#i stayed up almost all night to write this and— my. god.

[wvyik]

you talk, i’ll listen ⋆⭒˚.⋆

sam winchester x gn! reader

ꕤ summary: you crawl into sam’s lap on a quiet night and ask him to tell you lore, just to hear his voice. he doesn’t ask questions. he just holds you and talks, and for once, everything feels still.

♯ warnings: emotional comfort, canon spn lore, lap cuddling, soft! sam, gentle reader, pre-established relationship, long hair petting, no spice just pure cozy silence, my long ass paragraphs aka me trying so say big words, s5e5 mentioned?? no way.

♯ notes: first of all, thank you so much for the request @noria-fish!! i loved writing it. second of all… i need to confess that i thought junior meant freshman and had that in my bio for like four months. so if you ever thought i was smart… no you didn’t. be safe out there y’all. stay in school. learn what junior means. love u. <3

The room is dim, barely lit by the orange glow of a streetlight filtering through the slats in the blinds. You can hear the faint hum of the vending machine outside, the rustle of paper every time Sam turns a page, and the occasional creak of the old motel bedframe as he shifts his weight.

It’s quiet in a way that should be comforting, but instead just makes you feel weirdly aware of how tired you are. Not just physically. Not just from the hunt. There’s a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t sit in your muscles, it settles in your chest. Quiet, constant. Like white noise in your head you can’t turn off.

You glance over at Sam, who’s sitting cross-legged on the far end of the bed, one of his lore books open in his lap. There’s a pen tucked behind his ear, and his hair’s still damp from the shower he took after you both got back. The sleeves of his sweatshirt are pushed up to his elbows, and his focus is deep enough that he doesn’t notice you watching him. You don’t want to interrupt him, not really, but something in you itches for closeness. Something small. Just… contact.

So you move quietly. Wordlessly. You cross the few feet between your bed and his, and when you pause in front of him, he looks up; not surprised, not questioning, just waiting. His eyes meet yours, and he must see something in them, because he doesn’t ask. He just opens his legs a little, gives you space, and lets you climb into his lap like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You curl into him slowly, legs folding up, arms slipping around his ribs as you nestle into the worn cotton of his hoodie. His book shifts slightly on his thigh, but he doesn’t move it. One of his arms wraps around your back, the other staying loose at his side. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. There’s no awkwardness. No moment of adjusting or fidgeting. Just quiet acceptance.

Your fingers find his hair. It’s still warm, still a little damp, and softer than it has any right to be. You start combing through it with your nails barely touching his scalp, slow and steady, and you feel the way his shoulders relax almost instantly. You don’t really know what makes you say it— maybe it’s the silence, or the comfort of being tucked into him like this, but your voice is soft when you ask, “Will you talk to me?”

He tilts his head slightly. “Talk?”

You nod against his chest. “Just… something. Lore. Doesn’t matter what.”

He doesn’t ask why. He just shifts a little under you, the book now resting half-forgotten beside him, and starts talking like he’s picking up a conversation you were already in the middle of.

“There was a case we took once, back in Canton, Ohio,” he says after a moment, voice low and even. “Couple kids got killed at a wax museum, and at first we thought it was a haunted object, something attached to the exhibit. But it turned out to be a pagan god. Leshi. Slavic. Old forest deity. She’d taken the form of Paris Hilton—no, seriously, because people were obsessing over her. The more idol worship, the stronger she got. Wasn’t about nature at all anymore, just fame. Power. She was feeding on the obsession.”

You shift a little, listening closer. Sam’s hand moves absently over your side, steady.

“She used to thrive on being worshipped in the old world,” he continues, “but people don’t pray to forest gods anymore. They worship celebrities. So she adapted. Possessed statues. Took the form of whoever people were fixated on. I had to chop her head off with an axe to kill her. Nothing else worked.”

He keeps going.

“She wasn’t really evil. Just… hungry. Desperate. She wasn’t getting what she used to— worship, offerings, belief, so she adapted. Found a way to survive, even if it meant hurting people. It’s not just her. There’s more stuff like that than people think. Creatures that just want to be left alone until something pushes them too far. Kitsune. Pishtaco. Shōjō. Some of them only turn violent when they’re starving, or cornered, or grieving. There’s a pattern to it. Always has been.”

You don’t interrupt him. There’s something about his voice when he gets like this, slow, thoughtful, like his mind is running ten steps ahead but he’s choosing his words carefully so you can keep up. His hand slips beneath your hoodie slightly, just enough to touch warm skin, not suggestive, not anything other than grounding. He exhales, and you feel it move through his chest into yours.

You whisper, “Thank you.”

He pauses. “For what?”

“For talking. For letting me be here.”

His hand presses a little more firmly to your back. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

But you do. You don’t say it, but you do. Because it’s not just comfort you’re asking for when you sit like this. It’s something heavier. Something you can’t explain. And Sam.. Sam never asks for you to explain it. He just holds you like your silence makes sense.

You stay like that for a while, tucked into his chest, legs folded across his lap, head resting where his hoodie dips at the collar. His voice is still going, somewhere between a low hum and a quiet rhythm, talking about ancient creatures and broken hunter lore, old hunts that no one talks about anymore.

You stop listening to the actual words at some point; not because you don’t care, but because his voice gets so soft, so even, it blends into the same warm haze as the air in the room. It’s like static, like safety. The kind that makes your shoulders drop without realizing, like your body knows it’s allowed to rest now.

You keep running your fingers through his hair because it feels good. And because he lets you. You can feel the way his head leans into your touch now and then, subtle but there, like he doesn’t want to admit how much he likes it. You catch the way his voice slows when your nails graze just right against his scalp. He doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t tease, doesn’t even look at you. He just lets you keep going, and you know he’s melting a little from it. The thought makes your chest ache, quiet and soft.

You don’t really get how someone like Sam can exist. Like, this is a man who has seen things; real, awful things, things that should’ve made him hard, cold, distant. And maybe with some people, he is. Maybe he needs to be. But with you, he’s just this. He’s soft-spoken, patient, so gentle you could cry if you let yourself think about it too long. The way he looks at you sometimes when you’re not talking. The way he checks his tone when you’re already tired. The way he never demands anything from you, but somehow always gives everything anyway.

You glance up, cheek still resting against his chest, and study his face from this close. His hair’s curling a little at the ends, dampness giving it weight, and there’s a crease between his brows that never seems to go away, even when he’s calm. His lips are parted just slightly as he reads, and his eyes move slow across the page. His lashes are stupidly long, almost soft-looking in the low light.

Your hand trails down to the nape of his neck, warm and solid beneath your fingers, and he lets out a breath like he forgot he was holding it.

He hasn’t said anything in a few minutes. The book’s still open, but he’s stopped reading it. His other hand has gone still on your back, his thumb just resting now. It’s so quiet you can hear the blood moving behind your own ears. You don’t know what time it is, and it doesn’t matter. The room could vanish, and it wouldn’t matter.

You whisper, “You always let me do this.”

His voice comes back just as quiet. “Do what?”

“This. Sit with you. Be… small, I guess.”

He shifts a little, not to pull away, just to see you. His hand cups the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair like he’s scared you’ll pull away if he says the wrong thing. “You’re not small.”

“I feel small. When I’m with you.”

There’s a beat. Not awkward. Just full.

Then, still looking at you, he says, “I think you make me feel human.”

You don’t know what to do with that. Your throat goes tight in that slow, creeping way that happens when someone is too kind to you out of nowhere. You blink a few times and lean in, pressing your forehead to his collarbone, right where his heart is. He’s warm. You can feel it even through the cotton. You think about what he just said, and it echoes in your chest like a bell.

You don’t tell him you love him. You don’t need to. You think he knows.

Instead, you keep running your fingers through his hair, slower now, more like a lull than a habit, and you whisper something so quiet you don’t even know if he hears it.

“You always feel like home.”

He doesn’t answer.

But his arms pull you closer, and his lips press to the crown of your head, and his hand curls into your hoodie like he’s holding onto something he doesn’t want to let go of. And maybe that’s all the answer you need.

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[lieslostinsilence]

i'm willing to be wrecked Pt. 2

Author's note: sooooo I am back with the part 2. I deeply apologise that I took very long with this. I was struggling with writing the NSFW content but now I am gaining the confidence. I do welcome feedback or any thoughts! Enjoy~ Bye-um~ Description: Y/N wants to forget. Max makes sure she does—roughly, completely, and without apology. A night soaked in rain, desperation, and bodies colliding with nothing held back. She didn’t want soft. She wanted to be ruined—and Max never does anything halfway. 🔞 Smut-heavy. Emotionally charged. A little bit filthy, a little bit feral. Content Warning: explicit smut (18+), rough sex, fingering (f receiving), choking (consensual), hair pulling, spanking, dirty talk, rough language, one partner begging to be ruined, condom use, emotionally driven sex, size kink vibes, slight dom/sub undertones, reader discretion advised—you are in charge of your freewill of content, not me! Link for Part 1: i'm willing to be wrecked Pt. 1

As I turned around, the cold bite of raindrops trailed down my face, but I barely felt them. My eyes locked onto Max’s, searching for any flicker of hesitation—anything that would stop me from crossing this line. But there was none. His gaze burned through me like he already knew exactly what I needed.

Then, like a fuse snapping, he moved.

In a flash, he closed the space between us and caged me in his arms, body slamming against mine with a hunger that knocked the breath from my lungs. Every inch of his rock-hard body pressed against me, and I shivered—not from the cold, but from the raw heat that crackled between us. His grip was rough, like he couldn’t stand another second of restraint.

I gasped, and he used the moment to tilt my chin up with one hand while the other stayed anchored on my lower back, holding me firm against him.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he growled, voice low, almost feral.

My eyes snapped up to his, and I swore time bent around us. His stare darkened, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched like he was holding back a storm. We stood in the rain, soaked, frozen in this moment—our skin buzzing, our hearts pounding like war drums.

His eyes dropped to my lips. He licked his own, slow and deliberate, like he was already tasting me in his head.

“Emi…” I whispered, voice trembling.

That was all it took.

Max crashed into me—mouth devouring mine with a brutal kind of need, hands gripping, claiming. This wasn’t soft or sweet. It was possession. It was fire. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing, his fingers digging into my waist like he needed to leave a mark. And god, I wanted that.

I didn’t want to be kissed—I wanted to be ruined. I didn’t want to feel—I wanted to forget. I wanted to be fucked out of my mind until all I could feel was him. Until the pain, the weight, the ache disappeared under the violence of his touch.

And from the way he kissed me—hungry, reckless—he wanted the exact same thing.

Max’s kiss was fire and fury. It wasn’t love—it was hunger, control, raw possession. There was no patience, no pretense—only need. His teeth scraped my bottom lip before he sucked it into his mouth, and the growl that rumbled deep in his chest made my knees buckle. His tongue forced its way into my mouth like he owned it, and I let him. I wanted him to. Needed him to take whatever the hell he wanted and leave me too wrecked to think.

“Fuck,” he growled as he broke the kiss, his forehead pressing to mine, his breath ragged. “You really want this, Y/N? Want me to ruin you tonight?”

“Please,” I gasped. “I want to forget. I want you to wreck me.”

That was all it took.

Then, without warning, he tore his mouth away and bent, grabbing behind my thighs. I gasped, wrapping my legs around his waist as he lifted me effortlessly, water dripping from both of us as he stalked out of the rain and into the house like a man possessed.

Every step was rough, purposeful—his hands clutching my ass, grinding me against the hardness straining beneath his soaked trunks. I clung to him, letting myself be carried, letting the weight of everything—my thoughts, my heartbreak, the ache I hadn’t dared admit—melt into his strength.

He kicked open the bedroom door and tossed me onto the bed with a force that made the mattress bounce beneath me. My body splayed out, soaked dress clinging to my skin, hair dripping, lips swollen from his kiss. He stood at the edge of the bed, eyes roaming over me like he was deciding just how far he’d take this.

“Take it off,” he rasped.

I hesitated for only a second before reaching for the straps, peeling the fabric down over my body, exposing inch after inch of trembling skin. Max’s gaze was molten, jaw clenched, chest heaving. He ripped the vest from his body and shoved his trunks down in one motion, cock springing free—thick, flushed, perfect.

He didn’t wait.

He climbed onto the bed, grabbed my ankle, and yanked me toward him with a force that sent a sharp gasp from my lips. He didn’t ask, didn’t ease in—just shoved two fingers into me, pumping deep, rough, fast.

“You wanted to forget?” he growled, eyes never leaving mine. “Then let me give you something to remember.”

I moaned, thighs trembling, back arching as his thumb found my clit and circled it with ruthless pressure. I was already dripping for him, but he didn’t slow. He kept going until I was crying out, hips bucking into his hand, begging for more.

“Max, please—” I gasped. “I need you—I need it—”

“Say it.” His voice was low, almost threatening.

“I want you to fuck me,” I moaned, breathless. “I want you to ruin me.”

That was all he needed.

He grabbed my hips and flipped me over, dragging me to the edge of the bed. I barely had time to breathe before he slammed into me from behind, one brutal thrust that knocked the air out of my lungs.

I cried out, fingers clawing at the sheets as he filled me, stretched me, took everything.

He didn’t hold back. His pace was punishing—deep, hard thrusts that rocked me forward, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room, drowned only by my ragged moans and his groaned curses.

“Fuck, Y/N… you feel so good—so fucking tight—”

His hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back so he could bite along my shoulder, and I whimpered from the sharp, stinging pleasure.

“More,” I gasped. “Harder—don’t stop—don’t let me think.”

He growled, slamming deeper, hand moving around to choke me just enough to blur the edges of everything. It was perfect. It was chaos. My body shook under the pressure, pain and pleasure twisting until I couldn’t tell them apart.

Every thrust dragged me closer to the edge, my walls clenching around him, the tension coiling impossibly tight.

And then I shattered.

It hit like a wave, unstoppable and violent—my scream muffled by the sheets as I came hard around him, body writhing, walls pulsing. But he didn’t stop. He rode me through it, chasing his own high until he buried himself deep and let out a hoarse, broken groan, hips jerking as he spilled into the condom.

We collapsed onto the bed, limbs tangled, skin burning, lungs aching.

For a long moment, there was only silence—just the sound of our breathing, the faint patter of rain still falling outside.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, my mind was blissfully blank.

Max leaned over, pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades. Rough. Gentle. Possessive.

“You okay?” he murmured.

I didn’t answer right away. I just turned my face into the pillow, eyes closed, and whispered:

“Thank you.”

[lovedbysolaris]

Unsigned Feelings (4)

Isabela Merced x Reader

Summary: You were hired to help her write an album not fall for her. Ghostwriting kept you safe. Until her. Isabela Merced sees through the walls you built with every lyric. What starts as late-night writing sessions turns into something you can’t name—until it hurts not to. But your past doesn’t stay buried. And when secrets surface and pressure builds, you're left with one choice: walk away like you always do... or stay and fight for the one thing you never let yourself want.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: honestly this aint a crazy story... well this chapter? yes. some violence. attempted suicide. hospital. Depression. and some more.

____________________________________

The key Vanessa handed you had a sunflower keychain attached to it.

You turned it over in your hand as you stood at Isabela’s front door. For a moment, you debated turning around. Going home. Saying you forgot. Lying. Anything.

But instead, you punched in the code she texted you two hours ago.

6735. Still saved in your head, even though you tried not to care enough to memorize it.

The door clicked open.

Empty.

Quiet.

You walked inside, already knowing she wasn’t home yet.

The clock on the oven read 6:01.

You poured yourself a glass of red wine and sat at the kitchen bar, one elbow propped up, one hand tracing the rim of the glass like it was a lifeline.

You weren’t nervous.

You were waiting.

There’s a difference.

Kind of.

6:43 p.m.

Still no sign.

You were mid-scroll through a folder of unused lyrics on your phone when you heard the door jiggle—then open.

And there she was.

Isabela, framed in the dim hallway light, one heel half-on, the other dragging behind her like a limp violin bow. Her coat slipping off one shoulder, her lips stained the color of fruit, eyes dancing in lazy spirals.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, slurring just slightly, eyes scanning. “Where—where’s…”

Then her eyes found you.

You didn’t move.

She smiled.

The kind of smile that melts structure. Then: “There you are.”

Before you could speak, he appeared behind her.

Young.

“Hey,” he said. “Think she might’ve had too much wine at dinner.”

He moved to lean in.

Isabela swerved.

“No, I’m—m’fine. I just—” she stumbled a step, “just wanna be with her now.”

You froze.

He blinked.

She turned to him, palm on his chest. “Thank you for dinner. But I’m okay now.”

And then she pushed him out.

Like, physically.

You almost dropped your wine glass watching her tiny frame shepherd six feet of romantic misdirection out the door.

Young looked back at you once.

That same look.

Possessive.

Territorial.

But this time… uncertain.

The door clicked shut.

And Isabela turned around with a big exhale. “He’s nice. But he doesn’t feel like…”

She didn’t finish.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Like what?”

She waved a hand and skipped it entirely, wobbling toward the kitchen.

“I’m gonna cook you something.”

You choked a laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“I am,” she insisted, pulling open drawers like a raccoon with purpose.

You watched her drop a fork.

Then a ladle.

Then a knife—point down, narrowly missing her socked foot.

“Okay,” you said, standing. “You’re gonna sit.”

“But—”

You placed a hand gently on hers.

And she looked up at you.

That’s all it took.

You guided her around the counter and back to the stool you’d just vacated.

You kept her wine out of reach.

Grabbed water instead.

You started cooking without saying much.

Pulled sirloin tips from the fridge. Peeled russets like muscle memory. Butter. Garlic. A pinch of sea salt, because she once told you table salt was “a culinary crime.”

She watched you like it was art.

Like the rhythm of your knife told a story.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” she asked softly.

You flipped a pan on. “Watched my mom.”

Her eyes fell.

You didn’t correct it.

Just kept slicing.

“How was the date?” you asked, voice casual.

She made a face. “Predictable.”

“How so?”

“Pretty boy. Good at talking. Great teeth. Zero instinct.”

You smiled to yourself. “That’s cold.”

“It’s honest.”

You passed her a spoon. “Taste this.”

She did.

Eyes closed. Head tilted. She moaned a quiet approval.

Then opened her eyes slowly.

“You’re dangerous.”

You tilted your head. “In what way?”

She held your gaze.

“In the way I could get used to.”

Dinner was soft.

She ate in small bites, still tipsy, smiling between mouthfuls.

You refilled her water. Kept your wine. Stayed seated.

Then you stood, went to a small bag near the door, and came back with a tiny box.

You slid it toward her.

She blinked. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

She did.

Inside was a single cupcake—chocolate swirl, soft and fresh. On top sat a guitar pick, pale yellow with a sun design burned into it.

She stared.

You cleared your throat.

“I know it’s not a lot. Just thought… since we never got to celebrate the whole breaking-through-the-writer’s-block thing—”

You stopped. Flustered.

Then pushed through.

“I just… I saw you these last few weeks. Saw you claw your way out of the dark. Saw how hard it was to write anything that didn’t sound like a goodbye.”

You swallowed.

“But you didn’t give up. You turned your noise into music. And that’s rare. That’s like—sunflower rare. Still grows, even if no one waters it. Still bright, even if no one sees it.”

You pulled a single sunflower from behind your bag. Placed it in front of her.

“I think you’re like that,” you said.

She didn’t speak.

She couldn’t.

Tears welled.

One slipped down without warning.

You stayed quiet.

She wiped it quickly.

And then—finally—she looked up.

Voice hushed.

“Thank you.”

You nodded.

Something heavy hovered between you.

She stared at you a long time.

Then, slowly, softly, she whispered:

“…Do you ever feel like love is chasing you, and you’re doing everything you can not to get caught?”

You blinked. Heart paused.

She went on.

“But then it catches your sleeve anyway, and you don’t pull away fast enough, and now it’s there. And you’re not sure what to do because you weren’t supposed to want this?”

Her voice cracked.

“I didn’t mean to want this.”

You didn’t know what to say.

She was drunk.

But it didn’t sound like a lie. It sounded like a confession.

Disguised as a riddle.

You stood, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. Your body. Your heart.

“I should get going.”

She stood too. Calling your name.

You shook your head. “It’s not you. I just—this is new. I’m not good at new.”

“I never asked you to be perfect.”

“I know.”

She walked up and hugged you.

Soft. Full-body. No hesitation.

It felt like a door.

It felt like home.

You swallowed hard. She pulled back.

You reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She blinked up at you.

“Text me when you get back?” she asked quietly.

You nodded.

Tried to blink back the sting in your eyes.

She noticed.

Her eyes told you she did.

She opened her mouth to say something like “I get it.” But you didn’t let her.

You turned.

Opened the door.

And left.

You didn’t text her that night.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t breathe properly either.

You sat with your back hunched in the corner of your Airbnb’s small office, every light off except the soft screen glow of your cracked laptop. Cords coiled like veins across the floor. Empty water bottles and a bottle of wine bleeding into your carpet.

You’d ripped open your notebook. Then your voice. Then your knuckles—after slamming them against the desk when the mic interface gave out again.

The old keyboard you’d brought with you? Dead.

Keys bent. Frame cracked.

Still, you pressed its broken spine like it could give you a song.

And maybe it did.

Because eventually, your voice started playing through the monitor.

Bare. Slow. A demo on loop.

Your voice, barely audible, trailing off into nothing:

"You keep the light on, I’ll sleep in the dark… You always said, I was good at falling apart."

7:02 a.m.

The sun had started bleeding into the living room. Pale peach and gray shadows.

Your Airbnb still looked untouched. Like a set you hadn’t decided to act in yet.

No photos hung. No shoes unpacked. No signs of you.

Isabela entered the code.

Her thumb shook as she turned the handle.

She hadn’t slept.

She told herself she wasn’t scared.

She lied.

The moment she stepped inside, her stomach turned.

Nothing moved. No sounds.

It was like walking into the shell of someone who hadn’t lived here at all.

She called your name once. Twice.

No answer.

Her boots padded across the wooden floor as she weaved through the space in a quiet rush.

Kitchen? Empty.

Bedroom? Unmade. But barely touched.

Then she heard it.

The faint hum of your voice, like something from a dream.

She followed it.

Found you slumped sideways on the couch in the office. One hand near the keyboard. Your lips slightly parted. Barely breathing.

Laptop open.

Audio loop playing.

Papers and pages scattered like feathers in a storm.

The board you brought with you was cracked near the base.

Her eyes flicked over the room. You. Your shoulders rising and falling like someone who’d been fighting the air itself.

She crouched beside you.

Carefully, she moved the curls from your forehead. They were damp with sweat.

Your brow was furrowed. Your jaw clenched. Even in sleep, you looked… tense. Like you were caught in a dream you didn’t want anyone else to see.

Her fingers traced lightly across your cheek.

And right then—

You stirred.

She backed up and perched at the corner of the couch, her hands folded neatly in her lap as if she hadn’t just been inches from your skin.

