#the fact that they largely have just makes my skin crawl.

[orcelito]

Hmmm

The increase in public comfort of telling people (even random strangers) to kill themselves as a "joke" is pretty disconcerting, actually.

[tinystepsforward]

What do you think the chances are that Mud Pit is gonna be ousted by the people who need Automattic to have good will in the eyes of the community to actually get anything out of this site and wattpad

I know it’s probably low but the fact that he’s acting like a poorer Elon Musk is making my skin crawl and making me hope that a second lawsuit hits the company

ok here's the thing. he is meant to be on sabbatical. automattic gives employees a three-month paid sabbatical every 5 years, so that they can have a break from the product they work on and come back rested and with a new perspective.

matt has never taken one before now. he spent the entire leadup to his sabbatical posting increasingly wild shit in public channels at the company (like the chess thing, or trying to get people to buy a friend's product, or the entire fracas with taking over the wordpress.org twitter account. wordpress.org is an independent non-profit that he is not the ceo of).

i mention this because people were hoping (including me) that he really would actually log off, have a chill time (or, idk, whatever kind of time CEOs who go off the grid bc they got flooded in at burning man like to have), and let the interim CEO get a chance to do a better job. that would help the board make a decision based on data.

he was very clearly spiraling before he even left, and then within the first few days of Company Sanctioned Log Off Time he's pulled multiple Classic Matt things on multiple parts of the company before showing up here. this whole thing is so deeply unfunny but it also is a bit of a tom and jerry or looney tunes bit, where i can only imagine HR or Legal is chasing him around the various accounts/platforms with a comically large inflatable baseball bat and he's just evading them.

he can't do that in person, but he still gets a lot of leeway generally. at the last division meetup (irl meeting for employees, flown from all over the world) he showed up twitchy and exhausted and hyped in a way that was very familiar to me from flatmates who used to steal and snort my adhd medication, then proceeded to drink so much over the course of an evening answering questions from his employees that he had to be firmly babysat off the stage and walked back into the lobby of the hotel to sober up.

i made eye contact with him that night, before he dropped his head back into his hands. two people relatively high up in the company were sitting with him, silently watching him as he struggled to sober up. it wasn't the first drunk shenanigan of his i witnessed at one of these, and this is purely opinion but i have to assume that his current behavior is the result of suddenly having time on his hands to have the world's longest bender and post through it.

back to your question: i do not know if what he's done is enough to get the board to remove him. i wish it didn't have to come to this to hope that they will. but we'll find out.

[mrsoharaa]

because i was inspired by a tiktok lol

You and Miguel get into a silly little argument before getting ready for bed. After finishing up your nightly facial routine, you crawl yourself into your shared bed. Pulling the comforting sheets over your body with slight assertiveness and aggression, wishing nothing but the pure serenity and peace slumber that was calling to you.

Exhaling one last huff, you felt the bed dip and creak on the opposite side of your own. Overwhelming heat basking off from his looming body, searing breaths prickling over the shell of your ear as wide, large hands gently caress the mount of your covered hips.

You were still angry with him, wanted nothing more but to forget the dumb argument and drift off into a sweet, sweet trance. To numb all of your senses and irrational plundering thoughts.

But一 Miguel was making it that much harder to simply forget.

His lingering touch always made you mold beneath his comforting, torrid graze. Soft, low whispers of feeble apologies in his Spanish tongue and cute pet names always tugging profusely at your conflicted heart.

No, you shouldn't give in. You were mad at him and he needs to know that.

Stand your ground.

Don't give in.

You try your absolute best to compose yourself into giving in to his subtle attempts of wooing you to his luring charm. You could still tell he was still on edge by the tensity in his muscles and heavy breaths, but the fact that he was derailing his pride and ego just to sincerely apologize and get closer to you made you question your own prideful distributions.

You tried.

But the moment his lips were seamed against your ear lobe, hands wrapping around your body to pull you back into his towering frame as he draws delicate shapes amongst the thick sheet shielding your cute belly一 all sense of pride and determination immediately deteriorated from your puttied mind.

"Lo siento mucho, mi amor... No quise decir nada de lo que dije antes...." he whispers huskily into your ear, feeling your body intensely tense under his grasp. He kisses the outskirt of your ringing ear, tenderly. ("I'm so sorry, my love… I didn't mean anything I said before...")

"let me hold you...I just want to hold you, hermosa" he clings onto you more desperately, strong arms tugging you much closer into his firm chest as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. Warm breaths permeating into your warm flesh.

Instantly, you turn over to face him, cup his face and push your lips onto his with such vigor and passion. The taste of his full, sweet lips melding with yours blinding your petty decisions and tampered with your heart and mind.

Your fingers softly caress the solidity of his jaw, pressing your body into his as you hum lowly against his addicting, silken lips. Feeling him immediately, promptly follow your lead, you carefully pull away to take a breath. Allowing him to do the same, but with a tinge of distraught and dejection craning to his hefty breath.

Lidded large, round eyes of mocha following your every motion, finally connecting with your own wandering eyes.

"How can I stay mad at you when you talk to me like that, Miguel?...god, I hate that you have that sort of power over me" you breathe heavily, ghosting your lips just centimeters away from his as you feel the pads of his fingers slip into the sheeted cover and onto the bare of your torrid skin. Your own digits subtly grazing over his warm cheeks.

He gently places his forehead against yours, delicately tugs at your hips and inches closer to your lips.

"I could say the same thing about you, cariño..." he whisks mindfully.

"Just let me embrace you...I want to wrap myself around you and hold you...let me love you like you deserve, mi corazón"

[springlockscars]

white cotton (w. afton/fem!reader)

pairing: william afton | steve raglan/fem!reader content tags: somnophilia, mutual masturbation, grinding, panties, clit rubbing, pussy rubbing, no penetration, (age gap, size kink, praise kink, panty kink) summary: william comes home from a hard day at work and just can't resisist the way you look sleeping in his bed, wearing cute little white panties. word count: 1,932 read on AO3

18+ content below cut. minors do not interact.

note: I was working on this, then I read this post by @dilfkiss and it just tipped me over the edge. enjoy! ♡

William comes home to find you asleep on his bed, only wearing one of his t-shirts that was permanently stained with machine oil no matter how many times he washed it, and a pair of simple white, cotton panties.

You told him you’d wait up for him when he called you from work on his lunch break. He told you all about how stressful today’s workload had been, “I’ll wait up for you… make you feel better when you come home,” you’d promised.

The clock on the nightstand glowing 11:49pm. William didn’t blame you for falling asleep. In fact, seeing you sprawled out on his sheets, so vulnerable…

Watching you sleep from the end of the bed he adjusted the tent in his trousers, the fabric straining against the zipper. William, deciding to disregard his arousal for now, perched carefully on the edge of the bed and leaned over you. He ghosted his fingertips over the soft skin of your outer thigh. You were warm underneath his touch.

Coming slightly closer, he dared to increase the contact with your skin. Smoothing his palm up and down your thigh, gently easing your legs open more and more as he went. He sighs at the feeling of your skin on his, touching you alone is enough to send his blood rushing south. William’s eyes are laser focused on the mound between your legs. All he can think of is touching you there, gathering your own arousal on his fingers, tasting you.

William crawls further up the bed towards you, movements reminiscent of a predator stalking its prey. He settles on his knees in between your open legs, resting both of his large hands on your hips and stroking across the hem of your panties that rests on your lower abdomen below your bellybutton.

You shift in your sleep, spreading your legs a little more and letting out a barely intelligible moan. Anyone else would’ve missed it, but William’s ears have become finely attuned to every single one of your little sounds. He runs his thumbs lower, pressing against the soft flesh hidden beneath the cotton. He smirks when he feels you twitch.

“Does that feel good, my little bunny?” voice low and husky.

William traces his middle finger down your clothed slit, a feather-light touch with his eyes locked on your face. His member throbbing inside his trousers when he sees your eyebrows scrunch together.

He smooths his palm against the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, running it down your leg and stopping at your knee, he gently lifting your leg to prop it up on the bed and hold it there. This new position allowing him even more access to the prize he desires.

William rests his other hand right on top of your mound, thumb pressing, circling against your clit. Goosebumps spread all over your skin and your muscles twitch. While remaining completely asleep, your hips seem to move on their own accord as you press harder against William’s hand.

Your mouth falls open, breathing staggered. He lays down, chest flat against the bed and places a kiss to your core. William slides his thumb down against your covered slit again, lips curling into a grin when he sees your little panties darken in colour right over your entrance. You were wet for him. Becoming desperately aroused in your sleep.

Resuming his motions against your clit, he licks a stripe up and down, already able to taste you through the cotton. You shift and grasp the pillow by your head, the movements catching his attention and filling his chest with pride. With the sheets tangled in your hands you grind down further against the pressure of his tongue and fingers. The most delightful moans spilling from your pretty lips.

The texture of the fabric becomes smoother against William’s tongue, his own saliva mixing with your arousal to saturate it through to the point it clings to every dip and curve of your cunt. His tongue travels upwards to give the same attention to your clit, soaking the fabric there too. He can see the colour of your flesh through the material now.

William grinds his rock-solid cock against the mattress in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the tension. A low growl reverberates through his chest when it isn’t enough. It’s not you.

Placing one last kiss to your swollen clit through the fabric, he slides off the bed momentarily to free himself from the confines of his clothes. William’s throbbing member slaps his stomach as soon as he pulls off his underwear. He feels clammy all of a sudden, wrenching off his tie and shirt to join the other garments disregarded on the ground.

The cool night air caressing his naked, hot skin. He crawls back onto the bed and positions himself right between your legs. Taking his length which was already leaking pre-come in hand, he pumps it to the sight of you before him. Still sleeping soundly, only now more flushed and dishevelled than before.

William slides a thumb over his tip before pressing it right against your clothed cunt, it glides over your slick panties from entrance to clit.

A guttural moan escapes his lips, “fuck…”

He drags it back down, then presses again. Sliding up and down, up and down so deliciously over your slick, soaked panties.

Your hips twitch each time his bulbous head catches your clit, your breathing heavy, soft whimpers escaping your lips, hands twisting and grasping the sheets.

William, emboldened by his lust, grasps one of your thighs in his hand, pulling you down onto his cock as he uses your drenched core for his pleasure. His own breathing laboured as he thrusts against you.

You become acutely aware of your own arousal before you even open your eyes. Chills travel through your body despite feeling burning hot. You moan and attempt to twist your hips, not sure if you’re trying to move yourself away from or towards the stimulation.

When your eyes flicker open, you’re met with the most divine sight. William, breathless and needy, pressing his cock desperately against your cunt. You can’t help but smile.

“Will,” you breathe, reaching towards him.

His eyes snap up to yours. He was too lost in himself to even realise you had finally woken up. He wastes no time and leans down over you, capturing your mouth in a heated, open-mouthed kiss.

His long tongue immediately pressing against yours, teeth clashing as his hand coming from your thigh to hold the side of your face, leaving his other one continue to pressing and grinding his cock against you. William kisses you hard, claiming every inch of your mouth as his. You notice the taste of your own arousal on his tongue, making you wonder just exactly what you had missed while you were unconscious.

The combination of his assault on your lips and stimulation from his cock leave you gasping for air, spreading your legs further for him, letting out a stream of curse words and grasping desperately at his bare shoulders.

William moves down to lick and nibble at your neck, leaving small marks and bruises in his wake. “Feel good baby?”

All you can do is whine and arch your back into his touch, still slightly hazy from the clutches of sleep.

“Need you so bad baby girl… you feel so good, do you see what you do to me?”

William leans back and admires his handywork between your legs. He presses his tip against your entrance, panties still acting as a barrier between your skin. But he can’t bare it anymore.

He slides both thumbs across the slick expanse before slipping them under the fabric. He presses his length underneath the seam of your panties, sliding the tip towards your clit. The movement smooth, he groans again as you press even closer, desperate for the friction to resume.

Looking down to where his cock is resting underneath the material. William’s jaw goes slack, he can see the burning red head of his length is completely visible through your sodden panties. He experimentally slips the tip back and forth over the swollen nub of your clit. A strangled cry escapes your lips, along with William’s name. Your walls clench and your hips stutter.

“Keep still for me honey… fuck.”

He glides back and forth over your slick clit, groaning with every thrust. With your panties holding his member firmly in place, he grips your thighs to pin you down to the bed.

William ruts against you recklessly, completely absorbed in the feeling of his cock sliding back and forth over your well lubricated cunt, completely visible through the fabric of your panties made transparent by your arousal.

He presses the fabric down at the sides with his thumbs, making the space tighter, causing more friction. If there’s one thing William loves more than your body, it’s your underwear. Many a time has he brought himself to climax by stroking his cock with the delicate pieces of fabric, sometimes even sneaking a pair into work in his documents bag. Always on hand to get him through the day.

With the assistance of you, he feels the stress of today melt away. With every thrust against you he climbs higher and higher.

You, writhing on the bed, completely at the mercy of his hips, feel your own orgasm rising closer and closer too. The cries spilling from your lips intensifying.

“You close baby? You gonna come in your panties for me?” William was breathless.

“P-please,” you whine desperately.

“Do you want me to come in your panties too? We can do it together.”

“…m’so close,” your hips stutter and shake, being held in place by his large, rough hands.

He grips you harder and fucks against you with reckless abandon. Towering over you as moans shudder from his mouth, until his hips twitch hard against yours, cock straining inside the fabric of your panties, and he comes hard inside them. William going rigid against you as he comes undone.

With the added pressure and feeling of him twitching against your clit, you arch your back and cry out, your voice cracking with the force. Your own orgasm rips through you, walls spasming and mind going blank as you release right alongside William.

He leans down over you to rest his head against your chest as both of you pant, and twitch, and come down from your highs together.

You finally relax your grip on the poor bedsheets and with aching fingers, run your hand through William’s hair. He sighs contently in your arms, stroking your skin in small circles.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” you whisper.

Both of your bodies shake as he chuckles, “are you kidding?” He asks.

Placing a kiss on your abdomen before sitting back up, he gazes down at you spread out so prettily on his bed.

“Do you see what you do to me?” William shakes his head with another chuckle, “look at the mess we’ve made…” He looks down to where your bodies are still connected, your legs parted, his hands resting on your thighs. You lean up on your elbows to see your once stark white cotton panties now soaked through with both of your come.

William pulls his softening length out from underneath the fabric, resting it on top and smearing his come all over you.

“O-oh…” he moans at the overstimulation, “so pretty for me…” his eyes half closed.

You feel his hand grip your thigh tighter.

It’s going to be a long night.

[himbocoups]

˗ˋˏ CRAWL ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

SYNOPSIS: If there is anything about the Devil, it’s that he always keeps his promises. The problem is, he’s mad that you seemed to have forgotten his promise. Crawling for the Devil is the least of your problems.

PAIRING: devil!yjh x reader (afab)

GENRE: fantasy | smut, pwp

TAGS: featuring: sub!ksy, artist!xmh, housemate!jww | auditory voyeurism, pegging (m receiving), fingering, hickies, face sitting, oral + face fucking (m receiving), tail play, degradation, crawling, spanking, swallowing, toys, manhandling, pnv

WC: 5.2k

A/N: hello! currently working on my thesis so writing this was a way to blow off steam. I also wasn't going to write another devil!jeonghan fic so thank you to @whenyourenothere for convincing me! this can be read as a standalone fic or a part two of red horn. special s/o to @junkissed for helping me figure out the tags for this fic bc there's a lot <33 - nu ♡ | tagging: @jjeongddol

himbocoups's masterlist

It is a rusty metallic foldable chair that you sit on that squeaks and creaks even with the slightest movement. You try to readjust your posture — definitely not sure if you should sit up straight with your back against the dusty chair or with your hands folded neatly on the edge of the devil’s table in front of you. In fact, you’re not sure whether or not you are supposed to touch the devil’s office desk, so you choose to lead with the prior option. And the metal chair reacts, drawing out a long and uncomfortable creeeeak as you shift your weight backward. 

Maybe you were just lucky last time, led by the Devil to believe that maybe you were worthy of being somebody special in this vast world. In this underworld where the universe’s menagerie of creatures visit with last hopes of finding a solution, you are finally coming to a conclusion that you’re only but a speck of dust in a world that knows no bounds. 

The small office room feels humid and stuffy; its previously supposedly beige wallpapers are now a darker shade of brown that peels in large patches to reveal dirty and white painted-over bricks. Splotches of mold line the edges of the patches, and you find yourself wishing that mold spores aren’t a thing that exists in Hell. But it’s Hell, and anybody who dealt with mold before knows that the process of treating mold is basically hell. The navy colored carpet looks old and worn out. Several flat and black pieces of gum stick to it, already dried and surprisingly shiny in color. 

On the desk and pushed to the corner is an old and vintage PC, the kind with the square monitors and the back that protrudes outwards. You can feel the heat from the computer console blow against your skin and leave a faint burnt metallic scent in its wake. Not sure what to do or if you’re supposed to do anything, you sit in silence as the devil behind the computer screen slowly types and moves his mouse on top of his mousepad to fill out the information he has in the giant manilla folder spread out in front of him. 

