matter the time or place.”

“Thank you. Both of you.”

“So this means you’re moving home?”

You nod, trying to contain the excitement bubbling up inside of you.

“Well it’s a good job we didn’t end up renting your apartment, huh?”

“You didn’t?”

“We thought about it, but it didn’t feel right. And we wanted to see you settle down in California first, just in case. I don’t either of us were ready to see someone else in that place. It’s yours.”

“You big softie,” you tease, nudging your Dad with your foot. He grabs it and squeezes, laughing when you squirm out of his grip.

“Well this is a cause for celebration, isn’t it?”

When you were younger, you used to get embarrassed that your Mom would throw parties for everything. Now, it’s one of your favourite things about her. She’s taught you to embrace the joy of the little things in life.

“What are you thinking, Mama?”

“Tomorrow night, a few friends. I’ll make a big paella, we can drink wine, play cards… what do you say?”

“Sounds perfect.”

And it does. The ease of being back home has calmed you down, untied the knots in your shoulders. You feel warmed by love, from the inside out.

You leave your parent’s house, promising to make a dessert of some kind for tomorrow. As you drive away, you suddenly realise that you’re headed in the wrong direction. You’re not going home. You’re going to the person that feels like home.

Bucky.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

He’s waiting for you on his front porch when you pull up.

“Hi, honey baby.”

“Hi, handsome.”

You launch yourself into his arms, savouring the warmth rolling off of him in waves. He smells like fresh linen and sea salt and all your future plans.

“You felt me coming, didn’t you?”

“From a mile off.”

He’s grinning, beaming in all directions.

“Good job it wasn’t a surprise visit, huh?”

“There’s no such thing anymore.”

“Good.”

He grabs your face in his work rough hands, gazing at you as if you’re the sun. You realise, suddenly, that you are. You are the one thing that his world revolves around. And he is yours. Forever.

“You gonna kiss me, Buck, or just stare at me, hmm?”

He chuckles before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You sigh in contentment and pull him closer by his shirt, tilting your head back to let him slip his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like scotch and spearmint, a perfect picture of his evening.

“Have you been drinking alone, cowboy?”

“Needed some liquid courage. Knew you’d come by.”

“I make you nervous, huh?”

The filthy smirk written across your face sends electricity crackling across his skin, the hairs on his arms standing up.

“Thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

“You’re really blowing up my ego, you know. I make the Bucky Barnes nervous. Who’d have thought?”

He shuts you up by kissing you again, snaking his hands around your back to plaster your bodies together. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging on it slightly.

“You’re letting your hair grow.”

“You like it long.”

You stop for a moment, watching his face carefully.

“Yeah. I do. How’d you know?”

“You pull it more when it’s long. Can feel how much you like it.”

“You’re a menace,” you laugh. “How about you take me inside, and I’ll show you just how much I like it? Unless you wanna give your neighbours front row seats…”

He chuckles and shakes his head before throwing you over his shoulder, laughing harder when you start shrieking. He carries you over the threshold, a beautiful prediction of years to come.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You and Bucky spend the evening in his kitchen with the windows open, watching the setting sun. The gentle ocean breeze flows through the room, tussling Bucky’s chocolate brown hair and glinting off the ice in his rocks glass.

“You want me to come with you tomorrow, when you scout locations? I’ll be your chauffeur, if you like.”

“What about work?”

“I’m the boss, baby.”

“So you keep reminding me.”

He kicks you lightly under the table, laughing when you stick your tongue out at him.

“Yeah, Buck. I’d love it if you came with. You can use your contractor knowledge and help me out.”

“It’s a date. You want me to bring my clipboard? Tape measure? Mechanical pencil?”

“You gonna bring your talking machinery too, Bob The Builder?”

Bucky stands from his chair and pulls yours out, wrapping his arms around your waist and picking you up. He spins you around before putting you down and dragging you up the stairs, kicking his bedroom door open.

He throws you onto the bed unceremoniously, chuckling when you almost bounce off. You toss your shirt at his face, before shucking off your jeans and doing the same thing. He catches them with ease, winking at you before undressing himself.

He crawls up your body, kissing any skin he can find as he goes. He starts at your ankle, before moving to your knee, your thigh, your hip, your stomach, your chest, your neck, and eventually your lips. You’re almost shaking, alive with the anticipation of having every inch of Bucky pressed against you.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he rasps into your ear. “I’ll give it to you. Anything.”

“Just want you.”

“Need to get you ready first,” he murmurs, fingers trailing between your legs. His breath hitches when he feels how wet you are.

“Oh honey,” he groans. “You been like this all night? Hmm?”

“Since I first saw you waiting for me.”

He groans again, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Please, Buck. Just wanna feel you.”

Who is he to deny you when you ask so damn pretty?

“You’re killing me,” he mutters against your skin.

Bucky slides into you with one smooth thrust, biting down on your shoulder as he does it. You shudder at the feeling, and at the thought of having the imprint of his teeth on you later.

You both gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in to you. You loop your legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass to press him even closer.

“Fuck me,” you choke out. “Need it, Buck.”

“My needy girl,” he chuckles lowly. “Gonna give you everything.”

Bucky retracts his hips before thrusting back into you, deep and full. You whine, and he’s convinced the sound will never be matched. It’s like angel song, rose tinted and heavenly.

He fucks you into the mattress, long, slow thrusts that make you want to cry a little. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so connected to him - every single part of you touching his, bodies plastered together and souls intertwined.

He presses open mouthed kisses into the crook of your neck, right into your sweet spot. When he feels you getting close, he dances his fingers down your body and circles your clit, languid but precise. Your back arches as you find your release, clawing your nails down his back and locking your ankles around his hips.

“Oh fuck, honey - fuck.”

Bucky finishes with a shudder, sinking his teeth back into your shoulder. His raspy groans hit your ears just right, sweat dripping down onto your dewy skin.

“Love you, baby. Fuck, I love you.”

You’re both panting, trying to catch your breath as you come down from your highs.

“I love you too,” you giggle, pressing kisses to his damp forehead.

He collapses his weight onto you, chuckling when you groan. You push him off so he can lie next to you, strong arm thrown over your stomach as he pulls you in close.

You stay tangled for a while, letting the breeze from the window cool you both down. Bucky traces absentminded patterns across your back, rough fingertips sending goosebumps over your skin.

“I’m excited for tomorrow,” you murmur, keeping the volume low.

“Me too. Feels like a big step for our future, doesn’t it?”

“I just never imagined I’d have… this. You, the job I’ve always dreamed of… it doesn’t feel real. I mean, we’re going to look at places for a second location of my business. Who ever could have predicted I’d say that sentence?”

“Everything works out the way it’s supposed to. I told you that, that night on the beach. Before we knew. Remember?”

“I remember,” you smile, recalling that evening. You’d felt so inexplicably connected to Bucky that day. Little did you know what was to follow.

You fall asleep wrapped up in Bucky’s arms, warm and content.

You’ve never known happiness like it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The day flies by with Bucky by your side.

You’re a little out of your depth, admittedly. You don’t know much about real estate, or what makes a viable location for a bakery. But Bucky helps - explaining what to avoid, warning signs to look out for, checking out all of the boring stuff like gas mains and water pipes and backup generators. He never patronises you, even when you look at him like a deer in headlights. He clarifies himself when you become unsure, laying out explanations carefully and simply. He’s the perfect right hand man.

“You almost ready, honey?”

“Yeah Buck, give me one second!”

You walk into the kitchen where Bucky’s leaning against the counter, beer in hand. He’s in loose jeans and a linen button up, the white shirt beautifully showing off his tanned skin. He’s got several buttons undone, toned chest peeking through. He looks effortlessly perfect.

You stop in front of him, fixing the buckle on your sandals. You look up at Bucky to find him staring at you, open mouthed.

“You alright, handsome?”

“You look… you look - fuck, you look gorgeous.”

Heat rises up your skin, still so susceptible to his compliments.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he chuckles into your mouth.

Bucky rests a hand against the base of your throat, pulling you into him. His other hand plays with the hem of your dress, your skin burning where his fingers brush. You kiss him back harder, groaning when he nips at your bottom lip. He sucks on your tongue, and your knees buckle.

You pull back suddenly, putting three feet of distance between you.

“We need to go.”

Your hair is tousled, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as you try to regain your composure. Bucky smirks at you, laughing when you flip him off.

“Come on. My parents and paella await us.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your Mom has done it again.

Golden lights adorn the beams of the deck, the table littered with flowers and wine glasses begging to be filled. There’s already a few people scattered around the yard, chatting and laughing in the warm evening air.

“Oh baby, you look so beautiful.”

Your Mom engulfs you in a hug, pulling back to look at you from a distance. You’re wearing a yellow sundress, form fitting in all the right places. The skirt blows in the gentle breeze, fanning around you like an angels halo.

“This place looks amazing, Mama. I made you a tropical tart - it’s pineapple and coconut, with a mango coulis.”

“Oh, it’s gorgeous. I’ll put it in the fridge and get you some wine, honey. Buck, you want wine or beer?”

“Wine, please Lori. You need a hand?”

“If you’re offering,” she winks, laughing when he pokes her in the side as they leave towards the kitchen.

“Your father says you’re moving back home.”

You turn around to see Cora looking at you expectantly. You haven’t seen her since the incident that evening months ago.

“Uh, yeah. I love California, but I think I outgrew it after culinary school.”

She nods at you in faux sympathy, overbearing and sickly sweet.

“Aw, sweetie. Sometimes, things just don’t work out the way we hoped, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you hum noncommittally. “Yeah, I guess.”

You look for an exit, but she rubs your arm in support, pulling you back.

“I saw you today, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes! Down on Maple, by the corner. You were with Bucky.”

You freeze suddenly, blood running cold. You and Bucky are always affectionate, whether you mean to be or not. It’s just the way it is, being alongside your soulmate. Of course, Cora doesn’t know this. All she’s seen is you, out in town with your Dad’s best friend, looking cosier than platonic.

Your ears are ringing. You wonder, for a second, if you’re experiencing deja vu.

“Yeah, he… he has contracting experience. Just needed a second opinion. I’m no builder, after all.”

You force a laugh, willing the ground to swallow you up.

“You two are friends? You seem pretty close.”

She’s watching you, waiting for a reaction. You don’t give it to her.

“I’ve known him for a while, I see him often. He’s a good friend to my Dad, so you can imagine we know each other pretty well by now.”

“Yeah. It sure looked like it.”

You’re wracking your brain, trying to understand what she saw. Then it hits you.

On the corner of Maple is a florist’s, alive with blooming flowers and plants of every colour. You’d been admiring the tulips when Bucky had wrapped his arms around you from behind, whispering in your ear about how you’re the prettiest flower of all, honey.

There’s no running away from this. She’s caught you, in broad daylight.

“We’re friends,” you reiterate, praying for mercy.

You shoot her a fake smile before turning on your heel, making a beeline for the kitchen to find your Mom. When you get there, you gulp down your entire glass of strawberry wine, begging the sugar to lift your mood and calm your nerves.

The rest of the night goes off fairly smoothly.

You eat paella and fruit tart, drink wine, laugh with your parents and their friends. Bucky occasionally slips a hand beneath the table, squeezing your thigh in silent reassurance. You tangle your fingers with his for a moment before letting go, praying everyone else is none the wiser.

Every time Cora opens her mouth, your chest constricts a little. But she seems to have learnt her lesson somewhat, only speaking to tell obnoxiously long and tangent filled stories and offer comments no one asked for. Eventually, you all disperse from the table, making conversation elsewhere.