You blinked.

Eyes heavy.

Then you saw her.

The moment landed slow, but sharp.

You straightened, suddenly aware.

“Bela—shit—I didn’t—what time is it?” Your voice was raspy, shredded from disuse and maybe the wine.

“Relax,” she said, soft. “It’s okay.”

“No, no, I was supposed to come over—I didn’t—fuck, I—”

She put her hand on yours.

You stopped moving.

She glanced around at the wreckage.

“You working or fighting ghosts in here?”

You forced a laugh. “Little of both.”

Then she noticed the keyboard. Cracked. Bent.

“What happened to that?”

You hesitated. “It dropped.”

She tilted her head. “And hit itself repeatedly?”

You met her eyes.

She let it go.

You stood, stretching, trying to shake off the fog.

“Gimme like two minutes to change.”

She started to nod. But then—she reached out.

Her fingers curled around your wrist. You paused.

She stood. Stepped closer.

Before you could retreat, her other hand settled lightly against your bare stomach.

And everything in the room stopped.

Your breath hitched.

Hers did too.

She looked up, eyes tracing your jaw. Then your mouth. Then back to your eyes.

Neither of you said anything.

Your back hit the wall of the closet softly. Shirt in one hand. Her fingers in the other. She was close.

Too close.

And still—not close enough.

The air was heavy with static.

Her fingers twitched slightly, brushing your skin.

You weren’t breathing. You couldn’t.

Her eyes flicked down again.

Then—

Ring ring.

The phone.

Fucking Vanessa.

You cleared your throat and stepped sideways.

Isabela answered without looking at you, her voice trying to steady itself.

You ducked into the bathroom. Your heart didn’t slow.

Not until you pulled on your jeans. Even then—it didn’t slow much.

When you stepped out, Isabela held the phone out toward you.

“Vanessa wants to talk to you.”

You took it with a sigh.

“So glad you’re alive.” Vanessa said.

“I’m—yeah.”

“We’re talking timing now. Holidays are creeping up, and marketing wants to drop a single in a few weeks. Test the waters before Q4.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sending the address for the mastering studio. Go there by 11.”

“Got it.”

Pause. Then:

“Oh—and happy birthday.”

Click.

You lowered the phone. Looked up.

Isabela’s eyes were already on you.

You kept waiting for her to say it.

But all Isabela said that morning was, “You ready for the studio?”

No “Happy birthday.” No cheeky balloon. Not even a dumb card.

She breezed in wearing her big-lensed sunglasses and a half-tucked graphic tee that said SAD GIRL ERA in purple bubble letters.

You gave her a once-over, trying to read her.

Nothing.

“Got something we’re tracking today?” you asked.

She lit up. “Holiday single. I’ve been sitting on a melody.”

Still no mention.

You nodded. “You bring coffee?”

“Ugh,” she said, slapping her forehead. “No. But I’ll buy you wine later.”

“Red,” you muttered, mostly to cover your smile.

She didn’t look at you, but she smiled too.

___

The studio was already warm when you stepped inside.

It was the kind of session that felt like color.

You weren’t just engineering. You were catching sunlight with your teeth.

The chords were simple. Something you looped from a loose idea she hummed into a voice memo two weeks ago. Jazzy. Bright. The kind of beat that snapped but still let a voice melt across it.

Isabela didn’t need much direction. You barely even touched the reverb.

It was that kind of morning.

You sat in the control room, hands flying between the board and your notepad. A pencil rested behind your ear as you mouthed harmonies, looped bridges, tightened melodies.

“Okay, again, but lift the word ‘me’ like it’s flirting with you,” you called into the mic.

She cackled but obeyed.

When she hit it, you stood and whooped like you just saw fireworks explode.

She clapped in response, laughing as she danced behind the mic.

“Y/n, stop it!”

“You killed that!”

She leaned into the mic like she was teasing fate. “You like when I take your notes?”

“I like when you take my breath,” you muttered.

She froze. “What?”

“…I said I like how you take direction.”

“Right,” she grinned. “Sure.”

A few takes later, you were pacing in a loop behind the console, twirling the pencil between your fingers, moving your hands to the BPM like your body couldn’t help but orchestrate what you heard.

Isabela saw you through the glass.

Watched your lips move.

Then—your voice slipped out, just low enough for the room to catch it.

“I want your hands instead of gloves, It would be lovely to pretend to be in love.”

She stopped breathing for a second.

Because you hadn’t written that line before.

Not in the lyrics. Not in the shared doc.

That was yours.

And it was for her. She knew it.

You didn’t even realize she heard it.

When the song was done, it felt like magic still hung in the vents.

You both stood there, dazed and glowing.

The board was blinking with heat and effort.

Your eyes met hers.

And she looked… off.

Not sad. Not quiet. Just full of something.

Something she wasn’t ready to spill yet.

You tilted your head. “You okay?”

She blinked. “Yeah. I just—” she grinned. “Actually, I got an idea. Cake. Cheap wine. Your place.”

“…My place?”

“Yeah.”

You raised a brow. “For what?”

She smiled. “Let’s just say I owe you for this track.”

You narrowed your eyes. “This better not be an intervention.”

She laughed and looped her arm through yours. “Come on, Scrooge. It’s Cuffing Season. Let me be festive.”

___

You were expecting awkward small talk and a glass of Cabernet.

What you got… was the door opening to laughter, confetti poppers, and a voice yelling:

“Happy mothafuckin’ birthday!”

Your whole body flinched. Then—

Romeo tackled you. “Damn, I thought you were never gonna age.”

Icy threw his arms over your shoulder. “Twenty-three, loser! Let’s goooo!”

Freddy. Victor. Your cousins.

Loud. Wild. Dressed like they thought it was a club.

And then, behind it all—

Isabela.

Standing by the record player. Holding a small cake with a single sunflower candle lit on top.

You blinked hard. Your chest tightened.

She noticed. And without a word—

Her hand found yours. She squeezed once. Steady.

She said your name softly, “when was the last time you had a birthday party?”

You didn’t look at her.

You whispered: “Since my mom passed.”

You felt her grip tighten.

You looked down at her and breathed, “Thank you.”

She smiled. But didn’t speak.

Just let the moment hold.

Her friends introduced themselves politely.

You returned every greeting with nods and smirks—but your hand stayed low.

Resting on the small of Isabela’s back.

She didn’t pull away. She leaned into it.

You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t need to.

Then the music started.

Loud. Drunk. Messy.

Romeo took a shot and said, “You know what this calls for?”

“No,” you said, backing away.

“Yes,” Icy said, pushing you forward.

Victor: “Pool time!”

You: “I am not changing—”

Freddy scooped you up in a fireman’s carry before you could finish.

You shouted as they barreled you outside.

“Save me!” you yelled.

Isabela just giggled.

Victor, the rare responsible one, handed her your wallet, keys, and phone. “You might wanna hold these. They’re about to baptize your girl.”

Then—splash.

You hit the pool. Everyone screamed. Drinks spilled.

Your cousins cannonballed in. Icy launched off a deck chair. Romeo did a backflip and hit his head on the floatie.

It was chaos.

And through it all, Isabela stood poolside, barefoot now, holding your stuff and laughing like a kid watching a sitcom.

You climbed out, soaked and shining.

She shook her head, amused.

You walked over slowly, dripping wet.

She backed up. “Don’t you dare.”

You stepped closer.

“I will scream.”

You stepped even closer.

And then, with one sly grin and a low “Sorry”—you pulled her in.

The splash echoed like applause.

When she surfaced, she gasped. Then laughed.

Then wrapped her arms around your neck, just for balance.

And you both froze.Because that was the moment.

That almost moment.

Where your lips were close. Where her hands were on you.

Where your eyes flickered. But you didn’t do it.

Not yet.

___

Much later, the house was quiet.

Bodies passed out in the living room.

A few of Isabela’s friends crashed on air mattresses. Your cousins? Probably sleeping in the backyard hammock like idiots.

You were in the music room. Dry clothes. Fresh hoodie.

She walked in—wearing a shirt that was clearly yours.

One you didn’t remember giving her. But also didn’t mind.

“Stealing my wardrobe now?” you asked softly.

“I like how you smell.”

You swallowed. Hard.

She curled up on the carpet. You stayed near the desk.

“I wanted to say,” you murmured, “your vocals today… that song. Cuffing Season—you really killed it.”

She smiled. “Only because you were there.”

“No. Even without me? It would’ve been art. But I’m glad I got to be part of it.”

She didn’t speak. Not right away.

Then—she stood. Crossed the room.

Pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Your breath caught. You turned your head slightly.

She froze. Face inches from yours.

“I didn’t mean—” she whispered.

You grabbed her face gently.

“I know,” you whispered. “Stay.”

She did.

___

The smell of smoke and sun-drenched laughter hung in the air.

Your crew and Isabela’s had blended together like it was always meant to be.

Romeo manned the grill like it was his life's purpose. Icy was harmonizing to some random playlist with one of Isabela’s backup singers. Freddy and Victor were doing cannonballs in the pool, naturally.

And Isabela?

She was next to you. Always.

Her thigh brushed yours under the picnic table. Every few minutes, your fingers touched—too long to be accidental, too quiet to be bold. When she laughed at something you whispered, her hand would linger on your arm.

You were calm.

For once.

You let yourself believe it was safe.

That everything, for this small moment, was soft.

“I still can’t believe you’re the reason Maren Morris got her Grammy,” one of Isabela’s producers said, tilting their soda at you.

You chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck. “Let’s just say she liked the bridge I ghostwrote.”

“She didn’t like it,” Isabela corrected. “She owed it to you.”

You shrugged.

No alias. No secrets.

For once, you weren’t “Hiraeth.”

You were just you.

Until he showed up.

The gate rattled once. Then opened.

Everyone turned. And there he was.

Young.

Drunk.

Hair a mess. Button-down halfway open. Smile crooked, not in the charming way.

You stood slowly, instinct already prickling. He swayed as he stepped into the yard.

“Some party,” he slurred. “Heard the mystery girl turned twenty-three.”

Freddy stepped toward him. “You weren’t invited.”

Young lifted his hand. “Relax. I just came to say something.”

You were already tense.

Isabela stood beside you. “Young—go home.”

He laughed. “No no no. They all deserve to know who their little favorite ghost really is.”

Your jaw tightened.

“You know,” he said, turning to the group, “she used to go by Hiraeth. Yeah, that Hiraeth.”

Murmurs.

People shifted. Eyes darted.

Young grinned wider. “The genius. The prodigy. Disappeared after her mom died. Rumor was she cracked. Lost it. Institution. Pills. Poof.”

His eyes found yours. “Guess the rumors were true.”

And that’s when something snapped.

You blacked out.

But you saw everything. Felt your feet leave the ground.

Felt the sound of blood in your ears, so loud it drowned out everything but the beat of your own fury.

He stood six feet tall. But he looked small now.

You were five-nine and burning. You didn’t even remember grabbing him.

You just saw the panic in his eyes.

Then your fist. Once. Twice.

The shouting blurred. Hands were on your arms. Your waist.

Isabela’s voice broke through—screaming.

Not at him. At you.

“Y/n! Stop!”

“Y/n! Please—”

Romeo’s voice. Freddy’s weight pulling you back.

Then you hit the ground. On your ass.

Breathing like a dying engine.

You blinked once. Twice. And saw him.

Young.

Blood at the corner of his lip. Face already swelling.

Someone had called for a car.

Freddy muttered, “I’ve seen worse. Remember the Tampa show? That guy didn’t walk for a week.”

“Not now,” Romeo hissed. But it was too late.

The words echoed. Worse. Worse was back.

The air went thin. Too many faces. Too many memories.

The panic crept in like smoke under the door.

And then—

You couldn’t breathe. You were shaking. You were small.

You were back there.

The hospital. The cuffs.

The silence in your mother’s room. The sirens in your own mind.

Then—

Hands. Small. Warm. On your face.

Fingertips at your cheeks. Thumbs pressing lightly under your jaw.

Her.

Isabela.

Her voice was there. Muffled. Then clearer.

“hey. Look at me. Y/n. Please.”

You blinked. Your vision focused.

And there she was.

Hair a mess from the wind. Eyes red. Mouth trembling.

Holding you like you were glass.

You saw her. Really saw her.

And that made it worse. You shook your head.

Tried to speak. Couldn’t.

Tears welled. You didn’t blink them away.

“I didn’t want you to see this,” you croaked. “Not you.”

You hated yourself for how raw it sounded. But you meant it.

The voices were crawling back in. The ones that said you ruin things.

That love was always the rope you’d eventually hang from.

And as she leaned in to wrap her arms around you—

You pulled away. Slipped out of her grip.

Everyone called after you.

Victor.

Icy.

Freddy.

But Isabela… she saw it.

That look.

The look she feared.

The one you wore the night you first met her. The one hidden under all your strength. The one that screamed—

I’m not safe.

And then—

You ran.

___________________________

A/N: This is actually a short book :) But strap in not on mfssss (I swear im funny.)

[theheartsickdevil]

Iloveyou.exe | Ronin x mc that got a virus on their pc

A/n: first thing first I wanna say thank u to the person who suggested me this name, if ur reading this ur a diva (and thank you!!). In these days I couldn’t write a lot so I’m really sorry for not posting!! I will write and post all the fics I suggested in the poll as soon as I can!!

No tw’s!!

*.• ☆ •.*

It was pretty late at night, no one in the server was active so you decided to play one of the games you happened to crack in one of those sketchy sites.. you’ve been using this specific one for some years now, and it never brought you any problems.. until now. You literally just tried to open it but instead of running it literally opened a terminal tab. That’s where you immediately understood you fucked up. It was over. You immediately turned your wi-fi off and checked the server again on your phone to see if someone was online, since you actually needed help rn. Lucky for you, your amazing boyfriend Ronin was up. You immediately opened his chat and voice-called him

“Ronin.. I need your help.. I kinda fucked up..”

You said, your voice sounded weak as you were scared for your pc..

“Darling calm down.. what did you do?”

“I downloaded a game for free in one of my sketchy websites and I got a virus.. I don’t know what to do now.. I turned off my wi-fi but I don’t wanna touch anything..”

“Do you want me to come to your place or help you on call?”

“I..I don’t know.. I just know that I’m scared..”

“Mhh.. I get it..”

He mumbled, he sure was a little tired but never too tired to be with you

“I’m coming over rn, I will stay the night”

He said, as he hung up and not letting you answer. You were kind of happy that he would come over. You just waited for him in your room and after a good 15 minutes you heard a knock on your door.. you’ve immediately rushed to the door and thank god it was Ronin and not the hacker in your pc..

“Missed me?”

“A lot..”

You said, as you hugged him. He just chuckled and picked you up as he walked to your room.

“I’m gonna fix this rq and then we’ll go to sleep since it’s late, I don’t want the love of my life having a bad sleep schedule.”

“Mm okie”

When he got to your room, ronin sat into your gaming chair with you on his lap.. one hand was around your waist and the other was on the mouse.. his head was on your shoulder as he just helped you delete the infected files.. He didn’t take too much time since he was a pro at these things.

“Damn, you got a trojan.. what website did you even use?

“Ehh.. it’s named streamlocked..”

When you said that, Ronin became a little more serious and scolded you a little

“Do you know how dangerous that site it? You’re lucky you have me or else you would’ve said bye-bye to your 1000€ setup, darling”

“I know!! But I’ve been using it for 4 years now and nothing happened.. I swear this was my first time I got a virus..”

You explained, panicking a little

“Darling, it’s okay. Nothing happened and everything is okay now.. I’m here with you.. Just.. promise me next time you want a game you tell me so I’ll make sure you get no virus, okay?”

“Okay, I promise”

“Great.. let’s go to sleep now.. it’s almost 5 am..”

“Mhhm..”

You mumbled, you were a little sleepy and you knew it. Ronin laid in bed next to you and spooned you, he kissed you goodnight before pulling you close.. you ended up falling asleep cuddled up together in eachother’s arms.. there sure was an happy ending today.

[hswriting]

Peace

Masterlist

- - -

6.1k words

- - -

Is the life of a future popstar too much for Harry to handle? Memories flood back as this song comes into creation.

Our coming-of-age has come and gone. Suddenly the summer, it's clear, I never had the courage of my convictions. As long as danger is near, and it's just around the corner, darling, 'cause it lives in me. No, I could never give you peace

We have both grown up now since we saw each other last. We were only teenagers. I’ve liked him for all of these years, but we had our own lives. We ran in different circles. Different cities. Completely different lives. We spent that summer together, having the time of our lives. I almost told him then.

The day before my 18th birthday, we spent the day in his pool that sat in his backyard. His parents were almost never home. Always had somewhere to be, things to do, people to impress. Harry wasn’t like that.

He was a homebody. He didn’t do parties, or people, or drama. He kept to himself. He focused on school work and his music. So many nights I’d stay up and listen from my window, the soft guitar or piano that would come from the house next door. I would sometimes write lyrics to songs he played often. Other times I would duet songs when he had a hole in his lyrics. He doesn’t know that I could hear. That’s my secret to keep. Or so I thought.

We were sitting on the roof of his house, overlooking the neighborhood, the moon casting a soft glow on his skin. My parents went with his parents to a party, and we decided to stay behind. He stared up, watching the stars twinkle and fall across the sky.

“I don’t want my life to ever be like theirs. They spend so much time worrying about what people think of them, but it could be so easy.” He was talking, letting his feelings pour out of him to me, his best friend. “They dress up, they leave, they never get to relax. They never get to live. I can’t do it. I can’t be like them.”

“You don’t have to be you know. You can deviate from their life. We are almost adults now. We can do whatever we want. I want to show my music to the world, but that’s just because I’ve got a story to tell. You can do anything Harry.”

“I want to do my music, I just don’t think I can do it like you can. I’m not that lyrically talented. I don’t think I can perform.”

“That’s not true Harry.” I said before realizing what I’ve admitted.

“How would you know? I don’t share my music?” He plays dumb for a moment, already knowing the answer.

“I um…” I stutter. He chuckled at me, finally looking over at me, his green eyes sparkling in the light of the moon.

“I know you can hear me when I play. You’re the reason I play so loudly. I love to hear you sing to my music.” He said. Thank god it was dark so he couldn’t see how red my cheeks got. He chuckled again. “I can’t believe you thought this whole time I didn’t know.”

“I really didn’t think you did.” I admitted to him, my face blazing hot.

“You were born to perform. You have such a beautiful voice. I’m just not sure I’m meant for that life. That many people watching me. I can’t do it.”

“So what do you want to do then?”

“I don’t know. I want to do something with music. I could help you write. If you’d ever hire me when you make it big.”

“Of course I’ll hire you Harry. Why would I ever think of hiring someone else?” I tell him. He looks back up at the sky. He started to speak, but chose not to. The silence lingered over us like the darkness of the night. When he finally spoke up again, he said,

“I’m glad you’re my friend. I couldn’t imagine growing up with anyone else.” I loved the sentiment, but I wanted to be more than his friend. I wanted to be his girlfriend. I wanted to be more.

But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade ocean wave blues come. All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret. The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me. Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

I never thought I’d see the day we separated. We were inseparable. We were a team and then Harry had decided that he wanted to expand his music skills by going to a music college.

Don’t get me wrong. I will always be super proud of him. I just couldn’t imagine my life without him. I didn’t want him to forget about me. To forget everything we had and everything we had done.

Harry puts the last bag of his belongings in his car and shuts the trunk. He walks over to me standing on the sidewalk in front of our houses.

“Don’t look so sad. I’m not going to be gone forever.” He told me as he wrapped his arms around me. He felt warm despite the autumn breeze blowing on our skin. Leaves danced on the sidewalk as they got blown around.

“I know, but we’ve never been apart for this long. I don’t want you to go.” I told him, my voice wavering.

“I’m going to school. I’ll be back for holidays and spring break. Just think of how good my music is going to be after this. I’ll have a degree to submit as my qualifications to help with your music.”

“The odds of me making it are slim to none Harry. I hope you have a backup plan.” I told him, not knowing how wrong I was. How I should have just asked him to stay.

“I don’t need a backup plan. You’ve got this. You’re fantastic. You’re going to make it there one day. I can feel it. Keep uploading your videos. Keep sending in demos. You’ve got this.” He assures me. He holds me tighter. It’s another one of those moments where I wanted to tell him then and there. Maybe if I told him that I loved him, he would have stayed, but that’s selfish. I couldn’t take this away from him. So I stayed silent.

“Do you promise you’re going to try and keep in contact with me?” I asked him pathetically.

“I’m going to do my best. The different time zones is going to make it so I’m up way earlier than you and going to bed earlier, but I’ll keep in contact the best that I can.” He promised. He held his pinkie out to me, something we had done forever.

He kissed me on the forehead before he climbed in his car and said goodbye to me, unknowingly for the final time.

That first week was hell. Harry wasn’t able to talk at all. He didn’t text. He didn’t call. Not even a letter. All I could think about was that forehead kiss and what it meant. He had never shown me that level of affection before. Of course we hugged and sometimes cuddled, but nothing more. Why would he give me that send off and then leave me stranded with nothing. Not a single crumb of anything to hold on to except for the memory of that kiss.

It sent me into a spiral. I wrote more songs in the following weeks than I had ever before. Our contact was very limited. He was always in class. When he got out of class I was in bed. I tried staying up late to catch even just a single text, but it was so few and far between that I really struggled. My chest ached with how much I missed him.

One song in particular stands out to me now that I’ve made singing a full time job. It was the song that went viral. The song that got me noticed. I wrote it during that period of silence from Harry. When the only messages I did receive after the silence was him saying how sorry he was and what he had been doing lately.

So I wrote a song because it was the only way I knew how to cope. It was all of my heartbreak. All of my loneliness. All of the feelings of losing somebody you love even though they’re alive. I felt our friendship slipping like water through my fingers and I tried desperately to cup my hands, but it leaked anyways.

When I finally got around to recording the song that I wrote, I posted it to my usual channels and that’s when my life changed. I woke up to thousands of notifications. My video, my song had went viral in a matter of hours. I had never imagined that my music would actually take off.

It was after that day that a record label had seen the video and wanted to sign me. I obviously took it, and that caused what was left of Harry and I’s communication to cease completely. We both were busy. We weren’t able to talk anymore. In the hardest time of my life I was blessed with my dream job. It was difficult for me to process. I was so upset that I lost Harry but I was getting everything I ever wanted. The one thing I wanted the most was to see Harry again and tell him I made it.

Your integrity makes me seem small. You paint dreamscapes on the wall. I talk shit with my friends. It's like I'm wasting your honor.

“Did you ever think you’d make it?” The interviewer asked me once. I was doing a lot of press before I went on my first tour. My first album had just been released and it was huge. I got number one on billboards. This was everything I dreamed of.

“I always wanted to make it, but I did have my doubts.”

“I’m sure. Did you expect ‘Mourning’ to go viral overnight?” She asked, mentioning my first song about Harry’s departure from my life.