You retract your lips inwards and bite the gummy and smooth underside of your lips while you stare at the stack of business cards pointed toward you. Craig. His name is Craig with no last name. Demon. So you’re wrong. He’s neither a devil nor is he the Devil with a capital “D” whom you were previously introduced to. He’s just office worker Craig, the demon you were assigned today. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He asks you while lifting his mouse from the mousepad before setting it back down to readjust the roller ball underneath. Not once does he turn to look at you or make eye contact with you.

“A little,” you reply feeling awkward and a bit burdened by the question for almost no reason at all. 

He nods his head while tracing his long and crooked finger against a line on the stack of papers in front of him before typing in the data in his computer. He sniffs and snorts his phlegm while clearing his throat. It was just small talk; there is no way an office worker in Hell would care about your wellbeing. You find yourself wondering if central cooling is a thing in Hell while trying to peek at the contents of your surprisingly large folder with no avail.

This room, this office worker, this situation…none of this is the same as the beautiful and luxurious office space you imagined stepping in for the second time. Long gone is the plush gray Persian rug and the mahogany desk that belongs to the owner himself. And your large file that is spread out before the demon you’re assigned, you cannot help but think about the event or even events that could have possibly added to the flimsy pieces of paper the Devil flipped through when he first met you. And the thought of Craig reading your file only causes your face to heat up in embarrassment. 

“Um.” You force yourself to break the awkward silence. “May I use the restroom before we start? You still haven’t asked me what I’m here for, and I think I accidentally came under the assumption that I would be assigned to the same person. I’ll be quick in case you need me immediately.” 

“Down the hall,” the demon mumbles while hunching his back to allow himself to squint closely at the screen in front of him. 

Picking yourself up from your seat, you basically fling yourself out of the office while thinking about the fresh air that awaits you in the hallway. No thoughts about the demon nor suspicions regarding the fact that the demon didn’t really point you towards a particular route to the restroom floated in your mind. Coming here was a mistake, and you are willing to face any repercussions for walking out of a meeting with a demon if it means having to save yourself from the embarrassment of having that demon read your file regarding your previous request with the Devil. 

However, what awaits you on the other side of the door isn’t the hallway from which you entered the office you were in. Instead, you find yourself in an oddly familiar bedroom. Light navy blue floor-length curtains cover the window with their original pleats from when it was first purchased about a year ago still intact. Pushed against the window is the full-sized bed with the orange-stained wooden headboard and the mess of frost blue blankets haphazardly strewn on the mattress. The soft and rotund tiger plush lays threateningly close to the edge of the bed, able to be toppled over even with the slightest movement on the mattress. 

The owner of this bedroom is in the middle of it all. Kwon Soonyoung kneels on his bed with his legs spread and his ass up. He already looks so fucked out. His left cheek is pressed against his mattress while he looks back at you with his hands tied behind his back. The position he’s in doesn’t seem comfortable at all, but his expressions, demeanor, and soft whimpers coming out of his mouth digress. 

“Please,” he practically begs you from his pitiful position. You can see how his lean thighs tremble while he struggles against his restraints. He wails with such desperation, “I want it. I want it so badly,” so much that it almost sounds as if he is going to cry from your lack of action. 

You don’t realize it until now, but an object manifests itself in your hands. A thick and ribbed silicone dildo, one that you’re too familiar with, is being stroked by you unconsciously. You feel the girth of it and how the lube it’s coated with prepares the toy for insertion. 

Then comes the teasing. You find the words naturally flowing out of your mouth: “Conciseness in your language, Soonie. What is it that you want?”

But the thing is, you know what comes next. You know what his response is as you slowly make your way over to him.

“Peg me. I’m ready,” he gasps while a tiny translucent pearl gathers at the tip of his dangling cock. “Blow my back out.”

You already know exactly how many times you will yourself to slap his ass to prep him before his legs give in. You already know how lewdly he would gasp as you insert the tip of the toy, how he would bury his face in his blankets as he moans out loud. You find yourself repeating actions as if being controlled by a machine, yet you don’t hate it. You’re magically stuck in a limbo between reality and déjà vu, presently recreating the past. 

You feel his walls sucking in the toy, taking it in so well. Like a special switch in an escape room, once you grab onto his aching cock to stroke him while you peg him, the scene immediately switches.

Naked and in the middle of a studio apartment that reeks of paint fumes and essential oils, you look at yourself through the standing mirror in front of you. Despite the fan blowing in the background and the apartment windows propped open, you don’t feel cold at all. Instead, your skin pricks with heat as the sensation of arousal gathers itself at your core and spreads to the tips of your fingers. Beneath you is a mop of platinum blonde hair of the artist who sits by your feet. 

Xu Minghao gently grabs you by the waist so that he can angle you so that you can get a better view of his artwork on your body. You remember that with him, you always felt safe and appreciated. He traces his slender finger along the length of your thigh, bringing it up to your ass. He makes you feel valuable through your soreness, the entirety of your right ass cheek covered in his carefully placed hickies. Your pussy throbs with eagerness, waiting to be filled before all of the juices run dry. 

“My work of art,” he mumbles before he brings his lips to your ass cheek. In the open space where the bruises connect, he bites it with his teeth and swirls the flesh in between his teeth with his tongue. His left hand makes its way to your opening, thumbing the smooth nub that immediately makes your knees buckle. So he positions himself behind you, strongly wrapping his long right arm around your legs to keep you steady as he nips and sucks while he takes your time to circle your clit before he finally slips his finger in your core as if the action is like second nature to him. 

Pleasure builds in your soul and makes your body scream with pleasure as Minghao meticulously massages your inner walls, stroking and tapping your spongy insides as you writhe in his arm. He adds another finger, filling you up and building your high, scissoring you while you moan his name as your liquid drips down his fingers and collects in his palm. 

“Done,” he breathes as he shifts his body so that he sits between your open legs. You can feel how his warm breath hits your skin as he speaks with his lips nearly on your cunt, “Flower on your ass. Sweet and puffy rose sitting on my face.”

Before you can re-experience all of what it felt like to sit on Minghao’s face like a chair, you find yourself in another room. This time, you’re in your own place in the room next to yours. From the placement of the desk to how the bed is pushed against the corner of the room, flush against the wall, the layout of this room directly mirrors your own. There are a lot more notecard art prints taped to the wall than you last remembered. The LED lights built into his mechanical keyboard softly pulses as it switches colors. And there is the all too familiar smell of his laundry detergent and dryer sheets that fills his room — he had just unloaded his laundry from the dryer, but didn’t have time to fold his clothes as they still sit in the laundry basket placed in front of his closet. 

You’re not sure if you’re allowed to be here at all. It’s not often that you find yourself in Jeon Wonwoo’s bedroom, but when you do, you’re usually near the threshold of his door. And to be sitting on his plush gray sheets, you think it feels too intrusive. Still, you’re not sure if you should move from your comfortable position despite the fact that you’re not close enough to him to enter his bedroom just to chill without him present. And the worst of all, you’re pretty sure you’re still soaked from your previous encounter with Minghao. And that you’re still definitely in hell because there is no way you would ever allow yourself to feel this close to coming on Wonwoo’s bedsheets without his permission. 

Two soft knocks on the door diverts your attention to the closed door. 

“Yn,” Wonwoo's deep and tender voice calls your name from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay? I’m coming in.”

The thing is, this occurrence with Wonwoo had never happened before. You’re stuck in a scenario far different from the other two. So, you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when you saw him walk through his bedroom door. Instead of the tall and built housemate that you sometimes find yourself secretly fawning over, is the sinister yet charming man you haven’t seen in ages. 

Yoon Jeonghan steps into your housemate’s bedroom with the irresistible charm of his while flaunting an oversized black t-shirt whose sleeves almost touch his elbows. The Devil is here, and he knows everything that you’ve been hiding from him.

He slams the door behind him and takes long and fast paced strides toward the bed until his figure towers over you. And the Devil himself smirks as he purposely leans down until his bangs dangle in front of his forehead and your entire upper body is pressed against Wonwoo’s sheets. His right hand presses into the space next to your left shoulder as he looks down at you with a pitiful look on his face. 

“What?” He almost scoffs at you in his beautiful light and airy voice. “You didn’t once stop to think that maybe all of this was my doing? That you would relive your memories with who was it? Kwon Soonyoung and Xu Minghao? You’re more fucking stupid than I remembered. Were you fucked too hard by Seungcheol that you lost a few braincells? Or was it with Joshua when you accidentally hit your head too many times against the inside of his car door?”

He cocks his head to the side as he grabs your chin with his left hand. Cold to the touch, this miniscule action has you struggling to catch your breath. He tilts your head left and right as if to carefully inspect what is his. 

“My pet,” he coos while letting go of your chin. Where his cool fingertips touched your skin now pricks with burning heat. And he takes his time to kneel on the bed while still hovering over your body. “This is the bedroom of the guy you get off to? You don’t think I know about how often you touch yourself while he fucks the people he brings over to this bedroom? And now you’re horny again? You want to fuck on the bed of the guy you want so deep in your gut?”

As stupid as you are, you find yourself shell shocked and in awe at the Devil on top of you so much that you unconsciously nod in agreement to every single humiliatingly detailed sentence that comes out of his mouth. The topic isn’t about Jeonghan and you, but the sexual tension established between the two of you knocks on your pussy and makes your mouth go dry. Fuck, maybe he is right. Fucking other men over the span of time since you last saw Jeonghan could never amount to what you felt when you were fucked by the Devil. Lost in your delusions, you could only get off to what you couldn’t have. And when the world’s most untouchable creature is currently so close to you that the collar of his black tee hangs so low that you can peek through the hole to see the expanse of his lean body, the warning signals your brain is desperately trying to send you are unfortunately dispelled by the eagerness of wanting to take a second dip. 

“How much do you want me?” 

“Enough,” you reply while staring straight into his eyes.

He wastes no time by pulling out his cock from his sweats as you sit up from your previous position. Cold and hard are the two adjectives you can use to describe the feeling of him tracing his cock along your open lips. But he won’t let you touch him. He won’t let you kiss him. He lets you starve as your eyes flitter between his cock on your mouth and his deceivingly beautiful face as he pumps his cock. And he taps his member on your lips, telling you to open your mouth wider. And you can feel him slip himself through the hole you made, how the veins on the underside feel against the smooth and warm inner part of your lips. You’re hungry. Starving. Basically wishing that he’ll let you close your mouth around him and suck him to the point you’re reminded that he had no soul to begin with. 

So when he commands you to suck, you do as he says. You lick the tip, wetting and coating it with your saliva. Swirling your tongue around the length, you warm up the member in your mouth as more of his salty taste coats your tongue. Then you close your lips around him in a perfect “O” while shifting yourself on your knees so you can take him better. 

You suck, hollowing your cheeks while gliding your mouth along his length. God, how you bend so easily for him. Your eyelids flutter as you continue to take him along his curved length. And moan while your mouth is plugged, a muffled moan of ecstasy when you feel him twitch while sandwiched between your lips. To make matters worse, whenever you look up at him as you edge yourself to take him in further, you see that he looks perfectly composed. 

“Wider, slut,” he tells you while pumping what you can’t take. His hand is on your jaw again, and he squeezes your jaw between his long fingers so that it stays open. Your pool of saliva escapes the corners of your lips and trails along your chin before it drops on Wonwoo’s sheets. And he fucks himself in your mouth by manually moving your head along his length, barely giving you enough time to flatten your tongue against the whole of his length. He pushes his length into your mouth and groans when you gag. 

He fucks your mouth to find satisfaction and get off on your uncomfortableness, watching you moan while struggling to keep up with his pace. His hand leaves your jaw and attaches itself to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of hair as he uses it to swing your head back and forth like the ping pong ball attached to a paddle toy. The two of you know that the rate in which he fucks your mouth is too much for you, yet you find pleasure in being used by the higher being while he fucks your mouth to the sounds of you struggling against his cock and the wet smack of your lips when you spit him out after he comes. You swallow what you have and hurriedly wipe the liquid white off your chin and lips. You watch him tearfully as he finishes with his cock in his hand and his seed on the bedsheets and your thighs. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you stutter as his angry red length bounces in front of your teary eyes. You want to lean in again to put him between your lips before he can punish you. You want him to call you names and make you feel bad about yourself. You want him to pump himself while he looks at you attacking the slit on his tip like how you want him to eat you out. You want to swirl your tongue around the spongy smooth surface before using the tip of your tongue to dig into the area in which his precum emits. 

Your thighs rub together to ease the unsatisfied throb of your core. You need stimulation from him in any way. Just a kiss. A touch. Anything from Jeonghan would probably edge you to completion, but he doesn’t want to help you. And you don’t want to give up this opportunity with him.  

“I’m s-sorry Jeonghan. Jeonghan, I’m sorry. Please…,” you plead as you watch him look down on you with a face of disappointment. You want to physically reach out to him to tell him you’ll do better, to tell him to give you another chance. But you see him take a few steps backwards and you’re sent into a state of frenzied lust and panic. You’ve never been so desperate to please, to complete a request from a man. You’re so deluded by the Devil that it feels as if your entire world will end if you don't please him or hold yourself up to his standards. 

Gone is the man who called you his Angel the first time he met you. In front of you is the Devil who willfully draws you in, who has you stumbling off of your housemate’s bed just so that you can crawl your way over to him in your blissful haze. The more Yoon Jeonghan steps backwards, the more your vision tunnels on his body as you crawl across the bedroom floor, not caring about how uncomfortable the hardwood floor is underneath your palms and your knees. 

When you come to your senses, you realize that it’s a different kind of hardwood underneath your body. Your naked body is displayed on all fours on Jeonghan’s large mahogany office desk like an object on display. You don’t even remember if you had your clothes on in the first place. But it feels as if the Devil suddenly wanted to bring one of the several trinkets he has displayed along his office wall to play with at his desk. You were confident that you could show him how much you’ve changed since you last saw him. Yet he has a way of proving how wrong you are. You’re no match for the Devil, and he intends to keep it that way. And in a way, to be displayed in front of him, it makes you feel as if you’re one of his prized possessions. 

Your eyes watch him as he circles around his desk while he looks you up and down. He’s no longer in his t-shirt and sweats, but in a classic white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of black tailored slacks. Golden and thin-wired circular glasses sit on the bridge of his nose. Protruding from the top of his head are his red horns. And this time, the long and forked tail that he previously kept hidden swishes behind his back. He brings the length of his long tail up to his left hand before tightly coiling it around the palm of his right hand like a long red rope. And one look from him through his glasses, a satisfying smirk and an arched brow, you know that you’re done for.

He takes the tip of his tail and traces it along your naked body, causing your body to jolt and shudder in response. He uses it like a teacher’s pointing stick, the tip running smoothly along the curvature of your body. He’s purposely toying with you, watching you try not to squirm every time he traces his tail anywhere near your glistening cunt. 

“Do you think it’s too stuffy in here?” He jests while planting himself at the edge of his desk behind your ass. It hits you that you heard this question before, and only now do you realize that the Devil has been playing with you all along. You feel him trace his tail along your cunt, letting a prong trace along your folds as if it were his finger. 

“Fuck!” you gasp out loud. “That was you?”

You feel the stinging pain on your ass after you hear the crisp slap ring into the air. Your stomach tightens as your pussy clenches in response.

“Shut the fuck up Yn,” he grunts. “Cumsluts can’t talk.”

You moan when you feel his tail go underneath a fold, causing your thighs to go weak. But he pulls his tail away from your core to tap it against your outer thigh. Hold yourself up, the action seems to say. So you gather your strength to maintain your position, ignoring the soreness in your knees and the fact that he’s been with you ever since you stepped into “Craig’s” office. When you spread your thighs, your sensitive cunt opens up like a flower in bloom, warm and wet against the stale office air. Jeonghan doesn’t ravish its beauty like how Minghao often does. He doesn’t want to. 

Although your forearms are tired and your thighs burn from exhaustion, your pussy pulsates like it’s its own living entity — full of life and eager to be filled. Right now, only Jeonghan can grant these conditions. And you’re willing to wait even if your horniness drives you mad. 

He firmly grabs your ass, angling it so that your glistening pussy is in full view. 

“From this point on, I’m going to make you scream my name like a requiem made for angels.” He forcefully pulls your ass back so that it’s pressed against his stomach while he leans over your figure so that his mouth is near your left ear. “I’ll ruin you if you try to crawl away. But I’d like to see you try.”

You’re pretty sure you already soaked his shirt in the place where your core was pressed against the fabric. It amazes you how he easily flips your body so that you’re laying flat on his desk with your legs propped up against the wood. Any further back, you would be in a mating press. 

You wonder if he can read your mind, how much you want to ride him up and down his length and for him to coat you so much that you’re left with soft and silken skin. Even if he tied your hands behind your back, you would still go on your knees to unbuckle his belt with your teeth. 

He’s been sensing your urgency since you summoned him. Looking at your sopping cunt and dragging the tip of his tail along your clit, he decides to ease the heat in your stomach by slowly pushing his tail into your core. You moan in response as you slowly adjust to its size, feeling everything from the way it fills your walls to the way it is as smooth as a glass dildo. You shudder at the way he pulls it out of you for a mere second before pushing it back into you, causing your stomach to twitch and your thighs to close around his hand.