“What’s on your mind?” a low voice rasps in your ear.

You’re sat on the swing in the corner of the garden, watching the world go by. Bucky snakes his arm over the back of it, fingertips brushing your shoulder.

“Cora saw us today. Think she knows.”

“She’s a fucking nuisance.”

You laugh, the sound vibrating through Bucky’s bones.

“Yeah, she is. She’s also a gossip. She won’t keep her mouth shut for long if she thinks she’s sitting on something newsworthy.”

He thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“So we tell them.”

“So we tell them.”

You lean back into Bucky’s arm, inhaling the familiar scent of peace.

“We should do it as soon as possible.”

“How about tomorrow?”

You nod, biting your glossy lips.

“Yeah. We need to do it sometime, and we’ve delayed the inevitable for long enough. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

Bucky nudges closer to you, so your sides are pressed together.

“It’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to, honey girl.”

You smile gently.

“I know. I don’t think I believed you the first time you said that to me. But I do now.”

“You and me against the world, baby.”

“You and me against the world, Buck.”

It truly feels like it, at the moment. You and Bucky against the world.

tag list part one

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff  @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara  @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen   @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance  @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[lustlovehart]

Genre: Nsfw (Afab Reader | No Pronouns)

Warnings: Oral (F receiving), He has a forked tongue, Semi-public(Neuvillettes Office), overstimulation, multi orgasms, gets a little fluffy at the end.

Neuvillette invites you to join in on his water tasting hobby, but instead of him taste testing water, he’s taste testing you.

He has you splayed on his desk as he greedily drinks you up with his long forked tongue, quaffing your essence down his throat as if he was a thirst ridden man who hadn’t drunk water for centuries.

At this point, even though you’re not tied to the desk, it feels as if you’re bounded to the surface, with the way your body can only writhe in pleasure at his advances, your mind so far gone you cant even think anymore. You’ve came at least 4 times already with his tongue, and you’re sure he still wants more from you.

He tightens the grip he has on your thighs, his gloved hands being a barrier between you and him, the leather material preventing him the direct skin to skin contact he wants.

His tongue feels like it’s reaching deeper than it did before, his thumb massaging your clit in circles as he keeps devouring you like its his last day on earth. A knot starts to tighten in your stomach, fingers racing to pull on the Ludex’s long hair. Your throat is hoarse as straggled moans come out your mouth, trying your best to be quiet so Furina won’t hear from across the building.

“Neuvillette…!” You can’t help the squeal that comes from deep in your throat when he replies to you with an ‘mm?’ The low sound causing a vibration to go through you. “Too… Too much…!”

“I know dear, just one more…” his breath sounds heavy, as if he was to busy pleasuring you to focus on breathing. Before you knew it, the knot deep within your core had come undone on his tongue, white filling your vision as your eyes roll back from the pleasure. Even at your climax he could stop drinking from your body.

The moment your orgasm had reached his taste buds, he immediately sped up, not wanting to waste a drop of what you had given him. His tongue greedily licked up the leftovers of your essence, further driving you over the edge.

"Are we... Finished now...?" Your breathing was ragged, different heavy exhaled and inhales filling the silence of Neuvillette's office.

He was the ludex of Fontaine, despite the circumstances he wouldnt possibly lie would he?

Life seemed to lie to you as well, with the way he so convincingly said one more time you believed him, only to be proven wrong by the countless other 'one more' times he proclaimed.

"Neuv...Ilette.. You liar..." you struggled to even think of the words to speak, your mind was insanely numb to your thoughts.

"I'm sorry my dear, it would be an extreme injustice to me to never properly taste you in a way you would enjoy as well"

"Ju-justice...? What are you talking abou- ah...!" The familiar feeling had returned to your lower half, the tightening of your entrance immediately catching his attention. He sped up his advances once more his tongue practically fucking you itself.

Moans are all that leave your lips as your realease on his tongue, this oragsm being even more powerful than the last, but that might just be because of how overstimulated you really were.

His lips finally left your body, strings of your climax sticking to his chin, his lips glistening from the left overs of your essence. Your left essentially dazed from reality as you lay tired on the man's desk. His blue eyes stare admiringly on your body.

His once gloved hands are now naked, his fingers tracing into your skin. He takes your body off of the surface of his desk, sitting you in his lap as his fingers play with your hair.

"In my own eyes, serving you is the highest justice I could ever ask for."

[matchavellichor]

Just This Once Pt. 3

dark!Ominis x f!MC - NSFW - 3.1k words - ao3

A/N: final part!! left it a bit vague/open-ended but i hope the sneaky mc is implied enough 🫣

Tags: Pining, Requited Love, Obsession, Slight Somnophilia, Thigh Riding

Part 1, Part 2

Ominis stirs to a warm body curled against his, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, soft breathing sending little shivers of pleasure where it puffs against his skin. Maybe he’s died and gone to heaven. Considering everything he’s done, he quickly dismisses the possibility.

Realization steadily dawns on him on who exactly he’s holding and his arms tighten instinctively around her waist, as if he can somehow defy the laws of physics and mold her figure with his own. Her smell is all over him, a dizzying and intoxicating aroma, and he buries his nose in the crown of her head, inhaling deeply and praying her scent will forever be impregnated on his sheets.

He hopes it’ll be a while before she wakes. 

He contemplates the longevity of the dose he’d given her last night as his hand trails up her arm, tracing smooth planes he’s far too familiar with by now. That usual pounding in his chest awakens with the contact, almost like clockwork, sounding deafeningly in his ears as he takes his time exploring. His heart is in his throat by the time he dips his finger under silk ever so slightly, slips the thin little strap of her negligee down her shoulder. Something inside him tells him he shouldn’t, but his brain hasn’t woken up enough to pay any heed to its warnings. 

His fingers dust over exposed, sleep-warm skin and he revels in its softness, a sensation that fills him with the strange desire to ruin. To bite, and mark, and take, to make his. These urges don’t faze him anymore at this point, and he’s long accepted his own fallibility by the first time he’d had his hands all over her. Denying it any longer would be absurd, even for someone as delusional as him. 

Before he can consider it properly, he tilts his chin down and presses his lips to the sensitive juncture of her neck and shoulder, imagining this is something he has some sort of right to wake up to every day, some right to wake her up to. She’s so devastatingly warm, and he earns a surge of adrenaline from the feeling of her pulse pressed right against his mouth, almost beating in synchrony with his own.

She doesn’t stir as he trails up her neck with feather-light kisses, but something else does, a far too recognizable sensation. That familiar aching fire he feels in his gut, that seeps down lower and lower towards his groin, sears his very nerves and courses red-hot heat through his blood. He used to feel some level of revulsion, self-reproach, shame. Now all he can feel is how perfect she is pressed so tightly against him, too overwhelming to preoccupy himself with any other thoughts.

His tongue dips out to lick a stripe under her jaw, but he only tastes her briefly before he stops himself. He’s so achingly hard in his trousers already. He should be embarrassed—he would if he had even the slightest sense of shame. He doesn’t. 

The only thing stopping him from unsheathing himself, indulging, slick and warm in his own fist, is the thought that she could wake at any time. Even then, it’s only faulty hesitations that stop him, waning and flimsy in the face of his overwhelming desire. 

He lets his cheek press to the top of her head and closes his eyes, focusing on her soft breathing against the underside of his jaw, trying to gain some level of self-restraint. It’s like she was made to exhaust every last shred of it.

Some sick part of him is tempted to dose her with more of the potion lying on his bedside table. Pry her mouth open and keep her pliant for him for a few more hours. He could have his way with her again, stretch this blissful moment out as long as possible.

Rationally, he knows he can’t. Reason steadily seeps into his infatuated brain and dismisses any fantasies he has of holding her all day, touching and caressing, and taking advantage, to the fullest, sickest extent of the word. He knows that their friendship dangles over a precipice by a thread at the moment, that any moment she’ll wake and realize where she is and what he’s done to her, and she’ll be repulsed by him.

The thought makes his chest tighten, douses him in a bucket of cold water and finally pushes him to carefully, reluctantly, disentangle his body from hers and pull away. The loss of her warmth is like a knife being driven into his chest, but almost immediately after he unwraps his arms from her waist, she wakes, blinking drowsily at him in the dimly-lit room.

“Ominis?” His name on her tongue is quiet and sleep-rough, and the sound only serves to worsen the tender wound in his heart, making the urge to pull her back into his arms almost unbearable.

He clears his throat, his chest pounding as he scrambles for an excuse after clearly having been so close to her. “Sorry, I’m–I’m sorry, I was just—”

“Will you come back to bed?”

He stills. He has half a mind to imagine he’s misheard her, or that she’s still under the influence to request such a thing. When she doesn’t get a response she sinks back against the pillows, shifting towards the edge of the bed and patting the open space beside her. 

“Please?”

His body moves of its own accord before he can properly rationalize any part of this. She’s obviously not in any right state of mind—she can’t be. She’ll be disgusted with him as soon as she comes to her senses. He can’t fathom being wanted, not like this, much less by her. Despite these thoughts, he climbs under the covers beside her, his heart stuttering in his chest when she immediately tucks herself into his side, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

He goes rigid as a board. The notion that he’s died and gone to heaven suddenly seems more plausible again, even if all parts of him imagine the notion absurd. There’s no part of him that doubts that the figure snuggled around him is anything less than an angel, however. 

He hesitantly pulls one of his arms over her body, holding her, but not in the way he truly wants to. He restrains himself, even if his willpower feels bent to the brink of snapping with how warm and soft she feels. 

“Is–Is this alright?” He asks, something he’s admittedly unaccustomed to doing. The words sound foreign in his mouth. 

She nods against his skin, soft hair tickling the underside of his jaw. “You can touch me,” she murmurs, voice small as if she’s admitting to a secret. “I like it when you do.”

She sounds so sincere. It rips Ominis apart. 

Those simple little words are enough to knock all the air out of his lungs, devastating —in all the good ways the word can be. He presses his nose to her temple so his next inhale will be nothing but her, wanting his lungs filled, hoping she’ll occupy every single cavity. He doesn’t know what to do with so much unrestrained permission to touch. Hesitantly, inevitably, he indulges.

Her skin feels novel under his fingertips as he ponders the incredulous reality that the reason he’s holding her is because she asked him to, and not because he’s forced his will again. Any exhilaration he’s felt exploring her before is incomparable to the sensation he feels with the simple brush of his thumb over her collarbone knowing she actually welcomes his eager hands.

He isn’t sure what he’s ever done to deserve this. 

He’s absolutely certain of all the things he’s done to never be even the smallest fraction worthy, however, and the sudden feeling of guilt begins to encroach on the bliss he should feel in the moment. Her chest pressed against his, her breathing ghosting his cheek, it slips him back to all the ways he’s violated her trust. Taken from her what she now gives him so willingly. 

He should confess. He should be honest with her about everything, if he wants even the slightest chance at redeeming himself. He should—

His brain whites out when she shifts to hitch a leg over his waist, and he suddenly becomes acutely aware of just how bare she is underneath her chemise, pressed right against his thigh. What was it he should be doing again?

His heart skips a few beats, and then a couple more, and then his hands are flying to meet her waist, to stop her from doing any more adjusting and sending him to a much-too-early grave via cardiac arrest.

Did he not put her knickers back on her last night? How could he be such a fool? Does she realize? She must, he posits. Yet, miraculously, she hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t made a single comment about her bareness. In fact, she seems perfectly content, blissfully comfortable as she stretches her body out over his, infuriatingly unaware of how terribly she’s ruining him.