“Absolutely not. I thought it was going to be like all of the others. Some views. A few likes. Not waking up to internet fame.”

“Well it seemed to have worked out for you! Now you’re about to start your world tour, you’ve already done a fair amount of traveling around. Is there anything you miss about home?” She asked me, making a stabbing pain form in my chest that radiated and transformed to nausea in my stomach.

“Of course. There’s a lot I miss about home. When I lived there, I just dreamed of getting out of that town. I hated living in such a small area where everyone knows everybody. But now I kind of feel bad for talking so much crap about it. Of course I love traveling and this is something I’ve always wanted to do, I miss being home. I miss how calm it was. I miss my friend.” I said, the last sentence slipping out unintentionally.

“Now is this the person ‘Mourning’ is about?” She immediately clocked me not wanting to mention him.

“It is.” I admitted to her. She already knew.

“Did you have to leave them behind to chase your career?”

“In a way, yes. But I’d rather not tell the tale. He would want his privacy. And he deserves that.” I told her.

The rest of the interview went smoothly, her not bringing Harry up again. After that interview, I needed some relief from the feelings that began to flood me again after thinking of Harry. I cancelled my next interview. I isolated for a week, just drinking and writing songs. Now the whole world knows about him, and I still feel immensely guilty for even slightly bringing him into the spotlight.

I know they don’t know who he is, or where he’s at now, but he always hated the attention. He hated the spotlight and everything associated with this job. That’s why he always talked of being one of my songwriters. He wanted to be in the shadows. And all I did was send people chasing after his scent, trying to figure out who he is like a pack of feral dogs.

I still feel guilty today for that interview.

And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches, give you my wild, give you a child, give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other. Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother. Is it enough?

I was halfway through the tour at this point, and I still think back to that interview. I think about Harry everyday, and how as much as I want him. I can’t give him what he wants. Not anymore. My life is too chaotic. More than it used to be.

Once upon a time he was able to calm the chaos in my head, before I let our friendship slip away. I sometimes think about trying to send him a text and tell him everything, but he probably doesn’t want to speak to me after everything. After I abandoned what was left of our friendship. Everything that I feel about Harry is my fault. He was trying and I ended up not being able to text back at all due to everything going on in my life.

Back a few years ago, I was having a terrible time. My mother had recently hurt me. She not only insulted me but crushed my dreams like a bug under the heel of her shoe.

She yelled at me when she found my YouTube channel. She went on and on about how dangerous it was for me to post videos of myself on the internet. She yelled that I was just looking for attention and that I’d never make it. I was wasting my time.

I went to my room to get away from it all. I sat on the bench by my window and just cried. I didn’t play music. I didn’t write. She made me feel so ashamed for what I love to do. I still have a hard time forgiving her for that.

Harry must have seen me or heard everything that happened because it wasn’t long before he was at him window, playing piano. It was my favorite song. He played it a few times. When the music stopped, my phone began to ring.

I picked it up, swallowing down the shakiness in my voice, but I can’t hide how hoarse it is.

“Hello?”

“Do you want to talk?”

“I can’t come over right now.” I told him sadly. He didn’t bring up that I’m an adult and I can leave when I want. He didn’t remind me that I wasn’t a child under them anymore. He knew I would protest. He knows how I get.

“I know. If you want, you can open your window and I’ll come in?” He asked, waiting patiently for my answer.

“Okay.” Is all I said. I opened the window all of the way and went back to my bed. The phone had hung up, but not long after that was Harry climbing through my window. He saw my tear stained face and climbed onto the bed with me. He put his arm around me as I began to cry again. He just held me as I laid against his chest and stained his shirt with my tears. My chest ached with so many emotions. It felt like a fire spreading through me. I was so angry. So disappointed. So ashamed.

I felt like after that, I would never write again. She made me feel horrible for making my music public and I had no idea why. I still don’t. I couldn’t even look at my guitar or piano. I couldn’t stand the sight of them.

He didn’t ask me any questions. He didn’t pressure me to tell him what was wrong. He sat there in silence, holding me, and helping keep the pieces of me together. It wasn’t a bad or awkward silence. He just understood that words wouldn’t help in the moment. He could talk to me when the tears were done. He just held me.

When I did finally calm down enough to be talked to, he was gentle with his words. He was soft. He was kind. He was perfect.

“She’s wrong, you know.” He tells me. “You’re a beautiful singer. You’re amazingly talented. You were born to do this. Don’t let her steal this from you.”

“She’s right. I’ll never make it.” I doubted myself. “I don’t even know why I try.”

“That’s her in your head talking. Don’t let this make you stop music. I’d be devastated if I never heard you sing again.” He looked upset at the thought. “If you can’t keep making music for yourself, at least keep singing by your window for me until you’re inspired to do it again.”

I fell more in love with him that night. I didn’t think I could love him more than I did. More than I do. I’d do anything for him. And if that meant singing silly little covers until I got out of this funk that my mom put me in, I’d do it just for him. Only for him.

The next day I didn’t speak to my mom. I stayed in my room at the window with my keyboard. I played some of Harry’s favorite songs. None of my own, but anything that I could remember that he loved, I played. I sang. I let my fingers hit the keys, the sounds louder the harder I struck them.

When he wasn’t busy, I saw him sitting in his window, just listening to me play. And that’s all I did that day. And the next day. It took me about a week before I began to play any original work, and another week before I began to write again.

But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west. I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best. But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me.

The tour was almost over. I just finished a performance in New York City. A few more stops before I landed back in my hometown for the last one. I received some of the scariest news of my life.

I walk backstage to the room reserved for me. I flop down onto the couch and just take a moment to relax. The crowd was energetic, like they had all been struck with lightning before I got there. I had to give them a show to remember.

I’m exhausted physically, but my mind never stops racing. Every show makes me think of him. Every song about him makes me go back to those memories of us. How things used to be. I close my eyes and let the feelings float past me. I can’t drown in them. Not tonight.

My manager came in and told me to look at instagram. I sat up on the couch in surprise. She doesn’t normally burst in the room. I opened it and it was the first thing I saw. It was a picture of my house, the caption reading my name, street address, and details about where I live.

In that moment I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I had to drown. I was suffocating. Being buried alive. Someone found my home. The only place that was mine. The only place I had privacy. The only place I could escape all of the eyes watching me. It’s not longer mine. It is for the world to view.

“H-how did this happen?” I asked, shock ran through me. “I haven’t been home for months!”

“We’re not sure. We are working to get it removed.” She told me and my chest ached.

I wanted this career but I deserved to have a space of my own. I deserved my home to be one of those things that is private. I deserved to be able to have a life, but I’ll never have it. This life doesn’t allow for privacy. I knew then that Harry wouldn’t be able to have this life with me. He would hate the intrusion. He would hate me for putting him out there and at risk. Harry couldn’t do this. He doesn’t want this.

Instagram finally did remove it, but not before people would screenshot it. Not before the entire world had access to my life.

Most of my fanbase knew I wasn’t home. I’m in a whole different country. I’m worried about my belongings. Will they vandalize my home?

“Can you make arrangements to have someone protect my home? I don’t want-“

“It’s already done. And there will be an extra security presence after you’re done tour and can go home.” She told me and I took a deep breath.

“I’m going to have to move. I can’t have people waiting for me outside my house every time I need to go get groceries. Do they forget I’m a person too?”

“Sadly I think they do. We can look for something I bit more remote if you’d like.” She put her hand on my shoulder to show her support for me, but I wasn’t comforted. I’m still not. I’m afraid to go home after the final night of this tour.

But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade ocean wave blues come. All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret. The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me. Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

How has everything gotten so crazy for me? It’s been a whirlwind since my video went viral and now I’m on a world tour. I don’t regret a single thing, except of course, losing Harry.

I sit on the couch of the backstage room with a pen in my hand, staring at my blank notebook. The cover open, the first page like a canvas waiting to be painted on.

One more stop, one more performance, and then I can go home. After that, it’s putting the next album together, recording, and touring again. I have to keep my momentum going.

I’m excited to be in my hometown. It’s small, and definitely not like where I live now in the city, but it’s bigger than some of the farm towns we have had to drive through to get from place to place. I can’t believe I ever called it a tiny town with nothing in it compared to the places I’ve seen now. My town is fairly large. The fact it has a venue for me to perform in says enough.

My pen begins to scratch ideas onto the page that will later be turned into lines of a future song.

I long to be home. I long for the peace. I long for the days where I didn’t have to face seeing fans at my house when I leave.

I’ll have to find a way to make that sound more elegant. Maybe make it rhyme.

I long to be held by you. No place will ever be home like your arms are. That’s where I want to be.

Am I really here again? Thinking about Harry. It’s been years. Two or so years since he left for school. Two or so years since I was discovered. Two or so years of the best and worst days of my life.

But you’ll never have me. It’s been too long. I’m too far gone.

I flip the page. I need to find a different vibe. I can’t get myself down before this performance. I only have a few minutes, maybe a half hour before I have to go get on stage.

I take a moment to think about my life. Every part has revolved around Harry. Being his best friend, wanting more, losing him, longing for him. Everything is about him if I want it to be or not.

So I start. I start writing whatever is on my mind, starting with that summer of my 18th birthday.

Our coming of age has come and gone. Suddenly the summer it’s clear.

Words flow out of me, just remembering back to everything. All of these parts of my life coming together to make these verses. I can see myself making a song out of this.

“Are you ready?” My manager asks and I nod at her. I stand up and walk to her. She hands me a microphone. I take a deep breath before switching it on. The lights shut off and the fans scream. I step out onto the stage and the bright lights come back on, all pointed at me. The fans scream wildly as I come into view.

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace? Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

The beginning notes of the song come on and I begin to sing. My life’s dream. All of my hard work. All right here in this moment. Gratitude and adoration for all of this fills my chest. The words flow out of my mouth without a second thought. The words I’ve sung for years. The words that I wrote in my bedroom of my parent’s house. The words inspired by nights on the roof and days at the parks. The words when I was truly living and words when I thought I would die. It’s all here.

I move across the stage in the way that I have many times before. The same practiced dance moves. The same words and the same lights. Night after night.

I dance and sing my way to the front of the stage and that’s when my whole world stops. The words keep coming out of my mouth and my body keeps dancing but my eyes are trained on one thing.

He’s here, standing in the front row. It’s Harry.

When I make eye contact with him, he gives me the widest smile I’ve ever seen cross his face. He sings along to all of the words that I’m singing. He dances in place on his spot of the floor.

The song ends and the next begins, but I have a hard time shifting my focus. I have to pretend like he isn’t there. Like he isn’t changing my whole world. I have to perform. I have a job to do.

I sing all the words again, hitting every mark, completing every goal. I occasionally look at him, afraid that I hallucinated him standing there. Every time he’s still there. Still singing along. Still having that huge grin on his face. He’s here.

I can’t get off of this stage fast enough. I want to just jump into the crowd and wrap my arms around him. How am I going to find him after this is over? How will I let him know to come back stage. I can’t let him leave here without seeing me. I have to talk to him. I have to tell him how sorry I am for everything that has happened.

The song ends, and this is a part where I talk to the audience. I try to act normal. I try to control how fast my heart is pounding.

“How is everyone tonight?” I ask and it’s followed by screams, whistles, and clapping. “I love the energy here tonight! You guys are amazing!”

The next song begins soon after, not giving me enough time to find a way to address Harry without making it obvious.

The rest of the performance goes smoothly, I don’t mess up a single word. I do every move.

As the last song closes out and the stage gets dark, I make my way to the front where Harry is, my last chance to get to him.

I get there and I don’t see anyone. Harry is walking away. No. No. He can’t leave. I need to see him.

I run backstage and my manager slows me down by stopping me.

“Everything okay?”

“He’s here. Oh my god. He’s here.”

“Who?” She asks.

“Harry. He’s here. I need to find him.”

“You can’t go out there. Those people will trample you to death or kidnap you or something!”

“You don’t understand. I need to see him.”

“I’m sorry but the crowd is already gone.” She says. Tears begin to stream out of my eyes as I look back out at the stage and see that the room is empty.

I run past my manager back to my room and slam the door. I let him slip past me again and I’ll never be able to get this chance again. Sobs wrack my body, my chest on fire. There’s a knock on my door.

“Go away!”

“I don’t really think you want me to go away.” My manager says. “I have something for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Yes you do. Now open the door or I’m just coming in.”

“No.” I tell her, fed up with her even though this isn’t her fault. It’s mine. It’s all mine.

The door opens and she comes through. I expected something in her hands, but they are empty.

“What was so important?” I ask her, wiping the tears from my face, makeup coming off with it.

“Someone is here to see you.” She says. Before I am able to protest having visitors, my breath is taken away from me again. Harry walks through the door with a big bouquet of flowers in his hands, and a backstage pass around his neck.

“Oh my god!” I yell. I run up to him as he puts the flowers down. I jump into his arms and hold him. “You’re here. You’re actually here!” I say, my face buried into his neck.

“You did amazing! I’m so proud of you!” He tells me. I don’t even try to move from this hug. This is all that I’ve dreamed of since he left. I hear my manager walk out of the room and close the door. “Couldn’t even wait for me to get a degree before getting famous huh?”

“It’s been a bit out of my control. Harry I’m so sorry-“

“Nothing to be sorry for, love.” He says. He pulls me back and holds my shoulders, looking over my face.

“I do. I got this job and we lost contact and I’m so sorry. I’ve feel terrible for everything.” I admit to him, tears threatening to spill again.

“I would never have asked you to choose texting me over getting your dream. This is what you’ve worked so hard for. I couldn’t take that away from you.”

“I don’t ever want to lose you again.” I tell him softly as his eyes scan mine.

“I don’t plan on going anywhere. I’m finished my two year program. I’m ready to submit my qualifications to you.”

“It’s yours. I don’t want anyone else. I’ll tell my manager.” I say. I start to step away but he holds me in place.

“We can tell her later. I’d like to catch up.” He tells me and I nod, my thoughts racing. We walk to the couch and sit down.

“How was music school? How did you do?”

“I did well. I had fun, but I missed you. I hated not being able to talk to you and hang out with you.” He wraps his arm around me in the same way he did when he was comforting me that night my mom yelled at me. “I was really worried about you when I saw that someone leaked your address. I saw people commenting that you were safe because you were on tour. I bought tickets because I knew I needed to see you. It had been too long. And then one of my professors from school got me in contact with your manager and that’s how I got a backstage pass.”

“You were worried about me?” I ask, not expecting it.

“Of course. That’s scary having your home leaked onto the internet. I can’t even imagine how you must have felt. I didn’t know if your number still worked or if you had changed it, so I didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I said you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I wanted to see you because I missed you.”

“I missed you too Harry. So much.” I squeeze his hand for emphasis. All of this is because of you.”

“Nonsense. You’ve been working so hard-“ he starts but I interrupt. I can’t hold in my feelings any longer. I have to say it.

“A lot of my songs are about you, Harry. I- I don’t ever want to go that long without you again. The songs about you are what got me here. I owe it all to you. I love you Harry.”

“I love you too. But you got yourself here. I didn’t write those songs.”

“No Harry, you don’t understand. I love you. I want to date you. I want to be with you. But I know you don’t like this life. You told me this chaotic life wasn’t for you. I know that you can’t be with me and it was selfish of me to say anything. I can’t give you the peace you want.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry.” He tells me, his thumb wiping the tears that I didn’t even know were there off of my cheeks. “I want to be with you. I wanted to ask you tonight, but we just got so wrapped up in everything.” He tells me and I feel my body freeze from shock at his words.

“You- told me that night on the roof, you couldn’t be like your parents. You couldn’t do the dressing up, the parties, caring what people think. All of those things are part of my job. How-“

“You’re right. I did say those things, but I’d be willing to do them for you. Do I enjoy parties? Not really. But for you, I’d go to one every night if I could be by your side. I’d dress up in the most ridiculous clothes for it too. You’d laugh at me for sure. But this is your dream, and I want to spend the rest of my life looking into your eyes and seeing how they light up when you’re on stage and singing your music. I want to see how happy you get when your album launches. I want to celebrate your accomplishments with you. I want you.”

My arms fly around him again, more tears coming down my face. “You’d really do this for me? The photos and paparazzi and-“

“I love you. Let them say what they want. We can figure it all out. Just go on a date with me?”

“Of course. Oh my god.” His arms warp around me, and the lines I wrote earlier come to mind. His arms are home. He wants me as I am. He would sacrifice his peace for me. A line pops into my head.

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

“Shall we get you home?” Harry asks after we sit on the couch just holding each other for a moment.

“Will you stay? I don’t blame you if you don’t want to. There probably people outside of my house and-“

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Or you can stay at mine tonight and go to your home in the morning?”

“Where do you live now?”

“Just right in town.”

“Okay.” I tell him. We get up and go tell my manager everything. About me wanting to hire him on, about me staying at his place, and land to travel home in the morning. She said she would take care of the equipment and everything for me. Harry took my hand and we left in his car. His hand reaching across the center and resting on my thigh as I fall asleep in the passenger seat, glad to finally have him. To finally get to have him in my life again.

Maybe I can’t give him peace, but I can give him love. And maybe that’s enough.

- - -

Masterlist

Taglist: @maudie-duan

[voievod]

And as he holds her, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest against his, he thinks — if this is what morning tastes like, if this is what the sun rises to, the scent of her, the warmth of her, the way she curls into him as if there is no world beyond this bed, then let the sun rise a thousand times over and find them like this.

— VENUS OBSERVA. Coming today.

[camgoloud]

every single goddamn time i spend a whole three hour evening writing session beating my head against the wall over the ten sentences on which a whole scene hinges and which i Just Can’t Get Right only to end up eventually throwing my hands up in frustration and shutting off my computer and going into the bathroom to get ready for bed. WITHOUT FAIL. every time i’ll be standing there at the sink toothbrush in mouth and suddenly the perfect solution will pop into my head. like. okay

[buckysleftbicep]

exit wounds 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, choking, hairpulling, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, possessiveness, dom!bucky, angst

summary: after you put yourself in danger once again during a mission, bucky finally snaps.

word count: 3.2k

author's note: hello my loves, i hope you enjoy this fic! also, i am currently looking through all the requests i've received and am excited to say i got started on a few! so please, keep sending them, fresh ideas always helps me write better! love you guys and please stay safe out there!

want him so badly

The storm broke before the mission did.

Rain pelted the shattered rooftops, thunder cracked above as you darted through the ruined alleyways of Bucharest, your pulse hammering in your ears. The objective was simple, get in, extract the intel, get out.

“Left. Take the left,” Bucky’s voice crackled through your comms, taut with command.

“I see the target,” you shot back, breathless. “I’m going in.”

“You go in alone, and I swear to god—”

You cut the line.

Not because you were being reckless. You knew what you were doing. You had spent hours upon hours studying the building’s layout, the guards’ rotations, and the window of opportunity that was already closing.

You didn’t need him barking orders in your ear. And you especially didn’t need your boyfriend second-guessing you when you were this close to securing the objective.

But then, behind you—boots pounded on wet concrete, close, fast, and furious.

“Fuck—(y/n)!”

Too late.

The intel was secured. The flash drive sat warm in the lining of your suit, pressed against your sternum. On paper, the mission was a success.

But the cost?

Three injured agents. A building engulfed in fire. And Bucky’s silence on the jet ride towards the nearest safehouse, the tension was thick enough to choke on. He hadn’t looked at you once.

Not when you handed Val the drive. Not when she nodded coolly and dismissed you without a word of praise. Not when the soft hydraulic hiss of the safehouse doors opened and when the rest of the team shuffled in like ghosts.

Now it was just the two of you. The others had scattered quietly, retreating to their temporary rooms for the night. The rain still dripped from your suit's collar, blood clung dry beneath your fingernails, and the silence between you and Bucky pulsed like a second heartbeat.

You peeled your damp tactical vest from your shoulders and tossed it onto the table. Every breath you took felt too loud in the stillness. Your skin was still buzzed with leftover adrenaline and heat, you didn't know if it was from the mission of the confrontation you knew was about to come.

You heard the final set of footsteps retreat, then the soft click of the outer door.

Still, you didn’t turn around.

“I had it,” you said calmly, your voice flat but controlled. “You didn’t need to come after me.”

He didn’t respond at first.

But you could feel him. The tension radiated off him like heat off an engine block. You didn’t need to look to know his jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. You could already feel his glare burning through your back almost as if it was trying to set you aflame.

You met his eyes—cerulean, but sharper than usual. Tense. Controlled.

“I got the drive, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the fucking point,” he snapped, the steel in his voice sharp now. “Three agents could’ve died (y/n). You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t,” you bit out. “And I wasn’t going to.”

His mouth twisted, his chest heaving once before he spoke again, voice splintering. “You think I give a shit about your stats? Your little field heroics?” His voice cracked then, just slightly.

“You think I want to scrape you off the concrete one day just because you were too stubborn to follow the damn protocol?”

You barked a bitter laugh. "Funny. You’ve been quiet up until now.”

He moved fast.

One moment, he was across the room. The next, he was inches from you, towering, taut with anger, fist clenched so tight you could see the veins straining in his forearm.

“You wanna say that again?” he asked, low and dangerous.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to flinch. “I said—”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t test me tonight.”

“Why not?” you hissed. “You’ve been dying to explode since we landed Bucky. Go ahead. Yell. Blame me. Do what you always do when you don’t get your damn way—”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t move.

He just looked at you. And somehow, that was worse.

The silence that followed crackled with heat. His jaw tensed, eyes burning into yours like he was holding back with everything he had.

Then, slow and deliberate, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His body radiated heat, tension rolling off him in waves.

“You think this is about me?” he whispered, dangerously quiet now.

“You think I give a fuck if I look bad in the debrief? I don’t care about orders, (y/n). I care about you. And you made the call without backup, without thinking. Again."

“I knew what I was doing,” you murmured, but it came out thinner now.

“And if you were wrong?” he snapped. His breath hit your cheek—damp, hot, ragged. “If I hadn’t gone in after you?”

You couldn’t answer. Because you didn’t know.

And suddenly the room felt too small. Too close. Your heart pounded against your ribs like it wanted out.

He was so close you could smell the rain still clinging to his skin, see the soaked-through fabric of his black shirt clinging to every line of muscle. His hair was still damp, curling around his jaw as his chest rose and fell with heavy, measured breaths.

He looked frayed at the edges, barely holding it together, and burning with fury.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, voice rough. “You think I care about the mission? You think I care about what Val thinks?”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. “I was just… I needed to prove I could handle it.”

He took another step forward. “To who?”

You blinked.

“To Val? The team?” He shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Or to me?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your silence said enough.

Bucky’s hand came up, not fast, not aggressive, but deliberate. It hovered near your jaw, then gently ghosted along the column of your throat. Two fingers settled over your pulse, barely there. Feeling it. Reading you.

“You think I don’t see you?” he murmured. “Think I don’t know what you’re trying to prove every time you run headfirst into danger like you have nothing to lose?”