He leaves his tail in you while he pries your thigh apart. 

“What’s the use in thinking about mounting my cock if you can’t even keep your legs open? What’s an ego if you can’t even embody it correctly?” he mocks you before bringing down the hand that once held his tail against your heat. The impact feels as hot as the way your arousal burns. You cry out in elated pleasure; one convulsion is enough to push the tail halfway out of you. “Useless excuse of a human,” he laughs at you before grunting as he pushes his tail back inside, twisting it as he plunges it in and out of you. “You’re all talk, yet you bend at the thought of me.” 

Cock-deprived, you clench around his tail as you gasp for air. Your pussy sucks the tail in and refuses to let go, making you mewl for Jeonghan to fuck you hard while he thrusts his tail in and out of you. “Nn-nh. Jeonghan! Ah- Yes. Yes. Fuck me. Use me.” You squeal and moan out loud as your high builds at an incredible speed. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your back arches off the desk and you feel as if you’re levitating. “I’m gonna come.” 

“Come.”

You cream at his command, coating his instrument in a thick and white sheen. Your stomach folds inwards as you whimper from the pleasure. He pulls his tail out of you while coaxing more out of you by lightly tapping your nub as you convulse. Overstimulated, you come another time, babbling his name and telling him how good you feel as you squirt against his slender fingers. 

“Look at you,” he coos. “You made a mess on my table only from my tail. What’s going to happen when you take my cock? You’ve already folded yourself into a fucking fetal positon, Yn.” 

You can feel your liquid drip from your pussy to your ass before it pools on the table underneath you. You feel so relieved and relaxed from your high, but there is still this insatiable need for the Devil to fuck you.

When he does, his cock fills you and squeezes you dry. His head rubs against the top of your walls while his veins work like a ribbed toy — adding more pleasure than you have ever experienced. Fingers digging into your thighs, he pulls out and slams back into you, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You want to scream out his name as you clench around his length, sucking him in and never wanting to let go. But the image in front of you is a sight to behold, leaving you breathless as you watch it unfold.

You watch him through your half-lidded eyes, the scene of him as he throws his head back. You can see the way he swallows your cum that coats the tail he sucks in his mouth, how his Adam’s apple bobs when the liquid travels down his throat. You’re nothing but an instrument for his pleasure, and he sure knows how to show it. 

He bucks his length into you so that it kisses the deepest parts of you, causing you to gasp and quake in your stomach. And he keeps it there with his legs pressed against your ass and the underside of your thighs. Slowly grinding against you, he revels in how you choke from the size of him and how you clench and unclench as if you’re struggling to hold on. 

He pops the tail out of his mouth, a long string of saliva like a web between the tip of his prong and his tongue. He looks like a character from a lewd illustration, so beautiful yet so deadly. And you find yourself into another dimension as he thrusts further into you, grunting as he watches you scream for him.

“Fuck!,” you scream as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re going to tear me apart.”

“Gonna,” he grunts between every thrust, increasing his pace with every word. “Make. You. Feel. Everything.” 

Your entire body trembles with pleasure, your breathing erratic. He continues to thrust into you, talking with his sweet tongue about how your slick and puffy pussy drives him insane. 

“There’s nobody in this world who can fuck like I do,” he reminds you. “Now squeeze me hard as I cum in you. We’re going to be making a new type of liquid.”

Copyright © 2023 Himbocoups. All rights reserved.

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 11

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, pregnancy symptoms, gun violence

a/n: An ENDLESS thank you to @the-ginger-hedge-witch for having my back on gun lingo (me: American Citizenship=REVOKED) and for everything else. You're the best. ❤

Series Masterlist

--

“Are you just letting me win because I’m pregnant?”

His eyes lift to your face, unimpressed.  “That’s not a thing.”

“Sure it is,” you reply. “Grateful for carrying your child, you’ve taken pity on me and now you’re letting me win.”

He starts a low chuckle halfway through your explanation, and you grin at him as you slide a piece of wood from the middle of the tower, resting it on the top. You on the couch and him on the floor, your hands rest lightly on the small but hard swell of your stomach as you watch him choose his piece. 

“It always scares the shit out of me when it falls.” He says the words quietly, as if the volume of his voice alone could knock the tower over. Successfully sliding a piece from the bottom, he rests it on the top next to yours. 

The baby kicks, a sudden, sharp movement that has your hand automatically soothing the skin there and his eyes flash up from the table, his brow knit with concern. 

“You good?”

“Yea, I’m good. Just kicking again.”

He hums, watching you study the remaining pieces left. 

Near the end, this is the fourth time in a row you’ve played this game and your back twinges a little when you lean forward. Using the tip of your finger, you nudge several pieces to get a feel for how loose they are. 

“That’s cheating,” he protests. 

“It is not.”

“It is. I told you that already. You just gotta pick one –”

“And I told you,” you tease, “that everyone plays it this way. You test the pieces and –”

“You’re not testin’ anything,”  he insists, attempting to talk over you. “You’re compromising the structural integrity of the tower -“

“What?” you laugh. “What is this, another episode of Construction Corner with Joel Miller?”

He shakes his head with the curl of a smile, his hand reaching out to knock yours away and laughing again, you dodge it. His hand collides with the tower instead, knocking it over on the table between you, the pieces scattering everywhere. 

“Joel!” you scold him, but he isn’t listening. Done with the game, he gets on all fours with a slight grunt, crawling around the perimeter of the table.

“M’fuckin’ knees,” he says under his breath, and you giggle, watching him come closer. 

Pushing the table aside to get to you, he stops in front of your knees, and you automatically open your legs so he can fit his body between them, his large hands resting warm on the top of your thighs. 

“You lost,” he says lowly, grinning when you break into open laughter before feigning outrage. 

“Hang on, no I didn’t! You sabotaged me!”

“I would never,” he says with mock earnestness. “The mother of my own child? You think I would do that to you, honey?”

“You just did!”

You slide back to make room for him when he starts to crawl up to join you on the couch, reclining as your limbs shuffle together as he stretches out. He’s careful to rest himself on the side of you; one elbow propping him up while his other hand drifts down to the hem of your shirt. He plays with the worn fabric, lifting it slightly until he can see a peek of taut skin and then he’s smoothing it down, his hand lingering in place.  

His pinky brushes along the waistband of your sweatpants, your thighs shifting to press together.  

His eyes flick up to your face for a moment. “You need somethin’, honey?” he asks nonchalantly, his gaze back on his hand. 

“You know I do.”

It’s been distracting, your need. Insatiable, now that you’re not sick anymore and you aren’t sure if it’s the flush of hormones swirling through your system, but you’re always so wet. So wet, and empty. A fact that he’s only too willing to take advantage of. 

This morning, in your kneel by the bed as he eased himself into your mouth. 

Last night, when you were blinded by the strength of your release as you came from his tongue alone. 

The pleasure soaked haze of days before: a constant, needy ache blooming in your core, an almost desperate need for him, in whatever way he can give himself to you. 

He hums low at your response, a rumble that drags out of his chest. The sound washes over you, your nipples tightening. 

“Already want more, huh,” he asks, the tips of his fingers teasing beneath the band of your pants. “This mornin’ wasn’t enough?”

Planting your foot on the cushion, you push your hips upwards with a soft whine, and he chuckles. 

“My girl is needy today.”

“Seems like every day,” you answer him, turning your face to press a kiss to his throat. You push the collar of his shirt to the side, tugging it down for more access to his firm skin, and finding it, you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck and kiss him again, this time with an open mouth. His skin tastes like salt and sweat and him, and you moan lightly against the tan expanse, dragging your tongue over it. 

His hand gently presses on your hip bone, keeping you on your back when you try to roll onto your side and you respond by wrapping your hand around the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. 

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his mustache before you kiss him. 

He wordlessly grants you your wish, his mouth opening yours as his hand slips underneath your cotton underwear, and when he cups your damp heat with a firm squeeze, he swallows the moan you let out into his mouth. 

His fingers push through the soft hair that covers your cunt, brushing along the hollow dip of your entrance and gently parting you, he lets out his own groan at the wetness that greets him. 

“I just fucked this pussy a couple of hours ago,” he says, his middle finger dipping inside you before sliding up to your sensitive clit. The pressure makes your hips jump towards his touch, and he smiles. “She already need me that bad again?”

You nod, your hand reaching down to join his. Threading your fingers together, you guide him where you need him most and he pulls back to watch your face as he sinks two fingers in down to the knuckle, an audible wet sound barely heard in the softly lit living room. His thumb finds your clit, circling it with practiced, sure strokes. 

Maddeningly precise, firm circles, ones that stoke the fire building in your belly until the soft sounds you’re making turn into shameless moans, and your hips rock against the full pump of his fingers.

He curls them inside you, his thumb speeding up into a faster, firmer rub and you lift your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cool air. His mouth finds a peaked bud, his tongue swirling over your nipple before he draws it into his mouth and your back arches, your voice hoarse when you cry out. 

“Keep going. Please keep going,” you chant, breathless and lost in a lust filled haze, chasing the high he’s built so expertly inside you. 

His fingers speed up, his thumb never ceasing and pulling the taut peak of your breast into his mouth with a suck, you clench around his fingers and come with a cry; the need between your hips spilling over with a heady wave of relief. 

His fingers are soaked and smeared with your slick when you help him work his belt buckle open, your fingers trembling as you reach in and find him hard and hot. The weight of his cock fills the palm of your hand, a sound breaking in the back of his throat when you pull him out of his pants and using his slick smeared hand, you hold his hip as he pumps himself with a rapid, firm hold, spilling slick ropes onto your stomach after a couple of strokes. 

Your body boneless and sated, you roll lazily onto your side to face him. 

“Hey now,” he scolds quietly, slightly breathless, tucking himself away. “You’re gonna get it all over the couch.”

“I don’t care.”

You don’t. Lord knows his spend is on the couch already for how many times he’s fucked you on it, but more than that, you don’t want to part from him to clean yourself off. 

Sleepy, spent and perfectly content, you tuck your face into the hollow of his throat and inhale his warm, masculine scent. His heart thrums beneath your lips, your nose nuzzling the fragrant softness of his skin and your hand slides up underneath his shirt, seeking out more. 

He’s so solid next to you, so broad. Barely fitting on the couch together, he lifts his arm to allow you to tuck yourself tight along him, and his beard catches on your lips when you tilt your face up to give him a kiss along the line of his jaw. A nibble, another small brush of your mouth and when you move down to give him another one over his shirt, you let your mouth rest against the beat of his heart. 

Alive, strong, healthy. 

Yours. 

You take another deep inhale over the cotton, your eyes closing. 

“You wanna take a nap?” you ask, so comfortable and content you’re already starting to drift. His responding laugh rumbles against your lips.

“Lazy bones,” he teases, no real conviction in the words. You nod, burying your face further into the safety of his chest, and he chuckles. 

Your breathing already evening out, your body relaxes next to his and he gives in, finding a comfortable position to rest his head. He lets his chin rest on the crown of it, and tightening his hold on you so you don’t fall off the couch, closes his eyes. 

–

The last dregs of summer slipping by with stagnant heat and a sweltering last gasp, autumn begins.  

You swim while you can, obsessed with the thought of a child floating weightless inside you while you float weightless in the river. Water sluicing over your skin, you let the current lift you from the bottom, the small swell of your stomach a rounded island above the surface as the rest of you floats just underneath. Hours spent this way, it’s the only time you can get true relief from the growing pressure between your hips. 

Your limbs weighted like lead upon getting out of the water, you try to explain it to Joel, who tries to explain it in terms of gravity and while it is clear he doesn’t really know what he’s talking about, you find joy in the obvious affection on his face every time you drag yourself up the bank. 

Harvesting what you can from the garden without a means of preserving it, you base your methods on the gardening book turned into your personal Bible. The pages bent and marked in dozens of places, your cache is well stocked: the food you grew plus the food you found in other cabins alongside the meat Joel brought back from hunting, with an organized system of dried seeds for preservation next to it all. Everything in a cool, dark place tucked away in the pantry closet, you store everything that you can and cross your fingers for the rest. 

The tiny bump between your hips is a marvel to the both of you. Some days it’s nearly forgotten: an afterthought hidden underneath your clothes as you work in the garden, clean the cabin, organize your supplies. Each week slightly bigger than the last, you slowly find yourself breaking free of the days of constant sleep and nausea and shifting into something that seems more normal. 

The first day you notice a true, solid difference in your changing shape, Joel wakes to find you standing sideways in front of the mirror, studying your body. You watch his image reflect behind yours as he sits up, letting the quilts pool around his hips. His hair sleep mussed and flat on one side, you smile at his reflection and turn to face him. 

“Crazy, right?” you ask tentatively, both awe and insecurity creeping into your tone. 

He says nothing, his eyes locked on the bare swell and holding his hand out towards you, he guides you to stand between his legs. 

Then, he just…touches. Broad sweeps of exploration across your stomach, his thumb stroking what should be a hollow above your hipbone but now is rounded outwards with life. He looks up at you in a silent plea for you to understand all the overwhelming things he is feeling and wordlessly, you do. His face has always been more expressive than he realizes. When he’s done, he rests his forehead against the plane of your chest and wraps his arms around you so tight you’re forced closer to him in his hold. You stay there for a while, dragging your nails through those dark, rumpled curls until your body curls over his, returning his embrace.

An estimated timeline drawn up on the back of an old calendar, the dates are truly a best guess based on when you left the QZ. Your life ruled by the slow changing of the seasons more than anything, it takes you a couple of hours to work out that it’s approximately late October and counting backwards, the baby should be born sometime in the spring. 

One year here. A smile lifts the corner of your mouth as you think about how unsteady your footing felt with him when you arrived here versus the concept of birthing his child one year from that date. 

Filling the neat squares out, you felt it only right to add other important dates: Thanksgiving, Christmas, your birthday. 

“When’s your birthday?” you ask him, flipping through the limp pages to make sure you got everything. 

“September 26th,” he replies, and you pause, looking up. 

“Damn, baby. We missed it.”

He shrugs, busying himself with the tool kit in front of him. 

The date tugs at your subconscious for a moment and then it dawns on you. 

“Are you kidding me? Outbreak Day? That’s — Jesus, Joel.” You find yourself laughing, even though it isn’t really funny. A grim sort of laugh, devoid of humor. “That’s terrible luck.”

“Tell me about it,” he replies dryly, and before you can stop it, a laugh slips out. He looks up and smiles at you, the dimple in his cheek a deep indent and you mark it on the calendar all the same, shaking your head. 

That night in bed though, you give him a long, tight hug. 

“What’s this for?” he asks, murmuring the question into your hair. 

Sorrow had been slowly building in you all day, thinking about that birthday. He had joked about it, but the more you thought about your initial reaction, the worse you felt. It weighed you down, the realization of how he probably woke up that day with a certain way of spending it in mind, only to have the world in ruin and his only child dead by the time the day ended. 

His birthday now circled on the calendar, it was also the anniversary of her death. A visual reminder you weren’t sure he wanted.

You squeeze him tighter, burying your face into the soft crook of his neck. “Your birthday. M’sorry.” 

His body resistant to your apology at first, his first instinct seems to be to pull back. “For missin’ it? You’re kidding me, right? We –”

The shake of your head stops him, and when you don’t let go, he eventually melts into your embrace. His arms tightening in their hold and in understanding, his voice soothes you. 

“S’okay, honey. Don’t worry about it. It’s alright.”

–

You writhe on the sheets, the quilt twisted in your grip and a soft moan catches in the back of your throat when he licks your clit again, increasing the pressure. A damp sheen of sweat beads along your lower back, sticking to the cotton underneath you when you arch your hips into the heat of his mouth. 

For weeks he’s indulged your need for him, his own growing along with it. The calendar flipped to November just this morning, there wasn’t much to be done today and so he relished in dragging you back to bed, intent on keeping you there for as long as he could. 

He has. With slow, lingering kisses that grew in need until you straddled him with a weighted grind, with touches that bordered feral in their trembling hold as he grasped every inch of you that he could reach, and pulling two releases from you with those calloused hands alone, you felt limp and all used up, but he wouldn’t let you stay that way. 

His tongue is insistent, yet patient. The movement of it practiced, yet maddeningly slow. 

It feels good but it’s not enough.

“Don’t tease Joel. Please.”

“I’m not teasin’ honey. I want you to come like this. I know you can. You’re so –” he lets out a low groan, “- fucking sensitive, I want you to show me you can do it.” 

The dark crown of his head fits in the space between your thighs, and his eyes look up at you, watching your expression of frustrated bliss. His tongue flicks over you, laving a firm, wide stripe from your entrance to the bundle of nerves and when he starts to firmly circle it with the tip of his tongue, you cry out. 

The pressure between your hips from the baby centering all sensation between your legs to an impossible to ignore emptiness that you ache with constantly, the need amplifies into an all consuming sensation that quickly overtakes you – sometimes bordering on too much if he isn’t careful. 

He’s taken it slow this afternoon; nothing but seemingly endless time on his hands while he ignores the strain underneath the fly of his jeans, and his tongue works you a little harder, a groan slipping from his throat into your spread, soaked cunt. 