Ominis’ thoughts of doing the right thing, of redemption and conciliation, of treating the precious thing in his arms the way she deserves to be treated, disintegrates along with the last vestiges of his self-restraint. He trails a hand over the thigh bracketed over his hips, and rests it there, still and neutral, and very much not taking advantage, he tells himself.

But then she sighs, a gratified little sound, and he shatters.  

He lets his palm drag over her skin, lower and lower towards her knee before making its journey back up, stroking tenderly, tracing every contour with his thumb. He lets his other hand rub comforting circles on her back, basking in the warmth that seeps through the silk of her gown. A smile tugs at his lips at the quiet hum of approval she gives him, making him feel all more justified in his decision to touch. 

“Feels nice,” she murmurs, voice still drowsy, just the way he likes her.

“You feel nice,” he confesses. 

He doesn’t ask for permission when he drags his hands higher up her thigh, thumb brushing over the dip of her hipbone, peeking under satiny silk. She doesn’t protest, almost as if she’s used to him not asking by now. 

“Always feel so nice,” he murmurs aimlessly before he can stop himself, words drenched in admiration. “So soft. Never felt anything so soft”

He lets his hands drag higher, under, her breath hitching from the contact, a little gasp let out where she tries to hide her face against his neck. So shy. He wonders if she’d be so demure if she knew how eagerly he’d already explored all those intimate parts of her, both with his lips and with his fingers.

His palms find purchase on either side of her hips and he barely has to apply any pressure before she’s shifting on her own accord, pressing herself against his thigh, her body seeking him out even if her brain hasn’t caught up to the notion yet. He intakes a sharp breath and exhales a curse against her shoulder.

She stills, as if she isn’t currently straddling his leg, as if her nails aren’t leaving little red crescents on his forearm, and her traitorous breathing isn’t revealing everything she feels at the moment.

He knows what she needs, and gets a strange thrill out of being able to give it to her, even if she doesn’t know how to ask quite yet. Lucky for her, he’s very good at taking without asking. 

He only needs to apply a little pressure for her hips to move. Just a tiny push, a barely-there nudge for her perfect body to grind right up against him, bare mound rubbing against the soft cotton of his trousers. Her cheek is searing where it’s pressed against his shoulder, chin tucked at his collarbones, shame painting her face a pretty red.

“It’s alright,” he reassures, voice low and tender as if he’s soothing a startled animal. As if he might break her out of the spell he finds her in. “You’re okay. Just let me take care of you. You don’t have to do a thing, angel.”

She doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need her to. He plants a kiss to the top of her head and slowly guides her movements, little stuttered rolls of her hips against his, an excruciatingly languid pace, but he’s never had more patience in the world. She rocks herself against his thigh until there’s a wet spot on his pants, the realization making his entire world tilt left and his head spin.

He has her. Actually has her. Grinding on his lap, muffling pleas against his skin, soaking through the material of his trousers. There’s a surreality to the entire thing that guides all of his actions, makes him more unabashed, his fingers digging into her hips and paying no mind to any marks he might leave.

He seeks his own pleasure as he helps her seek hers, fixates on all the ways he can make her toes curl against his calves, where that sensitive little part of her catches on something punishing and she keens. 

“Just like that,” he encourages, voice hoarse, a burning that only comes from true, unashamed passion. The slightest hint of mirth bleeds through his tone, depravely satisfied. “You like this, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, still playing coy. He finds he likes it when she pretends.

“You do,” he whispers, lips pressed to the shell of her ear. “You think I can’t feel how much of a mess you’re making on my trousers, hm?”

Her response is a stifled cry, body shuddering under his compelling hands, clinging to every praise he whispers in her ear. He’s never felt so unashamed before, so disgustingly bold, drunk on the arousal he feels from her lithe body humping his.

“You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?” He asks, teeth scraping at the sensitive lobe of her ear, dragging down her skin until she whines. “My sweet, sweet girl. I’ve wanted you, too. Wanted you for so long.”

She unburies her face from his neck, cheeks flushed a crimson hue, stray hairs sticking to her temples. He can’t see her, but her stuttered breathing against his lips is all he needs to know she’s a mess.  

He wants to reach out, cup her face, stroke her skin, but she doesn’t grant him the opportunity. In the very next moment, she’s surging forward to capture his lips in hers, desperate and urgent and wholly unashamed. He groans into her mouth, an almost tortured sound that her lips rip easily from the back of his throat. 

This kiss is different. 

Far better than anything he could ever have experienced before, any reciprocation that the Imperius could hope to replicate, any softness he could strive to receive from her sleeping form. 

This kiss is enough to destroy him, leave him gutted and flayed open, and evidently it’s enough to do the same to her, as she’s pushed almost immediately over the edge of ecstasy. 

Her whole body tenses, perfect and rigid yet somehow still so unbelievably malleable against his, a delicious contradiction. He swallows every last moan she lets out against his lips, every hitching gasp and strangled whimper. Her fingers curl into the front of his shirt for support, and his hands never leave her hips as he guides her through her high, in the same fashion his mouth never disconnects from hers.

Only when she manages to grow even pinker in the face, lungs burning and chest heaving against his, do they finally break, hot and heavy pants puffing against swollen, kiss-bruised lips. Ominis feels he might faint.

Miraculously, he only lets his head fall back against the pillow as he tries to gain some level of motor coordination. She huffs a soft, pleasure-drunk laugh against his cheek, mumbles something he can’t quite hear over the ringing in his ears.

Only when she finally moves, shifting over his body to a more comfortable position, does awareness flood back into him. Slowly, she pulls herself from his limp-muscled body, unslots herself from his now cum-slick leg. Ominis mourns the loss of the wet-hot heat of her, but she quickly rectifies it with a kiss against his cheek and her arms clinging tight around his waist.

“You’re perfect,” she whispers, voice quiet but far from meek when she says it. It sounds almost like forgiveness, but he can’t begin to fathom the meaning behind it in the state he’s in.

He feels too drunk on sheer euphoria, an involuntary smile pulling at his lips. He’s shared something beautiful with her, something good for once. Something he thought he was incapable of for the longest time. Overwhelmed by the feeling that all he can do is destroy, hurt, ruin. 

There’s still that contrite voice in his head, but it's soothed now, a mere whisper, acquiesced by some strange sense of absolution he’s received from her. The itch to say something, to confess, to ask for forgiveness is there, but it’s faint. Bearable. 

“I’ll never hurt you,” he says in place of an admission, a promise more to himself than to her. He leaves out the again even though the word rings slightly in his ears. Guilt is an easy thing to ignore when you have the object of all of your desires swaddled in your arms. “I swear it to you.”

She pulls back to study him for a beat, the slightest hint of knowing behind her eyes, before she smiles and presses her forehead against his own. “I know that, silly. I’ve always trusted you,” she noses at his cheek, lips tilting down to press against the corner of his mouth, brief and reassuring. “Always.”

The smile he returns her is rueful, forced. He feels the words catch on his tongue again, a heavy knot that he tries to force down, but every swallow sticks to his throat. He kisses her before she can decipher the remorse behind it. 

Her kiss melts his worries away like sugar cubes in hot tea, dissolving into insignificant little particles. Before, he wasn’t sure if he’d be okay with her never knowing, but now he thinks he can manage keeping a secret if it means he can keep her. Forever, indefinitely, as long as time will permit it.

He presses his lips to the top of her head and lets his eyes flutter closed, in a state of genuine peace for the first time in months, years. Somewhere beneath the tranquility, possession broils quietly in his blood, a litany of mine, mine, mine—a sense of blissful conquest. She seems to sense it, somehow, welcomes it.

There’s the slightest quirk of her lips at the corner, a soft smile. One he wouldn’t be able to see anyway, even if she weren’t hiding it against the crook of his neck. Quiet, cunning, yet intrinsically content. Like the cat that caught the canary, or even, a particularly sly snake that had found its way inside her garden. 

[nouearth]

hope.

pairing ; peter parker x m!reader. fandom: ; marvel, spider-man. word count ; 1889. genre; angst. rating ; pg-13. warnings ; holland!spider-man, crying, break-up, kissing.

it was nearly midnight, and the stars were in full bloom, clustered yet distinctively separate. it was a familiar sight, but you lounged in the wake of the city—the sweet sound of sirens, the laughter of drunk passersby, and the smell of pollution—nonetheless.

it was brave of you to be hanging your arm over the ledge of the rooftop, but you received better signal this way. your face was lit up by the brightness of your phone screen as you were bent over the ledge, scrolling through your messages with peter, clearly displeased.

still on tonight?

you stopped your thumb on the screen, muttering peter’s messages from a few hours ago.

bringing pizza! new place just opened up.

you can’t lie to yourself anymore: you and peter have been drifting apart. dates have slowly come to a halt ever since peter confessed to you about his dual life as spider-man. and when they do happen, he was late—out of breath and disheveled, and occasionally bruised—though he’d brush the latter off with a laugh.

i just need to ice it! don’t worry.

guilt would overcome you as you would silently analyze his condition on one of those dates. you would notice his dark circles: a clear indication of sleep-deprivation. his tensed face when he moved: a torn muscle he refused to check up on. his constant attention anywhere else but you: a search to help.

and they’ve only gotten worse.

but you never complained or berated him because in the end, it was peter who was sacrificing a portion of his heroic life for you, doing everything he possibly could to please you—because your relationship was hanging by a string of web at this point, almost tearing, and you both knew it.

a frustrated groan came out of you and you stashed your phone away to turn to the comfort of watching the dark alleyway beneath you, only to be met with peter in his uniform, spider-man mask and all, staring right up at you, sprawled over the side of the building. “jesus- peter!”

“you really didn’t notice me?” you heard his laugh, muffled by the mask as he skillfully traversed upwards until he reached the ledge and hopped onto his feet later, sliding off his backpack that’s been harboring the pizza box—if you can call it pizza anymore once he opened the box.

“no! you wouldn’t exactly be a great hero if you didn’t know how to stealth properly.” the pizza was a squished mess. the cheese hardened to the top of the box and the toppings were scrambled from corner to corner, collective evidence of peter’s hasty journey to your date spot.

“shit- y/n, i’m so sorry-“ he said apologetically, mask off, and his body and face tensed as he began to sit on the ground with the pizza box still in his hands. you join his side.

“pete, it’s fine! pizza’s a finger-food anyways, y’know?” you laughed to appease his guilt, compensating with a kiss to his lips and a side-hug, but you pulled away after when he groaned—a new pain in his shoulder. he doesn’t like talking about his injuries for your sake, and so you don’t, even if you felt like an asshole for not asking anyways.

“come on, let’s eat. i know you’re hungry.” you sang the words to brighten the mood—it doesn’t. 

“yeah.” dry and un-humored at first, but peter made sure to return your kiss and a smile, albeit a rueful tuck of his lips, before picking a cold slice and eating. you followed, cautious of the sudden change of atmosphere.

both of you were silent, but your eyes were still on him while peter’s was fixated towards the concrete, thoughtlessly eating. it wasn’t new to see peter quiet, which at first seemed impossible considering how talkative he usually was. but when he was, he was either deep in thought or wasn’t thinking at all. maybe a combination of both because then, he stopped chewing. instead of inhaling his second slice of pizza, he exhaled a sigh—one that harbored thoughts and tension.

“what?” you avoided his eyes because you can feel it coming, mindlessly picking at the hard and crusty cheese off the cardboard box—mainly to calm the swelling in your chest that has begun.

“you know i love you, right?” peter said quietly and from the corner of his eyes, he was looking at you again.