“You don’t have to be reckless to be worthy of standing next to me,” he said, and something broke in his voice then. Softer. Almost broken. “You already are.”

Your breath stuttered.

You hadn’t meant to move. You hadn’t even noticed your body leaning forward until your chest brushed his. Until you felt the ragged breath he caught against your cheek, until your eyes met his, and everything stopped.

He looked at you like he was drowning in everything he hadn’t said, rage, fear, hunger, all of it right there in his eyes, barely held back.

His thumb brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up. His touch was light, barely there, but it felt like the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“You keep pushing me,” he said, voice low and quiet, the kind of quiet that carried weight.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Always testing. Always toeing the line.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed, pulse fluttering beneath your skin. A slow ache bloomed between your thighs, the kind that only got worse when you held his gaze.

“And what if I’m doing it on purpose?” you murmured. “What if I want you to snap?”

Something shifted behind his gaze, a flicker of heat barely restrained, and the air between you crackled like a live wire. His jaw flexed, his body unmoving, and then, the corner of his mouth lifted. Slow, measured, anything but kind.

“You really want to see what happens when I do?” he gritted out

“Maybe I like seeing how far I can push you.”

You didn’t get a second to breathe.

His hand clamped around your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but firm enough to remind you who was in control as he shoved you backward.

You stumbled, caught off guard, and then—without warning, he turned you. One arm braced across your shoulders, the other sliding between your thighs. You barely had time to gasp before he was behind you, chest flush to your back, hips grinding into your ass.

His body pinned you in place, unforgiving and close, and suddenly there was no space, no air, nothing except the burn of him against you and the way your body reacted, fast, instinctive and shameless.

“You want to push me?” Bucky snarled, the words like gravel dragged through his teeth. “Then take it. Don’t you fucking run from it now.”

Your pulse throbbed wildly beneath his fingers. He felt it—you knew he did—because he smiled against your neck. It wasn’t kind. It was the smile of a man barely containing the storm underneath, teeth bared like a wolf on a leash.

You tried to turn your head, to spit something sharp, something defiant, but his metal hand was there in an instant, pinning your cheek to the wall with a ruthless kind of tenderness. Cold vibranium fingers spread across your jaw, holding you still like he was lining up a shot.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” he growled. “You don’t get to talk back. Not after the fucking stunt you pulled.”

Then—he tore your suit open.

The front zipper split with a vicious rip, teeth dragging down your sternum, and then the fabric was shoved roughly off your shoulders. Your bra came into view, your skin prickling in the open air, exposed and vulnerable and throbbing with anticipation.

He didn’t hesitate.

His mouth latched onto the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, and your body reacted instantly, arching toward him, heat coiling low in your belly, wetness pooling between your thighs before you could even think to stop it.

It was humiliating how fast he had you soaked.

“Fucking wet,” he hissed, voice sharp with satisfaction. His flesh hand slid down the front of your suit. Two fingers pressed through your panties and straight into your slit, finding you hot, drenched and needy. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. All that mouth and you still want me this bad?”

You moaned—shameless, high-pitched and he growled like it offended him.

“Pathetic.”

Your suit hit the ground in a heap, shoved down carelessly around your boots. He didn’t bother to strip you completely, he didn’t need to. He just yanked them down far enough to spread your thighs apart, leaving you open, exposed, and trembling.

Then you heard it—the heavy clink of his belt, the hiss of his zipper. Your body jolted at the sound.

“Look at you,” he muttered, low and mean. “Begging to be fucked like a slut after risking your life like a dumb little brat.” The words hit you hard and god, they made your pussy throb.

You clenched around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs, and the worst part was how much you loved it. How much you needed more, needed him.

Your breath stuttered, your hips tilting back instinctively, shameless in how fast you were unraveling for him. You didn’t care what he called you. As long as he didn’t stop. As long as he fucked you like he meant every filthy word.

He pumped his cock once—twice—right behind you. You could feel it already, flushed and hard and heavy, the tip brushing the curve of your ass as he lined himself up.

“You wanted this,” Bucky rasped, voice dragging low and dark. “You pushed me on purpose. You knew exactly what would happen.”

You whimpered, cheeks burning.

And then he laughed, low and cruel and knowing.

“You like it when I’m like this, don’t you?”

His cock dragged through your folds—slick with your arousal, bumping your clit before dipping lower, teasing your entrance with maddening pressure. You nearly sobbed.

“Y-yes… I like it,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your thighs trembled. “I wanted it. I wanted this. W-wanted you like this.”

He slammed into you.

You cry out, the stretch splitting you wide open in one unrelenting thrust. No warning. No mercy. Your nails scraped against the wall as your body spasmed around him, pussy clenching instinctively around the thick length now buried to the hilt.

“Oh my fucking—”

He slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Be quiet,” he gritted out, breath hot on your ear. “They’ll hear you.”

You moaned into his palm, the sound muffled and desperate, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as he began to move—long, deep thrusts that rocked your entire body.

Each snap of his hips sent you forward, your chest jolting against the cold wall with every brutal push. Your legs shook beneath you, barely able to hold you up under the weight of him, his rhythm, his heat, the relentless way he claimed every inch of your body.

His cock hit every spot inside you—deep, relentless, perfect in its punishment. Each thrust drove you harder into the wall, your palms flattened against the cold surface, fingers splayed like you were holding on for dear life.

The air was thick with the sound of slick skin and broken moans, the wet slap of him pounding into you again and again until all you could do was whimper, body shaking, needing more.

He was ruthless.

“You feel that?” he grunted, fucking into you harder. “You feel how deep I am? Fuck, princess, your pussy’s squeezing me.”

You nodded, eyes rolling back. Everything was too much. Not enough.

He grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, lips brushing your ear.

“You gonna come already? Just from this? From getting fucked like you’re made for it?”

You tried to speak, tried to form a word, a plea, anything but your mouth refused to work. All that came out was a desperate, broken moan, choked off by the force of him inside you.

Every muscle in your body was strung tight, overwhelmed, aching, begging for release, but all you could do was let the sound of your need echo in the space between you, raw and strung out and wordless.

He let go of your mouth and slapped your ass—hard.

“Say it,” he snarled. “Tell me how badly you want to come.”

“I, god—I need it,” you choked. “Please, need your cock, need you to—”

He pulled out. Completely.

You cry, voice raw with frustration.

Bucky laughed, voice thick with dominance.

“Look at you. Falling apart already. And I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you could respond, he seized your wrists and twisted them behind your back, pinning them there easily with his hand. The cool press of vibranium against your skin made your breath hitch, your chest rising in shallow gasps.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he drove back into you—harder, deeper, with a force that knocked a strangled sound from your throat and sent sparks ricocheting through your core.

Your body jolted. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. His flesh hand wrapped around your waist, fingers finding your clit again—rubbing tight, relentless circles in time with each brutal thrust.

You were unravelling, your legs burned and your body trembled. You were a babbling, incoherent mess as your orgasm built again—rising like a fucking tsunami.

“Don’t you dare come,” he growled. You tried. Fuck, you tried.

But he was everywhere—his cock driving into that sweet spot deep inside you with ruthless precision, his fingers working your clit in tight, relentless circles that had you trembling. His voice, low and filthy, poured into your ear like sin itself, each word pushing you closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he rasped. “Say who owns you.”

You sobbed.

“You do, Bucky! You do—”

“Good fucking girl.”

And then he snapped his hips again, slamming into you so deep you felt it in your throat.

You came with a strangled cry, body seizing as pleasure tore through you like a live wire. Your cunt clenched around him in tight, desperate pulses, milking every inch as wetness spilled down your thighs, slicking his cock and coating both of you in heat and ruin.

You slumped forward, forehead pressed to the wall, barely able to hold yourself upright as your orgasm wracked through you.

But he didn’t stop, he kept going—kept fucking you through it like he was trying to brand you from the inside out.

You sobbed, body trembling uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he snarled. “Take it. Cry if you want princess, I’m not stopping.”

Your knees gave out, barely holding you upright and then the second wave hit. He slammed into you hard, tearing through your body before you had a chance to catch your breath.

You clenched around him again, tighter this time, a cry ripping from your throat as you came all over his cock. Everything blurred, your vision, your thoughts, until all that was left was the sharp pulse of pleasure and the rough sound of him still moving behind you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he muttered, pounding into you with short, broken thrusts. “Stuff you full, just like you deserve. Let it drip down those pretty thighs. Let everyone see who fucked you like this.”

He groaned—loud, rough—and then shuddered, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. You felt the warmth of it, the pulse of his release, the way his entire body seemed to collapse into yours.

The only sound was your wrecked breathing, the whine of your body, and the soft drip of his cum sliding down your thighs.

You were trembling, undone in every possible way—mind blank, body limp, pleasure still echoing through your nerves. Your knees wouldn’t hold you, but he didn’t let you fall. His arms were around you instantly, strong and steady, pulling you into his chest like he could anchor you there, like he needed to.

His breathing was still ragged, chest rising and falling against your back. His lips pressed to your temple, slow and soft, and you felt the way he lingered, like he was grounding himself, too.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, barely able to speak. Tears still clung to your lashes, not from pain, not even from the intensity, but from the overwhelming ache in your chest.

He kissed your temple again. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.” he murmured.

You blinked, surprised by the tremble in his voice. He wasn’t angry. Not now.

“I can’t—” he swallowed, brow pressed to yours. “I know you’re capable, I know you’re smart. But I can’t watch you walk into something like that again.”

Your throat tightened.

“I thought I could handle it,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “No. No more of that. If something happened to you out there—”

He cut himself off. Pulled you closer. One hand cradled the back of your head. The other still wrapped around your waist, like he was afraid you would slip through his fingers.

“You don’t get to scare the shit out of me like that,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I’ve lost so much—and, fuck, I can’t lose you too.”

He looked away, just for a second, like the words hurt to say.

“I wouldn’t survive it.”

You nuzzled into his chest, heart hammering. His scent, his warmth, the rasp of his voice in your ear, it was all too much and not enough.

“I’m sorry,” you said, small and hoarse.

Bucky didn’t say anything right away. He just held you tighter, kissed the top of your head.

“I know”

requests are open!

[daryltwdixon]

Hi angel!

I’m here for a request, but not a typical one. I want to request that you finish something you’ve been working on but maybe are nervous that people won’t want it. Something YOU have always wanted to write.

Okay that’s it love you bye 🖤

𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Summary: You tried to love Joel Miller the way he was. But eventually, the silence, the walls, the way he kept you at arm’s length… it broke something in you. So you let him go. || angst! fluff! smut! we got it all! MDNI 18+, Jackson!Joel, break up, joel is bad at feelings, makeup sex (eventually), pinv, love makin', lots of kissing cause I wanna kiss him, fingering, f!receiving oral, and yeah its a little corny idc, tiny mention of an age gap|| Inspired by Kacey Musgrave's song Space Cowboy a/n: taylorrrrrrr my angel girl I could cry ilysm. I’ve always had this thought that Joel Miller, at least at first, would be emotionally unavailable and like...not willing to really date. In p1, he’s constantly shutting Ellie down when she brings up Tess or Sam and Henry, Tommy when he offers him that photo of Sarah. Sure, by the end he’s more open, because Ellie made him feel something again. But I think being romantically involved would be hard for him at first. I've always wanted to explore that, and this been collecting dust in my wips since I wasn't sure how everyone would feel. so all this to say....here you go :')

For once, Joel Miller stayed the night.

Not by accident, not because he was drunk off his ass and you made him crash on your couch. No, you’d seen that version of him more times than you could count. But last night, after fucking you hard enough to leave dents in your drywall from sheer force of the headboard, he’d collapsed beside you, pulled you against his chest, and… stayed.

Almost like he meant to.

So god forbid you woke up the next morning with your cheek against his bare chest, your thigh slung over his hip, still foggy brained in the haze of sleep, and asked if he wanted to go grab breakfast at the dining hall.

You might as well have asked What are we?

Or worse: Will you be my boyfriend forever and ever, Joel?

Now he was out in your living room, shoving his boots on by the front door as sun poured in dusty light across the floorboards. You leaned against the archway in his flannel, bare legs out, nothing but the socks on your feet and silence in the air.

You watched him with narrowed eyes. To say you didn’t know what this was would be like saying the sky wasn’t  blue. And you weren’t a liar.

Because you saw it, saw the same pieces being shunted between you. He was building it up again. Brick by brick. That impenetrable wall was back high and tight.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally.

He didn’t answer, only grunted. 

Of course.

“You come here a few nights a week, we hookup and then…what? I don’t exist once your pants are back on? The one night you actually stay with me and I ask you to eat breakfast, I’ve suddenly crossed a line?”

“That’s enough,” Joel muttered, jaw clenched tight.

The way he said made your stomach twist something ugly.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a long breath as your voice flattened into something stale, “You’re right. That’s enough.”

You stepped in front of where he was sitting, his chin tilting up to meet your eyes for once. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t back down. He just looked at you like he didn’t understand why you were standing in the way of his exit.

“What do you want, Joel?”

He shook his head and leaned down to finish tying his boots. “Don’t want nothin’ from you.”

That stung more than it should have. “Trust me,” you said scoffing. “I got that message a long time ago.”

He stood, slow but abrupt, towering over you as if it was easier to loom than feel anything at all. “What is it you want from me, girl?”

“I want you to admit there’s something here!” you finally snapped, your blood beginning to boil, “I want you to act like all these nights mean something! Like I’m not just a warm body you crawl to when you’re lonely.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I want you to talk to me. I want something real. But you don’t even try.”

“I am tryin’,” he said, eyes squeezing shut once before looking at you under heavy brows.

“No, you’re not,” you said, and your voice cracked, not quite out of sadness, but rage. “You’re just—” your hand cut the air, motioning to all of him. “You’re existing, Joel. Going through the motions like you’re waiting for it all to be ripped away. You’re so damn scared of letting anything good happen that you’re choking the life out of it before it can even start.”

His jaw twitched, shoulders stiffening. That look in his eye—rage, grief, guilt—you weren’t sure which it was, but it burned cold and hard beneath the surface.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly, but there was venom behind the words. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” You stepped closer, letting your voice drop to something soft and gentle as you lifted your hands to his chest. You looked up into his eyes, now dark as storm clouds above a forest as you whispered, “Let me in.”

He didn’t answer, only stood there, breathing slow through his nose, his body rigid like he was waiting to be hit.

You shook your head, your hands falling back down to your sides in fists, “You always talk about space,” you murmured. “Needing time.”

You turned on your heel and stomped toward the door, yanking it open with a loud creak. Cold autumn air rushed in, hitting your bare skin and stinging your eyes.

“Well,” you said, voice low and bitter. “Your prayers have been answered.”

You swung your arm out toward the open doorway.

“You can have your space, cowboy.”

Joel paused for a long moment. Because maybe for once he realized you meant it. Like maybe he’d expected you to cave, to give him the same grace you always did. But you were tired.

Tired of not knowing what this was. Tired of not knowing what you were to him. Tired of the way he’d shut down and pull away when you could feel the good in him, the gold buried under all that iron.

You knew he was a good man. He just wouldn’t show it to you.

Slowly, he started toward the door. Time dragged as he approached you, whether that was because every step looked like it cost him something or you were cataloging every movement he made to store in your memory.

He reached the threshold and stopped, the morning light catching the edge of his face, soft and golden. He looked back at you, but you didn’t lift your eyes.

Then softly, just a whisper, he said your name. As if he knew it was the last time.

Finally, you looked up at him, biting your lip to keep back the tears.

“I’ll see you around, Joel,” you said. “I know my place. And maybe it’s just not with you.”

You couldn’t quite make yourself regret being with Joel.

Not even for a second.

You told yourself a hundred times in the days that followed that what happened between you and him had been real. Maybe not enough, maybe not lasting, but real. And sometimes that was all you got.

Roads were made to go down. Some just didn’t have a way back.

And if you’d been smarter, you would’ve remembered what the movies always tried to teach: the good guys don’t run away.

But the broken ones sure as hell do.

And Joel Miller had always been a runner. Even if he showed signs of want, of connection only through the nights with your name on his lips like prayer and he took your body like it was his salvation. 

But when a horse wants to run, there’s no sense closing the gate.

In the weeks after you’d broken things off, you saw him everywhere. Yes, in the little things like the butcher’s stall that had a sign he’d made and the wooden figurines in your neighbor’s windowsill, but more than that, you actually saw him.

From across the market gathering whatever it was he needed one week, or the back of his head on horseback heading out with a patrol group, or his flannel at the edge of the community garden, nodding to someone like he was fine. Like nothing ever happened. He never looked your way, not once. But you looked at him.

And the days you didn’t see him were somehow worse.

You'd catch yourself worrying. Wondering if something went wrong on patrol, or…if he was holed up with another woman in a house that wasn’t yours, if he’d finally decided to try with someone easier.

Someone who didn’t ask him to talk. Someone who didn’t wear his t-shirts and expect breakfast the next morning.

Two months passed like that— slow and strange, like you were trudging through water. You kept to yourself, did your work, smiled at friends when they asked if you were okay. You told them you were tired, that you were busy. That you were fine.

But there was something about Joel that clung to you like smoke.

It didn’t matter how many days you went without seeing him. He was still everywhere. Whether it was in the smell of pine when it rained, the creak of your porch steps when you’d hoped it was him, or the ache of your thighs the first time you tried to be with someone else and couldn’t go through with it.

Because try you had. Over and over, you’d tried.

And on one stormy night, three sharp knocks slammed against your front door like warning shots.

You were curled up on the couch beside someone who was… fine. He was nice, respectful, said “please” and “thank you” and laughed at your lame jokes with his hand resting on your knee. You were trying, honest, to feel something. To find that spark again, to forget about the one you’d known all too well.

But you couldn’t force yourself to, could you? So when the knocks slammed into the wood of your front door, you were almost grateful, because the man on your couch had just been leaning in for what you were pretty sure was a kiss.

Eric? Aaron? Whatever his name was blinked, glancing toward the door. “You expecting someone?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Another knock. More like a demand now.

“Let me just see who it is,” you said quietly as you crossed the room, your bare feet silent on the hardwood, and opened the door.

Joel nearly fell through it.

Rain clung to him, dripping from the hem of his jacket, pooling beneath his boots. Mud streaked up the sides of his jeans. His hair was soaked to his scalp, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. There was something feral about them.

He didn’t even say a word as he stepped forward, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you.

It was messy and sudden and rough, tasting hot with whiskey, his stubble scraping your skin as he tilted your chin up, as if he had the right. As if you were still his. You froze for a heartbeat, maybe two. Because you had missed him. Missed him in ways you hadn’t even let yourself feel yet. But this…this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. And the second that sick, hot twist of anger rose up in your gut, you shoved him.

“Joel—what the fuck—get off,” you snapped, trying to twist out of his cold, wet grip.

But he kept coming. Hands sliding to your hips, dragging you into him again, his mouth crashing against yours, slurring against your lips, “Missed you. I miss’d ya so fuckin’ bad, baby, I—”

You pushed harder this time, shoving at his chest until he stumbled back a step. He swayed, visibly disoriented, breath catching as he reached for the doorframe to steady himself. His eyes blinked slowly like the room was spinning. When he looked back at you, he looked confused. Like he didn’t understand why you were pushing him away.

Behind you, you heard the floor creak.

“Uh, what the hell is going on?”

Joel’s head jerked up at the voice.

The man stood from the couch, slow and cautious. His brows pulled tight, clearly trying to make sense of what he just walked into. Joel stared for a long moment. Then his whole body stiffened.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, his voice lower now, that mean, Southern bite curling around the words.

You stepped into his eyeline immediately. “Joel—don’t.”

But he moved around you like you weren’t even there, sodden boots heavy on the floor as he stalked forward.

“Get the fuck out,” he said to the man.

The guy blinked, baffled. “Excuse me?”

“I said get the fuck outta her house.”

“She invited me—”

Joel began to move, an angry glower pinching his brows as he moved to get in his face, but you stepped between him, hands on his chest.

“Jesus, Joel,” you said, shoving him back again, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling fast. He turned toward you, eyes wild and heartbroken and far too open, “Can I talk to you?” his eyes glowered briefly at the man behind you, “Alone?”

“Man, you need to leave,” your guest said, annoyed.

You held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. Just… please go.”

He looked at you for a long second, then scoffed, shooting one last glare toward Joel as he stepped out the door.

The second it closed behind him, the silence in the room was deafening.

Joel stood there in the middle of your living room like something unholy. Soaked to the bone and chest heaving. His eyes were red and full of everything he refused to say for the last two months.

The silence stretched, long and heavy.

“Baby, I–” he began, but you shook your head.

“I don’t want to hear it, Joel.” you squeezed your eyes shut, bringing your hands up to rub your temples, “Whatever it is you want to say, I need to hear it when you’re sober.”

You should’ve screamed, should’ve been angry. Hell, you should’ve thrown him back out into the rain and locked the door behind him. 

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped forward, carefully, slowly, wondering if he was just going to bolt again. 

“Let’s just…get this off,” you murmured. Your fingers found the collar of his jacket, trembling a little from the adrenaline coursing through you as you tugged it down his shoulders. The fabric clung to his arms, soaked and heavy, but he didn’t fight you. And you didn’t realize til after you’d gotten it off of him that his eyes never left your face. Not once.

You hung his jacket up by your door, the fabric freezing and soggy. Then your hands moved to his flannel. The buttons were half-undone already. You didn’t ask, you just kept going.

And still, he didn’t stop you.

You pushed the fabric apart, palms brushing down the front of his chest, and God—he was so cold. But he was still him, even if the cold had gotten to him, had sunken into his skin.

You sank to your knees.

Not for him, and not like that. You just crouched down in front of him and tugged at the laces of his boots. The knot was sloppy and rushed like he had rushed in a fury to put them on. You undid it anyway, peeling each boot off one at a time, your fingers clumsy from the cold and the tension.

Neither of you spoke.

Not until you stood again, eyes meeting his. Something passed between you in that moment, raw and wordless. Maybe a kind of truce. Not forgiveness, just a single thread of mercy, offered in silence just for tonight.

Joel swayed again, catching himself with a heavy hand against the wall. His voice came out low and ragged, like it hurt to speak.

“I… I fucked up, okay?”

You could’ve screamed at him. Could’ve thrown every angry word you’d swallowed these past few months in his face. But instead, you just reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Lift your arms.”

He blinked, confused, but obeyed, sluggish and slow.

You pulled the soaked fabric up and over his head, dropping it to the floor with a wet slap.

“I’m tryin’ t’talk to ya,” he slurred, more firmly this time. “Yer not… listenin’.”

You poked him hard in the chest, “Because I don’t,” you poked again, “want,” a third poke, “to hear it, Joel.”

You poked him one last, hard time, his face turning into a grimace as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but you kept going.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take a shower, and I’m gonna make sure you don’t bust your head open on the tub. Then you’re drinking some damn water and sleeping it off on the couch.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with a sharp look.