His hand splayed over your belly, it keeps you in place as you try to squirm away and a wave of saturated pleasure ripples through you, your body curling into itself. Any words you try to form slide into a breathless moan, your thighs starting to tremble against his ears, your fingers sliding through his hair. 

“Fuck – fuck,” you keen, arousal building to an upbearable height while your feet plant on the bed to push your hips into his face. He gives your clit a direct kiss, drawing it into his mouth as he fills you suddenly with two thick fingers and you let out a sob. 

“I’m – I’m–”

A sudden noise from outside makes him jerk back, alert. 

It takes you a minute to catch up, submerged deep in the weighted waters of an impending release, but the expression on his face sobers you quickly. 

“What –” you start to ask, but he gives you such a stern look that you immediately fall silent. It’s a look you haven’t seen in months, and adrenaline sends a shiver across your exposed skin, flooding quickly through your body. He slips his fingers from you, and you watch as he quickly rises from his knees. 

He’s shirtless, the top button of his jeans undone with his small belly pushing against the waistband of his pants as he leans forward to grab his rifle from the corner of the room where he’s left it propped. His broad frame is rigid with tension, but outwardly calm: his face still yet hyper focused, his dark eyes narrowed as he listens. His chin still smeared and damp with your slick, you watch as he flicks the safety off and in a practiced, fluid motion, positions the gun with the butt tucked into his shoulder with a glistening finger poised near the trigger.

Near silent, he crouches and takes a step forward, shaking his head in a reprimand when you scoot forward on the bed to join him. 

“Stay there,” he says quietly, but firmly. 

“You can’t go out there alone,” you plead, your hands searching for your pants among the bedding. 

“You ain’t comin’ with. Just stay put.” He jerks his chin at the corner of the room, at a small space between the dresser and the wall. “Get over there and hide. Don’t come out till’ I say so. You got it?”

“Joel,” you whisper fiercely, his back already facing you as he turns towards the door. “Joel!”

As soon as he rounds the corner into the hallway and disappears from sight, you stand and shove your legs into your pants, pulling them up into place. Wet and sticky between your thighs, you ignore the uncomfortable way the fabric clings and debate: stay or follow. 

You hear something in the front room of the cabin, furniture scraping over the floor as it’s being pushed to the side and peering out from the bedroom, you see Joel trying to set up a vantage point. Half hidden behind a chair and the window frame, his eyes are trained on something outside, and a shift in your footing has him looking over at you, urgency and anger tightening his features. 

“I said hide. Get back in the room,” he orders, a vein in his neck flexing. “I told you to stay in there.”

His attention snaps back to the window and then he’s standing up, finger near the trigger. 

Someone is outside, a figure distorted by the windows, moving along the edge of the property. Not a clicker, telling by their cautious, deliberate steps - a human. A man, judging by the size. 

After that, it all happens faster than you can process it. 

Whipping the front door open, Joel has his gun trained on the man immediately.

“Stop!” Joel’s voice is loud and terrifying, your body flinching at the sound. 

The sound of movement from outside and a low curse from Joel tells you that the order isn’t heeded, and you bite back a scream at the same time a shot rings out, splinters of wood exploding into the living room. 

Another shot bursts through the air, shattering a pane of glass and crawling quickly on your hands and knees, you fit yourself behind the couch, shaking as you curl into a tight ball. You can see Joel from your spot, his bare back tightly locked into place as he tries to line up a good shot. Whoever it is must now be hiding behind the tree line, because you know Joel would have taken a shot by now if he had a clear one. 

Instantly transformed into the Joel you knew before, you can’t tear your eyes away from how powerful he looks. Imposing and calmly confident, with a barely restrained rage in the tremble of his muscles, he’s terrifying. He doesn’t move, one eye closed as he keeps aim and when a corresponding two shots fire at him in rapid succession, he takes a deep, shaky breath in, not even flinching as they hit the door about a foot away from his head. 

The closeness of the shots has you covering your mouth with your hands, panicking. 

Your gun, your gun — where the fuck is your gun? 

Your mind races through your mental map of the cabin, and remembering it’s in the kitchen, you run a visual path between the couch and where you need to be. You’d have to cross right in front of the open door, but it could be worth it for two guns against one.

Right? 

Another shot rings out, this one piercing an instant, bright hole through the wall in the living room. 

“Come on,” Joel growls to himself. “Come on.”

You flick your eyes over to the kitchen, willing your body to stop shaking as you get ready to move when one more shot rings out, and then Joel is suddenly standing tall from his position behind the chair, aiming and squeezing the trigger. The deafening bang makes you flinch and watching him reload, your knees automatically draw into your chest to protect yourself.

He moves to walk quickly outside, and you scramble again to follow. 

His strides are longer than yours, but still cautious as his eyes scan the edge of the property. The silence around you is unsettling, and confirming there is no other immediate threat, he turns back towards you. When he comes closer, you take a step back at how furious he looks. 

“What did I tell you?” He spits out the words between clenched teeth, one hand whipping out to tug you close. “I said to stay put. Why the hell did you follow me out there?”

Tears immediately fill your eyes, slipping down your cheeks in a warm rush as the tremors in your body start to get stronger. “What – who was that?”

“Are you okay?” He ignores your question, the intensity of his gaze raking over your features, dark and laced with worry. His hand comes to cradle your face, sweeping down over your collarbone, his knuckles dragging over your stomach. A tactile confirmation of your safety, not satisfied until he’s inspected it. 

Nodding, peering over his shoulder at the treeline. “Was there only one of them?”

“I think so, but I gotta go check.”

Panic grips your body, your hand clamping around his wrist. “No. No you can’t. You –”

“I gotta, honey. If there was one, there’s probably more. You know that.”

You do. You’ve been on both sides enough to know the truth in his words, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the idea of him leaving. 

His arm slips around your shoulders, turning you towards the cabin. His words are directed at you, but his eyes remain vigilant. “I’m just gonna walk the perimeter, make sure there isn’t anyone else.”

“But you just said there would be –”

“I know what I said,” he replies firmly, guiding you through the door. “I know.” 

He faces you fully, his hand cupping your chin to keep your eyes on his. “You and I both know it’s better to get them before they get us. We can’t just sit and wait. I need you –” he pauses, giving you a look when you start to open your mouth. “I need you to get your gun, and then hide. Okay?”

“But –”

“No buts. Please, honey. Please.”

His expression brooks no room for argument, but it’s the softness around the corner of his eyes that has you nodding. Worry has seeped into his features, and if he’s worried, you know it can’t be good. 

But you also trust him.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself while committing his face to your memory. 

“Okay.”

[ldrfanatic]

shiny things rust

theodore nott x fem!reader intentional lowercase

warnings - underage smoking (weed and cigarettes), underage drinking, cursing, dark mark, mentions of suicide (on theo's part), death, and murder; semi-happy ending?

this can lowkey be read as a prequel for Crawl Home to Her

prompt - they told me all of my cages were mental/ so i got wasted like all my potential... i was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere/ fell behind all my classmates and i ended up here/ pouring out my heart to a stranger/ but i didn't pour the whiskey

synopsis - theo just recently got his dark mark and is trying really hard just to stay sane. reader finds him on the astronomy tower one night in bad shape. reader is essentially a gifted kid burnout and they have an unexpected heart to heart.

song - this is me trying - Taylor Swift, Folklore

nav slytherin boys masterlist

Sunlight streamed through the oculus window twenty meters above your head as you gulped alcohol in the Slytherin common room. For you, it indicated the turn of the new day. You tried not to trip over the green-draped bodies that were strewn about as you made your way through the room towards the dormitories.

Slytherin House had hosted yet another of their famous parties the evening prior and with a guilty feeling, you cast aside your homework for a night of revelries. Thankfully, the guilt subsided once you got high out of your mind. As you turned the corner, you promptly found yourself flat on your ass. You looked up in a sneer only to find Theodore Nott standing above you with a concerned look.

His large hand reached out towards yours.

"Are you alright, L/n?"

You grasped his palm and allowed him to pull you to your feet.

"I'm fine." You grumbled out. Before he could make any further remarks, you'd retreated to your dorm. Today was the last day of classes before the term ended for winter break.

All day, you'd been seeing Theodore Nott. And all year he'd been staring at you. You could feel his eyes burning holes into your skin. Actually, you could feel everyone's eyes burning holes into your skin. Your first four years at Hogwarts had gone admirably. Despite not being a Ravenclaw, you were one of the brightest in your year. Something changed in fifth year though.

You weren't sure when or how but you simply lost interest in academics. You'd grown so used to the praise that it didn't mean as much as it did before and you began to question your own reasoning for throwing yourself so desperately into school.

Once that realization hit, you plummeted.

Students and Professors alike whispered about in hushed tones when they thought you couldn't hear. About how you had so much potential just for it to be wasted when you decided you didn't want to try anymore. It was infuriating. How could they know if you were trying or not?

The first time that you lashed out at some Gryffindor girl it was blamed on poor parentage. That a rocky home life with a Death Eater family had been the cause of your downfall, and thus, your foul mood. In reality, you'd been putting your all into school for years and you just ran out of steam. No horrible home life or traumatic event to blame. You just couldn't anymore. No matter how hard you tried, and you did try really, really hard.

The rumors didn't stop of course, so you just learned to embrace them. You hexed the occasional girl who taunted you or got on your nerves. You drank and smoke your entire existence into oblivion. You took much needed naps in class. In fact, the only class you paid half a mind to was potions and that was only because you'd smelled something quite weird in the Amortentia you brewed last year and wanted to learn everything you could about it.

So it was no surprise that people stared. It was, however, unusual that Theodore Nott stared. He never wasted his time with girls. Or anyone really. The boy rarely ever spoke. He was only ever seen hanging around with Draco and his friends and you quickly learned that it was because Draco had roped him into it somehow.

Of course, catching Theo's eye didn't help the rumors. As you sat down for lunch on the last remaining day of the fall term, the whispers had already started. The main theory for the day: You and Theodore Nott were engaged, arranged to be married by your Death Eater parents, and that if anyone dared to speak to you, Theo would hunt them down.

Now, you didn't mind the last part so much. As you walked through the halls, people parted like the Sea. It made you feel powerful. Noticed. For the first time in years. Yet, you weren't particularly keen on the fact that this rumor only increased the whispering in the halls. All you really wanted was a bit of peace and quiet.

Finally, the day was over. Tomorrow morning, the train was to leave Hogsmeade Station. Fucking finally.

In a last ditch effort to get some peaceful alone time before you were beat down by your mother over 'wasted potential', you climbed the stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower. You weren't expecting to see Theodore, using his wand to cut slices into the Dark Mark on the inside of his left forearm.

When he heard your footsteps behind him, he swung around and brandished his wand in your direction.

"Just me."

Theo scoffed at your figure and turned back towards the stars.

"Why are you cutting it? You should know it won't come off."

"My idiot father forced this, thing, on me. I'm just what everyone thought I would be. I don't expect you to understand, golden girl."

He spit the words with a sneer. Finally, you felt your blood boil over. Your limits had been pushed beyond what you could stomach. You desperately wished that people would stop assuming things about you. And now it was time to make them.

"Actually, Theodore Nott, you don't know a damn thing about me. Everyone always told me how smart I was, how much potential I had, but what good is potential when it's suffocated by stress and expectations? I spent years pushing myself to excel, sacrificing my sanity for the sake of grades and accomplishments. But what did it get me? A pile of meaningless accolades? Pouring out my hear to a stranger? And now, here I am, burnt out and bitter, a broken, disillusioned shell of a person. They told me all of my cages were mental, so I got wasted like all my potential."

You'd taken step after step closer to the brunette during your frustrated rant. Now, you were standing only a few inches away from him. You jammed your finger angrily into his chest while you continued.

"So don't you act like you know a damn thing about me. I may not be the 'golden girl' anymore, but I'm not pretending anymore either. And between the two of us, at least I'm trying to better my situation instead of slicing up my wrists like lunch meat thinking that will solve all my problems."

"It's just so hard!"

Theo's outburst caught you off guard. You'd expected him to be angry, or at the very least annoyed. Theodore Nott didn't take anything from anyone. You'd expected him to scoff, ignore you, or even just simply walk away. You hadn't expected him to explode.

"It's hard to be at a party when I feel like I don't belong. It's hard to be anywhere these days."

You could see how torn Theo was. Torn between what his friends and family wanted him to do, and what he actually wanted to do. Apparently those were different things, even if he hadn't realized it yet himself.

"Hey,"

Theo looked up at the sound of your voice. You stepped closer to him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. A reminder that even if for a moment, there was someone that understood him. Someone that cared.

"At least we're trying."

---

theodore taglist

@moonlightreader649 @svt-dk97 @thatdammchickennugget @helendeath @fandom-life-12 @bouquetolegoflowers @maryvibess @nighttimemoonlover

[ellecdc]

hi my lovely, i was wondering if i might please be able to make a request! absolutely fine if it doesn’t inspire you or you don’t get around to it for a while or you don’t like it it’s no pressure!!

i was just wondering if i might be able to request big brother sirius or best friend barty (my loves) and a reader who is so stressed with classes and workload- ive been having a hard time lately and i feel so out of my depth and its seems that no one else is struggling like me and my adhd really isn’t helping me cause i try and get my work done and i just end up sitting there for hours and then breaking down cause i can’t do it and i just feel so useless

so sorry for going on a tangent i just don’t really have anyone to talk to! again its totally okay if you don’t want to write this just speaking about its made me feel better! i hope you’re doing well my lovely, you bring me so much comfort! and i hope birdy is behaving herself

🪩

cheering you on babes! sorry for the wait in this request, and thanks for your patience in me <3 hope your workload isn't causing you too much grief, and both Big Brother Siri and BFF Barty have asked me to tell you to make sure to take breaks and be nice to yourself!!

please note: my requests are currently closed as I finish exams and work through the requests that I currently have.

BFF!Barty Crouch Junior x stressed!reader [GN] who Barty forces to take a break

You were on your umpteenth read through of your notes for your upcoming Herbology exam when your books were rudely ripped out from underneath you.

“Hey!” You shouted at the unknown assailant when you raised your head to see Barty carefully piling your notes together and shoving them into his own book bag. “Barty, give them back.”

“No can do, Treasure. Let’s go.” 

You watched, dumbfounded, as Barty began to walk away from your table in the library before he turned around when he realised you weren’t following him. 

“Hello!? Earth to Treasure?” He sing-songed on his way back before he waved a hand in front of your face, which you quickly swatted away.

“Barty, this isn’t funny.”

“I agree.” He answered quickly; his tone garnering a severe quality that made your skin crawl. “You’ve been shacked up in this library for Salazar knows how long, I don’t know when your last real meal was that didn’t consist of tea and Honeydukes sweets, and when was the last time you got fresh air? You know? That stuff that's produced by trees and life and not tainted with the musty smell of old books?”

“Barty, I need to prepare for this exam.” You pressed.

“Which you have, and if you humour me right now, I’ll even help you study more later. Now, let’s go.” He demanded as he took your elbow and hauled you up from the table and dragged you by the wrist unceremoniously behind him. 

After numerous failed attempts at getting Barty to tell you what he was doing, where he was taking you, what he was up to, why he was dragging you across the castle, you spent your trek across the castle grounds in a begrudging silence with only the occasional muttered protest escaping your lips.

Finally, Barty released your wrist as you stopped in front of an expanse of wall encasing the southern grounds near the quidditch pitch that didn’t seem to get much traffic at all.

You watched as your friend dug his arms into the bag much further than should have been humanly possible alerting you to the fact that he had, indeed, cast an illegal undetectable extension charm.

He was going to make you fail your exam and an accomplice to a crime. 

He pulled out a large stack of ceramic plates he no doubt pilfered from the kitchens and placed them beside you before reaching back in and retrieving another stack.

“Barty. What are you doing?”

“Blowing off steam, as the muggles say.” He explained simply as he moved to stand beside you and placed a matching stack of plates on his other side.

“By scrubbing dishes outside like a down-and-out House Elf?” You asked bemusedly as you picked up one of the plates and twisted it around in your hands. They didn’t look dirty.

“Ye have so little faith, dear Treasure.” Barty said theatrically before he launched a plate at the ancient stone wall and watched it shatter before the pieces rained down into the grass below it. 

“Barty!”

“Too much talking, not enough throwing Treasure.” He called over to you as he hurled a second plate at the wall.

“Can you at least tell me why we’re defacing school property?!”

With a long suffering sigh, Barty allowed the plate he’d been in the process of picking up clatter back onto its stack unceremoniously.

Barty moved to stand in front of you, crouching down ever so slightly so as to force you to make direct eye contact with him and placing a hand on each of your shoulders should you consider bolting.

“Alright Treasure, listen. Are you listening? I love you, you’re my best friend, my soulmate, my ride or die, I would live, die, and kill for you; you fucking suck when you’re stressed out. Okay? You’ve been living in that library for a week, you’re barely eating or getting any vitamin D which is already difficult enough in sodding Scotland without you actively avoiding the sun’s rays, and…I miss you.”