“you do? don’t recall you ever telling me that before…” it’s another joke to cheer him up—to cheer you up—and you looked at him with a smile, a meager masquerade. “i love you too, pete.”

he reached for your hand to hold onto, intertwining his calloused fingers with yours. you could tell he was bracing you for the inevitable news, so you gave his palm the gentlest squeeze, collapsing your warmth into his own—because you’re ready.

“and,” peter spoke again, this time tears appeared in his eyes. “you know i’d do anything for you, right?”

“y-yeah, of course…” you swallowed the hard lump in your throat that continued to swell nonetheless, controlling yourself from gripping peter’s hand harder. “you’ve... been the best. you’ve done so much for me and-“

“no, I haven’t, y/n.” he looked forward again, shaking his head in disbelief. the sour taste of tomato sauce quickly became bitter when he took a bite of pizza, pushing down the welling tears. “we barely see each other anymore because of me.”

“peter… yes, you have. i mean, you’re not perfect, but who is? i’m certainly not, right? no relationship is perfect.”

the cold breeze of the night sang in response and you two naturally moved closer to each other for warmth.

“i’m not perfect. as far as i can tell, you’re doing way better than me.” you followed up on the silence, continuing as you pulled peter’s head to your shoulder and kissed his forehead. “you make me sandwiches for work, because you know i have no time to eat. you check up on me to make sure i’m safe, and because you know I’m probably close to losing it at my boss…”

“and you’re late to our dates- always late. but you still come, because that’s our only time together now.” you’re unsure whose heart was beating faster—harder—but you were close to breaking because you want to be selfish. a part of you wants to keep peter to yourself for as long as possible, but you also want the best for him, even if it meant separation.

“and you’re always… hurt or injured somewhere. you laugh it off, but i can tell you’re in pain.”

“i’m okay. i told you not to worry-”

you cut him off with another kiss, but to his lips, softly muttering after. “sometimes, you fall asleep when i’m telling you about my day, when we’re watching movies, or even when we’re eating dinner… and i should be mad or annoyed at you, but I’m just…” you trailed off to take a breather and you can feel peter’s hand stroking your back, comforting you—when you should really be comforting him. “I feel so bad, peter.”

peter took your woeful confession to his lips, kissing you sweet and gentle because he knew that would calm the both of you down, but you were stiff. he was an indecisive person and you knew he had run back on his decision to break up with you. it was telling from the moment he held you in his arms, impossibly close, as if you were the one running.

“we can work things out.” he whispered against your lips and your sigh met his. it was frustrating to watch peter constantly put friends, families, and you over himself, all at the expense of his own happiness. “i-i can work less hours and… and… i’ll stop being spider-man- yeah… that’ll work! there’s so many of us—superheroes—now, so i don’t think it’ll affect-“

“peter…” you watched peter wander in circles, a clear shift in mood by the simplicity of false hope. by now, peter’s in his own world—a perfect paradise that consisted of you and him, and nothing else.

no worries, nothing.

“and… shoot! we can move in together, yeah? my place is a little small, but it’ll work out. we’ll sleep in my bed, share groceries, the bills… god, why didn’t i think of this sooner?!”

your heart raced even faster the longer you watched peter convince himself of a perfect scenario that was bound to happen.

i love you so much.

“peter, we can’t-“

“what- why?” he approached you, cooling down from the fleeting thought of ‘paradise’. “I don’t know how we haven’t thought of this, but it seems like the best option, yeah?

“i-peter…” you sighed, grabbing his hands to hold again and stared affectionately into his eyes. “i want to… so bad. and the thought of living together… i would love to.”

“yeah? i can get started on cleaning and-“

“peter.” your lips pressed to his to shush his rambles, even though you loved seeing him so passionate about everything, and you cupped his cheeks after. you take a moment to admire the way his eyes brightened when you finally smiled, and that makes it all the more painful.

he loves you.

“it wouldn’t be right of me to have you prioritize me over anything else in your life.”

“but you are my priority, y/n.” he half-smiled, resting his hands over yours. there was still hope in his eyes, gleaming.

“i’m not your only priority, peter.” you said, caressing his tear-stained cheeks.

“but-“

“you have to take care of yourself first, peter. you’ve done more for me than anyone else in the world, but you’re on the verge of breaking anytime now. and it’s sweet and all, that you would sacrifice everything for me. but i can’t let you do this, peter. i don’t control- i shouldn't control your life. what kind of boyfriend would i be, hm?”

my sweet peter.

“no, come on- let’s just talk about this. i- we can figure out another plan, yeah? how about i work part-time where you’re at? serving tables will be a piece of cake and-“ his voice cracked, desperate to convince you with different possibilities, but he stopped and stared at you with utter defeat, his eyes blood-shot red.

you shut your eyes tight, inhaling in the panic of peter’s voice, and exhaling with brewing tears. “i’m breaking up with you.”

your eyes opened to peter’s back towards you; he’s perched over the ledge. you approached from behind and for a moment, you could see the tension in his body and face leaving; a massive weight—a burden you’d call yourself—lifting off his shoulders as he watched the city. it was calmer now, safer than it has been in years, ever since the first introduction of spider-man.

“will we still be friends?” peter spoke up after a long silence, his gaze fixated on the flashing lights of a nearby ambulance passing by, blaring its siren. his face tensed up again, jaw hardening and eyes lit up with fire as he put on his signature mask.

and you confirm to yourself that peter’s ideal world was simply a construction of hope.

“always.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works.

[johnnysuhbmarine]

Just Add Alcohol...you know, the Antiseptic Kind

Pairing: Jeno x reader Description: After getting into another fist fight, !best friend Jeno ends up back at your place for help, but you’re about at your limit of how much you can stand to see him like this before saying something about it. The only problem is, you still haven’t found a way to address it without bringing up your feelings.  Word count: 1,508 A/n: first fic :') wrote this sometime last year and I think it's the best out of my completed one shots, so now I'm sharing it with the world (that's you). shout out to @fullsunstrawberry for convincing me I wouldn’t die if I actually posted my writing <3333 please enjoy, or don’t…I can’t tell you what to do, but feedback would be GREATLY appreciated :) 

You squeeze the excess water out of the rag before stomping back over to where Jeno laid on the couch. Your heavy, rhythmic breath is the only sound to fill the tense silence between the two of you as you press the towel up towards his eyebrow, covering a freshly split-open patch of skin. The action provokes the usual wince in pain from Jeno, but you don’t say ‘sorry’ this time, instead just clenching your jaw.

It was routine at this point. Jeno would knock on your door barely able to hold himself up, you would help him to the couch, or on days where he was particularly bloody, you’d have him sit on your bathroom counter and just pray he even had the strength to make it all the way there. Then, you’d get to work on cleaning him up, because you always clean him up, from his fights on the playground in primary school to now, when some kind of fate lets the two of you reconnect after you moved away before high school only to end up at the same college. It was two years ago when you immediately recognized the crescent-eyed smile of the boy sitting at a table you passed on your walk to class. You froze in the middle of the science building, sure you were crazy, but it only took a second before he came up and grabbed your wrist to spin you around. “I knew that was you.” He stated in relief as he pulled you into a hug that you fell right into, just as you always had. Your best friend status seemed to stick through all those years apart, as had his fighting tendencies. Though now, instead of pressing band-aids over boo-boos, you were disinfecting deep, bloody cuts, and wrapping gauze around his rough hands, misshapen by the amount of fingers he had broken that he never gave time to properly heal. 

You never reprimanded him. You didn’t need to. He knew that seeing him in this state was hurting you. Though you never said so, it was always evident by the look on your face that you couldn’t be bothered to cover up. What he didn’t know was that you were only on the med-school track because, since kindergarten, you had wanted to be a doctor so you knew how to take better care of him when he got himself injured. 

“You’re mad at me.” His gentle voice, the one he spoke with only when he was talking to you, cuts through the silence and brings you back to the present. You take a second to think about how to respond as you move onto his next wound.

“Why do you get into fights?” You ask, no real emotion behind your words outside of genuine curiosity. Jeno shakes his head, wincing as he quickly realizes that the motion was too rough for him right now.

“No reason.” He replies calmly, and you look up to meet his eyes as you press your towel against the cut by his lips.

“No reason? You do all this for no reason?” You spit back, unable to keep your even tone anymore. Jeno rolls his head to the side, dodging eye contact with you as he replies.

“I knew you were mad.” He says, almost absentmindedly.

You take a sharp inhale of breath, annoyed beyond measure, finally breaking.

“Of course I’m mad! I can’t leave you alone for one second without you hurting yourself!” This time, when Jeno winces, it’s not because of the antiseptic or pressure, it’s your tone, one he was so unfamiliar with when it came to you. All he thinks to do is roll his eyes in response.

“I mean, I always end up fine so it’s okay-”

“No!” You yell, cutting him off as you throw the cloth haphazardly at his figure, getting him to move his gaze back over to you in confusion as he picks up the towel and presses it against his wounds in your place. You just look at him, eyes scanning his entire bloodied up figure on the couch, tears threatening to spill for the first time ever in front of him. “No, it’s not okay. Not when I go crazy with worry wondering when the next time will be that you end up on this couch for me to fix. Do you get it? Do you get how scary it is for me to see my best friend beat up like this?!”

“I mean, the other guy always looks worse…” He states, the tiniest laugh accompanying his words, enraging you even more.

“You’re unbelievable!”

He furrows his eyebrows as much as he can before it strains against his cuts. “Me? You’re the one all worried for no reason-”

“I love you! Is that reason enough?!” You yell, standing up and walking towards the kitchen in your best attempt to get away from him. 

“Oh, God.” He says softly from the couch, and that’s all it takes for tears to start their race down your cheeks.

“‘Oh, God.’” You mock, shaking your head in defeat. “Great. Great. You can keep that towel, but please get off my couch and go somewhere else. Preferably, to a doctor. The rib that I keep telling you I’m worried about every time I see you, it feels broken now.” 

There’s a beat of suffocating silence before he speaks up again. “Y/n…” He says, just as gently as before, though you take none of it.

“Just go!” You shout across to the living room. You hear him let out a heavy exhale before responding.

“First, it’s hard to move because I apparently broke a rib, so if you want me to go, you’re going to have to help me up and out of the door. Second, the reason I got into the first fight on the playground in kindergarten was because that kid, Seongho, made fun of your hair bow.” You render still, staring down at your hands splayed out on the kitchen counter. You don’t know if you can form any response, you’re hardly sure if you’re breathing. Thankfully, Jeno fills the silence himself. “I said ‘oh, God’ because I realized I should’ve just told you that when you first asked. That I get into fights because some part of me has always needed to protect you. That the fights I seek out are against people who eye you like creeps. Yeah, I get into other stupid fights because people wanna punch me so goddamn bad for some reason and I don’t know how to back down, but the ones I start are just so I can keep you safe and gentle in this stupid, hurtful world.” 

Time seemed to stand still. You couldn’t wrap your head around his words. They seemed too unreal coming out of his mouth, but he spoke so surely. In the consequential stark silence, you hear him groan in pain, finally getting you to move as you rush over to him on the couch, extremely scared he was actually trying to get up and leave now, which he really was in no position to do by himself. However, when you get over to him, he hasn’t moved an inch. Instead, a soft smile covers his face as confusion crosses yours.

“I just did that to get you to come over to where I can see you again.” He admits, and you deadpan before you can finally find humor, shaking your head with a small laugh as tears continue to run down your face. Then, he finally does move, reaching a hand up to caress your cheek as his other still holds the damp cloth to his cuts. “I love you, y/n.” He says gently, making sure you were holding eye contact with him as he did so. You use a hand to wipe the remaining tears off your face before leaning in to kiss him softly. 