“If you still wanna talk after that? When you’re sober and not dripping all over my floor? Then maybe I’ll listen.”

He stared at you for a long moment, rainwater still clinging to his skin, chest rising and falling. Then he nodded. Just once, his face falling, his eyes wide.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You draped the blanket over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. He was half-asleep already, sunk deep into the couch cushions, still damp around the edges but warm now, finally. Clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants he left behind many nights ago, water by his side, the softest throw you owned wrapped snug to his chest.

Joel blinked up at you slowly, lids heavy and uneven. His hair was still a little wet, curling at his temples. That same whiskey glow lingered in his eyes, glassy and soft.

“Yer so pretty,” he mumbled, words slurred as he watched you tuck him in, “Really miss’d ya.”

“Okay, Joel,” you said halfheartedly, not believing a word of it.

He blinked again, slower this time. “Even when I was t’dumb to say it… I always wanted t’come back ‘ere. To you.”

You froze.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a smile anyway. Brushed a dark hair from his forehead with careful fingers.

“Okay, cowboy,” you said gently. “Drink your water and rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He hummed, the sound low and content. “M’kay.”

And as you turned to leave, his hand found the edge of the blanket again, clutching it close.

You were up before him the next morning, the sky still a pale and silvery grey through the kitchen window when you set the kettle on.

You’d saved the last of the good coffee grounds for this, maybe because some part of you hoped he’d come back. Maybe because opening the jar, running your fingers through the coarse grinds, breathing in the bitter scent… it helped when you missed him.

The rich smell filled the room as it brewed, creeping into the corners of the house like a memory. You heard the low groan from the couch before you saw him. The rustling of blankets and the sound of his hand rubbing against his beard.

You poured a mug and walked over slowly.

He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Bleary and still half-fogged. When he finally lifted his face, eyes squinting against the light, you held the mug out to him.

He blinked at it. Then at you.

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough with sleep and whatever was still left from the whiskey. He took it gingerly, careful to avoid your fingers.

You sat down in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you, keeping a decent distance with your hands wrapped around your tea to ground you.

Joel took a sip from his mug, closing his eyes and exhaled a sigh, long and slow.

“Needed that,” he murmured, setting the mug on the table.

You nodded, watching him out of the corner of your eye. His beard was scruffier than usual, curling at the edges. Eyes rimmed in red, lashes still clumped from sleep. His face was carved in exhaustion, but even now, something about him still softened when he looked at you.

“I’m, uh…” he started, then shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m real sorry about last night. Feel awful.”

You gave a crooked smile. “Yeah, I figured the hangover’d be brutal.”

He shot you a look. “Not like that, smartass.”

Your smile deepened in spite of yourself. The silence between you hummed a little, something warm and bitter like old whiskey. You broke the gaze first, sighed, and stared down into your tea.

“So,” you said.

“So…” he echoed, rubbing at the corner of his jaw. His fingers rasped against the unshaven stubble. “I, uh… I ain’t so good at this.”

You nodded. That much, at least, didn’t need explaining.

“But I meant what I said,” he added quietly. “I’ve… ya know. Missed you.”

You lifted your mug again, stalling with a sip. You didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t plan to. The old version of you might’ve melted on the spot with so few words. Not this time. You needed more. Real words. The truth of it.

Joel watched you, waiting. Then waited some more.

The longer the silence stretched, the more agitated he looked. His mouth twitched, like he was finally coming to terms with the fact he was gonna have to work for your forgiveness.

He leaned back finally, one arm slung along the back of the couch, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Not gonna give me anythin’, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, setting your mug down with a quiet clink on the coffee table, “I thought you came here with somethin’ to say.”

“I was drunk.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” you said simply. “So let’s hear ’em.”

Joel let out a low groan, dragging his hand over his face again. “Okay,” he muttered into his palm before reaching for the coffee again.

He took another sip, holding the mug like it might shield him from what came next.

“I dunno all the shit I’m supposed to say,” he muttered finally. “It’s not…easy for me.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk, even if the words came slow and uneven.

“I’m used to... keepin’ things in. Just dealin’ with whatever shit came my way. I never…never really had this before, someone who wanted to know what was goin’ on in here.” He glanced your way, tappin’ his temple.

“So when I started comin’ around here… and it felt good… felt, I dunno, safe… I think I got scared I’d fuck it up. Or that maybe I already had.”

You blinked slowly, processing the mess of it. His voice, low and gravelly, kept catching like it was tripping over things he didn’t know how to say. Like there were words he wanted to find but had never really practiced out loud.

“Joel,” you sighed, fingers fidgeting around your knees, “I just want to know…what it is you want. Because it seems like we want different things.”

His eyes found yours across the couch, setting his coffee down as he shook his head, and sat forward, leaning closer to you, “No, no. That ain’t it. I want this, I just…” he trailed off, rubbing his face into his hands. You almost felt bad, how hard this was for him. 

Then, his eyes looked up, and he sat back. “Can you come here?”

You weren’t sure if you were ready for this part. Because part of you knew how fast you’d give in if you touched him. Knew how easy it would be to fall back into his arms and forget everything you’d been hurting over. But your chest ached for it. And the way he was looking at you, so raw and cracked open, it made you move against your better judgement.

Slowly, you crawled over. He shifted to make room and when you tucked yourself beneath his chin, his arm came around you like he’d been waiting. Both hands found your arm, rubbing gently like he could feel the chill under your skin.

It was odd, almost. Most of the times he’d pulled you in like this were when you were both naked, the post coitus hormones running high, limbs tangled up and skin flushed.

“Missed this,” he murmured, his voice warm against your hair.

You swallowed. You missed it too, missed him, even when he made it impossible.

He shifted just enough to tilt your chin up, fingers brushing along your jaw. His eyes searched yours, darker now but softer. You saw something there you hadn’t seen in the light before. Not when he wasn’t trying to hide it.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he leaned in.

The kiss was soft and careful, the kind that said he was still learning how not to ruin things.

You kissed him back, breathing him in, your hand fisting in his shirt gently.

But then you caught yourself and pulled away, your hand untangling from the fabric to rub your eyes, “Joel–” 

“What do you need me to say?” he asked quietly. There was no bite, no sharpness in his tone. “What is it you want to hear?”

“I can’t just…tell you. I want to know what you want, not just…feeding me what I want to hear.”

His fingers stayed at your jaw, steady. He looked at you like he was searching for the right words, like he wanted to get them right this time.

“I want this,” he said. “I want you.”

His voice cracked slightly. He held your gaze, his hand still gentle on your face.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole before. I didn’t get it.”

You watched him closely as his brow pulled in. This time it wasn’t stubbornness, but something closer to pain.

“Let me try again.”

He must’ve taken your silence as hesitation, because he kept going, voice picking up like he was trying to get ahead of the panic building in his chest.

“I know how it looks, I know I’ve been—Jesus, I’ve been a fuckin’ wreck about this, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. With what I feel when I’m around you. It’s not just… It’s not just wantin’ you in my bed, it’s everything.”

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just sat there listening, because holy shit, you’d never heard this man talk so damn much. Never heard him unravel like this, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And it was pouring out of him now, fast and messy, as if trying to outrun the fear of messing it all up again.

“I wake up thinkin’ about you. I walk around Jackson wonderin’ what you’re doin’, what you’re thinkin’ about. I’d hear someone say your name and feel like an idiot ‘cause it’d make me smile. And then I’d remember I fucked it all up. That you were done with me. That you should be.”

His gaze dropped along with his hand from your face.

“But then I’d remember...what the hell do I think I’m doin’, bein’ with someone like you? You’ve got this whole life to live. You’ve still got time. Options. People your own age who can give you things I can’t.”

He looked at you again, and this time his eyes were pained and earnest.

“What happens in a few years when I hit sixty, and you still got your life ahead of you? What happens when I’m gone and you’re—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

You surged forward and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into you, kissing him hard again, and again, like you could stop his words with your mouth. Like maybe if you kissed him enough, it would undo the ache in his voice.

“I was tryin’ to talk to you, you know,” he murmured against your lips, breath warm, a hint of a smile breaking through.

You nodded, laughing through the tears you didn’t remember letting fall. Your face was wet, your throat tight.

He pulled back just a little, his hand back to cradling your cheek. His eyes searched yours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “It’s just…I’m happy is all.”

And then he grinned back, and he was kissing you again and it was like something broke open in him. A dam cracked, all that restraint, all that aching hesitation he’d carried for months poured out in the way his hands slid into your hair, the way his mouth deepened against yours.

You barely had time to gasp before he was pressing into you, kissing you harder now, like he needed to make up for every second he’d spent staying away.

And he pushed you gently down onto the couch cushions, his palm cradling the back of your head as he guided you flat and braced himself above you. His body laid flush against yours, that familiar warmth of him enveloping you. 

You felt the heat of him, the weight of him, every line of him sinking into you like he’d finally allowed himself to kiss you in the daylight. 

You moaned softly against his lips, your thighs parting instinctively beneath him as he settled in the cradle of your hips. He dragged his mouth down your jaw, across your cheek, leaving heat in his wake, murmuring something low against your skin that you couldn’t quite catch—something desperate and grateful.

You arched into him, your hands sliding up his chest, and he caught one of them, threading his fingers between yours. He pulled back just enough to kiss your fingertips, slow and reverent, then your knuckles, one by one, all while holding your gaze.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, kissing the inside of your wrist this time, right over the spot where your pulse jumped.

Your skin burned under his gaze. You cupped his face with your free hand, thumb brushing his bottom lip slowly as your thighs lifted higher around his waist. You ground up against him, dragging friction against the hard outline of him beneath his sweatpants.

His eyes fluttered shut, breath catching. He exhaled like it had been held in his lungs for weeks.

“If you keep doin’ that,” he rasped, “I’m not gonna be able to take the time I wanna take with you.”

You smiled, warm and crooked. “Don’t want you to take your time,” you whispered, pulling him back down to your mouth.

His lips met yours again, deeper now, more urgent. One hand threaded through your hair, the other roaming your side as your tongue met his, soft and slick and hungry. He groaned into your mouth, kissing you deeper and deeper.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your skin, trailing kisses to your throat, “you feel so fuckin’ good beneath me, baby.”

“Missed you so much, Joel,” you breathed, eyes shutting as his teeth scraped your neck, the sting of it blooming hot under his tongue.

He was already fumbling with your shirt, pushing it up until you were bare to him, braless, chest rising and falling. His mouth latched onto your nipple without hesitation, all heat and need and reverence. You moaned, back arching, one hand gripping his hair.

“Missed you,” he echoed, voice rough, “Missed this.”

You looked down at him, gasping. He was so pretty like this—lashes low, mouth full, lips slick. Always so careful, making sure you felt good, that you were ready. That you wanted him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with something that could only be described as devotion. “Wanna show you how much I missed it,” he said, kissing you hard on the lips before trailing back down your body. His tongue flicked out, slow, teasing, licking every inch he could get his mouth on until he reached the waistband of your pants.

Clothes disappeared fast, a blur of limbs and fabric. He hiked your legs up over his shoulders, settling between them like he belonged there. Because he did, after all.

“And don’t even get me started on her,” he said, voice playful now, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him most. “Missed her too.”

“Joeeel…” you mewled, already dizzy with how close he was.

He kissed the left side of your center, then the right, slow and careful. “Thought about her every night,” he murmured, mouth hot and close, “dreamed about how she tastes.”

And then he kissed your clit, and you jolted.

He moaned softly, like this was what he’d been starving for. His tongue flattened, dragging slow, wet strokes from your weeping entrance up to your clit, then back down again. When he pressed the tip inside you just a little, your hips rolled instinctively, your moan coming out sharp and breathless.

He let you move and grind against his mouth, his tongue, let you tangle your fingers in his hair and chase that growing pressure in your belly.

The sleep was gone now. Whatever haze he’d been in had burned off completely.

Joel moaned softly against your skin, tongue dragging another long stroke through your folds, savoring the taste of you like he’d been craving it since the second he left your bed two months ago. He kept going until your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your fingers twisting in his hair, breath stuttering out of your lungs in broken little gasps.

Then his mouth slowed. He pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing against your swollen center as he spoke, the tickle of his beard making you twitch.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, almost reverent. “She’s even sweeter than I remember.”

And then you felt his hand sliding up your leg, rough and broad, fingertips stroking the crease where your thigh met your heat. He watched you as he moved, mouth parted, eyes dark and focused, completely dialed in on the way your body writhed beneath him.

He pushed one finger in, nice and slow, and it felt like heaven and hell at once. That thick, slow pressure opening you, curling into that soft spot inside you with practiced ease. Like memory.

Your back arched off the couch. You whimpered, head rolling back. He’d always had the thickest fingers, one was all you needed to feel that tight stretch of him.

“Shit,” he groaned, watching your face as he moved it. “You feel that? How tight she still is for me?”

You could barely answer. You only moaned louder when he added a second finger, working you open, his knuckles brushing where your body fluttered around him. His fingers were so big and broad, callused, perfectly angled. They filled you so good it made your thighs shake.

He set a deep, unhurried rhythm that had the sounds of your wetness filling the room, obscene and beautiful as he brought his mouth back to your clit. He could feel the pulsing of your velvet walls around him as he continued pushing his fingers into you.

“There she is,” he said, pausing the flicking of his tongue, “Look at you, takin’ it so good, like always, baby,” 

His lips pursed around your clit and sucked hard, making your breath stutter and stomach tense. Within seconds, you were arching and clamping down on his fingers, your nails digging into his scalp as he moaned against you. 

Suddenly your whole body was locking up, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out, your release washing over you in a shudder that left you boneless and gasping. Joel kept moving through it, easing you down, letting you ride every last wave while he whispered against your skin.

“There you go. That’s my girl. Just like that.”

When your breath finally evened out, your eyes fluttered open and he was already moving up your body, slow and sure, kissing your skin as he went.

He pressed a kiss to your stomach, your ribs. Then up curve of your breast, all the way to your collarbone. Your throat.

And finally, your mouth.

Kissing you deep and full, he let you taste yourself on his lips. It was like honey and tang and the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was no place else he'd rather be than between your thighs, tasting your breath and holding your face like it was something fragile, something his. His mouth moved slowly over yours, tongues sliding together, hands still trembling faintly with how badly he wanted you.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice frayed. “I missed you. Missed you so goddamn much.”

Your fingers trailed down his chest, down to his waistband, dragging the pair of sweatpants down over his hips, not caring how clumsy it was. You needed him. You needed him now. He helped, kicking them off without hardly breaking the kiss. Your hand wrapped around him, hard and flushed and aching against your thigh.

“Jesus—” he groaned, his hips jolting forward into your palm, his forehead pressing into yours as his breath came hot and shaky, “Been a minute, take it easy,”

Your own body was on fire, soaked, aching for him. His voice, his hands, the weight of him over you was too much and yet not enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, “please.”

“Tell me you want it,” he said, and it didn’t sound like teasing. It sounded like pleading. His voice broke like it physically hurt him to ask. “Tell me you still want me.”

You nearly sobbed with need, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He reached between you to line himself up, the thick head of him dragging through your folds. You were so wet it made both of you groan, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room. He rocked his hips forward, just the tip pressing against your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, his voice thick, breathless. “So warm.”

You writhed under him, thighs spreading wider, needing more. You could barely think.

“Joel– Jesus– please, just fuck me already.”

He smiled at that and sank into you in one long, devastating thrust, burying himself deep. You cried out, hands clutching at the nape of his neck as your body stretched to take him. Thick, hot, perfect. He filled you like he never left. Like he’d been made to fit.

“Shit,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven. Always have.”

He stayed there for a second, shaking with the effort to hold back, “I’m not gonna last,” he admitted, voice strained, “Christ, been a while, huh?”

“You didn’t–?” you blinked up at him, catching your breath.

He shook his head, jaw clenched, a shiver running through him as he twitched inside you. “No. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He paused, looked down at you, eyes searching. “Did you?”

You cupped his face in your hands like he was delicate beneath your touch.

“No,” you said softly. “No one’s like you, Joel.”

Something shifted behind his eyes, something aching and raw and beautiful. His mouth fell to yours, kissing you deep, as your hips lifted to meet his.

And then he started to move.

He was slow at first, deep and dragging, every stroke deliberate, like he was trying to memorize how you felt all over again. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his hair, your breath catching with every roll of his hips.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

And then you heard it—gasping, raw, like it ripped itself from his chest.

“I love you,” he groaned. “Fuck—I fucking love you.”

Everything felt like it slowed down.

Your bodies didn’t stop moving, not yet, but something inside your chest pulled tight. Like your heart was trying to brace for impact. Like you hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear it until it was right there, spilling out of his mouth in that low, broken voice, rough with disbelief and months of silence.

Something woke up under your skin, hot and bleary eyed, the kind of heat that lives dormant, that fills your throat and makes your pulse race. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how this man was looking at you. 

He was still inside you, still moving with that same steady rhythm, but his eyes were locked on yours now. Wide and dark and raw. His mouth hung open slightly like he was waiting for you to say something, anything, to tell him whether he’d just changed everything or ruined it.

Your hands came up slowly, almost in disbelief, and you touched his face, one palm to his cheek, the other curling into the back of his neck like you needed to feel he was real. Your voice caught in your throat before you could even speak, but somehow it pushed out.

“You love me?” you whispered, and the sound of your own voice didn’t even sound like yours.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Something cracked open inside you, something deep and hidden and too tired to be cautious anymore. You kissed him, harder than you meant to, your mouth catching his in a collision that felt like everything snapping. He groaned against you and kissed you back like it was instinct, like he’d been waiting for your permission to give in completely.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips brushing his, your body still pulsing around him, still stretched wide and full, still needing more. “Say it again,” you whispered, not because you doubted him, but because you needed to hear it again. Needed to feel him give it to you without fear.

His hand slid to your jaw, holding you there, and his voice came softer now, steadier. “I love you.”

The words landed different this time. Less like an accident, more like a promise.

Your chest ached. You felt it rise up and out of you, that thing you’d been holding back for so long. “I love you too,” you said, and you didn’t have to think about it, didn’t need to second guess. It had always been there.

His head dipped and he kissed you again, deeper this time, not frantic like before but slow and thorough, like he wanted to feel every part of your mouth. His thrusts never stopped. They grew more purposeful now, more measured, like he wasn’t afraid anymore of where this was going, only desperate to take you with him.

He shifted slightly, reaching down to pull your leg higher around his waist, and the new angle made your whole body tense. He sank even deeper, drawing a low sound from your throat you hadn’t meant to make. You felt the build starting again, that tightening low in your stomach, that ache rising in time with every thrust, your body greedy for it, your hands clawing at him like you needed to hold on to something solid while everything else inside you fell apart.

You buried your face against his shoulder, your mouth open, your breath catching, your body clenching tight around him. He groaned your name into your skin, over and over, like it was the only word left in the world.

And then you came. Hard. Full-body, all-consuming, a wave that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your vision white around the edges. Your whole body trembled, and he held you through it, never breaking rhythm, never letting go.

He followed a second later, with a sound that sounded something close to a sob. He thrust deep and stayed there, grinding into you as he spilled inside, his whole body shuddering with the release.

You felt him lift his head to press his forehead to yours, felt the weight of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the thudding of his heart trying to slow against your chest.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was nothing to say. Just the feel of him still inside you, the heat of him wrapped around you, the echo of those three words still settling into the space between your bodies.

You closed your eyes and let it all soak in.

Because this time, you believed him.

[dissimul0]

SAY IT

remmick x fem!reader

Summary: On your way home from Bible study you run into two boys looking for trouble. Thankfully, Remmick's there to help you out. But he wants some... compensation, for his help.

wc: 4.1k

smut warning: dom!remmick x fem!reader. second-person pov, fingering, manipulation, blood, biting, violence, death, oral (fem receiving), mentions of religion, mild harassment, idk i think thats it

a/n:  before watching sinners i hadn't written anything in MONTHS, and remmick was so incredible fine he cured me of writers block, because after the movie i went home and started writing this. this is also my first time posting on tumbler so, hiii (ignore how the tense doesn't stay consistent, i hate writing in 2nd person pov)

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

The sun was swiftly sinking beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape. Its vibrant hues of orange and pink painted the sky, gradually deepening into richer tones as the evening approached. The light dimmed as shades of deep blue and indigo crept across the horizon, enveloping the landscape in a cloak of darkness.

You were heading home from Bible study, which ended much later than you had anticipated. The air was thick with the oppressive summer humidity, one of those evenings where the heat lingered even after the sun had set. As you distanced yourself from the busy part of town, the streetlights became sparser, and the shadows deepened. You hastened your pace, your heels tapping against the rough pavement, eager to reach home.

It was almost kind of peaceful. The nighttime chatter from the town gradually faded into soft murmurs, creating an almost soothing atmosphere. Until, of course, a couple of idiots had to ruin your night.

Two figures stepped out from a dark alley up ahead — and you barely had time to react before they were already blocking your path, grinning like they owned the damn street.

“All by yourself, baby cakes? Ain’t that dress a lil’ short for that?” One of them whistled, licking his teeth all nasty.

You took a step back, holding your Bible tightly against your chest as if it were a shield. “I-I don’t want any trouble,” you stammered.

“Naw, of course you do,” the other sneered, taking a step closer to you. “You over here dressed like trouble.”

Your eyes flickered anxiously as the two boys edged nearer, their strides slow yet certain, their intent unmistakable. You took a step back, and another, feeling the space around you shrink, the world closing in as they advanced without a word. They spread apart slightly, moving to encircle you like wolves to prey.

God, help me.

A voice sliced through the tension like a blade through fog. “There a problem here?”

It came from behind you, sharp and unexpected, shocking the air with its presence and freezing the moment like a flash of lightning. The two boys stopped, surprise flickering across their faces as they cut their eyes in the direction of the sound. You turned, eyes meeting a man standing a few feet behind you.

His hands, nonchalantly tucked into the deep pockets of his trousers, accentuated an air of indifference perfectly matched by his carelessly practical attire. The rumpled shirt, slightly untucked, and the well-worn shoes suggested a disregard for convention. He didn’t seem like he belonged, not in the slightest.

There was something about him, an intangible aura, that sent a shiver of unease through the air. It was as if he carried an invisible weight that pressed heavily on those around him, making them shift uncomfortably without knowing precisely why.

“Who the hell are you?” One of the boys called out, his voice a wavering mixture of uncertainty and defiance. The other shifted awkwardly, unsure of how to size up the strange figure before them, and more unsure of what reaction to expect.

“Why don’t you answer my question first?”

You glanced between your harassers, the adrenaline that had spiked through your veins at the sight of those two creeps faded, replaced by a different sort of tension. Your throat went dry. You wanted to say something, to stop this and just finish your journey home, but you just couldn’t.

When you locked eyes with the unfamiliar man, your stomach twisted in knots. There was something about him—someone familiar but unplaceable—that set off your instincts, urging you to flee.