You looked between both of his green eyes which oozed nothing but earnestness and concern before letting your shoulders drop.

“Fine, but why are we smashing plates?”

Seemingly trusting you not to take off, Barty returned to his full height with far more pep in his step than he had before he read you like one of your Herbology textbooks.

“Great question! I was trying to decide between this and shoving Gryffindor’s into the Black Lake; I figured you appreciate this better.” He said as he shot you a wink. “Now get throwing, Treasure!”

Deciding that it was folly to try to argue or reason with your…capricious friend, you picked up a plate and lobbed it dutifully at the wall.

What started off as you merely humouring your friend in his antics quickly left you breathless, smiling, and squealing in delight with each smash of a plate. You and Barty spent much of the afternoon cackling and dancing under a shower of broken porcelain before you reparo’d the plates and did it all over again.

You hardly realised the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees when you turned to look at Barty; his face flushed red and a wide grin spread across his face which you were sure was mirrored on your own.

“Thank you, Barty.”

His smile turned softer as he looked at the plate in his hands somewhat abashedly. “No need to thank me, Treasure. You know I’ll always look out for you, ‘specially when you forget to do it yourself.”

“Easy there, Junior; I'll start to think you’re going soft on us.” You teased as you nudged him in the arm with one of your plates.

He scoffed and shoved you away from him. “I will not tolerate this slander.”

“Is it slander if it’s true?”

“Defamation.”

“There’s no one here to hear me.”

“Hey, Y/N!” The sound of James Potter’s voice rung through the air as he walked towards you from the Quidditch pitch. “It’s good to see you outside of the library! I was getting wor-”

You never got to hear what James had been worried about as Barty quickly began lobbing plates in his direction. 

“Barty!” You shouted as James began dodging the assault.

“Sorry, he spooked me.” Barty deadpanned, not sounding sorry at all as he continued throwing plates at the Gryffindor chaser.

“I’ll catch up with you later!” James shouted as he started jogging towards the castle in the opposite direction of his attacker.

“You know, for a quidditch player, you have terrible aim.” You grumbled at your friend as you shot him an unimpressed glare.

He returned your glare in response to your insult. “I’ll have you know, if I wanted to actually hit him, I would have.”

“Soft.”

“Alright, that’s it. Pull out your wand, Treasure.” He barked as he dropped his plates, brandished his wand and took a duelling stance.

“I am not fighting you, Junior.”

“Those were fighting words.”

And before you could retort, he had picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder before he began marching towards the castle. 

“What are you doing?!” You squealed as you playfully swung your fist against his back.

“Throwing you in the Black Lake.”

“Barty!”

You didn’t return to the castle until the sun had fully set; feeling tired in a good way and far happier and more relaxed than you had felt in days.

[coryosbaby]

Hi love, this might sound weird, but could you make a breast-feeding kink smut for ethan landry? I just know my poor baby is a sub

You don't have to if you don't want to thank you love

Cw: lactation kink, titty sucking, titty worship, nipple sensitivity, dad! Ethan, sub! Ethan, dom! Reader

Notes: AAA ofc !!

🩷🩷🩷

“Eth, come to bed.” You whine, watching the boy pick up your daughter’s toys from around the room. He looks adorable, his hair messy, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he arranges the toys in a single spot of the room. He loves his daughter, but can’t stand the mess that comes along with having a child.

“I am, sweets. Jus’ gotta move some of these damn toys.” He mutters the last part, and you giggle.

“C’mere, baby. We can worry about that tomorrow.”

He sighs. “Fine. But you’re gonna help me.”

You grin. “Of course I will.”

He runs his hands through his hair and lays down next to you. His hand comes up to yours, pressing a kiss to the diamond ring on your finger.

“I missed you so much today.” He says. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, and you smile.

“I missed you too, peach.”

He kisses the spot behind your ear lightly. And then again. And again. You giggle at his eagerness, turning to place a kiss to his lips. It’s the first time you two have been alone in a while. This is one of the rare times when the baby is asleep in the nursery.

Ethan’s hands go up to your tits, and he massages them in his large hands. You groan. The feeling of him pressing against your sore and achy nipples feels so good that your eyes roll back. Ever since the baby was born, your tits have been incredibly sensitive and full.

“You’re so pretty, momma.” He whispers against your lips, and you smile against him as his hard cock thrusts against your thigh.

“C-Can I-” he hesitates, not knowing if he should continue, but you stroke his face endearingly.

“Can you what, angel?”

“Can I… can I try your milk?”

It’s an odd request, one that isn’t expected, but you aren’t going to judge him for it. In fact, it sounds like a good idea. If he likes it he can help you when you’re overfilled.

“Yeah, baby. ‘Course you can. Let me get my bra off, okay?” He nods, and you sit up, slip off your tank top, and then turn your back to him.

“Unclip me?” You ask, and he lifts himself up to undo your bra. You smile at the softness of his fingers, at how gentle he is.

You take your bra off and notice that the cups are stained with your milk. You chuckle. “Looks like you asked just in time, baby.”

He blushes, watching as you turn around and your sore breasts are presented to him. You lean against the headboard and beckon him over. He crawls into your lap and his lips begin to hover over your nipples. He looks up at you, as if asking for permission.

“Go ahead, sweet boy.”

He takes your tit into his mouth, suckling lightly, making you let out a small moan. Once he’s got a good mouth full of your milk he swallows and looks up to you with a smile.

“‘S good…” he giggles, looking almost dopey. Anything to do with your tits makes the boy go crazy.

“Yeah?” You grin. “That’s good, peach. You can have more, if you want. I don’t mind.”

His face dives back into your chest again, and he thumbs your other tit. His teeth lightly scrape the skin of your areola and you cry out. He’s desperate for your milk, getting as close to you as humanly possible. His cock is still hard against your thigh and he begins to slowly grind against it. Milk runs down his soft mouth and his shirt. Your hands grasp his brown curls, tiny little whimpers leaving your throat.

“Oh, that’s my good little boy. Helping mommy so much. Take as much as you need, honey.”

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Hint of Lovely Oblivion

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: After a week of sleeping terribly, Frank makes an effort to help you get the rest you deserve.

warnings: Swearing, fluff, caring Frank, this is not medical advice

a/n: I wrote this for my lovely bestie @madschiavelique who wanted some Frankie comfort. As someone who deals with insomnia pretty regularly, this was very cathartic! I hope you all enjoy. A huge thank you to my other bestie @gracethyomen for beta-ing and helping me plan this fic!

w/c: 4.6k

Inhaling deeply, the frigid air of the room made your nose twitch. Sliding as deep as you could into the blanket pile while maintaining your seated position, you bit your lip, shifting the pad of paper on your lap and craning your neck once again. While your duvet provided an excellent shield to lock in heat, your shoulders inevitably poked out whenever you weren’t fully horizontal, leaving your body to sit in a temperature regulation purgatory; your consciousness rumbled uneasily as the hair on the back of your neck refused to flatten, your brain torn between making you shiver or letting you sweat. The position was far from comfortable—but being awake all night made comfort an unattainable goal for you anyways.

It had been days since you’d slept through the night. You were no stranger to insomnia, you’d been cursed with it your entire life, but lately it had dug its malicious claws into your chest with the violence of a starving feral animal. Your bed, which used to be a haven of rest and relaxation, was now a space that you avoided at all costs—the wonderfully soft pillows and warm blankets mocking you as they sat untouched well into the night, fatigue never overtaking you when you needed it to. For the first few nights of your ongoing battle with sleeplessness, you’d crawl under the covers anyway, praying to any deity listening that the weight and heat of the fabric would force your eyelids to close—but it never did.

Sighing as your pencil tip snapped, you closed your eyes, letting your breath rest in your lungs for a moment before exhaling again; apparently your frustration with your own hormone production created a physical pressure on the lead of your pencil. Picking up a fresh one from your nightstand, you did your best to clean up the smear of graphite from the impact of the broken point.

Turning your attention back to the subject of your sketch, you chewed your lip to stifle a smile. Despite the thick curtains your partner had insisted on, a sliver of moonlight illuminated the massive man slumbering beside you, quietly snoring away—completely oblivious to the inspiration he'd given you. The feather-light moon beams shone through his tousled hair, creeping down over his face, which was adorably mashed against his singular pillow. Considering that he'd turned up a handful of hours ago drenched in other people's blood, it was downright ironic to be calling him “adorable” as he slept—but you couldn't shake the giddy feeling that always bubbled up when you saw his face so lax with sleep. His expression was so uncharacteristically peaceful, it never failed to make you happy.

Sure, not sleeping sucked. You'd be plagued with jaw-cracking yawns and mild memory loss in the morning, just like yesterday and the day before that. Having the opportunity to watch Frank sleep soundly, didn't make up for the fact that you'd accidentally put orange juice in your coffee yesterday, but it made the build up of irritation much easier to bear. Which is why you'd decided to memorialize it in your sketchbook.

Studying the map of shadows on Frank's handsome face, you scratched the pencil over the thick paper, the rasping sound soothing the constant buzzing in your brain. Scrunching your nose as you tried to smooth out the sketch in front of you, you nearly jumped out of your skin when he spoke.

“Why're you up, darlin'?” His voice was rough with exhaustion. Noticing your wide eyes and ragged inhale, a large hand slid up to rest on your thigh. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya.”

”It's alright, Frankie. I wasn't paying attention.“ You tried to laugh, but the sound died in your throat.

His hand stroked over your leg as he waited for you to answer his question. Instead, your eyes remained trained on the book across your lap, pencil moving fluidly through the silence. Tracing a thumb over your warm skin, Frank frowned. “Ya didn't answer my question, sweetheart.”

“Hmm?” Your tone was innocent, but the way your eyes remained glued to your work was enough to tell him you had definitely heard the question.

Squeezing your thigh with a yawn, Frank tried not to groan as he dragged himself up to sit next to you. His movement finally captured your attention, your brow furrowing as you set your pencil aside. “What are you doing?”

Giving what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug, Frank slid an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple. ”Sittin' with my girl. That a crime now?“

Smiling despite the guilt flaring in your chest, you shoved at his solid torso feebly. ”Go back to sleep, Frankie. I'm sorry I woke you. I can—“ Shuffling in your seat, you tilted towards the edge of the mattress, fully intending to relocate to a different room so that Frank could go back to bed. Foiling your plan, Frank's arms held fast against your teetering, pulling you flush against his chest.

”Don't you dare.“ He growled, chin resting atop your crown.

”Frank! I didn't even finish my thought,“ You wriggled against his hold, your brain torn between reacting with endearment or annoyance over being imprisoned by his strength. “Let me go, you...you...butthead.” Whining at your own lackluster insult, you buried your face in Frank's neck as he chuckled.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Ain't gotta go for my throat like that.” Frank murmured smugly. You could envision his shit-eating smirk despite it being out of your line of sight.

”Shut up,“ You muttered, a tiny smile gracing your lips against your will. Your body trembled as Frank shook with rumbling laughter. Drawing you into his arms, Frank set your legs over his lap, positioning you towards the windows. The gusting heat from the vent closest to your bed ruffled the fabric covering the panes, the pale glowing rays of moonlight fluttering over your knees as the drapes shifted. It created a mesmerizing dance of light and dark, captivating you.

”Ya gonna tell me how long you've been sittin' here starin' at me or did ya wanna keep pretendin' you were asleep?” In defense of your ruthlessly persistent boyfriend, it has been said that the third time’s the charm. His tone was as delicate as his gruff voice allowed, the muscles of his jaw and throat rippling against your scalp as he spoke.

Eyes falling closed, you focused on the warmth of Frank’s body surrounding you as you willed the tears pricking your eyes to back down. Another unfortunate side effect of sleep deprivation—your emotions started to go haywire over the littlest things.

It wasn’t that you thought Frank would be angry. Well, it wasn’t the biggest anxiety on your mind, at least. It was more the fear of burdening him with your own issues at all hours when you knew a good night’s sleep was practically a miracle for him. The first night at home after a few weeks away always seemed to make it come easier, but other than that Frank rarely rested. The mere thought of forcing him to sit up with you, especially on the one night this week he’d get a full 8 hours, grabbed your guilty conscience by the throat.

Giving a halfhearted shrug, you caved. “Dunno. Slept for a few hours when we went to bed. Then I got up and...” Trailing off, you gestured to the bed in front of you, which was clearly not being used for sleep.

Frank withdrew from the embrace and your pounding heart sank. You set your jaw, waiting for the frustrated scolding…but it never came. Instead, one calloused finger landed underneath your chin, tilting it upwards as he spoke. “You been awake that long?” His eyes shone with concern, boring ferociously into yours.

Nodding miserably, you swallowed the overwhelming shame crawling up your esophagus before speaking. “I’m sorry, Frank. I tried to sleep, but I just couldn’t—“

Cutting you off with a tender kiss, Frank’s hand moved to cup your cheek. “Nothin’ to be sorry about, honey. Ya shoulda woken me up.”

Looking up at him with glossy eyes, you bit your lip, ”You deserve to sleep uninterrupted. I didn't want to be the one to take that away from you.“

Frank chewed the inside of his cheek as he was overrun with waves of adoration and sympathy for you. How he'd managed to end up with such a considerate partner, he'd never know. Especially when he didn't consistently return the gesture.

He'd come home yesterday and practically collapsed into your arms—ignoring how unsteady your balance seemed when you dragged him into the apartment, blaming it on his own weight. You'd patched him up sweetly, as you always did, and Frank hadn't thought twice about the fact that you'd had to leave the room three times to get the gauze, assuming your memory had just been shaken by his battered appearance.

Was he truly so wrapped up in his own bullshit that he hadn't noticed the sunken crescents underneath your eyes? They were so prominent now, stark sepia bruises on your otherwise even skin. It must have been days since you slept properly. Beside himself with worry, his thumb traced the indent under your left eye. ”Shit sweetheart...“

”I'm—“ You started to apologize, but it stuck in your throat when Frank shook his head.

”Hey, none of that. Don't wanna hear it, ok?” You nodded in response to his gentle command, sitting there quietly as he schemed. “Are you tired at all?”

The pitiful shake of your head seemed to make up his mind.

Unwinding from you, he raised his arms above his head in a stretch, moaning as his back popped with the movement. Your face scrunched in disapproval, making him grimace sheepishly. “Sorry, honey. Guess I was stiff from drivin' all day.” Without waiting for your response, he slid out of bed. Your brow furrowed as he strode over to the dresser, pulling a shirt over his rumpled hair.

“Get dressed, darlin'. I have an idea.” He called to you over his shoulder as he rummaged for a clean pair of pants. Sighing, you abandoned the bubble of heat surrounding you in bed and headed for the closet.

Despite your grumbles and evident confusion, the two of you were dressed and on the road before the sun even peeked over the horizon. With one hand settled in yours, Frank kept his gaze trained on the road ahead, trying not to laugh at your exasperated questioning and adorable pout. Dragging you out of the house at this hour might not have been his brightest idea—since he normally tried to remain on your good side—but hey, he’d gotten this far without you chewing his head off.

Frank could hardly be considered a morning person, but you were practically nocturnal. Leaving the house before dawn was probably high up on your list of personal hells, but staying in bed when you couldn’t sleep wasn’t a good idea. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Curtis’s agitated tone.

“For the last time, Frank: staying in bed will make it worse.”

Way back in the day, during his first trip home after going overseas, he’d bugged Curtis relentlessly about his own sleep issues. Maria was tired enough raising a wandering toddler and an imaginative kindergartener, she didn’t need to worry about a restless marine to boot. He’d tried every suggestion under the sun, but sleep still evaded him. Tour after tour, night after night, he’d lay beside his wife in their bed and stare at the ceiling until his alarm went off. After his family died, well…it didn’t exactly get easier to rest.

Despite scouring the internet, a few libraries, and the expanse of Curt’s brain for any possible cures, his sleeplessness persisted. It was a torture he endured for years, and an anguish he wouldn’t wish on anyone but his worst enemies.

Finding out that you also dealt with insomnia was a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, not having to explain his fickle moods and constant absence from the bedroom was a welcomed relief. On the other, seeing the symptoms of sleep deprivation in someone he cared about was an agony worse than an infected bullet wound.

He knew what you were going through all too well, which meant he was determined to try and help. Getting you out of the house was just the first step of his admittedly too-detailed plan.

His lips twitched with a smile as he spotted the building. Turning into the ragged asphalt lot behind the restaurant, he turned his attention to you.

“We’re here, darlin’.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you remained unimpressed. “A diner?”

Letting out a bark of laughter at your obvious disdain for the activity, Frank pointed a finger at you in warning. “Hey, don’t knock it til ya try it, sweetheart.” His exaggerated stern expression broke through your apprehension, your lips turning upwards into a fond smile.

“There’s my pretty girl.” Frank pressed a kiss to your temple, heart swelling as you leaned into him. “If ya wanna go home, just say the word.”

Biting your lip, you glanced out the window at the electric blue awning extending from the glass doors. The yellow lamp lights lining the sidewalk reflected in your wide eyes as you stared. “No, we can go. I, just…can I ask you a question first?”

“Course, honey. Anythin’.”