When you pull away, Jeno moves his head up to chase your lips as much as he can without hurting himself, pouting when you take a step back and shake your head. “You can kiss me all you want later. I have to get you to an actual doctor before your fractured rib punctures your lung and you die.” You state plainly, reaching an arm under him to help him off the couch as the two of you hobble towards the door. 

“I got so lucky…you’re incredibly romantic.” He replies sarcastically, and you just turn your head to look up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know why you’re teasing me. I don’t want you to die. That’s very romantic.” You respond with a smile, opening your door to get out into the dorm hallway. Jeno smiles lightly, kissing the top of your head as the two of you wait on an elevator. Then, all you can do is hold his hand as the doctor calls Jeno stupid for getting into fights (you slipped him a $5 for that one). 

[rodolfoparras]

So in SSKTJL, the suicide squad gets infected with Fear Gas because of Batman

For context, Fear Gas is a gas created by Scarecrow or Johnathan Crane, and when inhaled, you live through your worst fears until worn off.

And Digger's worst fear is everyone leaving him behind, being unwanted and forgotten. In the scene, George talks to himself, saying they've probably already left him. Calling himself a loser and and a coward and shit. He sees "NOT WANTED" posters of himself hung up around

(I can't do this anymore, bro)

What if Reader's worst fear was watching all of his friends/teammates die and losing them all🥰

Running around trying to listen to Harley's advice (because she knows Scarecrow and the toxin) but he just keeps hearing his friends scream for help and their bodies everywhere but he's literally unable to help them, because they're not fucking real but it's scary asf

And once it's all over, Reader is all over Digger the rest of the night. They're the closest, so it's already not that weird, but he's literally not giving Digger a MOMENT of peace. a hand on that man the entire time, following him everywhere, fucking sleeps on top of him to try and keep him safe

Mumbles to him all night about being scared of losing him and how much he cares about him and Digger's just "🧍‍♂️wut?" Because he genuinely believes that despite working with the team, he's very easily disposable and they could all replace him but don't because of Waller

Reader ramping up his affection for Digger after that because he's not gonna let him think that shit??

Idk where I'm going with this but I love him so much. Just wanna play with his hair and kiss his face 😞

-🐧

Cw: tooth rotting fluff, x male reader

Okay but thinking about you being unable to calm down even though the gas has long stopped having effect, even though you’re back in your current reality with all your friends where they’re all very much alive and doing well but no matter what they say or do you just can’t calm down

It’s like you’re still stuck in that place, watching all your friends die in front of you without being able to do anything, and Digger being Digger starts joking around, telling the rest of the team how they should just knock you out to make sure you get to sleep through the night.

But his words turn into squeaks as you pull him into a bruising grip, his head shoved into your chest, and your arms locked in an iron grip around his waist.

Unintelligible sounds escape his lips as he tries to push you away from him but you don’t budge an inch, if anything you hold him tighter, nuzzling your face into his honey blonde locks and inhaling his scent, and for once you actually seem to relax.

“Uh hello big guy? cant breathe here,” the sound of Digger’s strained voice sends the whole squad into fits of laughter, with them even making comments about how you’re his responsibility for the night before splitting up to get some rest.

“Alright alright that’s enough” digger says as he finally breaks out of your embrace “jeez I know I’m a lovable guy but even that was a bit too much eh?” Digger says, clearly being sarcastic as he proceeds to prepare his make shift bed.

He doesn’t even get to lay down properly before you’re on top of him, your body weight pinning him in place an arm once again locked around his waist.

“God dammit,” Digger grunts out as his back meets the harsh impact of the ground. “What’s with you tonight eh? Gas scared you that bad? What did you even see?”

And maybe it’s the hint of concern in his voice or it’s the exhaustion from todays events, but you decide to tell you him what you saw earlier today.

Surprisingly enough, Digger listens intently to every word you have to say, at some point you think he’s fallen asleep or spaced out because it’s so unusual for him to not interrupt but when you look up, you see the very much focused look on his face as he continues to listen to you.

Once you’re done speaking you peer up at him - only to be met with the sight of his furrowed brows as he worries his bottom lip.

This time it’s your turn to ask what’s on his mind, digger doesn’t waste a second before he starts to explain, telling you how he can understand why you’d be worried about losing king shark- he was a great asset to the team - or Harley - she was a smart cookie or dead shot - look at his name! who wouldn’t want a guy like that on his team ? but he can’t understand why you’d be worried about losing him.

He doesn’t say it in a self deprecating way, but rather as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, as if he’s speaking of the way the sun is bound to rise tomorrow and maybe that hurts more than if he were to say it in a self deprecating tone.

You’re swift to rise up, knocking the air out of his lungs as you go on a tangent about how of course he’s an important part of the team, promptly mentioning the many times he’s saved your ass or saved another member of the team, the many times he’d been the reason as to why they succeeded in whatever mission you were doing.

By the time you’re done you’re all out of breath, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace hands still hanging in the air and staring wide eyed at the Aussie man.

“Alright alright big guy I get it,” he says, now sporting a blush on his face and avoiding your gaze while bashfully rubbing at the back of his neck. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you have a crush on the ol’ captain” Digger say with somewhat of a forced chuckle , and peers up at you beneath soft blonde lashes.

“Maybe I do,” you shrug.

“Wha-“

“Sleep digger, we have a long day tomorrow no?” You say, suddenly laying down again and pulling him into your arms before he can protest. You can hear him cursing under his breath but he doesn’t do anything to try and get out of your embrace. “Goodnight captain” you say with a smile on your face.

“Goodnight” he grumbles back as he tightens his hold on your waist.

[bakerstreethound]

🍓Sherlock doing this to reader 😩❤️🦋

1. whispering ''kiss me'' to your lover

2. wrapping your arms around your lover's neck

3. kisses traveling from your lover's nose to their lips

Hello my dear @lady-harvey you sent this months ago but I hope you enjoy what I came up with. I don't even remember where this prompt list resides anymore haha. Anyways I hope you enjoy the soft boy and hi everyone, I live! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Berry Kisses

Summary: Sherlock's kisses are one thing you cannot live without anymore. He can't resist you anymore than when he's on the trail of a killer. You live for the quiet moments where you can be at peace with each other, if even for a short while.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

You live for these moments when Sherlock allows himself to rest, a short reprieve from the demands of his day. He won’t admit it outside the doors of 221B, but when you crawl up on the bed to straddle him, he can’t look away. This is one of the best parts of his day, these quiet moments with you.

You offer a small smile in return, watching him, as his gaze meets yours his hands resting along your back, stroking and rubbing circles as you inhale deep, burying your face in his neck. It doesn’t take long before he groans while you not so subtly suck marks along his neck. 

“You’re not going to get away with that so easily," he huffs, rolling on top of you, his lips a fraction from yours, teasing you so close but he feels miles away in the moment and all you want to do is run to him and drown in his kisses.

He pins you deeper into the mattress, piercing gaze roaming along your body, causing you to shiver. It always did in his presence, your body responsive in every way, each touch and caress of his awakening the sleeping siren within. 

His lips still linger over yours, heat cascading along his body, setting fire to yours as if you are kindling ready to burst into flame. 

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” you let out the barest whisper, tongue teasing along your lips. 

“If that’s what you wish, yes” 

“Really I thought it’d take more convincing than that, my love.”

“Kiss me then,” he quips, it’s almost a challenge but a deeper request, He wants more oh how he aches for more of you. You’re already driving him mad being here with him this way and he wants to devour you until dawn breaks, but he lets you take your time. How willing you are to take your time, breaking him down bit by bit, his fingers digging into your shoulders with every desperate kiss, sigh, and plea you draw from his lips.

It’s an addiction you’ll never recover from but will gladly drown in tenfold if you can see this vision each and every day, of him bathed in the light soon succumbing to the shadows. 

Your arms immediately wrap around him once more, straddling his waist and peppering his face with more kisses. He savors it, letting you do as you wish despite the protests of his mind. He wants you, yearns for you terribly but he wants, oh how he wants more. 

He finds himself fixated on your nose, and so he caresses your jaw, cupping his face in your hand to stop you from your conquest on his neck. He barely pecks your nose, grinning at the amused laugh that follows, but his lips remain along your body trailing from your cheek, fluttering along to the corner of your lips before finally kissing you properly. You groan at the contact, somehow pulling him impossibly closer, falling into his adoration and warmth. 

“I need you,” you sigh softly, your heart aching. You’d feel so empty without him, but his lips are your salvation dragging you into the light, saving you from drowning in the depths of your mind. 

He obliges, turning to press you into the mattress, pulling you under him not intent on letting go. “So good for me,” he murmurs, words muffled by the sounds falling from you, your mind comprehending nothing but him and the love he bestowed upon you. 

“You taste,” he kisses your lips engulfing you before brushing against them again, “you taste like strawberries.” 

“I see you’re catching on, how observant of you, my love.” 

His lips press against your neck, savoring the smell of you and strawberries intermingled-, and a few moments pass, his lips find yours once more, fingers carding roughly through your hair, and you groan. You want, how you want more and you let him take as much as you give, his hands falling to your waist gripping tight, worshiping you in nothing but adoration. 

You make a reality what you imagine in your dreams. You find yourself falling into him consumed by him, wanting and feeling nothing but his skin against yours, relishing the sounds falling from his lips, the weight of him on top of you filling your every need. When his hand strokes your sides a shiver follows in its wake, his hand caressing the apex of your thigh, his sapphire gaze staring into your eyes, shimmering. 

“May I?” his gaze doesn’t part from yours not when you whisper a yes against his lips, a long, elegant finger stroking you and the fire consuming you from the inside out. It’s wonderful and all-consuming like him and when he adds another, working you slow, always eager and desperate to memorize this, memorize you for he knows your body, some of the darkest parts of your souls as well and you gladly fall bringing your lips to his in a searing kiss the feeling of him and his adoration pulling the last bits of pleasure from you. There you remain, basking in the bliss, his chest rising and falling curls brushing along his brow encompassed by you in your own universe.

****** 

[kookygranger]

And He Was

Ghost!Steve Harrington x Witch!Reader

Series Masterlist

900 words

“This is crazy!”

Steve barrels into the apartment after you.

You’d spent the rest of the train journey staring at each other as Steve held on tightly to the hand that stroked his arm. It wasn’t until a grumpy late-night commuter walked passed the both of you with a muttered get a room, that his attention was lost.

They could see him.

He tested out the waters of this new revelation with every person you passed on the way back to your apartment. Smiling and waving at the ticket attendant barely paying attention, leaning down to pat a dog belonging to a disgruntled runner that was forced to stop, opening the door for a woman who lived in your building and telling her to have a good night even through her suspicious look.

Steve Harrington could be seen again. He could greet people and help them through doors. He could touch things.

But he hadn’t bothered to touch you in the 23 minutes since he’d discovered this new development.

“Yeah it–“

“I mean what the hell?!” He paces franticly around your apartment. Smiling giddily at the feeling of your records under his fingertips, chuckling when he can pick up your teapot. “Want me to make you some tea?”

“Maybe later.”

His face falls at the lack of excitement on yours.

“What’s wrong?”

Why haven’t you jumped at the chance to touch me? You kept trying to when you couldn’t, doesn’t it matter anymore? Will you leave now that other people can give you attention?

“Nothing.” You shake your head, motioning to the teapot in his hand, “I’ll take care of that. Although I don’t think it’s gonna do you much good.” You walk towards him, “Whatever this is still doesn’t change the fact that you’re–“ He stops you from taking the pot with a hand on your arm, and you swear you still feel a zap even when there isn’t one.