One of the creeps let out a laugh, a high-pitched, mean-spirited cackle, his mocking grin wide with menace and delight. It was like you were long forgotten, their attention now elsewhere. They crowded around the man, jostling shoulders and nudging elbows, and one of them spat the words like a challenge: “Little white boy thinks he’s got spunk!”

The man’s eyes shifted from the boys to you, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. “Now, now. I just wanted to make sure this young lady was alright,” he said, his eyes glinting with a steely resolve that cut through the tension like a knife.

The boys didn’t quit though, repeating their threats like taunts, brutal little chants in the fading light. They surrounded him, shirts loose, untucked, grins mean and prowling the way packs do.

The strange man didn’t seem to be intimidated; In fact, he looked past the boys, giving you an almost…sympathetic look. “You might want to close your eyes, darlin’.”

In a flash, he lunged at the nearest boy, a blur of movement disrupting the circle. The act was savage and swift, his teeth sinking into his soft neck with a feral intensity. There was a stunned silence, a moment where the world seemed to hold its breath, and then a scream. The boy screamed, high-pitched and frantic, red blooming on his white collar, voice shredding the dusk as he stumbled back.

Blood, hot and streaked, spilled down the boy’s chest as the man held him tight, his face smeared. Frozen by the violence seared through the darkening street, the other boys’ eyes went wide, his shouts dying in his throat. 

The grip seemed relentless, inhumanly strong, the boy’s knees buckling, and then, with a quick flick of his arm, the man sent him crashing to the pavement. The boy writhed, clutching at his neck with a gurgling sob, while the other could only stare in mute horror. It was as if the man enjoyed their terror, a gleam in his eye as he turned his ferocious gaze on him, daring him to fight or flee, hungry for his next move.

The second boy stood frozen, his face a mask of horror as he watched his friend collapse to the ground. For a heartbeat, he seemed paralyzed, caught between flight and fight, his body trembling with indecision. Then, with a strangled cry that was half rage and half terror, he fumbled at his waistband and pulled out a small pocket knife, the blade catching the dim light as it snapped open.

"You—you fuckin’ psycho!" he screamed, his voice cracking with fear. He lunged forward with the knife held out, a clumsy, desperate attack born of panic rather than skill.

The strange man sidestepped the thrust with almost lazy grace, a small smile playing at his bloodstained lips. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the boy's wrist and twisted. The crack of bone was audible even over the boy's shriek of pain, the knife clattering uselessly to the pavement.

"Bad choice," the man whispered, his voice almost gentle as he pulled the struggling boy closer, like a lover drawing in for an embrace. "Should've run when you had the chance."

The boy's struggles grew frantic, his feet scrabbling against the ground as he tried to wrench himself free. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the sweat of exertion and fear. "Please," he sobbed, all bravado gone, "please don't—"

His plea was cut short as the man's teeth found his throat.

You couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Your lungs seized as if gripped by an invisible hand, the Bible slipping from your fingers and hitting the pavement with a dull thud that seemed impossibly distant. The world narrowed to pinpricks of horrific detail: the blood spray painting the concrete, the wet, tearing sounds as flesh gave way, the gurgling screams that didn't sound human anymore.

Your knees buckled. A wave of nausea crashed through you, bitter bile rising in your throat as you pressed your hand against your mouth. The taste of your dinner threatened to return as your stomach convulsed. The edges of your vision darkened, tiny black spots dancing like static.

"Oh, God," you whispered, the words barely audible even to yourself. Your body trembled violently, uncontrollably, like you were standing in Arctic winds rather than the summer night's heat. The scene before you refused to make sense—it couldn't be real, couldn't be happening. People didn't do this. People couldn't do this.

But he wasn't people, was he?

You stumbled backward, one foot catching on the other, nearly sending you sprawling. The movement seemed to happen in slow motion, disconnected from your will. Your chest heaved with shallow, rapid breaths that didn't seem to deliver any oxygen to your brain. The metallic smell of blood hung thick in the air, coating your tongue, inescapable.

Somewhere in the fog of your shock, a primal instinct screamed at you to run, but your limbs felt leaden, unresponsive, as if the horror had severed the connection between your mind and body.

The second boy's body crumpled to the ground with a sickening finality, joining his friend in a spreading pool of crimson. The stranger straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a dark smear across his pale skin. His eyes found yours, and the world seemed to contract to just the two of you standing in the night.

"Yer still here," he remarked, sounding almost surprised. His voice was different now—smoother, more controlled, the earlier tension gone from it. Blood dripped from his chin onto his shirt, blooming like dark flowers against the fabric. His eyes held an unnatural red gleam in the dim light.

Your legs finally remembered how to work. You stumbled backward, nearly tripping over your own feet, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The Bible lay forgotten on the ground between you and the carnage. "Demon," you whispered, the word tasting like ash in your mouth

He laughed, the sound startlingly normal, almost pleasant. “You go on home now.”

You remained frozen, disbelieving of your apparent reprieve.

"Go," he repeated, more firmly this time. "’Fore I change my mind."

Your legs moved of their own accord, carrying you past him in a wide arc. You couldn't help but look at the bodies as you passed, their forms already seeming less human somehow, more like discarded dolls than the threatening figures they'd been minutes ago. You ran, your footsteps echoing in the empty street, not daring to look back again. The night air burned in your lungs, and tears streamed down your face, but you didn't dare look back.

You just kept running. 

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

 You couldn't sleep that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw it all again—the blood, the strength, the way his teeth tore into flesh like it was nothing. Sleep was impossible. You sat on the edge of your bed, trembling hands clutching a mug of tea that had long gone cold, staring at nothing.

The day after felt like hell on earth. The morning light was harsh and unyielding, striking too brightly through the windowpane, but you made no move to get up to close the curtain.

You were too tired, too... worn out. Your legs felt like jelly and your eyes were swollen from crying, and there was a pain in your chest, an ache so deep you could have been bleeding, if only it meant relief.

But you were just numb.

You didn't even go down for breakfast. Just layed in bed. You laid there until the insistent throb of hunger became too much to bear. Only then did you involuntarily get yourself out of bed, muscles aching.

As you made your way to the kitchen, the aroma of breakfast lingered in the air, and your eyes landed on the remnants of the morning meal scattered across the table.

"Thought you'd never come down," Mom remarked, her voice carrying a hint of amusement as she looked over her shoulder from her spot at the sink, hands submerged in soapy water.

"Guess I was pretty tired," you replied, a yawn stretching your lips as you slumped into a chair, reaching for a piece of cold sausage. The temperature was irrelevant; it was the savory flavor of the meat that captivated your senses, grounding you in the moment.

"Where's your Bible?" Mom's voice cut through your thoughts like a knife, her eyebrow arched in that familiar, questioning manner. Her hand poised on her hip, she awaited your explanation with a knowing look.

Your chewing halted, heart sinking as last night's events replayed vividly in your mind. You opened your mouth to respond, but words seemed to falter and die before they could form.

Mom clicked her tongue disapprovingly, disappearing into the living room, only to return moments later. She placed your Bible on the table with a gentle thud, the sound echoing in your ears as your heart plummeted further, eyes reluctantly meeting hers.

"W-where'd you find this?" you stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

"Found it on the front porch. You must've dropped it on your way in last night," she replied, her tone a blend of concern and reprimand.

You swallowed hard, the events of last night swirling like a storm in your mind. You hadn't dropped it on the porch; you had left it behind, abandoning it on the ground as you ran, thoughts in chaos. "I guess... I must've," you stammered, forcing the guilty lie out.

"Mmhm. You best be more careful next time. You know this Bible was a gift from the Pastor," she reminded gently, yet firmly, turning back to the sink, the sound of running water a soft backdrop to the tension in the room.

You acknowledged your mother's words with a quiet hum and a nod. Your eyes settled on the Bible lying on the table, and you reached out for it with hesitation.

As your fingers traced over the embossed letters, your mind wandered back to the previous night. The vivid nightmares nearly made you recoil. You closed your eyes tightly, giving your head a slight shake to dispel the dark thoughts.

—————————————————

The day rolled on, hours slipping by in a confused haze. Tasks that needed doing bled into others, all mundane, all repetitively the same. Towels to fold, clutter to corral—each chore like the next, stretching out endlessly. Words were exchanged, hollow, drifting and weightless in the air.

The day felt longer than it had any right to be, its passage still haunting, leaving only a weary fog. A great heaviness set in, like a weight on the eyelids, as evening wore on.

While everyone else slept, you're wide awake. Sitting on your bed's edge, you face the window. The pale, blue moonlight casts its glow on you as you sit there, gazing out at the front yard.

You're unable to tear your eyes away, as if something or someone might be out there. You rise from the bed, cautiously approaching the window. With a finger, you unlock the latch and lift the window, which opens with a slight creak.

Leaning on the windowsill, you peer outside, eyes fixed intently for any sign of movement. But nothing unusual occurs; only the breeze and the rustling trees accompany your breathing.

This is pointless.

You pull away from the window frame and turn to head back to bed, but a snapping branch halts you. Slowly, you turn back, step toward the window, and shut it with frustration.

Resting your head against the cool glass, you close your eyes, feeling its chill against your skin.

After a moment, you reopen your eyes and gaze into the yard once more.

Tiny pinpoints of light flicker among the trees, and you squint, searching the darkness. Still cloaked in the forest's shadows, the two points of light draw nearer, stopping just a few feet from your window. You blink, and the lights blink back.

Your heart hammers against your ribs as those twin points of light remain fixed on your window. They're eyes—you know they're eyes—glowing with an unnatural red luminescence that no human could possess.

Slowly, a figure detaches itself from the darkness. He steps forward, moonlight gradually revealing him inch by inch: first the outline of broad shoulders, then the familiar rumpled shirt, now stained dark with what you know is blood. His face comes into view last, pale and beautiful in its terrible way, those glowing eyes fixed unblinkingly on yours.

It's him. The man from the street. The monster who tore out those boys' throats with inhuman strength and savage teeth.

He stands perfectly still at the edge of your yard, hands in his pockets just as they had been before, casual as if he were merely a neighbor stopping by. But there's nothing casual about the intensity of his gaze, the way it pins you in place even through the glass and distance between you.

A small, knowing smile curves his lips, and he raises one hand in a gesture that might almost be friendly—a little wave, as if acknowledging an old acquaintance. The simple humanity of the gesture makes it all the more chilling.

You want to scream, to call for help, to wake the household—but your voice is trapped in your throat. Besides, what would you say? Who would believe you? And what if your cries only invited him in?

He takes a single step forward, then another, moving with deliberate slowness toward your window. Each footfall is silent on the grass, predatory grace in every movement. The distance between you shrinks with each passing second.

He doesn't stop until he's merely inches from your window, eyes boring into yours. Your breath hitches, and you try to step back, but you can't. It's like you're frozen.

His breath fogs the glass between you, a reminder of the thin barrier separating you from whatever he is. He raises one pale finger and traces a pattern on the window, the squeak of skin against glass making your skin crawl.

"Y'know," he says, voice muffled but still audible through the glass, "there are rules to these things."

You remain frozen, unable to speak, but he continues as if you'd asked a question.

"I cain't come in uninvited." His eyes—those terrible, beautiful eyes—crinkle slightly at the corners, almost amused. "Old magic. Very inconvenient."

He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching the glass. "But you could invite me in. Just a few 'lil words. 'Come in.' That's all it'd take."

Your throat constricts with fear, but you manage to shake your head slightly.

He sighs, a surprisingly human sound. "I saved you. Those boys—" he makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, "—they had very specific plans fer you. Nasty ones." His voice drops lower, more intimate. "I could've let 'em. Would've been much easier fer me."

The memory of those boys blocking your path flashes in your mind, their leering faces, their threatening postures. You shudder.

"See? Y'know I'm right." His finger traces another pattern on the glass, almost hypnotic. "Just a little invitation. A thank you for my... intervention. That's only polite, ain't it?"

Something in his tone shifts, grows harder. "Or I could wait. I'm a very patient man, sugar. I could visit every night, watchin' you. Waitin' for that moment when you step outside alone after dark, or when you get home late from bible study." His smile widens, revealing teeth that are too sharp, too white. "Wouldn't it be better to just... get it over with? On yer terms?"

You feel a strange pull, a desire to reach for the latch, to open the window wider and speak those fatal words. Your hand even twitches at your side, as if it might move of its own accord.

"Just say it," he whispers, eyes boring into yours. "Invite me in."

Your fingers tremble against your thigh, caught in a war between reaching for the window latch and clenching into a fist. Something shameful and electric pulses through you—a feeling you don't want to name.

There's terror, yes—raw and primal—but beneath it lies something more disturbing. A fascination. A pull. Your eyes can't help but trace the sharp angles of his face, the fullness of his lips now clean of blood, the way his shirt clings to the contours of his body.

"This ain't right," you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

His smile deepens, knowing. "Few worthwhile things are."

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you hate yourself for it. How could your body betray you like this? How could you feel anything but revulsion for the creature who tore out human throats before your eyes? The memory of violence should repulse you, drive you away—instead, it mingles with his current gentleness in a cocktail of confusion that makes your head swim.

You close your eyes, trying to block him out, but that only intensifies your awareness of him—his scent somehow reaching you through the glass, something ancient and dangerous. When you open your eyes again, he's watching you with a patience that spans centuries.

"Yer afraid," he says softly. "But not only afraid."

Your cheeks burn hotter. He sees through you so easily, this predator at your window. The worst part is the thrill that runs through you at being so thoroughly seen.

"I don't want this," you say, voice barely audible.

"Ohhh sure you do, darlin." His head tilts slightly, curious. "Your heart says otherwise. I can hear it—racing not just with fear, but with somethin' else."

You press your hand against your chest, as if you could quiet the betraying organ. "You're a monster."

"Yes," he agrees simply. "And yet, here you are. Still lookin'. Still listenin'."

He's right, and you hate that he's right. You should be running, screaming, praying—anything but this strange, suspended moment where you can't tear yourself away from his gaze. "You know I can't..."

He takes a deep breath, clicking his tongue in thought. "Yer really gonna make me beg for it, huh?" He said, his voice dropping to a conspiring whisper. "I can make you feel so good, lampkin. You just gots to let me in."

"I won't."

"You will."

Your hand trembles as it hovers near the window latch. One simple motion, one whispered invitation, and he would be inside. The thought sends shivers of fear and anticipation down your spine.

"What would happen?" you ask, your voice barely audible. "If I let you in..."

His eyes gleam in the darkness. "Aw, don't be coy, now." He continued, his voice low, "Aincha tired? Of playin' the good girl?"

"I ain't playin."

"Then let me inside."

Your jaw clenched, and you pressed your lips together, like if you opened them, you wouldn't know what would come out. But, God, you wanted to. You wanted to just say that one word to let him in and receive all the pleasure and indulgence he was promising. But your silence hung loud. You were afraid.

And you could tell he knew it too.

His hands tightened perilously around the frame of the window, a cage of fingers desperate to pull you in while keeping him locked out. The tendons in his wrists flexed like claws. His breath caught, a raw rasp in the air. When he spoke, his voice was shredded with wanting: "Open this window. And. Let. Me. In."

His words dissolved the fragile armor you had tried to build against him, slipping silently into your gut like a seduction turned weapon. It was over; you knew it then. A warning shrieked from the rational recesses of your mind—run, hide. Yet something deeper, something primal and inexplicable, whispers that perhaps death isn't the worst fate imaginable.

You shuddered beneath the weight of your own surrender, and a tiny gasp escaped your lips. "Come in," you finally caved, voice barely even audible. With a trembling hand, you reached for the latch and started to open the window for him.

He climbed through the window almost as soon as you opened it, his movements quick and jerky. One moment he was outside, the next he stood before you, close enough that you could feel the unnatural coolness radiating from his skin.

His eyes never left yours, that unblinking gaze holding you captive. The red glow had dimmed somewhat, but still flickered in their depths. His lips curled into a satisfied smile, revealing just the barest hint of those terrible teeth.

"There now," he murmured, his voice somehow more intimate, more dangerous in the confined space of your bedroom. "Was that so hard?"

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity as he took a single step closer. You instinctively backed away, your calves hitting the edge of your bed, but there was nowhere left to retreat. He raised his hand slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to flinch away—but you remained frozen, caught between terror and that inexplicable, shameful fascination.

His fingertips brushed your cheek with unexpected gentleness, cool against your feverish skin. The contact was feather-light, almost reverent, yet it sent a jolt through your entire body as if you'd been struck by lightning. Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, your body betraying you once again.

"So warm," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "I'd almost forgot what it feels like."

His touch traveled downward, fingers trailing along the column of your throat where your pulse hammered wildly against your skin. He paused there, feeling the rhythm of your fear and anticipation beneath his fingertips, a small smile playing at his lips.

Then his mouth was on yours, crushing, demanding. His body crowded yours, a solid wall of desperate need, pinning you against the momentum. Tongues tangled, a frantic, messy collision – less kiss, more claiming. He tasted your surprise, the faint saltiness, a familiar sweetness underneath. He pushed harder, fueled by years of starvation, a blind drive to consume. The world tilted. Balance lost. You went down in a tangle of limbs, hitting the floor with a muffled thud.

SMUT WARNING!!

He landed mostly on top, the impact insignificant. Air sawed in and out of his lungs. Below him, you. Your eyes wide, lips swollen, glistening with saliva – his saliva. The sight sent a jolt straight to his groin, his trousers suddenly, painfully tight. A trace of drool beaded at the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin.

You gazed up at him, eyes shimmering with pent-up desire, chest heaving with each rapid, anticipation-filled breath. "You're droolin'," you ogled.

He smiled.

"It ain't my fault you taste so good." He crawled over your body and caged it under his with his pelvis slotted between your thighs, "I want you to beg for it. Beg for me." Between layers of your nightshirt and his trousers, his cock ground into your mound while his clawed hand slid along the warm skin of your thigh. Your nightshirt rode up, until he reached your hip where the fabric of it bunched, its soft flesh dimpling in his bruising grasp.

"Say it," He crooned into your neck, breathing in your scent, his red eyes dilating beneath eyelids that fluttered closed. "Say, 'Remmick, please give me what I need.'"

Remmick. That was his name?

You let out a whimper, quickly biting down hard on your lower lip in a desperate attempt to muffle the wanton sound. "P-please... Remmick," You begged, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

A sinister laugh rumbled through Remmick, the sound dark and gravelly as it shook against your chest. "Atta-girl," he growled, nipping sharply at your earlobe. His hand, clutching your hip, slipped between your thighs, where he discovered you were bare under your nightshirt, and he hummed delightfully. He dropped his forehead against your shoulder as a groan rumbled deep in his chest when he found you wet and swollen, teeth grazing the skin on your collarbone.

The tip of Remmicks nose skated along your sweat-slick neck until his lips found your ear and brushed against the shell of it as he spoke. "Yer soaked." He whispered, fingers finding your clit and circling it with torturing slowness, rolling the slick bud beneath the pad of his fingers.

You gasped, back instinctively arching on the floor as you craved more of that sweet friction. "S-stop teasin' me," you whined

"Why? Did you need somethin'?" He taunts. You want to snap at him to go faster, but getting irritated would only delay it more. "Use yer words, sugar." He sank his middle and ring fingers inside you, grinning devilishly against your neck, before delivering a sharp bite.

You let out a strangled moan, turning your head to the side to try to escape Remmick's' sharp teeth and scorching breath. "What do you need?" He asked, words muffled as they sawed between his teeth and your flesh. He curled his fingers into the bundle of nerves at the front of your walls. "Say it."

You clenched your thighs together, trying to trap his invading fingers, but the slick heat of you only allowed them to sink deeper. "I need you," you writhed, unable to keep still.

Remmick's fingers never ceased their brutal pumping, plunging in and out of your soaked, clutching heat. As he worked he watched you struggle, your nails digging into the wood floors. For a few minutes there's nothing but the obscene sound of your arousal, mingling with the creaking of the wood floors and your increasingly ragged breaths.

Your spine twisted into knots at the bottom of your back, hips bucking to meet the angle of fingers. The muscles in your stomach clenched, and your head lolled back, eyes closed, unshameful moans of pleasure quietly resonating through the room. Just when you felt the consistent building of your orgasm about to release, insides twitching around his fingers, he withdrew them, lifting his head up just enough to meet your gaze.

Looking up at him in confusion, your eyes followed his fingers as he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a predatory hum. He removed them with a wet pop, grinning wildly as he saw your lips part in protest.

"What? You want'a taste?" He teased, saliva-soaked fingers glinting in the dark light. He brought his hand close to your mouth, stopping when the pads of his fingers grazed over your lips. "Open wide."

The tips of his fingers pushed past your lips, and your mouth parted farther, making space for his digits to wedge further inside. He leaned in lips brushing against your temple and he buried his nose in your hair and breathed. He groaned, fingers pushing deeper into your mouth. You choked quietly, but that didn't stop him. He watched as you struggled to take his fingers, your lips around him.

His cock throbbed at seeing you like this. Quivering and needy. It was almost enough to make him come right then and there.

Remmick slowly pulled his fingers out of your mouth, smearing the spit across your lips.

He captured your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his smoldering red eyes as he loomed over you. His own gaze was dark with lust and a twisted sort of affection, his pupils blown wide and dilating as he looked at you, drinking in every expression and breath.

HIs other hand slid up from your hip, claws raking lightly over the soft skin of your belly before cupping the swell of your breast. He could feel your heart pounding beneath his palm, could feel the way your nipple pebbled against the thin fabric of her nightshirt. He tweaked the sensitive nub between his fingers, rolling and pinching it until you gasped, back arching off the floor.

"It feels good, don't it?" He murmured, his breath hot against your neck. His lips found yours, claiming your mouth in a demanding kiss. His tongue pushed past your teeth, invading, conquering, laying waste to any resistance you might have left.

He could feel you melting, could feel the fight draining out of you as he touched you, kissed you, filled you.

He broke the kiss, leaving you gasping and panting beneath him. "Now," he said softly, almost gently. "I'm gon make you feel real good."

He positions his arms on either side of you, and lowers his mouth onto your neck. The sudden feeling of his lips made you whimper, and he chased after the sound, trailing down your throat towards your chest... down your stomach... down your thighs.

As he pulled closer to your heat, you couldn't help but squirm under him. He gripped your thighs and lifted them off the floor, getting on his knees and lowering his head between your thighs. He slowly made his way upwards, breath hot against your skin.

When he reached your core, there was a pause before he pressed his mouth against you. You let out a pathetic moan as his tongue licked a warm, wet strip to the center of your cunt. Your head lolled back as the feeling of him lapping at you was so overwhelming you didn't know what to do.

He drags his tongue up your clit, wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking. Hard. You practically scream out in pleasure before slapping a hand to your mouth, remembering where you were.

You feel him grin into your pussy as he sucks harder and you twitch. Your hand flies into his hair, gripping the strands and pushing his head deeper as you chase your climax. He doesn't seem to mind it though.