“Why here?” Your question was soft, but genuine; your curiosity was outweighing the contempt you’d previously shown for his choice of destination.

Running a hand through his hair, he gave a one-armed shrug. “Fuck, well... ya know I’m no stranger to the whole…not sleepin’ thing. And, uh, back in the early days, when it was real bad for me, I’d come here. We– er– Maria and I, we took the kids here a couple of times. Dunno, wanted to remember the good times, I guess, and it became a sort of tradition. Thought it might help you too.”

With a stuttering inhale, you reached for his hand, stroking a finger over his knuckles as you looked up at him shyly. “Thank you for sharing it with me. I didn’t mean to be rude about it, I’m sorry.”

Squeezing your fingers, he could feel heat creeping up his face. “It’s nothin’ sweetheart. Ain’t gotta worry about that.”

Glancing back out the window for a moment, Frank could see the gears turning in your head as you turned back to him with a tiny grin.

“Lead the way?” You asked tentatively.

“For you, sweet girl? Always.” He pressed a kiss to your hand, his stubble scratching at the skin of your fingers.

Frank ushered the two of you inside and into a booth in the back of the diner. The restaurant was lacking in customers, as could be expected given the early hour. While the inky black sky was broken up with dim streetlights outside of the building, the inside was flooded with fluorescent lights--so bright that you had to shield your eyes with a limp hand for a few minutes.

Once your vision adjusted, you had to admit that the energy in the diner was quite nice. The chipped linoleum tiles that lined the floor were a gorgeous cobalt blue. Along the ceiling, large chunks of the roof had been replaced with thick panes of glass, allowing you to watch the clouds float by, the darkness of the night contrasting beautifully with the intense lighting. You and Frank were seated on a worn vinyl booth, the strips of fabric alternating between silver and black. Similar booths wrapped around the space, almost twinkling as you looked at them.

“So,” Frank pushed a mug towards you. “Whaddya think?”

“It's nice.” You murmured, pulling the warm cup closer to yourself. Somehow you'd missed him ordering himself coffee and you a tea in your distracted state.

Frank cocked his head at you, lips turned up in a smug smirk. ”’S that so?“

Smiling into your mug as you took a sip, you retorted. ”Shut up.“

The drink was warm and, thankfully, unsweetened. It's crisp flavor relaxed your shoulders as you sipped, settling your anxious stomach.

“Hope mint is a’right.” Frank spoke quietly, a blush creeping up his face as he studied his own drink.

“You remembered.” You breathed out, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it tightly as your eyes prickled with emotion.

“Course I did.” Frank huffed, draining the rest of his black coffee. You shuddered in distaste and he chuckled, rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand. “You hungry at all?”

Shrugging noncommittally, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. Frank sighed, but didn't push further on the subject, which you were very grateful for. You'd never explicitly spoken to him about the effect your insomnia had on your eating habits, but--being the observant partner he was--he'd clearly picked up on it anyways. Once your day started with little to no sleep, it was like all of your bodily functions forgot how to...function. Hunger and thirst cues were practically impossible to read, your body and brain battling each other ferociously at every turn. Which, of course, just exhausted you further.

Scrubbing at one eye with the heel of your free hand, you grit your teeth to keep from groaning. Dwelling on how miserable you were going to feel today wouldn't solve anything, it would just worsen your mood.

”Head botherin' ya?“ Frank asked, brow folding in concern as he watched you knead at your forehead.

”No more than usual.“ You cracked a small smile, hoping that didn't sound as sad as you thought it did. “Just...frustrated with myself.”

“I feel ya, sweetheart. Not sleepin' ain't any fun. But I have some ideas, so don't you worry your pretty little head about it, ok?” Frank tangled his fingers with yours, his gaze earnest.

“You get ideas?” You scoffed, grinning when Frank rolled his eyes in return.

“Ya know what? Just for that, I ain't gonna tell ya about 'em.”

“Nooo,” You whined, taking Frank's massive hand in both of yours and pouting at him. ”I was just kidding. Please tell me.“

”Hmm, I dunno. First you insulted the diner, then my intelligence. Seems like you don't want my help, sweetheart.“  Frank withdrew from your grasp, pretending to sulk into his coffee.

Giggling at Frank’s pout, you reassured him. ”No, I do! I do!“

With a sad little shrug, Frank glanced forlornly out the window.

“Please Frankie,” Pleading with your gaze, you tried to keep a straight face.  “You're my only hope.”

Dropping his startlingly believable moping act, Frank cackled. “Ya think you're real clever, don't ya?”

Smirking into your tea, you gulped down the last remnants with a shrug. ”Maybe.“

After your countless apologies for insulting his intellect, Frank finally explained why he'd encouraged–forced–you to leave the house before sunrise. Apparently he'd heard that staying in bed while awake could perpetuate the cycle of sleep deprivation. And, though you were loath to admit it, it seemed to help.

The little excursion definitely lifted your spirits, if nothing else. You were able to admire the sunrise and mess around with Frank without your anxiety skyrocketing because of the city crowds.  It was nice, and you told him such–even at the risk of over-inflating his ego.

His next activity, however, was not as pleasant.

“Are you going to have me carry you around the apartment next?” You groused, hefting the bedframe up so that you could adjust your rapidly loosening grip on the cold metal. This much physical labor on an empty stomach and no sleep was not what you’d had in mind for a relaxing day with Frank. He, however, was insistent on moving the furniture in your room immediately upon your return home. 

“You offerin'?” Frank smirked at you, pretending to set the bed frame down. His eyes glinted with a humor you didn’t share over the current situation. 

“Fuck no.” You muttered, glaring at him until he lifted the majority of the weight once more. Frank laughed deeply. 

“Set it right over here, darlin’. We gotta move your dresser and then we’re all done.”

“You know, if you hated the layout of my room so much, you could’ve told me months ago.” Instead of waiting until I was already reaching my limit. You thought to yourself, not vocalizing that particular vulnerability. 

“And have you put me out on my ass for bein’ so forward? I’d never, sweetheart.” Frank chuckled, adjusting your bed as you collapsed against the mattress with a huff. “I’m teasin’, honey. It’s an old trick Curt told me about. All the rearrangin’ is supposed to help your brain remember how to sleep, or some shit.”

Rubbing at your forehead as the ache that had been plaguing you all day made a sudden resurgence, your limbs instinctively curled into fetal position as a small whimper escaped your lips. 

“It’s helping it remember to bother me is what it’s doing.” You grumbled, gritting your teeth as the pain ebbed and flowed. You knew the more you thought about it, the more it would torture you–but the stabbing sensation was all that your fatigued brain could focus on right now. 

Frank snorted, sitting beside you gingerly and caressing your hunched back with an open palm. “‘M sorry, sweet girl. Let me get ya some meds and you can lie here while I finish movin’ shit around.”

Your body felt like it was aimlessly floating, untethered to the Earth and hurrying to escape the pain so viciously attacking it at the moment. You were so tired. Every blink was a reminder of the heaven that had been ripped from your delicate grasp hours ago because your body couldn’t even function in the way it was designed to. Brow scrunching, you burrowed under the covers with a sigh.

“Ya better not be sleepin’ on me, honey.” Frank murmured as he stepped back into the room. 

“Course not,” You mumbled. “Would never…”

“I know you’re tired, darlin’, but ya gotta stay awake until it’s dark. Naps will just make ya feel worse, trust me.” He trailed a finger down your arm, taking your hand and placing some painkillers into it. Waiting patiently until you begrudgingly dragged yourself into a seated position, Frank smiled softly at you as you popped the pills into your mouth. Holding the glass of water out to you, the Marine squeezed your leg as you drank, tucking his chin over your head as you collapsed wearily into his side.

“The big bad Punisher takes naps? Hard to picture, Frankie.” You teased, your voice morphing into a satisfied hum as he threaded his fingers into your hair. 

Frank scoffed, kissing your crown before returning the jest. “Maybe I should take the vest off before closin’ my eyes next time.” 

You giggled, burying your face into his neck. His warm flesh felt wonderful on your pounding head, soothing the pain behind your eyes with each measured breath. “Do you cuddle your guns like teddy bears?” The question was overtly ridiculous, but Frank loved you enough to entertain it anyway. 

“Course. What else would I do with ‘em?” He asked coyly. 

Looking up at him, the corners of your lips lifted as he pressed a line of gentle kisses down your nose until he reached your lips. 

“If I turn on the TV, are ya gonna pass out on top of me?” He murmured, his stubble scratching your face as he spoke. 

“Wouldn't dream of it, love.” You smiled, pressing a kiss to his sturdy jawline before he stood up to grab the remote. 

If someone would’ve told you a year ago that your next boyfriend could make a bad insomnia week feel tolerable, you never would’ve believed them. But here you were—lying on your stomach completely topless as Frank massaged a lightly scented lotion into your back—feeling pretty comfortable with the whole arrangement. 

After you’d failed to stay awake during the movie you’d picked out, Frank had carted you around town on various errands: picking up groceries, going to the bookstore, and even taking a quick walk around the park to feed the ducks, which he knew you loved. Your body still ached, and your mood still waned, but overall, it was a good day. And all the credit belonged to your incredible partner. 

Groaning appreciatively, it felt like you were melting into the mattress as Frank tenderly stretched your taught muscles, unraveling the knots of stress that had been building up all week. 

Chuckling, Frank pressed a tiny kiss to your bare shoulder. “Glad it feels good, sweetheart.” 

“No, it’s awful,” You lied. “You clearly need more practice..” 

Frank snorted, “Noted. How’re ya feelin’?” 

“Tired.” You sighed, rolling over as Frank handed you one of his tees to sleep in. 

“I bet. We’re on the last leg, sweetheart, almost there.” Frank’s large hands eagerly wrapped around you as you nestled into his side. Cupping your face with one palm, the fingers of his other hand threaded into your hair, detangling it carefully and brushing it off of your face. 

Biting your lip in frustration, and to keep from sighing again, you nodded. Attempting an understanding smile, you poked him in the chest. “I know. Thanks for putting up with my cranky self today.”

“Sweetheart, you can be snappy with me as much as ya want if it means you’ll sleep through the night.” Frank smirked, squishing your cheek as your eyes suddenly blurred with tears. 

“I love you.” You whispered, going limp in his hold as he settled against the pillows. 

“I love you too, darlin’. So much.” Resting your foreheads together, he kissed you delicately and your lashes fluttered. 

“Frankie?” You looked up at him with your practiced ‘doe eyes’ expression that he could never resist.

“Yah?” He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Can you read to me?” Batting your lashes, you watched with satisfaction as Frank’s expression softened, your eyes taking in the exact moment he caved to your whims. 

Straightening his posture stoically, he reached over to grab your new book from the nightstand with an exasperated huff. “Oh, I see. This was all a scheme of yours to get me to read to ya? ‘S that it?”

“No…” You giggled, nuzzling into him as he cracked the novel open.

“Sure, sure. You’ll be hearin’ from my lawyer, sweetheart. Think ya owe me compensation.” He winked at you, eyes lingering on your face.

“Honey, before ya drift off, jus’...” Sighing, he stroked a thumb over your cheek. “Just know, if all this doesn’t work, cause it ain’t a cure all, ya know–”

Laying your hand over his, you gave him an encouraging look. He inhaled sharply, thinking about how he wanted to phrase the sentiment. 

“I want you to sleep, darlin’, ya know I do. But if it doesn’t happen tonight, we can always try again, ok?”

Startled by the affection in his tone and his beautiful promise, your face went slack as you nodded. Eyes flitting over your gaze, he nodded curtly once he decided you understood. Returning his attention to the book in his hands, he cleared his throat before beginning to read. His rumbling velvet tone soothed you, your eyes falling closed almost immediately. Here, in the safety of Frank’s arms, surrounded by his beautiful voice and reassured by his adorable promise, you finally felt at peace. Though you knew sleep might continue to evade you, the anxiety you’d felt about your insomnia didn’t feel quite as all-consuming tonight. Whatever happened, Frank would be there. And, for now, that was enough.

Thanks for reading!!

[spookypete-94]

"Under My Skin." GhostxFem!reader

Reader explains to members from TF141 what scares her. Ironically, in a way its what scares our loved big brooding specter. Trigger warning for mentioning of fears, dog bites, heights... some insect reference.

Dogs," Johnny said on the opposite side of the flames of the bonfire that was blazing between the five of them. The warmth was almost too much in places on your body, but still welcomed none the less.

"Dogs?" you asked, curious for him to elaborate.

"The big 'uns, the kind tha'll chase ye'." He said eyes closed and giving a little shake, "Big bastards."

It made you snort, finding big dogs far from scary. If anything they were just more to pet and love on.

"Heights," Gaz quickly answered while leaning back into his chair, legs anchoring him further to remind himself that he was grounded. "You know...for.. reasons." Eyes now looking up at the night sky while he also shivered matching the motion that Soap had just done. Price gave a chuckle, fully understanding the reference of being upside down after falling out of a helicopter- rope tied to his waist.

"You're alive sergeant, and on the ground," Price finally echoed the silence trying to remind him all was well. A warm smile on his face while he drank from his tumbler of scotch.

Gaz gave a scoff as he sat up in his chair, hands squeezing his hat anxiously.

"Ticks," you said plainly, trying to change the subject and get the spotlight off of Gaz, who was clearly uncomfortable still from his ordeal.

"Ticks?" Soap asked, laughing as he did- perhaps its amusing to him that you both are so far on the spectrum. He afraid of something large with teeth that could sink and leave holes, either choosing to grab ahold and not let go- or maybe even worse. Biting again, over and over.

But here you are... afraid of something that can be so small as a pin prick on your skin.

"Ticks," you said firmer sitting up with your elbows on your knees now. "You don't even feel them on you at first, all while they crawl up your skin." Fingers now dancing up as you talk with your hand. "Then before you know it, they make it up to your most vital and tender areas," hand now referring to your upper body and head. "Next they bite you, and sometimes you don't even feel that. Head burrowing under your skin, latching on to you to feed. Sucking off the life force that feeds you, slowly growing, becoming part of you. It started out so small, and now because they are so shady and stealthy, they have grown. Now you know if it. But once you do, you know now this thing has violated you in a way."

"Ya've put some thought inta this," Johnny said, wide eyed, his hands now brushing up and down his exposed arms trying to shake off the imaginary critters that were crawling up him.

"I have, the fact that something can get under your skin so easily is disturbing to me." You said leaning back into your chair.

All of their eyes returned back to the fire watching the flames dance and ashes sparkle in the night ... all except one. Ghost, all clad in black along with a mask sat opposite from you next to Soap. But his eyes locked on your glowing form as you took another drink from your cup. Brown embers like coal, hotter than the fire in between you that actively burned.

If the mask was removed, his face would be so readable. An image that would be almost paintable from the imprint that would have been left behind in your memory. It was shock. He was a deer in the headlights. Somehow, your irrational fear of ticks is the same irrational fear he held for you. You had come into his life. Slowly inched your way up to him in theory. The respect he held for you was great. A woman that had fought her way up to be at the same level they were all regarded in. From earning his respect, you had stopped at his heart, symbolically burrowing your way into it. Now you had latched yourself to him, finding a way to get under his skin. It scared him to his very core, and he is just now finding you latched on to him ... but he could never tell you.

Simon "Ghost Riley Masterlist

[therenlover]

Always For A Second (Usually At The Start) - A Helmut Zemo x Reader fic

"And when I imagine life when it's mine / I can try to picture faceless folk to love a thousand times / But always for a second, and usually at the start / You're in the image posing with a cradled beating heart" - Katie Gregson MacLeod, i'm worried it will always be you

Synopsis: Leaving Helmut for good had been the biggest, most final choice you'd ever had to make. Two years later, he's in your living room again. This time, though, things are different.

Tags: Explicit Smut (+18), Exes, Getting Back Together, Enemies to Lovers to Exes to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Switch!Zemo, Oral (Fem Receiving), Service Top!Zemo, Aftercare, Bucky is Mentioned Too Much

Rating: E (+18) Minors DNI

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 8,600~

-------------

“I didn’t expect you to come crawling back so soon, schatz,”

The restaurant was crowded enough that nobody heard Helmut’s words, curt and cloying and so fucking familiar. Still, my face heated. It always would for him, no matter how much my common sense protested by body’s reactions. How dare he be so damn effective at getting under my skin? 

Some over-expensive brown liquor sloshed against the rim of the glass in my hand as I lifted it less than gracefully from the table, dribbling down the edge of my mouth as I guided it to my lips and drank deeply. “For one, two years isn’t soon,” I started, swallowing. “Two, you’re the asshole who showed up in my apartment like a robber, which makes you the one who came crawling back. I was just nice enough to let you take me for a free meal to get you the hell out. Three,” I set the glass down sharply, “don’t call me that. We’re not friends. We’re not anything. I still haven’t forgiven you,” 

“Apologies,” 

He didn’t mean it. 

“Still, it’s too soon to expect any sort of kindness from you,” he continued, “If I recall correctly, you said you’d rather die than suffer through another night with me for the rest of eternity. I believe an eternity has yet to pass… and yet, here we are,”

His matter of fact tone left little up for debate, unless I wanted to reach for my fork and maim his smug face. Instead, I bit my tongue and swallowed another mouthful of whatever I was drinking.