Steve looks down at his hand and smiles softly when he feels the warmth of your skin under his moving thumb. He puts the pot down on your table, his now free hand moving to your waist. He leans in slowly and you can feel the inhale of his chest against your arm, that can’t be right, before his lips leave a soft peck on your cheek.

You're burning fiercer than you ever have under his gaze.

“Hi.”

You barely get the reply of a h out before he’s shifting you in front of him properly, one hand enveloping the side of your jaw while the other squeezes your waist as he presses his lips to yours.

There’s a shiver that runs through your whole body at the contact, like stepping into an ice bath, but then it’s all warmth. That familiar tingle spreads through you as his lips move against yours with a desperate pull. You flinch back before you’re lost in the feeling altogether, eyes shut and head shaking.

“I feel like this is crossing a line of delusion. I can’t be kissing a ghost! This is insan–“ Steve cuts you off with another deep kiss, hands confident in their attempt to ground you.

“You worry too much.” He mumbles into your mouth and you open your eyes, breaking your lips apart.

“Shouldn’t you be more worried? Steve, you're dead.”

He smirks, “Which means I have nothing left to worry about. Besides,” your lips click as he presses quick, sweet kisses to you between talking, “I don’t feel like I’m dead. ‘Cause I can feel again, you know?” He leans back, hazel eyes searching deep within your own, “I feel things when I’m with you.” His thumb strokes your cheek softly, “I can touch you for god’s sake.” He laughs in disbelief, “Babe, you’ve brought me back.”

You frown under his gaze of awe, “Steve that’s not possible.”

“Okay, maybe not back back, but you’ve done something.”

“I haven’t used any magic I swear.” You shake your head.

“No, not with magic. I think it’s just you.” He smiles, before licking his bottom lip, “I was content with my death when it happened you know. I got to say goodbye thanks to your friend, and I saved the people I loved with my sacrifice. Then I met you and I knew I couldn’t go. That it wasn’t really my time because I would miss out on a life with you.”

“Steve.” You whisper, eyes stinging.

“I’m serious. I don’t think it was an accident that led me to you. I think it was fate.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

He frowns, “Isn’t that a witch thing though? You read tarot cards.”

“I use them more as guidelines on what to look out for. How to avoid bad things–”

“Whatever, I don’t care.” He shakes his head, before squeezing your hip again. “I know. You’ve done this to me.”

Tears are threatening to spill over your lash line now.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve smiles at the whisper that leaves you, “Don’t be. Best thing that’s ever happened to me. Gave me no choice but to find a way to be with you forever.”

You let him lean his body into you, giving up on fighting against your own when his lips find yours again, melting against him when he licks into your mouth. Steve Harrington was still dead, but his form appeared entirely real. How? At this moment you did not know, but you couldn’t find it in you to question it.

Because, well…you’d fallen in love with a ghost.

[tallulah477]

Reader likes to fuck Spider in her head

*Based off the song FU In My Head by Cloudy June

Spider x Fem!Na'vi!Reader

Word Count: 860

CW:// AgedUp!Spider, Fingering, Fisting

Sorry for acting this strange, I can’t control myself.

You know as soon as your eyes meet his concerned brown ones that you're lucky he’s oblivious because he should be able to read your mind right now. Anyone else would. They would take one look at your heavily dilated eyes and wouldn’t have to look very hard to see the clear, and very inappropriate, movie reel playing on repeat behind them. 

It’s bad timing, thinking these things when he’s trying to train you, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. 

He’s too close, way too close, his entire body pressing against yours to try to get the best hold on you to guide you into position. The heat of his body sets your back on fire as his front curls around it, one hand steadying your elbow while the other wraps gently around your forearm, fingers splayed against your skin as they urge your front hand to bring the bow up just a little more.   

And you can smell him, a fragrant aroma of woodsy musk combined with an underlying increase of natural scent rising from the sweat along his skin earned in training. It makes your nose tingle as you breathe it in, body shaking as you have to physically hold yourself back from shoving your nose directly into the crook of his neck and inhale the intoxicating scent directly from the source. 

You want that scent to cover you, want it to sink into your skin so it’s all you ever smell. And you want his hands to put it there, want his smaller but oh so fucking strong hands to caress every inch of your body, palms dragging across your sensitive skin while his fingertips tickle at your curves. He’d touch you so good - he’s a sweetheart, so kind and generous. A giver. 

A giver who would give you anything you wanted if you had him - give you his lips . . . his fingers . . . his cock. Give you orgasm after orgasm as his fingers thrust inside of you, insistently curling into that one perfect spot that makes you see stars because of course he would find it that fast. He’s clever, a quick learner, and you know first hand how determined he is to not let his ‘humanness’ get in the way of his life and success among the clan. 

You want those fingers thrusting inside you so badly, curling inside you relentlessly as you arch your back and push your hips down on his fingers harder. His fingers, all of them, all four save for the thumb that would rub perfect circles across your swollen clit - all four shoved as far inside your needy cunt as he can get them, and it would be the worst combination of ecstasy and not enough you’ll ever experience. 

Your sister likes to tease you about your crush. The human boy, really? He’s large for a human, sure, but his dick would need to be the size of his forearm to properly satisfy you. And it takes all your strength to not smack her silly for disrespecting your god in front of you. 

You don’t care - don’t care how big he may or may not be. He’s huge in your eyes, you’ve seen the hints of it through his tewng (loincloth), and you just know that if you were ever blessed enough to see it outside of its confines that you would wrap yourself around it so fast that no one would ever have the chance to look upon its beauty ever again. 

But his fingers dig into your forearm again, drawing your attention, and suddenly, you don’t care about his cock anymore. Who needs cock when he has those hands, with arms so muscular and strong you think he could put you on your face in a heartbeat if he wanted to. 

When he fucks you with those four fingers, and you’re squelching around him, pathetic and obscene noises falling from your drenched cunt, would he push in his fifth finger too? You would suck him right in, needy pussy desperate for anything and everything he would be willing to give you. You’d scream when his fist pops in, thick wrist fully sheathed by your clenching hole as he fills you up. You’d stretch around his invading hand, humping his wrist like a Palulukan (Thanator) in heat.

And you’d love it. 

“Hey,” He says, loud in your ear and your eyes flick back to his, concerned brown orbs staring back at you. “You okay?” 

You clear your throat, embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You’re not fine. You’re so far from fine. Your pussy drips inside your tewng, clenching around nothing as your clit throbs, begging for Spider to move his hand from your elbow and sneak it around your front until it slides inside the soaking material - inside you.

You’d allow him to fuck you with his entire arm if it meant you could feel him inside of you. 

“Yeah,” You repeat, just a little firmer and possibly more believable. “I’m fine. Just– got a lot on my mind.”

You make me scream when there’s nobody, just the thought of your body.

[fourmoony]

𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨

𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⭒⭒⭒

𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐨.

𝟏.𝟒𝐤 - masterlist

because apparently, the only thing i know how to write is angst. enjoy this shortie with barely any context.

⭒⭒⭒

“It’s over, isn’t it?”

The sun is setting into the horizon, sea gulls flying low to the water. The tide has come in, leaving only a small stretch of dry sand that you both occupy. Further down the beach the fire roars on soundly, the strum of a guitar sounds out, broken choruses and laughter, the inability to remember all the words. Without the weight of conversation – of reality – the scene is quite beautiful. Now, though, it all feels too painful. Like something you should be enjoying, but it’s just out of reach.

The air smells like smoke and seaweed and sun cream, days spent on the beach enjoying what the Dover sun has to offer. It smells like the dying barbeque and warm cider, cigarettes and weed. It smells like summer.

His hair falls around his chin, now. It hadn’t last summer. Last summer, he’d hated the idea of it growing past the tops of his ears – a reminder of his childhood, of things expected of an heir, to be properly presentable and demand respect. He hasn’t mentioned why he’s let it grow. You haven’t asked. He’s looking out at the water, the push and pull of the waves, steady, never changing, always consistent. It’s been different for a while, now. He’s been different. Things, the world, school, friends, everything’s changing. It’s a natural part of growing up.

But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I think so, yeah.”

The words taste bitter, like bile. It’s the end. The end of whirlwind love, chaste kisses, heavy hands, soft eyes, and whispered words. It’s the end of midnight dances and lazy Sundays tucked away in dorm rooms. The end of blinding adoration, hopeless devotion, high highs, and low lows. Of loud fights, harsh words, spit fire tempers and broken ornaments. The end of salty tears, things that can’t be taken back, broken promises, silent treatments, make-up kisses, and repeating the cycle.

He flinches as though even though he’d known the answer, he’d expected something different. It hurts all the same. It hurts so much it’s like setting your own heart on fire. It’s like swallowing glass or bleeding out. Like you’re drowning and the surface is millimetres away.

“How long?” He asks. His eyes never leave the water, the sea foam waves, the safety of not meeting your eye in fear that it’ll break him.

Things have been different for a while, really. But how can one pinpoint the realisation of falling out of love with someone they’d been sure they would spend their life with, at one point? When do toe curling kisses turn to chaste pecks of greeting? When do meaningful conversations become stunted and filled with secrets, pieces of information that just don’t feel that important to share, anymore? When does dancing in the common room turn to dancing around one another at the breakfast table? When do arguments turn to silence, preferring to fume alone than at one another? When does your greatest love turn to dust before your very eyes?

The sand is still warm to touch from the day’s sun. It’s grounding. It reminds you of where you are, what the purpose of this trip is. To enjoy, to savour, to let the last weeks of youth take their course before the future arrives. Everyone is growing. Growing into their own person, with goals and careers to chase, lives to live and people to love. You’re not the wide-eyed group of kids you once were, struggling to find a place in the world, clinging to each other for comfort.

No, this is the beginning of adulthood. The beginning of letting go. The end of clinging on.

“A while,” a sharp inhale. “March, maybe. Around the time we had the fight about N.E.W.T. Electives for seventh year.”

Recognition floods his features, stormy eyes reminiscent of the night he’d said many things he couldn’t take back. Defence had better prospects, you shouldn’t be wasting time with classes like Care of Magical Creatures or History of Magic. He feels rotten about it, like the argument and his words have taken a part of his soul he’ll never get back. Maybe they have, in that really, when he thinks about it, that’s the fight that ended it all. He's no idea where his words came from. Your interests, your kind heart, the way you went about your education were some of the things that made him fall so heavily in love with you in the first place. Your futures look different, though. He wants the glory of sitting high in the Ministry’s Auror office, you’d like to own some kind of book shop, live a quiet life, away from prejudice and the chaos of Wizarding Britain.

And he can’t argue with that. But you’re both smart enough to know that such different desires in life won’t work.

“Yeah. Yeah, me too, I s’pose.”

You close your eyes, allow yourself to imagine a future in which you’re not in his arms, being loved by and in love with him, fighting, making up, making out, crying, laughing, dancing, singing, living. Every step of the way for the last six years, you’ve done it together, been in love for two, and it’s ending. It’s a bittersweet feeling.

Another song starts by the campfire, and you’re there again.

Still beside him, closer than strangers, farther than lovers. Still loving, not in love. Not giving up but letting go. It’s run its course, the relationship. It hurts, it’s burning and suffocating, and you feel like you might be dying a little bit. But then your eyes meet for the first time since you’d found him, taking a moment away from everyone, and you realise he’s not the boy you fell in love with.

He’s not the broken boy who came from an abusive home, the boy who would get onto the train every summer skinnier than he’d left it months before, and with several new scars to show. He’s not the same boy who was quiet in his first year, reserved in his second, rebellious in his third.