"I'm gonna - fuck," you said, breathless as you feel your orgasm building inside you. You clench your thighs around his help, but his grip on your hips tightens, spreading them apart again.

"Remmick - wait," you said, but he doesn't stop. He wanted you to come undone in his mouth.

He watched you hungrily, eyes on your throat as your head fell back, restless whimpers falling from your lips. He delivered one finally suck, the pressure driving you over the edge. You let out a ragged cry, legs closing around his head. Your hips shoot upwards, grinding into him as you ride out your orgasm.

You lay, worn out, chest heaving. You stared at the ceiling, eyes heavy, hands falling to your sides. Remmick stayed between your thighs, dragging his tongue around your skin to clean you up. "You alright?"

You let out a drowsy hum in response, eyes following him as he climbed on top of you. You watched as he smiled down at you, lips brushing against your temple tenderly. He kneeled back, observing you lying there. Without warning, he lifted you up.

You murmured in protest, but he hushed you softly, "Shhh, stay quiet." He carried you to your bed and placed you gently on the mattress. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, feeling unexpectedly calm given the... circumstances.

"I've gotta' leave now," he said softly, brushing your hair away from your face.

"And why is that?"

"'Cause I just have to." You let out a small huff, but he merely laughed quietly. "Best you sleep now." He stood up straight, taking a step backwards towards the open window. "But, I'll be back soon enough." 

A shiver coursed through your body, not of fear, but of anticipation. It was as if the very air around you had changed—charged with a new energy. The weight of fear had lifted, replaced by a sense of exhilaration and readiness that warmed your core. Something had shifted within you, and you realized you were no longer afraid of him. Not even in the slightest. 

[shroomyv]

ᢉ𐭩-FERAL + DESPERATE MARK

Pairing: mark Grayson X f!reader

W.c: 1.8k (whoopsie)

Synopsis: mark gets back from a mission bruised and beaten. He couldn’t care about that one little bit. However he does care about you a bit more than usual today.

Warnings: dry humping, clothe ripping, mentions of bruises, cream pies (author got a lil to crazy/lost in their own mind)

A/n: ok so this is my second fanfic here. I’m gonna be real…I got VERY lost in my own mind while writing this one 😭 it may be a little bad so I’m honestly so fucking sorry if it is and it’s ok if you don’t even wanna read it. I’m also gonna start taking request so I can start writing more and getting better at writing so just request smtn if ya want. Anyway I’m done yapping. Hope you enjoy this shitty fic.

It was late afternoon—soon getting ready to become evening and Mark still wasn’t back yet from another mission. Today was your day off, it was supposed to be his too but Cecil called him in once again. You honestly wished Cecil would justcall you in instead. As you reach for your phone to call Mark you hear a knock on the window—knowing it's Mark, you dash to open it as he rolls into the house. He just face plants into the living room floor laying there as he looks beaten and bruised, the entire upper half of his suit isn’t even there and the lower half was ripped and hanging on by threads. You kneel down to the floor to try and see his face but he’s just curled into himself. 

“Mark…you ok baby?” You ask softly waiting for a response but he just stays there. You sigh knowing it would be a long night of patching him up so you go to grab the first aid kit. He never tended to himself, you knew you had to take care of him or he’d never heal. Eventually, you make your way back into the living room and Mark isn’t there. “Mark?” You called out just a bit worried now since he usually was never like this. Next thing you know his body was looming behind you, his head curled in-between your neck and arms wrapped around you like he was going to pop you. “Oh god…I missed you…so much..” Mark said in a famished tone as he began huffing the perfume on your neck like he needed it to breathe. You couldn’t figure out what was going on with him but whatever it was you liked it. “Mark, are you gonna let me patch you up? I don’t want you bruised up forever.” 

His hands moved all around you and your torso till he found your waist again wrapping his arms around it to hold you. He spoke muffled—keeping his face in your neck as if stopping would kill both of you. “Mmsure..”

Mark was latched onto you like Velcro and eventually let go. Sitting on the floor across from each other as you softly touched his chest pressing and applying bandages on each different bruise. Mark couldn’t stop leaning into the touch. The more you pressed the more he grunted and groaned. It was honestly starting to get to you, you’d never seen him like this but you liked it. You scoot closer in front of him holding up his chin while placing more bandages on his chest. This time…he whimpers.

“Oh fuck…” he whimpered out leaning into your hand more. His body was hot and warm as if he had a fever. Whatever happened on that mission changed his behavior and you didn’t mind it one bit. “Almost done Mark, don’t worry.” You said trying to keep your composure as you were honestly ready to fold for him. He was like a puppy and you were intrigued. You scooted closer to him—sitting on his lap as you placed the last bandage on his face. He was losing his mind, you were in just a tank top and panties—reeking of his favorite perfume. He was fighting for his life trying to hold back fucking the life out of you. Eventually, he just had to have you, grabbing your back to pull you as close as he could before he started sloppy kissing you. 

It felt amazing. Eventually, he let go—he needed you off his lap giving you a small push. You held yourself up on the floor with your elbows as you were laid out on your back. You just looked down and saw him latched onto your leg. He was absolutely feral, slobbing on your thigh as if he had been famished. You felt friction on your leg, moving back and forth up and down. “God, baby please, don’t move.” Mark cooed out as he began dry humping your leg and sucking on your stomach. You felt like your mind was twisting and turning, seeing him like this was an absolute turn-on. He was so desperate for you it was perfect. “Fu- mgnh..fuck baby.” He whimpered out struggling as he just kept crazy on your leg. It was like he couldn’t stop. He just kept going and going as you stared in complete fucking awe

feeling yourself grow wet because of his behavior. 

You reached your hand to his head rubbing his hair softly as this just made him go faster and faster. He was doing all of this whilst he was still in a ruined suit. You didn’t want to have him ruin the suit worse but you also didn’t want to stop him. “Mark…your suit is still-“ you were cut off quickly as Mark reached one of his arms down ripping off his suit and boxers along with it. So much for fixing the suit. 

He just kept going now, there was no fabric stopping him now. “Oh shit…I’m..ngh…mngonna…” he was struggling to even speak between moans as he softly bit into your stomach before cumming over your leg. Your eyes shot open as you were astonished at what just happened. Before you could even process he pulled you closer as he had both of you mashed together. 

Mark spoke in a breathy tone, “I need you to…take off..” 

“Take off what?” You were trying to figure out what he needed, it was honestly a struggle since he was barely speaking in complete sentences and you were trying to deal with not only his arousal but now yours as well. Before you could figure out what he needed, his hands grabbed at your panties ripping them off of you with ease. You felt like you were going tomelt into the floor before he eventually picked you up with ease throwing you over his shoulder. He practically flew into the bedroom putting you on the bed before getting on top of you. He began kissing you sloppily once more as if he was starved for your lips.

“Ngh..m..” you both moaned into each other's mouth muffled only letting go of each other's lips when you felt like you were gonna suffocate and needed air. “I need…more of you” Mark huffed out sucking on your neck now as you were absolutely turned on now.

He didn’t waste another second, tossing your legs over his shoulders as he leaned down closer. You know exactly what was coming next. He had dived his head down between your legs licking at your pussy like it was a 5-star meal. Your legs shot up before rising right back down as he kept going. He switched between plunging his tongue in your hole and sucking on your clit. You were melting in his mouth and that didn’t stop him at all. He moved his hand towards your entrance moving two fingers inside as he kept sucking at your clit. 

“MARK!” You shouted out in pure ecstasy as your hands leaped to his head grabbing onto his hair for dear life. He didn’tmind it one bit honestly—it showed him he was doing good. “I ngcan..eep…it up” he spoke with a mouthful of your pussy as he started sucking harder and going faster with his finger. You felt like you were about to pop just from this as your toes curled and legs shot up once again. You finally came feeling greedy for more. You hadn’t even realized you had his face pressed down in your cunt until you eventually let go of his hair watching his head rise. His face was covered in your cum before he licked it off as best as he could.

He didn’t waste a single drop.

“M…mark..” you said in an exasperated tone trying to get your breath back from what he just did. Before you could get a chance he pulled you up into his lap as he just began smashing his lips into yours again. You felt like your head was spinning, it didn’t even feel real for a second. 

“Baby…I need you to get on my cock.” Mark said tapping your ass softly to have you lift up. He just needed you to get on it and he’d do the rest. “Can’t you just do it for me?” You said in a sly tone trying to see how far he’d go for you in his moments of desperation. He didn’t waste a second grabbing you up and having you face him. He lifted you up as quickly as he could before having you slide down on his cock as slow as he could make it happen. You could feel him already twitching inside of you as your arms wrapped around his shoulder for support. He went from sitting up with you on top of him—to laying down with him over you in a meer seconds. He began ramming himself into you relentlessly.

He couldn’t hold back. He needed you so badly. He wanted to fill you up until you popped. You were starting to zone out already. The only thing you could pay attention to was his face—he still looked so fucking perfect to you even though he was fucking your brains out. “Oh mark…oh fuck..” you cooed out as he was balls deep in you now. Your legs wrapped around his back holding on for dear life as you felt your walls clench around him before you finally came. He eventually followed suit, cumming right after you but he just took a few seconds to breathe before he kept going. “Last one baby…last one.” He said in a pleased tone as he kept pumping into you. You felt like you had fireworks in your gut as you began to groan.

“Mark…I can’t….cum anymore. I can’t ngh-“

“Can’t do it” you whimper out as he kept going. 

“Aww don’t say that…I know you can…I’ve seen you do it before. Cmon baby…Ngh…last one…”

You couldn’t deny him the pleasure and it felt even better than the first round. In and out, in and out, over and over as he made sure he hit all the right spots. Your nails began digging into his upper back as he knew he was doing something right. He kept pumping into you faster and faster and your legs just grew tighter around him. 

“Fngh…fuck! Baby…almost..” Mark was struggling to hold on and eventually he popped. He came inside of you once again and you followed right after. He kept his cock in for a few seconds giving you a cream pie, he let his cock do one more twitch before pulling himself out of you. You were absolutely exhausted—watching as the cum leaked out of your pussy as if you were a faucet. Mark just smiled at you as if he didn’t just break a sweat.  

“M…mark.” You called out his name gently struggling to keep your eyes open as he had practically fucked you to sleep. He scooted closer to you holding you in his arms before speaking to you softly. “Relax, just sleep I’m here. Besides, I’ll be here tomorrow—it’s my turn to take care of you.”

You liked the sound of that.

[caotictimmy]

🍏- ANON? MAYBE??? it's so late for me but reading your nsfw on Daisuke...UAAAGHHH SAAGHHH 🗣️ he's such a vocal man and the whole morning sex thing where he can't get into you quick enough .helpop helppp meeeee helpppp

(maybe this is a request? Maybe I'm just yapping lowkey??? But if you want to write on this, by all means go for it LMAO)

Giggling over Swansea being mortified while walking in on reader x daisuke getting it on, I imagine they don't notice him and Daisuke is getting all needy trying to keep his pace 🤞 That boy has never felt the touch of person romantically so I could onllllyyyy assume that he'd been sensitive his first time. Or like. Every time with reader- especially if they're still on the ship. He's trying to not make too much noise as everyone is asleep ☹️ his whiney ass is NOT making it through that night. Bonus if reader is nonchalant about it the next day at lunch. They're talking with someone about their poor love lives (finding people to stay with how long their jobs shipments are)- reader dropping shit like 'aw man yeah. if only there was someone to really understand me, y'know?'. As if Daisuke wasn't memorizing their insides and how they physically react to him with his body just last night 😭

HELP 🍏 ANON THIS MADE ME LAUGH SO HARD I ALMOST FELL OFF MY BED. But this is Acually so smart. I always believe Daisuke gets lost in the sauce when you guys have sex. For the headcanon I was thinking they were known dating. But for this let’s pretend the crew doesn’t know Daisuke and reader are dating. The first kind middle part will be NSFW. But the rest should be NSFW. This will be done as a one shot. (I’ll also include your little bonus! Plus a little more:3)

What was that god damn noise..? Swansea thought. Irradiated as he heard a squeaking sound, an indescribable muffled sound coming along with it. For fucks sake he just wanted to get some rest! But those loud noises would not let the poor man drift to sleep. He was gonna put a stop to that noise. Once and for all.

Swansea swings his legs over the side of his bed, sitting up. Stretching his arms as he gets ready to investigate what the noise is, and where it’s coming from. He stands up, his back making a loud crack.( I love old man Swansea). He slips his slippers on. Grabbing and putting on his robe by the door. Slowly pushing the door open. Before silently shutting the door. The noise got louder. Even though the walls were paper thin. It still muffled some of the noise.

He tread carefully through the halls. Getting closer to the noise. Swansea could hear talking maybe? The squeaking of something getting louder the more he approaches. Wait. He’s getting closer to Daisuke’s room..? What the hell was that kid doing. He could hear a faint panting? He started walking a bit faster.

Daisuke’s door was cracked open. God was the kid hurt-. Oh… Oh dear god.. For the love of pony express why did he have to be the one to catch this scene. He could now clearly see what was happening now. God why him..? (Warning for what’s ahead will be NSFW)

“Nyyhhh… F-fuck you feel so good. G-god so good. Am I doing good? Mhm!.. a-am I doing good for you. Wanna make sure your feeling as ..ahh ~… as good as I am.” Daisuke whimpered out. His arms wrapped around your waist as he continues going his rough pace.

“Yes! O-oh fuck hah… doing so good for me!”, Your voice muffled as you were face first in your pillow. Daisuke’s body pressing against your back. Like he was trying to mold his body with you. A loud ‘plap’ sound being able to be heard.

Swansea felt his face contort in horror. He could feel his stomach twist in disgust. He definitely walked in on something he definitely shouldn’t have. So what did he do. He went back to his room. Staring at the ceiling with that petrified face still stuck on his face. To say he wasn’t able to sleep that night would be an understatement

-

“I feel like it’s impossible to date anyone with this crappy job.” Anya huffed in a frustrated tone. “I second to that.”, Curly sighed as he ate his crappy lunch.” Our shipments at a Minimum are 5 months! And it’s like we get a month or two back on earth, before they send us back to ship something!” Anya finished. The annoyed look on her face quite prominent.

“I get you Anya. I want to Acually spend time with someone and let them get to know me. But you can’t really do that on this floating rock.”, You said nonchalantly. You sure were letting Daisuke get to know you. All of you… Swansea thought. Trying not to gag at the imagie of what he witnessed last night.

You could feel Daisuke’s eyes turn to you. Lingering a bit longer than ‘just friends’. “Yeah man, it’s such a bummer!” Daisuke said. A light blush spread across his face as he said it. No one else except Swansea noticed.

“Say uh..” Anya started, looking up at you. “I saw you walking in here with a limp, you good?” She asked,her voice laced with concern. God why did you have to ask that Anya! Swansea cringed at her question. “Oh yea no I’m good! Just hit my leg on the wall while sleeping y’know.” You said. Hmh.. I’m sure you were doing some sort of sleeping. Swansea hurrying to finish his food. Quickly getting up to put his plate in the sink and immediately start work. He really just wants to take his mind off this..

-

“Swan-sea!” Daisuke said, dragging the two parts of Swansea’s name out. Swansea ignored Daisuke, continuing to work on the broken vent. “Dude did I do something wrong?” Swansea sighed. Since Daisuke wanted the truth he’ll get it.”For fucks sake Daisuke! Can you have them stop fucking like rabbits! I know you young people have your urges, but this has been going on for the past week. And it’s Saturday for crying out loud!” Swansea yelled.

“AND IF YOU FREAKS ARE GONNA KEEP GOING AT IT. AT LEAST KEEP THE DOOR SHUT AND BE QUIET. SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP.” Swansea finished, catching his breath. Daisuke just stood there stunned.

“You.. you heard us..?” Daisuke asked, his mouth agape and his eyes shot wide. “I didn’t just hear you guys. Saw it to! Close the damn door next time!” Swansea said irritated. Daisuke continued to stand there embarrassed. “Swansea uh.. I-I’m so sorry I didn’t realize.” Daisuke stuttered out. Still shocked about the revelation.

“Yeah you better be fucking sorry” Swansea muttered. Turning around before pausing. Sighing a bit. “At lest your getting some action in this hell hole. Reminds me of me and my wife.” He said. Before holding his fist out. “I’m only gonna do this once Daisuke.” Swansea said. Daisuke happily returned the fist bump.

“Now get the hell out of my sight for the rest of the day!” Swansea yelled. “Alright swan-sea!” Daisuke said, doing the same long period name thing. Swansea let out an annoyed sigh. At least the kid was happy…

[httpsvgin]

ᯓ “SAID YOU’RE A WILD

MUSTANG.” ۶ৎ

“everybody said you’re a killer, but i couldnt stop the way i was feeling the day your record dropped.” (LANA DEL REY.)

BY @MZLLSIT!!! ᥫ᭡

ᯓ PAIRING. hwang in-ho & fem!reader

FANDOM. squid game (seasontwo) ꪆৎ

T!W. shameless smut. porn with plot. bathroom sex. slight angst? dom! in ho. oral sex (f!receiving.) praise kink. slight age difference. blood. violence.

GENRE. smut, fluff? (kinda), angst (kinda?.)

SUMMARY. ᝰ.ᐟ chaos erupted after the tight vote between x & o’s, resulting in a bloodbath within mens bathrooms which left five people dead and fondly, you couldnt handle the way the deaths of innocent people racked up just so willingly, leaving you in a helpless and terrified state as the night began to fall. until in-ho spotted by your side in the hell that broke out between the two sides, calmed your panic and took you to safety… a lustful safety.

(THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING THIS KINDA SHIT SO IF ITS AWFUL IM SO SORRY CHAT.. ALSO IGNORE ANY GRAMMAR OR SPELLING MISTAKES!!!! other than that, enjoy.)

────────────

hell. thats what siting in that room felt like for you, mentally praying for the gods above to come and swoop you of your feet and into warmth. and yet no matter how hard you could’ve prayed in that moment, nothing could cure the way your stomach churned and twisted in a million directions all at once as your eyes pinned to the left side of the room where the o’s glared right in your direction, if looks could kill, you would have died the second the boys left the restroom a few minutes ago. some of them covered in blood, eyes dead and predator like while the rest had the look of a frightened child, lost and alone.

everybody knew what was going to happen the second those lights switched off. death lingered and suffocated the air you breathed in, yet far worse was to come, like a storm waiting to crush upon a village.

your back rested upon the wall, watching from afar as your nails dug into the skin of your arms you clutched so tightly to your chest that your knuckles turned white. your mind raced, heart rattling against your chest and sweat began to bead at your forehead as you tried to swallow the dry lump that never seemed to leave your throat. you were going to die in this shit hole, and there was no gods above that could stop that from happening.

the lights flickered off, leaving only the red and blue lights to illuminate the hall of bunkbeds which some still chose to lay in even despite knowing what rampage was bound to happen in just a few seconds. in the darkness of the room you still spotted the sight of in-ho, who’s dark eyes met and softened at yours almost immediately and you refused to look away. he could practically smell the fear radiating of your body from across the small area your group had chosen to stay within, gi-hun sat at his side tightly along with the rest of the group who you found to be the only source of comfort in this hell.

and yet despite the comfort they provided you still sat isolated in the corner at the brink of a panic attack. breathing felt like diffusing a bomb, one hand clutched your chest, trying to relax yourself as your other rubbed your own leg comfortingly. knowing your death was a blink away sent you into a psychotic spiral at the thought that your last breath would be in this room. in this place. in this very moment.

a blood curdling scream erupted around the room, snapping your head up to see the group of o’s charging right into your boundary, screaming and yelling as they pounced onto anyone they could get their hands on.

the lights flickered as the room flipped into a war in the space of a few seconds, sounds of yelling and harsh slashing echoed around. clutching your ears, you rocked back and forward as a loud sob broke up through your throat. “fuck!” you cried into the thick material of your tracksuit, arms covering your head in attempt to blur out the haunting screams that seemed never ending.

“found you, mother fucker!” a voice bellowed toward you, lifting up your glossy ears to stare at player 124 charge at you, face bloodied and covered in a psychopathic grin while in his left palm clutched a shard of glass that dripped crimson blood from the tip. it was no surprise you’d be his circled on his target list due to the fact during the last game, mingle, you shoved his sorry ass out of the room him and his purple headed friend fought so hardly for, which almost costed their lives. now here he is, about to take yours with the same intent you had in that one second during the game.

“i swear im going to fucking slit you in half, bitch.” his words slurred as you stumbled to your feet, not daring to break eye contact while you bit down on your bottom lip that trembled violently.

“fuck you.” you spat, yet your words wobbled along with your legs despite how hard you tried to look ‘tough,’ your eyes still glistened under the flickering lights with tears. nam-gyu howled in laughter, twisting the sharp end of the glass in his hand before his face turned straight in a second. the two seconds he stared felt like an eternity before he charged at you.

yelling, you caught his arm that held the blade pointed at your heart and using your knee you jerked it up to hit in between his legs which forced him to fold over just in time for you to kick him over onto his back. the shard of glass rolled over to the side of his head and in and instant you charged to grab it with shaky legs, only for him to be quicker and yanked at your ankle, shoving you down to the floor.

a slight whimper left your lips tasting the irony taste along your gums due to the impact of you hitting the ground chin first, and before you knew it, nam-gyu had wrestled his way on top of you, using one hand to pin your wrist above your head while the other snatched the shard inches away from your finger tips.

“mm, you’re a good little fighter, huh?” his lips lingered close to your ear while he trailed the sharp end over your face, only grazing your skin slightly. you flinched against his touch, kicking your legs frantically and screaming for help, feeling the tears burn at your eyes. you were fucked, and there was no doubt about it.

feeling your heart thump against your tightened chest, your mind clouded with defeat and you became limp underneath his strength, tossing your head to the side to glance over at the chaos that spread and diseased everyone around you, blood splattered on nearly every wall you looked at while several bodies laid limp , choking on their own blood.

“fucking die, you bitch!” the dark haired man yelled, raising the shard of glass in the air with a smile that sent painful shivers down your spine. and just as you wrenched your eyes shut, the impact of the blade never came. instead, you felt something wet drip down onto your face, pulling one eye open to see a metal poll struck through nam-gyus’s heart before he fell limp ontop of you, his blood seeping and staining your shirt.

opening your mouth to scream, a hand came over to stop any noise from coming out while another shoved the lifeless body of your chest. in-ho stared down at you, blood splattered along his face while his eyes softened at the scene of your shaken face.

“ive got you, ive got you come on.” despite the desperation in his voice his words were none the less slightly comforting despite the chaos around you as he pulled you up from your back where his hand tightening on your wrist and yanked you forward without another word.

you had no time to comprehend what even just happened in that short space of time but you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered drastically at the way his fingers interlinked within yours as he charged around the bloodbath. his only priority in this devastating scene was to protect you. only you. he couldn’t give less of a shit about the stack of bodies that were growing at his hands as they ran but instead he looked back every second to see if you where still chasing behind.

his warm hand came onto your lower back and pulled you forward through the door that was questionably opened immediately the second the square masked guard caught a glance of in-ho and it made your stomach sink in confusion at how willingly they were to let him through with just a glance. yet your curiosity was died down as in-ho shoved the bathroom door open with his elbow while his other kept firmly on your waist.

your eyes hurt from the bright light on the bathroom, baby pink walls almost blinding you as you adjusted to the sudden change in atmosphere. quiet. silence. and still your heart never slowed down for a second.