For once I was glad to be surrounded by the kind of noisy, faceless jumble of humanity that usually made my skin crawl. F. Scott Fitzgerald was on to something with his theories on large crowds and intimacy; there was no better place for two war criminals to meet than the corner booth of a hazy restaurant, lounging and drinking, covered by the blanket of sweet anonymity. Anyone who glanced our way would see two normal human beings sharing a meal in peaceable silence, sharing sparse conversation between bites of this and that. 

They would see lovers.

The thought left a lump in my throat. 

Maybe I looked uncomfortable enough that they would presume, correctly, that we were ex-lovers. I wasn’t hopeful about it, though. 

Helmut noticed, of course, but I knew he would. He had always had an almost supernatural sense for these things, like he could tune into my emotional radio on a frequency I didn’t even fully know myself. Enemy or ally or… otherwise, it was a constant to be seen through and picked apart like carrion. An appetizer for the fights to come. Thankfully, though, he chose to have mercy on me this time in a rare show of respect. Instead of wrapping his lips around another snide comment- even though I could tell it was burning a bitter hole into the tip of his tongue behind his clenched teeth- he chose to pick up a ring of calamari from the plate between us. He held it up to examine the crust in the dim lamplight before placing it delicately against his lips, pulling it from the fork in one bite. Still, he couldn’t be too gracious. Helmut held eye contact as he went.

I could only managed a disgusted sigh but found myself mirrored as his teeth sunk into the squid and his brow furrowed. 

“Bad?” I asked.

He chewed for a good while before managing to swallow the offending clump down, gagging all the way. “Despite my recent diet, that might be the worst thing I’ve eaten in a long while,”

A laugh escaped me before I even knew it was there. “You managed to pick a restaurant where our appetizer is worse than prison food? Serves you right for ordering seafood in the midwest,” 

“I suppose it does.” He nudged the plate towards me with a growing smirk, “See for yourself. I’d hate to see it wasted, and as you said, it is ours. I can’t be expected to finish it alone,” 

As if under the spell of his charisma all over again, I followed his instructions without a second thought. It was just as bad as I anticipated. 

Things were off to a bad start from the moment the tines of my fork hit the batter. The breading seemed to squelch under the pressure, sagging and giving way into meat that was somehow both rubbery and gelatinous, if that was even possible, and if the texture seemed bad outside of my mouth it was even worse inside. Somewhere between its fishy tang and the overly salted batter, there was a bitter, almost sour note that seemed to permeate further with every chew. I spit the macerated glob into my napkin before even attempting to swallow down the remaining spit. 

Across the table, Zemo grinned at my misfortune. “Let’s hope our entrees are less offensive to our palettes,” 

“Fuck off,” I muttered, lips turning up at the edges. 

“You can curse all you want at my poor choice of venue, but I can tell you’re glad you’re the one who ordered the pasta instead of the steak,” 

I went for my glass again, letting the liquor with a name I couldn’t pronounce burn all the way down my throat and into my chest. “I hate that you’re always right, Helmut. Can’t you be wrong, just once? Leave some correctness for the rest of us,” 

Maybe it was the lighting, soft and amber against the dark wood of the table to mask the bloody steaks that would sit below, or maybe it was the music, something old and swinging that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but knew from the radio in my grandmother’s car as a child, or maybe, just maybe, it was the crows feet that popped up around Helmut’s eyes when he smiled that hadn’t been quite so prominent the last time I’d seen him, but no matter the cause, the solid iron wall I had put up around my heart when I walked out of the Baron’s life those two year sago seemed to soften. Weakened, somehow. It was like someone took a blowtorch right to the center of my defenses. Something in me screamed that they had never been all that strong to begin with. 

I only noticed I’d been staring when he looked away, clearing his throat and wiping his thin mouth with the napkin from his lap. 

There went my hand. Helmut, 1. Me, 0… Well, 1, if leaving him those years ago counted for anything, and I refused to believe that it hadn’t. That the blow to his ego hadn’t given me at least a slight upper hand compared to the naive girl I had been in comparison when I first met him. There had been so much good in the world then. 

The silence dragged on as if the structural flaws of my guarded heart could patch themselves up with the defenses created from just a few silent moments between us. That’s all it would take for me to remember all the reasons this would never work: all the pain, the sleepless nights, the snide comments that turned into biting replies that grew into massive, earth-shattering fights that exploded into days or weeks or months living alone in a house with him. One by one, the memories flooded back, reminding me exactly why it had taken me almost two years to find enough peace within myself that I wouldn’t decide to shoot the man in front of me on sight. My heart hardened by the second.

“I saw your concert,” 

I was simultaneously thawed and frozen all over again. “How did you-“ 

“James mentioned it,” 

“You still talk to Bucky?” 

“Here and there,” 

The conversation lapsed into silence. 

He had… been there? I didn’t even bother to think about the talk I’d have to have with Bucky about my privacy, too focused on the more important matter at hand. 

The venue was grungy, a basement bar with a small stage serving the communities aspiring comedians and desperate punk-rock garage dwellers just waiting for their big break. I had barely had the guts to pay the booking fee, though. It was just me, a piano, and my guitar for an hour and a half set of mostly cover songs that had gone better than I’d expected, but hadn’t been anything crazy. The crowd was appreciative and respectful. Several people had left tips, even more giving me a congratulatory clap on the back as I left the building that night, promising to “stream my EP” whenever I released it, despite the fact that I had no plans to do any such thing. Still, I couldn’t imagine that I hadn’t seen his face in the crowd. I couldn’t name what I was feeling as I imagined it; visualized his face on the other side of the smoky room, leaned against the bar with his dark eyes catching hold of mine…

“You came and you didn’t say anything? Not even a hello?” 

Helmut laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “And risk my life over a free concert? No.” He paused, “Despite my tendency to sometimes be… less than kind, I knew it would rattle you to see me. I didn’t want to throw you off before your performance.” 

I didn’t have much of anything to say in response. Instead, I picked at the paper straw wrapper in my lap and tried to look anywhere but in his direction, shoving down whatever was welling up in my chest. He wouldn’t let things go, though. He never could. That was half of why we’d never work. Every time I tried to drop an uncomfortable subject he’d be there to pick it up with a snide comment or two. It was an easy rhythm. Too easy. I had never wanted to fall back into it and yet, here I was, almost excited to snipe his next words down. 

“Cain misses you,” He continued. 

I folded the straw wrapper in my hands, pulling at the crease as I thought about the doberman puppy I had left behind. He would be so big now, as big as the one I’d taken with me was now. My heart ached at the thought. 

“I doubt he remembers me after all this time,” 

“Of course he does,” Helmut’s voice was low. It was almost hypnotic, the way he carried himself. He could fool anyone. I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach that couldn’t have been the calamari, he could still fool me. “He’s quite the troublemaker. More times than I can count he’s evaded me in the house, only to be found asleep in your old closet. I think he remembers your scent,” 

“Thats…” I sat quiet for a moment, pursing through choices of words in my mind, mulling over the sharp accented way he pronounced the t in scent, “Sad. Really sad. Makes me wish I could’ve taken them both,” 

“And what of Brutus?”

“He’s good,” A smile crossed my face. “Big, as you saw tonight. I remember when we got them, they told us they’d be 60 pounds at most, but I swear Brutus must’ve snuck in with the rest of those puppies, because he’s massive. Headbutts me every time I walk through the door wondering where I was. He’s a good boy, though. Keeps watch while I sleep, just in case.”

“Just in case I decided to let myself in through the window one night?”

I let myself laugh without judgement this time, reaching for my water. “Looks like it was all for nothing, then. Who knew he’d just let intruders come waltzing in off of the fire escape?” 

“Am I truly considered an intruder in your home?” He asked it as if the answer wasn’t obvious. As if there were any other answer I could possibly give. As if I could’ve wanted him there. His earnestness almost hurt as much as his taunting did, maybe more, because even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself, there was a soft ring of truth to his words. 

I took the cowards way out. “I don’t know, what do you think?” 

It was a vulnerability to not give a straight answer, the kind of weak spot that Helmut would catch wind of in an instant before using it to unravel someone piece by piece. Not a no, but certainly not a yes, and the fact that it hadn’t been a resounding yes was enough to glean that maybe, deep down, I wasn’t hating this dinner. He would see through me. Rip me to shreds for the subtle admittance that I hadn’t hated seeing him waiting for me on the couch when I walked through my door, even if I hadn’t expected or wanted him there in the first place. 

I found it was better to lie by omission than to fully lie and let him see through me to the more important truth; For as much as I despised everything about him, I had missed Helmut Zemo. I had missed his stupid expensive taste and the tilt of his stupid head and his stupid shiny white smile. I had missed seeing his coat hung up beside the door and knowing what waited for me inside. It was sick how I had loved him. How I had loved every minute of him picking me apart by the seams and putting me back together. Who could possibly crave their own destruction? Who could live knowing that to be loved was to be deconstructed down to the bone and laid bare as something lesser, something so small compared to the great destroyer I devoted myself to. 

How could he let me live like that if he truly saw through me? 

And that was why I had to leave. 

Loving Helmut Zemo was no way to live. I knew that. I had known that the day I picked up my dog and walked out of our home with nothing but my wallet, car keys, phone, and a polaroid picture of his silhouette. Somehow, I knew that he knew that too. Why else would I move on so suddenly, so sharply, removing every piece of the life we’d built to start myself fresh? A new me, I had said. A new chapter. Yet here I was across from him, shredded bits of paper littering my lap as he puppeteered my heart right back into his arms. 

No. I couldn’t let it happen. 

Not again. 

“Listen, baron,” I didn’t let him answer my rhetorical question. It wouldn’t be wise to let him gain the upper hand again. It wouldn’t be smart to let myself stay weak. “I appreciate dinner. It’s been surprisingly lovely to catch up with you. I’m glad to know you’re not dead, and its great to know Cain is doing well, but I know you weren’t here to tell me that over a plate of mediocre pasta,” 

Helmut smiled, his head in its signature tilt, and swished his own glass a bit. The ice was all but melted giving the liquor an almost clear quality as it diluted. Not a sip had been taken. “Ask the question, schatz,” 

“Why are you here? Why did you stalk me here and break into my apartment when I made it clear that you weren’t welcome in my life?” My words came out so matter of fact even I almost recoiled at them. Not unemotional but detached. 

“Um, who had the chicken alfredo?”

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I looked up at the poor waiter, hot plates in hand, as he took in our table at just the wrong time. Five minutes earlier he would have walked in on polite conversation about the dogs or the shitty appetizers. Now, though, he stood between a man who was known to kill for the things he wanted and me, the one thing he could never have again. 

Surprisingly, though, Helmut waved a hand towards me as I froze. There were none of the usual dramatics, just polite chatter with the waiter as he set my plate in front of me and left Helmut with his, taking the offending calamari plate away with him as he scurried away, surely to tell his coworkers about the crazy exes at the corner table. Helmut didn't even carry on with his answer. He just started tucking in to his steak and potatoes, not sparing me a single glance. If I didn’t know better, if I hadn’t memorized the way his eyes looked in the low light of a restaurant across from me, I would think he’d been replaced by a skrull.

Where was the tearing? The shredding? The utter evisceration of my waiting throat as he drank deeply of my darkest, most shameful thoughts only to spit them out for the world to see. Where was that shame? In the before times, in the times that the two of us had been a we, he never would have paused to mind a waiter. The world would have revolved around him as he laid me bare, no matter who watched or waited in the wings. What changed? 

How had I not noticed his docility until now?

The pasta was decent. It was better than anything I would’ve made at home, at least. I barely thought about it, though, letting my body go through the motions of eating mechanically while my mind went over a million things I could say. What could I say? There was nothing left to. We had gone over every possibility before I had left, at least I thought we had. Whatever we were was dead. That was certain. But what we could be…

I swallowed hard before I could choke on a relatively large piece of broccoli I neglected to chew in my trance. 

Helmut seemed to be in a painfully similar situation. One look at his plate showed a steak cut into tiny pieces. Almost none of it looked eaten, just diced into a pile and shuffled around a bit on the plate to mix with the potatoes, smashed down from their neat ice cream scoop globe and spread with the back of a fork. 

With a sigh, I set down my fork, pasta already forgotten. 

“Lost your appetite?” 

He paused his fiddling with his fork and knife, mirroring me and letting the utensils rest on the table beside his plate. It was odd to see him rattled. Strange to watch his eyes roll up to the ceiling and pause there, as if he was searching for the right words to say. He always knew just what to say to cut the deepest. Maybe it was foreign for him to not want to cut; To find a soft word, instead of a sharpened one. His mouth opened one… two…three times. Open and shut, open and shut. I couldn’t help but hurt for him. The man of many words was finally struck dumb. 

Finally, it came. 

“I’m sorry,” 

I had anticipated a selfish reply, a demand for me to come back and put the past two years behind us, but time had changed him. It had changed us both. He was no longer the man he had been when he was first freed from behind bars, vengeful and biting and so deeply afraid of being alone again, but I was no longer the lost girl I had been either. I did not need to be destroyed to breathe. I could feel tears pricking up in my eyes as he reached a hand across the table to search for my own. It was such a familiar sight in a time of uncertainty. I kept my hands firmly in my lap, though. I would not give him the satisfaction. 

More, I would not give him hope.

“Come home, schatz,”  

There it was. 

I couldn’t hold in the bitter, wet laugh that bubbled up through me, more at my own foolishness than at anything else. He had changed, yes, but some things never would. 

“Helmut,” The word hurt to say. It was altogether both familiar and unfamiliar, covered in a thick layer of dust from time, but nothing could erase the fact that it had once been used over and over, like a prayer, as easy as breathing or saying my own name. “You know I can’t,” 

He let his hand slink back to his side. “I had to try, you know,”

“I know,” The words were a whisper. 

So this was closure? 

The table was quiet. There was no desperation from Helmut’s side, no attempts to sway me or sudden outbursts of resentment. It was almost peaceful. His voice was sad but there was no manipulation in it. We laid our cards of the table as the game we’d played for years finally came to an end. 

“You were right about us, when you left,” he laughed, “I was, as you so aptly put it, a massive ass. I was still so deeply disillusioned about this world and the horrors of it. It was as if everyone around me was just another cog in it all, even you. I thought if I could puppet it all, make things go my way, everything could just be quiet. The horrors would finally stop. The memories would finally stop. I took it too far, though. I took it out on you. For that, I will never be sorry enough,” 

I put up a hand. “Helmut, you don’t have to do this-“

“I want to,”

His voice was delicate but didn’t waver. For the first time I wondered if this was more about what he needed to say than about what I needed to hear. I nodded him on. Without me even thinking about what I was doing, my hand caught his across the table.

“I wanted to run after you the same day you left. I nearly did, too, before I thought better of it. Then I really thought of what you said. What I did. It was then that I decided I had to change for the better, not for you but for myself. Only then would I allow myself to try again. So I did. I spent my time deconstructing the things I had seen and done and finally facing my own demons. I’m not perfect- believe me -but there are many things I have… worked on, for lack of a better word. James was surprisingly helpful throughout it all,” 

“Is that why you’ve been talking?” My thumb stroked over his knuckles, pausing on a scar. 

“More or less. I needed advice on how to overcome my atrocities, and I owed him an apology either way. He told me about your concert because he thought I would be ready to make amends, and yet I found myself unable to speak to you because I knew that if I did, I would have to beg you for forgiveness, and that is not something I will allow myself to do from anyone. Not now, nor ever,”

I let myself pull away. This was not a movie. There was no happy ending for the two of us at the end of this conversation. It was a chance to clear the air and let go of our grievances before going our separate ways. Treating it any other way would only hurt us both. “Why break in, then, and drag this all out over dinner? Why not just knock on my door, apologize, and leave?”

“I couldn’t have you slamming the door in my face and leaving me to apologize to the wall, now could I?” 

We shared a sad smile, a knowing one. “I guess that’s true.” 

“I needed to know you would hear what I had to say until the end,” he paused, “And one last confession. I must admit, I could not walk away without sharing dinner with you one last time. It’s selfish, as I am selfish, but I could not see you again without truly seeing you, more than just as you shouted at me and threw me to the curb,” 

“You think so little of me?” I asked. There was no bite in it. 

“No, I think so little of myself,” he finally took a sip from his glass, “Any anger on your part is warranted,” 

We did not speak again for a long while. Helmut methodically went through the bite-sized pieces of steak on his plate as I finished the alfredo, which had grown cold in the time it took to sort things out. There was no quiet conversation, no jokes or shared stories in the glow of the lamps overhead. Instead we sat in peaceable silence and breathed in the finality of it all. I was almost grateful for it. I never would have imagined sharing a meal like this with him in all of the years I had known him and loved him. If it was to be the last, and it was, we would savor every moment of each others company. Every moment not spent on my meal was devoted to memorizing the line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes as he did the same for me. 

By the time the waiter came to ask about dessert, I could have written sonnets about his face alone, and by the time he returned with the check, paid discreetly with a 40% tip for his troubles on Helmut’s card, I had committed the sound of his breathing to my mind. I could only hope the memory would last this time.