He’s everything you fell in love with, rebellious, loud, funny, loving, caring, broken, pieced back together, resentful, angry. But he’s different now, in so many ways. He’s happy. He’s himself. He’s living no crosses bared, no secrets held, no regrets and you refuse to stand in his way, be a reason he second guesses himself, be the reason he doesn’t follow his dreams. He’s a boy who grew up in a miserable home, with a hard and horribly cruel life, and you want him to break the cycle of toxicity. You both know you were good for each other at the time, but not for the long run.

“I’ll always love you; you know?” He asks, tears in his eyes.

There’s stubble on his chin, and his face isn’t so gaunt and sharp as it used to be. He’s a man, now, older, and wiser, ready to start the next chapter of his life.

“I know. Me too.”

A seagull dives headfirst into the water, there’s a cheer from around the campfire, the water reaches your toes now, the sun is long gone. But the memories remain, the blinding love, the conversations, soft touches, chaste kisses, record player dances, and Sirius Black.

The walk back to your friends lifts a weight off of your shoulders, and it's obvious that the conversation has done the same for Sirius. He looks lighter, happier, and less like he's drowning in regrets. Everyone looks up at once. James stops strumming the guitar, Peter and Remus' off key rendition of an acoustic Ziggy Stardust falls short. The group takes a collective inhale. They know. They've known probably longer than you and Sirius.

The sand feels too hot, the fire burns your skin, the smoky air is too thick to breathe. What now? Will they think they have to pick sides?

But Sirius looks at you, grey eyes and the shining bright light of fire. He smiles, the boyish smile you haven't seen in so fucking long. You smile back when he leans forward, presses a kiss to your forehead and then claps his hands.

"Right, Prongs, start from the beginning," He takes a seat beside Marlene in the sand, leaves the last available camping chair for you, "Moony and Wormy are absolutely abysmal, need to show them how it's done."

And if your heart soars a little at the man's ability to help you blend into a crowd, just like it used to, well, that's no one's business but yours.

⭒⭒⭒

requests open.

[n3llieelle]

haiii saw that requests were open so could i get a fic where ellie comforts her gf after a nightmare with sex? :3

UHHH…… 😳

This has got to be my favorite request although there is many more favs. I just had to add strap queen ellie bc its the best way to comfort the reader, so I hope you enjoy the little sessions in this ;)

nsfw. Ellie Williams. [Cc. 62k]

A/N: I hope you enjoy reading this and thank you for requesting!

You’re breathing heavily as if you took a heavy hit, but you were running for your life in the most unforgettable dream ever where ellie was gone she wasn’t with you anymore, wasn’t there to protect you in such a cruel world where nobody you knew or loved was there. It was supposed to be a dream, yet it was a nightmare. Jolting up in bed, your heart pounded like crazy and the air felt heavy on your lungs. You tried to take a deep breath, but it came out as a shaky inhale. It hurt to inhale and exhale at the same time; you couldn’t breathe in and out as easy, so you just closed your eyes and tried again. It still didn’t work. Ellie woke up a few minutes later to you having a whole panic attack and crying your eyes out. She immediately wrapped her arms around you, held you close and rocked side to side.

Your body shuddered as you cried, and you buried your face into her neck trying not to make any noise. Ellie stroked your back soothingly, whispering words of encouragement until eventually, the tremors stopped and your breaths evened out. “It’s okay, babe…I’m here.” Ellie spoke quietly as you leaned against her. A couple minutes passed while you composed yourself and you could finally open your eyes to look at her properly.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto her lap, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. She kissed your forehead gently, then your nose, your eyelids “Hey love, do you want to talk about what happened?” she asked softly, rubbing circles into your hip with her thumb. The gesture helped calm you slightly, and you nodded your head against her chest. You told her everything from beginning to end. Everything that had happened, what you had saw from vivid memory of your nightmare. By the end of it all, Ellie had tears streaming down her cheeks and her eyes looked bloodshot. You were still shaking, though. Your voice was soft, raspy, and broken as you finished talking. “Sorry…” you murmured. “You didn’t need to hear this”

“Don’t apologize. I don’t mind at all, Y/N. I can’t believe this happened, sweet girl…” she started, as her eyes met yours. “I am so sorry…” she mumbled, pulling you closer to her. She rubbed your back again as you continued sobbing into her shirt. After a while, your breathing slowed and you felt safe than before.

“I’ll always protect you, baby.” She mumbled reassuringly, kissing the top of your head once more. “I won’t let anything happen to you ever again.”

You pulled back and smiled slightly, wiping your eye with the sleeve of your hoodie. Ellie smiled warmly back, wiping away your remaining tears. She cupped your cheek tenderly. “So beautiful.” She whispered, her voice full of emotion. She leaned forward and pressed her lips softly against yours. For a moment, there was nothing except for you and Ellie’s lips pressed together. Then the kiss got deeper, and Ellie pushed you on your back. “Let me show you how much I love you…” she mumbled, kissing along your jawline and up along your cheek to the corner of your mouth, nuzzling your nose with hers as she went. As your kisses grew heated you moved in her lap, now straddling her legs to get closer to her. She moaned softly, reaching between your legs with one hand and running the fingers of the other along your thigh, lightly scratching your skin. She broke contact momentarily for a minute to reach into your bag, pull out a silicone purple strap-on.

Holding it firmly between her teeth, she guided you off her lap and towards her bedroom floor so she could get closer to you. You both laid against the headboard panting slightly, Ellie leaning over you and putting the inserting inside your pussy. She lubed it up, slowly pushing in until only half of it was in, then slowly easing out again before moving it all the way in. She repeated this several times before sliding the rest of it in. You gripped the sheets beneath you, moaning softly. Ellie placed a finger across your lips. She positioned herself

to where it was easy to quicken her pace. She began thrusting faster, harder, faster, as soon as she found a good rhythm. “Oh fuck yes” she groaned loudly, gripping the headboard beside you so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head when she reached orgasm, you began coming undone with the force of it all. She took your nippler in her mouth to suck it while continuing to move against you. You whimpered at the sudden change in stimulation, grasping for something to hold onto. Ellie grabbed you by the hips once again and brought you back to the edge of your climax, quickly bringing you back into her and rocking your hips with the speed of a piston.

You came again in waves, moaning louder than you had been doing before, your eyes rolling back into your head as you rode out a final wave and collapsed in her waiting arms after she pulled out. Ellie held you closely, letting your head rest on her chest, holding you like a baby. You both lay like that for a while, taking each other's warmth and comfort, neither wanting to move for fear that you would break whatever magic bubble this moment was built around.

Eventually, Ellie pulled away slightly so that she could look at you, smiling as she brushed some loose strands of hair behind your ear. “Do you feel better after those two rounds?” she asked softly. You nodded in response. Ellie grinned and leaned in to press a quick, chaste kiss to your lips before sitting up completely.

“Babe, about we go for a late night drive?” Ellie asked, standing up from the bed. You gave her a smile and nodded in agreement. She smiled and offered her hand down to help you stand. She led you out of the room and downstairs and to her car. She opened the passenger door and climbed into the driver’s seat without a word. You did the same, getting in the middle of the front seat with your feet propped up on the dashboard.

Ellie put one of her hands on the steering wheel as she glanced sideways at you, before she placed her free hand on your thigh. She rubbed it gently, feeling you tense up under her touch for a split second before relaxing again. She sighed in content and relaxed as well. This was nice; just two lovers enjoying each others presence in their car, in the dark on a late night drive.

*******

[enbesbians]

hi there, haven’t been able to write all that much lately which bums me out but i wanted to share a story of mine i think some of you may be interested in.

if anyone here doesn’t know, im experienced within sex and im a very erotic person online as well as in real life. i haven’t had many sexual partners but with the partners i had been with, ive done a lot of experimenting. i wanted to share the first time i used a strap on a girl and the embarrassment that held within that.

during the springtime after my birthday, i had taken upon myself to invest in a strap on. i would always jokingly look on sites like adam and eve, window shopping at all the ones id like to get, feeling as if id never be able to, mostly cause i was scared shitless of my parents finding out that their offspring was buying a sex toy, let alone a fucking strap on. i went to spencers where they had a very limited selection, i wasn’t too picky, even though i stood in that section for god knows how long. it was a gummy purple five inch dildo, with a black harness that felt like a belt of a car— it was rough, complicated and left my skin feeling like i had rug burn. maybe it was because i didn’t know how to properly put it on or maybe the material was just that shitty… i don’t have it anymore so i can’t really test that theory.

my girlfriend at the time and i were very awkward with one another, we couldn’t even look at each other without geeking out and needing to squeal but when i had sex with her the first time (without the strap) it wasn’t as bad as i thought it would be. i was lucky enough to have a good enough tongue and a perverted mind where my hands would touch all over her like she was gold. the lead into that was funny though… i kept laughing and hesitating to do things like kiss her neck, touch her thighs… even taking her bra off, my hands were sweating and it seemed like the clip could not budge. i accidentally hit her nose (twice i might add) and i was not able to use dirty talk for the life of me… i hated my voice and saying ‘baby’ to her during a time like this made myself want to cringe knowing that i was able to hear what she could. but as we eased our way into it, the better it became and the more relaxed we started to be. by the point of me getting the strap, we had sexted two nights before, me being confident thinking i can totally ace the work of a strap on due to the numerous homemade lesbian porn videos of women straight banging their scene partners. she didn’t know i would buy one and she didn’t even mind the idea that we’d never even use one, but i got so turned on by the image of me using it on her so i worked on impulse and got it.

as the weekend approached, i believe the last day i was going to spend the night, i showed it to her. she giggled so hard, covering her face, telling me how she couldn’t believe i owned one. she was more excited than i thought she would’ve been and it only built the start of my ego to think id be any good at using it. thing was… my anxiety began to rise as things got more intimate. i felt like i couldn’t kiss her correctly and touching her body felt like my first time, shaking hands, constant deep inhales, and i would stutter, tripping over my touch as i tried talking sexy to her.

putting it on in front of her felt like i was being watched by the devil in the depths of hell… maybe even deeper— my body was so hot, i couldn’t stop trembling and i almost dropped it i think three times. she was nervous too and with the lack of communication it didn’t help much of anything.

i didn’t know how to start… i knew to prep her with my mouth and fingers and lube but as i started, it took so many times to get it inside of her… i kept saying i was sorry, asking her if she was okay and the frustration on my face was enough to almost break the mood. with her laying on her back, i finally got myself inside of her. moving my hips felt like i was pushing a bolder— they were so stiff and inconsistent. they got sore so fucking quick and i ended up stopping so many times just to ease the tension. it felt like hours and nothing was progressing and took into account that maybe using a strap was not something id ever use again. she didn’t cum from it so i just took it off, feeling embarrassed and stupid for not looking into how to use the damn thing. i just continued to do what i usually did and left it at that.

as some of you may know i value my partners pleasure and even if they’re satisfied, i strive to be better and with that night alone, i thought of the worst… i thought she was going to break up with me. i thought she wouldn’t think of me as this could person she’d always seen. i felt like i had ruined myself and there was no fixing it. i thought she was going to hate me. fortunately, all of my worries were resolved by her saying it was okay.

the next time we used it was probably a half a month later and it worked better… to put it lightly. she did cum from it and that eased me up by a million. i still didn’t think id be able to use it as much as i wanted and with her i almost didn’t. i was too worried thinking that id be worst than the first time and each time we had sex i thought she’d view me in a way that i was unable to pleasure her. as time continued and i let that worry slip, build up my strength in my hips and my stamina, it got better.

that’s pretty much it i guess… im too lazy to go too much in depth but for people saying im a sex god… i wanted people to know that i most definitely was NOT one. i was a shy, eager and anxious dude and with that girl, i felt like my sex performance was the most lackluster… if you want any more stories about my experience… you can ask, im gladly willing to share.