“are you hurt? did that bastard hit you?” in-ho cupped either side of your head in his head, tilting your chin from side to side as his eyes glistened with a hint of panic. taking in the scene, you noticed the way his hair was messed up compared to his usual style, his eyebrows knotted into a frown while he examined the features along your face. softly, his finger lingered over a small cut under your eye from where nam-gyu nipped at your skin and you took in the way his jaw clenched just at the sight of blood from your pretty face.

a groan rumbled in his throat, yet he quickly swallowed down his anger to return his soft eyed gaze back onto you. for a split second his eyes glanced down at your lips before returning back to your face. “poor girl.” he coed, it was like his tone was glazed with honey, sweet and sickening as his hand rubbed against your hair.

you can’t deny the warmth that grew in your lower abandonment, and hell did it twist with guilt at the same time knowing lives were being took the very same second your here in the arms of the man who had caught your wondering eyes the second you saw him. still, it felt fucking euphoric to be beneath his finger tips.

perhaps he read your mind because instead of taking his hand away it came to the back of your neck and yanked you against his lips which you were caught staring at the whole time apparently and you tasted the desperation along his soft lips.

his mouth moved harshly against yours, his tongue arching his way into your mouth and finding the warmth of yours while his other hand came to squeeze at bare skin of your waist which made your heart flutter at feeling his cold fingers against the softness of your skin. the world felt like it was spinning beneath your feet, yanking at his dark hair while your tongues battled for dominance.

“you have no idea how badly ive wanted this.” he whispered against your lips and it sent shivers to the bottom of your spine along side the way slick began to form between your legs as he backed you up against the wall.

tilting your head back you let him gain access to your neck and he wasted no time to sink his teeth into the plush feeling of your skin, tasting and licking along the pulse point on your throat which quickened at the warmth of his tongue exploring you. leaving bruises, in-ho stepped back for a moment to admire his claiming all over your skin while you stood breathless under his predatory eyes.

“take off your clothes.” he growled, returning back to the warmth of your neck before you could even respond to which he squeezed the skin of your waist. “don’t make me ask again.”

gulping, you nodded almost a little to quickly and you stumbled to pull down and kick off the material of your trousers that bunched at your ankles to where in-ho’s fingers pressed to your clothed cunt almost immediately.

“all this for me?” he chuckled against your skin, running a long digit along the wet patch on your panties. “fuck, you’re so good for me..” his voice made you clench your thighs around his hand to where he tugged at the thin cloth and ripping it off your body.

gasping, you slump against the wall he backed you up against, making you shiver at the cold material against your bare thighs and ass. “m-maybe we should do this-“ you began to mumble against his grip yet a sharp moan left your lips when a cold finger came to rub against your aching clit.

slowly, the man sunk to his knees in front of you, not once breaking eye contact as he lowered down your body, leaving a trail of kisses behind. taking your hand into his hair, your chest heaved with anticipation while his dark eyes took in the way your mouth draped open at his slow kisses, tossing your head back against the cold tiles as he gently nipped at the silk skin of your upper thighs.

“please in-ho..” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear, your voice croaking with desperation to feel his mouth against you dripping cunt.

“what do you want me to do, baby? use your words for me.” he kept one hand on your hip, using his other to run along the wet slither of your clit that burned for his tongue.

“fuck me!” you cried out, pulling at his dark locks. “fuck me with your tongue!”

“yes ma’am.” you felt him smile against your cunt before he licked a long strip of your wetness from its surface, tasting the sweetness of your slick against his tongue. your body felt like it was on fire with the way his mouth worked its magic on your pussy.

feeling him hum in satisfaction against your cunt sent thousands off sparks up into the pit of your stomach while you moaned out, gripping onto his hair while still pushing his head down further into your pussy while your orgasm began bloom. for a moment he turned his head up to stare at you, lips glossy and puffy from your wetness while he looked at you with a stare that you swore could swallow you whole. and fuck, did it feel like everything around you was twirling on a carousel.

stars started to form in the corners of your eyes while one leg rested over his shoulder, giving him better access you suck you dry, tongue poking into your tight hole which you swear could cum at the way his tongue worked so beautifully up and down your pussy to the point it had its own heartbeat. your mind fogged to the point of realisation as it flashed back to the scene of the guards when they allowed you both to leave the death trap so quickly with just the nod of approval from in-ho. why would they do that? what validation of protection does this man have that nobody else does?

“h-hey.. in-ho?” you managed you gasp out over your wave of moans in which he hummed against your pussy, forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “how did t-those guards just..” he thrusted his tongue so far up into your hole before you could even finish your sentence and you swore you felt you knees buck against his face at the movement, crying out a painful whimper.

his hand dug into the plush flesh of your ass as you grinded your pussy deeper into his face, pulling on his hair the same way his tongue pulled at the strings attached to your heart. riding out your orgasm, you felt your thighs clench around his pretty face that buried in between your legs as you sobbed so loud the entirety of the security guards could probably hear the joyful cries you let out.

with wobbly knees and a head filled with fairies you wrenched your eyes closed, feeling yourself let loose and finally reach the climax of your orgasm as you clenched around his tongue, your cum laced and coated his mouth.

“holy shit..” you panted harshly, chest dropping and rising at rapid speed while in-ho’s face pulled away slowly from your pussy, his glossy lips twisting into a grin before he brought his thumb to the corner of his mouth, licking away any residue you left on his face.

“you taste sweeter than i thought, baby.” his beautiful dark eyes took the view of you in awe, admiring the way your forehead beaded with sweat, eyebrows knotted in satisfaction as you ran your fingers through his hair.

slowly he rose to his feet, taking his finger he sucked out of his mouth with a small pop before tucking a loose strand of your messy hair behind your ear, smiling that sweet smile you remembered and adore all too well.

and just as quickly as he came to scroop you away, he left just as slick without a word, adjusting his shirt on the way out and leaving you alone in the bathroom, trousers bunched at your ankles.

“what the fuck just happened.”

[writeriguess]

hii, could you please write about katsuki x fem reader and how they just casually revealed their relationship to the class (eg. him cooking and sleepy reader comes down casually in his clothes or sum??) thank youu!!

A Sleepy Surprise

The smell of something delicious fills the dorm common area, making a few of Class 1-A’s students pause in their morning routines. You groggily stretch under the warm blankets before realizing that your usual alarm—Bakugo’s grumbling—has been replaced by the distant sound of something sizzling in a pan. The enticing aroma of food drifts up to your room, nudging you awake despite the sleep still clinging to you.

Without much thought, you pull yourself out of bed, rubbing at your eyes as you shuffle toward the door. Bakugo’s hoodie is the first thing you grab, slipping it over your head, the fabric swallowing your frame comfortably. The scent of him, something warm and familiar, lingers in the material. You don’t bother changing out of his sweatpants from the night before, the waistband cinched just enough to stay up, though the legs are too long and drag slightly as you walk.

Still half-asleep, you slowly make your way down the stairs, guided by the promise of food. As you step into the common area, a few voices murmur, but you barely register them. Your focus is entirely on the kitchen, where Bakugo stands at the stove, flipping a pancake with effortless precision.

He barely glances at you as he shifts the frying pan to another burner. “Sit down. Food’s almost done.”

You hum sleepily in response, dragging yourself to the counter. The class, however, goes completely silent. It’s the kind of silence that feels heavy, like everyone is holding their breath, waiting for something to explode.

You miss the wide-eyed stares, the way Denki nudges Mina, who claps a hand over her mouth, or how Kirishima’s brows shoot up in surprise. You’re too busy resting your head on your folded arms, the warmth of the kitchen lulling you back toward sleep.

“Smells good,” you mumble, voice still thick with sleep.

Bakugo scoffs, setting a plate in front of you. “Yeah, yeah, hurry up and eat before you pass out on the damn table.”

You grab your fork without a second thought, taking a bite of the food he made just for you, savoring the flavors as your brain slowly catches up with the world around you. "This is amazing, 'Suki."

The explosion of noise is almost immediate.

“WAIT, WAIT, WAIT.” Denki practically screeches, making you wince. “Did she just—Did she just call him—?”

“‘SUKI??” Mina gasps, hands on her cheeks. “OH MY GOD.”

“Are you two dating?” Iida asks, pushing his glasses up in pure disbelief.

Bakugo turns his sharp crimson glare on them, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “What, you extras deaf or somethin’? ‘Course we are.”

A chorus of “WHAAAAAT?!” erupts from your classmates, ranging from Kirishima’s proud laughter to Mineta’s dramatic wailing about life being unfair. You just blink sleepily at the chaos, still munching on your breakfast like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Momo clasps her hands together. “Well, I must say, I’m happy for you two! Though… I am surprised. How long have you been together?”

“Eh, a while,” Bakugo grumbles, flipping another pancake. “Didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Uraraka gasps. “A while?! And you never told us?!”

You finally look up, rubbing your eyes. “Didn’t think we had to?” you mumble.

Kirishima grins, throwing an arm around Bakugo’s shoulders. “Bro! You should’ve told me! I could’ve given you relationship advice!”

Bakugo smacks his arm away. “Yeah, like I need advice from your dumbass.”

Sero chuckles. “Man, if she wasn’t literally sitting there in your clothes, I wouldn’t believe it.”

“I dunno, I think it’s kinda cute,” Mina says, nudging you with a knowing smirk. “Our little firecracker is all soft for you, huh?”

You smile sleepily, still too drowsy to feel embarrassed. “Yeah,” you admit easily, making the class erupt in more screams while Bakugo grumbles about everyone being too damn loud.

But he doesn’t deny it.

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝑺𝒉𝒚 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒚 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

Pairing: No Goggles/Lensless!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUTTTTT, so good, so dirty, Mark’s losing his MIND

Tags: Praise kink, dom!reader (kinda, you try, bless your heart), sub!Mark (again, kinda, he’s encouraging tf out of you), Mark is literally the best hype man to ever exist, reader is shy as hell typically so she’s coming WAY out of her shell, porn with no plot (but will one develop? 🧐 we shall see)

Word Count: 1,312

Synopsis: You & Mark have been going steady for awhile. You’re the personal assistant to Cecil – handling all the jobs that are too low for Donald (think coffee runs, taking calls, etc.). You’re shy, reserved, and quiet. So the night you come crawling out of your shell and take the reigns in bed? Mark becomes your biggest fan, your personal hype man, and a man on the edge of religious experience.

a/n: this is so absurdly self-indulgent and i won’t even apologize. i’m not even gonna lie to y’all no goggles/lensless (i like lensless better but seems like the fandom’s collectively sided with no goggles *sigh*) is my new fav. he is just so uugghhhh – like, the perfect balance of psycho with room for being OBSESSED and just, yeah, he’s that man. this was also so cathartic to write after an otherwise traumatic day.

gonna focus on my inbox after this & rebuilding what was lost in the southern belle series 😭

The room was a mess. The bed creaked under the frantic rhythm you were setting, your hips moving with reckless abandon. You’d never felt more alive—this wasn’t like you; not fitting into the quiet, reserved version of yourself he’d come to know. This was something else.

And Mark was eating it up, his eyes burning with dark, primal excitement as he lay back with his hands behind his head, fully relaxed but completely obsessed with the sight of you.

“Yeah, babe, fuck yeah!” he shouted, his voice thick with lust, practically buzzing with excitement. “That’s it! That’s how you do it! You look so fucking good like this. Go harder, don’t hold back, babe, I wanna see you lose it.”

Mark wasn’t just into this. He was thriving, watching you like the goddamn Super Bowl — except the MVP was you, on top, riding him like you owned him.

“OH my god—yes, yes, that’s what I’m TALKING ABOUT!” he yelled, voice echoing off the walls, like you were hitting home runs instead of grinding down on him so hard his abs twitched. “Shy little thing, huh? Where?! I don’t see her anymore—this version? She’s my favorite.”

Your thighs shook, pace relentless even as your breath hitched, lips parted, face glowing with sweat and something far more dangerous — confidence. You didn’t look at him much, still half-embarrassed to meet his eyes even now.

But Mark couldn’t stop staring.

“You feel that?” he groaned, lifting his hips just enough to meet you halfway. “That’s you wrecking me. This is insane. I’m literally being blessed right now.”

You bit your lip, eyes fluttering shut, trying to stay focused as your rhythm wavered under the weight of his praise.

“Ohhh, don’t get quiet on me now, baby—nah, nah, nah—talk to me, moan for me, let me hear that pretty mouth, c’mon—GOD, you’re so fucking hot right now, are you kidding me?!”

He was so hyped it was almost absurd — panting, ranting, eyes wide with disbelief like he couldn’t believe this was real. His arms were still behind his head but twitching now, dying to grab you, help you, worship you. But no. He was loving being your seat, your toy, your audience.

“You’re slamming down like you’re mad at me—are you mad at me, babe? ‘Cause you’re gonna make me fucking cry,” he gasped out, then broke into manic laughter. “Shit! Wait—do it again! That grind? That little twist right at the end? HOLY—yes! YESSSS.”

You whimpered, breath catching as your pace faltered again—but he wasn’t about to let you stop.

“Oh no, don’t you dare stop now—look at me, c’mon—ride it out, ride it all the way down, you’ve got this, you’re doing so good, I swear to god I’m gonna blow just watching you.”

You finally looked down at him, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, and Mark just about lost his damn mind.

“There she is! YESSS, there’s my girl, look at you—on top of the fucking world. Queen shit. Certified. I should be PAYING you right now.”

Your body stuttered—overstimulated, trembling—but you kept going. And he felt it.

His grin snapped into something wicked. His arms finally dropped to grab your hips, not guiding you—just feeling the way you moved, grounding himself while you used him.

“Fuck, fuck, yes, you’re gonna cum, I can feel it—so tight, so wet, baby you are milking me, are you trying to kill me? Is that what this is?” he babbled, delirious now. “Oh my god I love you. Wait—marry me. I’m serious. I’ll give you the moon.”

And when you finally shattered—silently, jaw slack, body stiffening as you came hard around him—Mark practically screamed.

“THAT’S IT! THAT’S MY GIRL! TAKE IT, BABY, FUCKING TAKE IT—”

His hands snapped to your hips, slamming you down as he buried himself deep, coming with a violent groan, his entire body locking under yours. His head fell back, chest rising like he couldn’t breathe, muscles twitching as he emptied into you.

He held you there—still, trembling, connected—until the last pulse faded.

You collapsed against him, shaking and spent, and he caught you immediately, wrapping you up tight, still grinning like a man who just won every lottery ever invented.

“...That was... beyond,” he muttered against your hair, catching his breath. “You just blew my entire fucking mind. I think I blacked out for a second.”

You made a tiny, worn-out noise.

He smiled wider.

—

It was a normal debrief. Supposed to be, anyway.

Cecil was droning on about some black ops mission Mark had technically been assigned to but never showed up for, and a few other heroes were milling around the room. You stayed close to the wall, sipping your coffee quietly, trying very hard to pretend you weren’t being stared at like a snack.

Mark was across the room. Or, more accurately, posing across the room. Back against the wall, arms folded, smirk in full effect, eyes locked on you like you were the only person there.

He hadn't stopped looking at you like that all day.

Your cheeks were already pink, but it got so much worse when he suddenly spoke—loudly.

“You know what’s crazy?”

Everyone turned.

Cecil’s eye twitched. “What now.”

Mark pushed off the wall, casually strolling into the middle of the conversation like he hadn’t just derailed the entire room.

“I just think it’s wild,” he said, grinning, “how someone can be all sweet and quiet in public, but the second they’re on top of you—” You choked on your coffee. Actually, physically choked. “—they go absolutely feral,” Mark finished proudly.

Your soul left your body.

Every head turned to you. Even the intern looked scandalized. Cecil let out the slowest, longest sigh you’d ever heard.

“Oh my god,” you whispered into your hand.

Mark kept going. “Like, I knew she had it in her. I knew. But the dedication? The power? The whole—” he mimed someone slamming down onto a seat, complete with sound effects, “—Boom boom pow, I mean—chef’s kiss. 10/10. Academy Award performance. And the STAMINA? Un-fucking-real. Her thighs were shaking like—”

“MARK!” you hissed, face flaming.

“What?” he said, half-laughing. “I’m complimenting you!”

You were about to melt into the floor.

And that’s when Rexleaned in from two chairs down, elbow propped on the table, face lit up like fireworks.

“Wait, hold up,” he said, pointing at you with his half-eaten protein bar. “You mean quiet girl over here? She was on top?”

Mark beamed. “Oh, on top, in charge, out of body—I was literally just lying there like ‘is this how I die?’ Would’ve been a good way to go out too.”

Rex whistled low. “Shiiiit. Okay. I see you.” He turned to you, eyes dragging way too slow. “Damn, quiet ones really are the freakiest, huh? I knew it.”

You felt your stomach drop. “Rex.”

He didn’t stop. “No no, this is important. For science. So like… did you do the thing where you—”

And then Mark moved.

Slow, calm, still smiling. But the air in the room dropped ten degrees as he crossed the space between them in half a heartbeat and leaned down to Rex’s ear with that same shit-eating grin still plastered on his face.

“If your eyes so much as blink in her direction again, I’ll pop your head like a grape,” he whispered casually.

Rex blinked.

“Like—pshhht. Just… juice,” Mark added with a cheerful hand gesture.

Then he clapped Rex on the shoulder, straightened up, and turned back toward you like nothing happened.

You were bright red, half-horrified and half trying very hard not to laugh. “Mark—”

He winked. “Still thinking about last night, baby.”

“Please stop talking forever.”

[bitters-n-sweets]

i love him — jack abbot x fem!reader inspired by a scene from Jerry Maguire | Jack overhears the reader having a “secret” conversation with her best friend

warnings: unspecified age gap, just some cute fluff, Jack calls reader ‘sweets’, reader and her best friend calls him 'doctor daddy' for obvious reasons, not proofread, self indulgent, mdni masterlist i was writing angst for a few days and now need a breather haha

You and Jack have been dating for a while. About a few months now. You just became an attending at PTMC, and that really what kickstarted your relationship—he’s no longer your boss. The pining, the almosts, the what-ifs—they were there in every lingering glance, every shared laugh in the on-call room, every late-night case that ended with his hand brushing yours just a second too long.

But Jack never let it cross the line. Not while you were under him professionally. He saw what happened with Robby and Collins—how quickly things could spiral, how reputations could fracture. He wasn’t going to let that happen to you. To both of you.

When you finally became an attending at PTMC, it felt like the last piece clicking into place. You waited to open the manila folder—the one with your future inside—until you were at Jack’s place. You wanted him to be the first to know. To be there for the moment. And when you unfolded the letter and saw those words—“We’re pleased to inform you…”—you practically jumped into his arms. Jack held you tight, a proud, steady smile on his face like he’d known it all along.

“I knew you could do it, sweets.”

He’d asked you out not long after that. A quiet breakfast date after your night shift—flowers already waiting on the table, a small wrapped box with a bracelet inside. Something simple. Something thoughtful. Something so very Jack.

Of course, there’ve been arguments. Small things—a forgotten dinner plan, a tense call on a bad day—but nothing that ever felt like it could undo you. Jack doesn’t raise his voice. He listens, then speaks. Calm, grounded, but never cold. He never makes you feel like you’re too much.

But what surprises you most about Jack Abbot isn’t his patience, or his discipline, or even his skill in bed.

It’s how romantic he is.

The kind of man who keeps a sticky note in his wallet with your coffee order. The kind who kisses your hand before work, like an old-school gentleman from a black-and-white movie.

You’ve been covering the day shift for three days straight, and today’s your day off. You’re planning to reset your sleep schedule to prepare for the night shift rotation starting tomorrow. You stayed up all night just so you could sleep together with Jack—but, of course, he texts that he’s going to be a little late. Hazards of being an ER doc.

Then, your phone buzzes. It’s your friend Diana.

Diana: How’s the attending life so far, doc?

Diana’s your best friend. You don’t live close to each other, and don’t text every day, but you have monthly check-ins with each other to catch up on each other’s lives. You smile as you read her text and press the call button.

“Hey!”

“Hey!” She replies with matching energy. “How’s my ER girlie doing?”

“Trying to survive.” You chuckle. “How about you? How’s work for my corporate girlie?”

“Busy as I’ll ever be.” You can practically see her roll her eyes. “But seriously, how’s life? Oh! How is Doctor Daddy doing?”

You glance at the door, you thought you heard a noise.

“Doctor Daddy’s doing fine,” you say, trying not to laugh. “And… yeah. Life’s good. I have no complaints.”

“Ooh you have that voice.”

“What voice?”

“The ‘I’m in love and I don’t know what to do with myself’ voice.”

“I do not!” You gasp, then pause. “Okay, maybe I do.”

“Oh my God.” Diana gasps. “You’re in love with Jack.”

You sigh, a smile etched on your face. “Yeah, I guess I do love him. Ugh, I mean, how can I not? He’s sweet, and good, and—God, Diana, I love him for—for the man he already is, and for the man he wants to be. He makes me feel like I’m home. Even when he’s being annoying, I still want him next to me.”

You laugh softly, running your fingers through your hair. “I’m really in love with him. I guess I’m doomed, huh?”

“Now why would you be doomed, sweets?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, turning around and clutching your phone. Jack’s leaning against the back of the couch, bag dropped by his feet, smirking faintly—curious and amused.

“Diana… I’m… gonna call you back.”

“OMG DID DOCTOR DADDY HEAR YOU—” Click. You hang up, but Jack’s already heard the nickname he apparently has.

You can feel your ears getting hot, and you’ll bet your face is red by now.

“How much did you hear?” you ask, not meeting his eyes.

He shrugs, stepping closer. “Only the important parts. Do you really mean everything you said?”

You freeze, fumbling. “Look, I know it’s early. Maybe too soon. We don’t have to talk about it. We can pretend you didn’t hear—”

“Say it again.” He steps closer.

You glance up. He’s right in front of you now, arms sliding gently around your waist.

Your hands rest on his chest, grounding yourself. “I—I love you.”

And then Jack pulls you in, a smile now on his face. “I love you, too.”

Then he kisses you like he’s never done before. Passionate yet slow, he’s taking his time to taste you, devour you, claim you as his. Because there’s no way he’s letting you go. Ever.

You pull away shortly after, breathless.

The smirk comes back to his lips and he teases you, “Doctor Daddy, huh?”

“Oh my God.” You groan, pressing your face into his chest. “Never speak of it again.”

“Call me that when we’re having sex and see what happens.” He whispers, voice low near your ear, sending you shivers.

“Jack!”