[levmada]

//afab!reader, subby!Levi, edging, praise, mommy kink, crying, dumbification, bondage (blindfold, spreader, cuffs), ass play

It’s gotten to this point.

Only the sound of the headboard above Levi’s head creaking makes him realize he’s straining the ropes binding his wrists. But he can’t remember to stop for long, can’t stop his head from tossing side to side—he can’t contain the tension any longer. And that’s what he thought an hour ago.

The blindfold blankets his vision in constant darkness. Clueless as to when or where you’re going to touch his body, as wound up as a live wire, leaves his insides light with anticipation.

That’s more intense by itself, but this pales in comparison. With each release you edge him to the brink of, he prays that there must be a limit, only to be proven wrong again and again.

No matter that you gently push his pecs together and spread them apart or draw a teasing finger up his inner thigh, he arches into your warm hands and leans his thigh—not getting far, however, with the leather hugging his ankles bracing the metal bar in place, forcing his legs wide open at all times.

He makes a small whine of frustration when the metal bar doesn’t give, hooking his teeth into his raw bottom lip. Your fist, closed around his sticky tip, remains firm but motionless. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple.

“Ah fuck—”

He hisses through his teeth as the three fingers stuffed inside him shift in a movement so slight it shouldn’t even be noticeable. Just like your fist, all you do is inflict firm pressure. If you just rubbed his prostate once, he’s sure he’ll come. His insides uncontrollably quivering around them in a plead for movement is almost too much.

“Please… mommy…” escapes him between shaky panting.

A kiss is pressed to his tip. He gasps, his shaking thighs immediately jerking in attempts to escapes the overwhelming stimulation—for nothing.

“You’ve finally reached your limit, huh, baby.”

Warm breath fans over the crease of his inner thigh and pelvis, plush lips dragging up and down. He mumbles incoherently, weeping just faintly as his cock gives a thick twitch that aches through his whole body.

Those fingers rock properly this time, once.

“ah-hah—fu—plea-please ngh…”

“if you want to come, use your words,” you croon. “Do you remember how to talk?”

He chokes on a sob, his head flopping to one side again. “Mommy. Please, m-mommy—h-h—mommy…”

“Mhm?”

The nonchalance in your voice makes more tears bleed through his white blindfold.

“Lemme c-come, mommy, I need to—”

A cry fills his throat as your thumb rubs his slit, back and forth, and his walls pulse.

Just when that sweet release emerges, you take your hand off entirely, leaving him to slump in defeat. It’s no use. His heaving chest wracks as he starts to break down.

And it actually hurts this time. His toes curl, teeth grit as his cock twitches in quick succession. His tip leaks again, and drips down his shaft. He doesn’t hear himself mumbling or that it’s not even coherent besides mommy.

But he knows you must be watching.

“Shh…”

Your soothing tone is a lie; you work your fingers out of him next. His hips raise slightly, which is as much as he can, but it’s useless, and he’s left with nothing. He’s crying properly now, fracturing his whined mumbling.

“Shh, I’d never leave you like this. You’ve been such a good boy. Letting me hear that pretty voice of yours so much…”

Your sweaty palm grazes his cheek, touch his whole head falls into. Please has fallen from his lips so many times that it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore.

“Don’t move.”

He stiffens as much as possible, but his thighs can't stop trembling.

The bed lightly creaks, then your knees fall to rest outside his hips. Enticing heat off your inner thighs ghosts his navel, but you aren't even sitting down.

But he doesn't arch his back; he remains still, like a good boy.

“Stay like this until mommy says.” Your palms slide up his slim waist, flicking his sore nipples.

He inhales sharply through his teeth, his fists painfully clenching, crying, “Please please please please…”

“Oh, you’re so cute...”

You grasp the base of his cock.

Tight, slick heat slides onto his sensitive cock, your tight delicious fucking pussy, and quivers around it, clinging to it, so wet that there's a squelch when your pussylips collide with his balls.

A shameless moan he didn’t even think his voice was capable of seizes his chest, head falling back. It strains deep inside you, being massaged by the maddening heat of your body like your cunt wants him to come in it just as much as he needs to. You groan, gently.

“I’m gonna come I can’t”—he cries out in utter misery—“I’m—can’t, mommy, mm—”

“Fuck me, baby—”

You don't finish before he cries out so gutturally that his voice breaks. Even his shaking stutters to a brief halt when his balls throb—pleasure impossible to contain inside his body, vision flashing. His orgasm burns through his veins like lit kerosine. His hips raise off the bed as he deliriously ruts, sweaty skin roughly slapping. A groan explodes out of his chest. You're forced to seize support from his shoulders that he doesn't notice as he fucks thick cum deep inside the heat of your cunt, between eager twitches of his cock.

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpcember Day 4: Hidden Injury

TW: Blood

@whumpcember

Whumpee winced as they limped down the hall. They did their best to straighten up their walk. No one needed to see them walking like this. They’d successfully hid all of the injuries when they finally returned back to the base. No one on the team noticed. But of course, they were still worried sick about them. Caretaker more than anyone else. That’s when they were interrogated about their disappearance. They quickly reassured everyone they just needed some alone time and that they didn’t mean to frighten them. They all seemed to buy it. All, except Caretaker. 

It seemed as if nothing could get past her. That’s when she started to ask about it when they were alone. Checking on Whumpee, asking if they were feeling okay, if they were hurt. Obviously, Whumpee denied every single time. She soon stopped asking. Not even bothering to silently ask with just a glance. She didn’t say a word about it. As a result, she got more quiet around Whumpee. There were even two times they weren’t aware she was still in the room. Now they’ve been that much more cautious. 

All of this just made Whumpee more and more tense. They couldn’t keep up with all their façades. Not only did they have hide their limp, they also had to hide their bruises, scars and every bit of pain they felt from just breathing. They weren’t sure how long they’d be able to keep it up. To keep it from being obvious, they just kept their distance from the rest of the team. Hiding in their room and avoiding coming out until everyone was away. 

Right now they weren’t sure where exactly everyone was. It was completely silent so they assumed that everyone had gone out to take care of errands or priorities. 

Whumpee shuffled around in search of a snack. They wheezed in pain as they reached up on the higher shelves. Usually, reaching wouldn’t be that much of a problem. Especially with Whumpee’s height. But with all the throbbing, aches and stinging, it felt more like a task. They had to pause for a moment in the middle of reaching. The world suddenly began to spin and they felt as if they were falling backwards. Whumpee grabbed their head, leaning over the table in hopes of making the sensations stop. They couldn’t take all of this. Everything was hurting. When their vision finally stilled and focused properly, Caretaker was standing nearby with a look of pure shock and horror. 

“You lied…” 

Whumpee quickly forced themself to stand upright. They cleared their throat, holding back a wince. “Caretaker… I-I didn’t see you there! I thought you had gone out with the others.” 

“I can’t believe you… Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Look, Caretaker, it doesn’t matter. I’m fine. Nothing is wrong.” 

“Nothing is wrong?!” She repeated. “I’ve stood here and watched you grunt in pain eight times. Don’t lie to me and say nothing is wrong!” 

“Well there isn’t anything wrong. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Don’t worry about it? Whumpee, you think you’re invincible? You think I think you’re invincible? I know you’re in pain. I know something is wrong. But I let you keep lying to me, thinking you were only doing it because the others were around and you’d say something when you’re ready. Clearly, you don’t understand the severity of injuries and what they can do to you. Why won’t you just let someone take care of you? No one is going to look down on you for it. Stop thinking that they will!” 

Whumpee went silent, attempting to keep themself steady. They inhaled somewhat sharply, flinching. “Caretaker-” 

“I don’t want to hear any more excuses from you. I’m going to look at you and you’re not going to fight me off. Now let’s get you to a couch.” She wrapped an arm around them, helping them to a seat. Whumpee tightly shut their eyes as she reached for their jacket. 

“Caretaker-” 

“Hush.” She unzipped it before lifting up the black shirt underneath. A thinner, white shirt was underneath that. Well, it wasn’t white anymore. Bloodstains were everywhere on the shirt. The deep red made her nervous to know what the wounds the blood was coming from looked like. She glanced under the shirt and tears joined the horror in her eyes. “What in your right mind made you think lying to me about this was a good idea?"

[sodosshame]

Nights Like These

Daryl Dixon x Reader/OC

TW: Self-Harm, feelings of not being good enough, generally just depressing lol, swearing.

Based in Alexandria era, after Negan’s capture but before the Whisperers.

A/N: PLEASE please don’t read this if you think you’ll be triggered by self harm, it’s vaguely based off my own experiences but the last thing I want to do is trigger anyone. I wish you all well <3

Written in first person.

-

As I walk out the front door and sit down on the porch steps, I pull out my pack of cigarettes. Sighing deeply, I look around; how was everyone acting like everything is fine now that Negan and the saviours had been taken care of? Why did no-one seem to care that my childhood best friend was missing?

Why were they all acting like this is normal?

Taking a drag from my cigarette, I look up at the night sky, staring at the stars.

It’s not fucking fair.

I take the cigarette from my mouth, hovering it over my arm for a second. I glance at the various marks all over my arms; some from various experiences; some self-inflicted.

Rick would have yelled at me for even thinking about doing this again.

I think for a few seconds longer.

Fuck it.

Pressing it into my arm, I wince at the pain but stick to it, holding the cigarette there until I can’t feel the heat anymore. Taking a deep breath in, I wipe the ash from my arm and study the mark that’s already forming.

“Y/N? Wha-”

The voice stops and I feel a presence sit down next to me and look over to see Daryl; his eyebrows slanted up slightly, his mouth open a little.

Shit.

“I- Uh-”

He shakes his head, interrupting me.

“Ya don’t gotta explain yerself to me. I just- I’m sorry ya feel like you hav’ got to do this to yerself.” He says, his voice unusually soft- like he’s scared he’s going to hurt me if he says the wrong thing.

“Why does no-one care that Rick is gone? Michonne stopped looking. You’re always gone now and I- I don’t know…”

I pause, my voice breaking slightly. Taking a deep breath, I attempt to talk again.

“Nothing is okay. But everyone is acting like it is and I- I can’t deal with it anymore. I don’t think I even feel anything anymore, I don’t know what to do. I know I’m not myself, but I can’t get myself back.”

I look over at him, regretting the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. I watch as he chews on the inside of lips, clearly deeply thinking about something.

“I never stopped lookin’ for him, that’s why I’m not here anymore yknow. That and I can’t deal with this- the way everyone is actin’ in this place. I understand it, trust me.”

Daryl sighs and looks at me, studying my face.

“‘ave ya been sleepin’?”

“Not properly… I don’t think I’ve had a decent sleep in months.” I mumble in response, opening up my cigarette packet and holding it out for him to take one.

He nods, taking one. I take one myself and get out my lighter, lighting mine and then his. Inhaling deeply, I lean back slightly, blowing the smoke back out.

“Y’know, ya can come with me when I head out in the mornin’, if ya want.” He offers, looking over at me again.

“‘least then I can keep an eye on ya.” He mutters, glancing down to my arm.

“Thanks, Daryl.” I respond and gently lean my head on his shoulder. I feel him tense up at this gesture, but it doesn’t take him long to settle, gently putting his hand on my knee, rubbing circles on my leg with his thumb.