Realistically, I knew it wouldn’t. 

I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as we approached the front of the restaurant together, pausing awkwardly outside the door as we exited out onto the street. 

“So, this is it,” My hands found the pockets of my coat as I rocked onto the balls of my feet. 

Helmut smiled softly in the lamplight. “Let me walk you home,” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” 

“Says who? I have to follow you either way, my car is parked down the block,” He offered me his arm. 

I took it far quicker than I should have, relishing in the scent of his cologne. Even after all these years he had never switched to another brand, and I refused to admit to anyone else but myself that I was grateful for it. Instead I leaned into his warmth. “Well, it’s only a few blocks anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt,” and with that, we were off. 

The night was cool. Summer had given in to the pull of a lush fall, the temperatures dropping to a comfortable but windy chill when the sun fell below the horizon. The leaves were not yet falling but they’d begun their slow transformation from green into a mosaic of reds and yellows and greens, forming a rustling canopy above the sidewalk that allowed a flash of stars and moon through the foliage every few steps. 

We were not the only pair walking through the streets that night, but if you had asked me about it later I would have said we were the only two people in the whole city, matching each other step for step under the flickering streetlights. Helmut’s crows feet were in full force as he laughed at my terrible jokes, and I couldn’t help but feel warmth rush through my neck and cheeks as he recounted the moment we first met. 

It had been fall then, too. A brief, chance encounter in the streets of Paris was all it was, a night spend with a stranger, until I had seen him again in Sibera, and again in Germany, and again on the Raft, and again, and again, and again, and again…

He had been younger then, much younger, and still raw with grief, but I had loved him even then.

I was so lost in my own memories that I almost missed the stairs up to my apartment, but Helmut paused there, keeping me rooted with him even though the look in his eyes told me he almost kept walking past, hoping to gain one more turn around the block before he had to let me go. He didn't, though. This was the end of the line. 

My arm slipped easily from its place against his own, hand catching briefly on the crook of his elbow. “Walk me to my door?”

His laugh felt almost nervous, a paid mockery of my own earlier reticence. “I don’t think that’s wise,” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman, baron?” 

“I have never claimed that,” For a moment, when he paused, I thought that would be that. I would turn my back, ascend the stairs, and turn around to find he’d shifted back into the shadows from whence he came, but then the moonlight caught on his soft, wet eyes. “But for you, schatz, I try to be,” 

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say as we walked up the front steps and into the building. 

It had been so angry last time. I had vomited up every hateful, raging, repressed thought that I had shoved down into my chest over the course of our turbulent time together all at once and left without a second glance. This time, though, it felt wrong to end things without giving him credit for all of the other things, the things I had forgotten in the midst of all the chaos that surrounded us. How could I thank him? How could I tell him every wonderful thing about himself only to close the door in his face a moment later? I spent the whole trip up to my apartment trying to find a way to express even an ounce of what I felt, and then it was far too late. 

We stood there on my novelty doormat, boots settled over the dirty cartoon chickens, hands in our pockets, and breathed in the stale hallway air. 

“Thank you for dinner,” I said. If I shut off my heart and my mind and every other little betraying ache in my bones it was like it had been all those years ago. We were just meeting. This was the end of our very first date. There was a future instead of a past in the time that lay beyond us. 

Helmut averted his eyes from mine. I could tell he was pretending too. “Of course,” 

“I’ll see you again,” I lied, “I mean, it’s inevitable. We’ll end up at Bucky’s place at the same time,” 

“Or run into each other at a busy cafe,” he offered. 

“Exactly! Or our cells will end up next to each other in maximum security prison,” I laughed, but it caught, pathetic, in the back of my throat.  

He took a step back, boots leaving my doorstep. “I look forward to it, whenever it may be,” 

My shaking hands found my keys, an autopilot motion I had done a million times, and the door to my apartment swung open. I could hear Brutus in his kennel, beginning to whine the moment he heard me come home, but I paused there for a moment, one foot in and one foot out. 

“Goodbye, Helmut,” 

“Sleep well, schatz,” 

I stepped inside and locked the door without turning around for a last look. 

My tears came quicker than expected as I took in the room around me. It was the antithesis of my home with Helmut, all whites and beiges and grays from the sparse walls to the lonely couch against the wall. There was one great shock of black, though; a solid footprint on the windowsill. One last souvenir to remember him by. 

I had done the right thing. 

I had to have done the right thing. 

Life with Helmut was hell. It was exciting and lush and romantic and alluring but it was destructive and painful too. It would mean being seen and unseen for the rest of my life, living with the ghosts of those lost in Novi Grad. He would never stop being the man his grief had created. He was just too broken… wasn’t he? 

All at once I knew I had to see him again. This wasn’t going to be the end. There were still so many chances to make it right. 

Before I knew my own feelings, I was undoing the latch and throwing my door open, only to find him there, feet planted solidly on that stupid welcome mat and fist raised to lift the knocker. Our eyes locked. 

We didn’t need words then. 

No, all I needed was his lips on mine and my hands in his hair. It was a need easily rectified. 

He didn’t pull away as I grabbed the edges of his ridiculous fur coat and dragged him in for a kiss, letting the remains of that day’s lipstick smear against his chapped lips as the parted and made way for me. It was like a piece of my puzzle fell back into place, like the thing that had been lying dormant in my empty chest for the past two years had jumped to life and jumped into my throat. The tears weren’t coming anymore, though Helmut’s cheeks felt wet when I guided one of my hands to rest against it, dragging him closer. I needed him urgently. I needed all of it. Every moment I had missed. 

At least one time in my entire tiny, useless life I needed to know him as he had always known me. I had to see him through eyes that would know every atom of him by heart. 

It could have lasted second or hours. I was lost in it; lost in every heartbeat and the messy clack of teeth on teeth as we remembered exactly how our mouths locked into each other. There was no need to breathe. I would happily drown in him if he would let me. Through the passion I distinctly remembered this fervor, the endless need for him. It wasn’t frightening anymore, though. I knew how to walk away. We both did. 

This time I didn’t want to. 

Helmut was the first to pull away. His mouth was wet and red as he panted there, just a breath away from diving in for more, but he pulled away when I advanced again, instead choosing to speak between placing kisses on my cheeks and down my jaw. “I couldn’t let you walk away from me. Not again,” his voice shook as he kissed me, “Does that make me a bad man? Does that mean you can’t love me?” 

I could only breathe a laugh as I pressed my chest to him. No measure of closeness was enough. I needed him to cover every inch of me. “I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried, and I’ve tried,” 

“Please, stop trying,”

With that, he caught me in another kiss. 

“We should probably go inside,” I panted, gesturing towards the apartment with my head and Helmut nodded, maneuvering us over the threshold and into the barren entryway of the home  I’d made without him. It didn’t matter, though. That wasn’t what I was focused on. Instead, my hands were more focused on pulling his coat from his shoulders and discarding it loosely in the direction of the coat rack between fevered kisses. 

The old Helmut would’ve pulled away and make some snarky remark about keeping the place clean. This Helmut, though- my Helmut, as I had selfishly started to refer to him mentally in the past few moments -just dragged me in closer after his arms were freed, letting his hand drift to the small of my back but not even an inch lower.

Suddenly, though, things seemed to cool. The kisses grew shorter, softer. His arms still held me but seemed to loosen their grip. 

“Tell me you want this,” He whispered softly against the shell of my ear, “That you want me,” 

Ah. So that’s what this is. 

“Helmut, of course I do-“ 

“That’s not enough,” his voice was laced with a rare seriousness as he pulled away to look at me properly. His brown eyes glowed a million honeyed colors under the shitty, flickering overhead lighting I should have replaced months ago. They flitted from my swollen mouth to my cheeks to my watery eyes as his hand came up to cup my cheeks again. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake or a bad decision you’ll regret the second we finish,” 

The rest went unsaid. 

(Tell me you’ll stay. Tell me this means something to you, even if it doesn’t mean as much as it does to me. Tell me I won’t wake up alone tomorrow morning. Tell me anything and everything except the cruel reality that neither of us really knows what the future looks like once this is over)

I simply nodded my head, coming in for one closed mouth kiss. “I want this. I want you. Whatever I choose to do next, you’ll be a part of the decision. No more running away,” 

Like a shot, we were off to the races again. 

It was hard to detach our bodies long enough to give Brutus a treat to quiet him down, harder still to lead him to the bedroom and drop his hand long enough to turn on a nearby lamp, but somehow I managed. For all of the small things I’d forgotten about Helmut in the two years we’d spent apart, his bitten nails and the silhouette of his nose and the sound of his labored breathing as he took in my body with something akin to animalistic hunger, it was easy to fall back into the rhythm we’d always found ourselves in intimately. 

His shirt came off first, exposing the soft curve of his stomach. I kissed down from his neck to his chest, letting myself pause on each and every pinkish scar that graced his flesh. I made a mental note to ask him about a few new ones, including a wicked one across his collarbone that still puckered into an inch long divot in his flesh. My fingers followed my mouth, mapping every inch of his flesh. They caught on every soft yielding place he offered, a worship on the altar of his body, dragging his flesh ever so slightly but never enough to leave a scratch or bruise. 

I would not mark him any more than the world already had. It was not my purpose to remold him into my image. Instead I would venerate what he was, what he had become. 

Helmut had put so much effort into changing himself, rebreaking the things that had never healed correctly and setting them right again. I refused to let him break down to splinters again. Not on my watch. 

He shuddered at my attentions. 

“Let me see you?” It was a question, not a demand, and how could I deny him when he asked so nicely? 

I stood up again, relishing in the feeling of his fingers against the hem of my t-shirt, the gentle scratch of nails on skin as he lifted it over my head. When he looked at me, it was like he was looking at the most precious thing in the world. Usually he was so hungry for it that there was never a pause once my shirt was discarded. My bra would be thrown off with it, then my pants, then my underwear, all in such quick succession that I barely distinguished one article from the next in the order of things. This time, though, he paused, hands just inches from my bare flesh. 

“My sweet girl,” he whispered to me like a prayer, a confession, “I don’t think I can hold back much longer,” 

Slowly, deliberately, I stepped forward and pressed my body into his awaiting hands. He squeezed my hips once, gentle, and twice. Then they were roaming up to the clasp on my bra with that usual hunger again, freeing my breasts for his attentions. I don’t exactly recall how he manhandled me on to the bed, I was too busy feeling the hard press of his bulge through his crisp dress slacks. The first thing I was fully cognizant of was his hot breath on my sternum as he hovered over me, still standing but bent at the waist, boxing me in with his knees. 

“So fucking sweet,” he whispered before taking one of my nipples between his lips and laving his tongue over the hardening tip. 

I felt like a live wire. Heat was building everywhere. Dazzling electricity shot through my head and fingers and toes and cunt and gods especially my breasts. They were always my weak spot, and how he knew it, how he knew me. I wanted to thrash against him, to buck and gain his attention where I really needed it, but his body above mine held me fast, keeping me right where he wanted me, vulnerable to him and his specific brand of torture. With a particularly sharp pinch and a well timed suck he had me keening against him, curling into his every move. 

How had I lived without him? It was hard to imagine a night not spend here with Helmut, wherever here was, not that that mattered. I was embarrassingly wet. The slickness had gathered enough that I could feel it on my thighs despite my jeans. When I tried to relieve myself, though, the baron caught my hand, tutting softly. 

I expected to have to ask permission. Soft begs escaped my mouth. I needed him. I had no patience for games. Instead, though, he lifted up off of my chest and smiled, pulling my hand to his lips. “Let me help you, love,” 

There are no words in the human language that could adequately represent the sound that escaped my mouth. I could not even begin to try. It continued even as I lifted my hips to shimmy free from my jeans and underwear in one fluid motion, only ceasing when Helmut was on his knees with his face buried in my cunt. I was making different noises then. Loud. Guttural. If I had any mind left at all I would worry what my neighbors thought, to see me out on my doorstep desperately pawing at a man only to hear the noises we were making in tandem now. Thankfully, any sensible thought I had left seemed to fly out the window with Helmut’s first lick to my cunt. 

It was clear that he hadn’t forgotten me, and if he had, the muscle memory was coming back quick. His tongue was deft as it worked its way over my aching nub in a pseudo-figure eight; circling once, twice, and three times before dipping back through my folds. I held him in place this time, though, rocking into his mouth. At some point my hands found their way into his hair. It was so soft between my fingers, so pliable as I pulled against him, desperate for more of him, anything he would good. 

Every time he relented to me. Each sharp jolt was rewarded with a kiss against my thigh or a muttered curse in Sokovian, hot breath teasing my glistening mound. 

He was so giving, so attentive to my every need. He had always been a generous lover, never leaving me wanting for anything, but this felt… different. The way he sucked bruises into my thighs, relenting to each and every sobbing please that escaped my soft lips, was a new and devastating experience. There were no power games left to play, no lording his sexual prowess over me as he brought me slowly closer and closer to the ever distant goalpost, just his mouth on me over and over and over again as he wrung the first orgasm of the night out of me, then the second in short measure, barely ceasing from one to the next.

By the time he decided I’d had my fill, my legs were a trembling mess against his shoulders and my cunt was a sopping mess. 

He grinned a crooked grin at his masterpiece.

“How was that, my love,” 

I could barely catch my breath enough to speak. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, thrumming a frantic drumbeat even as the room quieted. “So good- really really good, Helmut,” 

Slowly, he rose up from his knees, undoing his belt. “Please say my name again, schatz,” 

“Helmut,” My voice was hushed. Reverent. 

He undid the button at his fly, pulling at the band of his boxers. “Again,” 

It fell from my lips like a prayer. “Helmut,”

His cock bounced free, bobbing as he took a sharp, steadying breath. He placed his hand at the base and squeezed slightly. 

“Again,” 

“Helmut,” 

“Fuck, that’s good,” The trance broke momentarily as I gazed up at him, watching the sweat roll down his forehead in shining rivulets despite the chill in the air. He wiped at them with the back of his free hand and smiled sheepishly. “Scoot back and get comfortable, please. I don’t think I’ll last long,” 

I did as he asked, settling against my pillows on the still-made sheets. “Neither will I,” 

“Where are your condoms?” 

“Bedside drawer, way in the back. I’m on the pill too, so no worries,” 

He moved quickly, grabbing a foil package from the small pile I’d accrued, just in case. 

It felt odd to have him be the one using them. 

There had been a few other men who had been invited here, fewer still that made it to the point that Helmut and I were at now. Every time, though, I hadn’t been able to go through with it, because every time they had finally settled themselves above me, I would close my eyes and, just for a moment, see Helmut in their place. It was unsettling the first time, enough so that I sent the guy home right away. The next time, though, it was more thought provoking than anything. I chalked it up to him being my longest lasting sexual partner and left it at that, but now, watching him roll the condom onto his length and crawl into his position over me, I knew. 

I would never get over him, even if I tried for years. My heart had a space carved out in the shape of his own. No matter how long I stayed away, I would never find something quite like what we had. He was it. This was what people dreamed about. And to think, I had almost let it slip away…

He slid one hand into mine, lacing our fingers together in the gentle lamplight. “Are you ready for me?” 

“More than ready,” My thighs spread as I canted my hips up.

Physically and mentally and every other possible way I needed him. I was prepared. 

So Helmut pumped himself once with his free hand before guiding himself into my wet heat. 

It was impossible to last long once we were finally complete. 

Feeling him inside me was like knowing the truth of the universe. It was comfortable, and thrilling, and so deliciously enough. He filled me well, finding his rhythm as he swore and released my hand to prop himself up more comfortably. We were linked together like the final pieces of a puzzle. I closed my eyes at let myself relish in it. 

There was nothing left to worry over while Helmut was inside of me. All thoughts that weren’t of him were banished. It was something to be cherished, every thrust paired with a whispered confession of love from one of us, a fleeting kiss, a curse, a plea… We laid ourselves bare. I let my legs wrap around his warm, soft hips as he rutted into me, bringing a hand between us to circle my clit once more. Even after everything he refused to leave me behind while he chased his own pleasure. It didn’t take much to send me tumbling over the edge into oblivion. 

As always, Helmut followed me down. 

His thrusts quickened, then stilled as he came to rest upon me, panting and heaving and begging for breath. I didn’t care much. He smelled of cologne and sweat as I buried my face in his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could feel him soften inside of me but I was far too spent to urge him to move.

We only shifted apart when he slipped free of me.

Helmut quickly kissed my forehead and gathered himself up, shuffling to the trash can to discard the used condom and grab a tissue to wipe himself up. I didn’t let myself move an inch. If I moved, would the bliss run away? Would I realize what I’d done? I let myself lay instead, eyes closed, panting in the autumn chill as my lover approached and wiped up our beautiful mess as gently as he could manage. With one last kiss to my thigh, he discarded the rag, opened the window, and crawled back into bed with me. 

The process was indelicate, a lot of awkward shuffling of sticky limbs, but we were settled beneath the blankets soon enough. Helmut stroked his fingers down my arm languidly while kissing the back of my neck. 

I broke the peace between us. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what this means for us,” 

He sighed gently. His breath was soothing and familiar against my shoulder. “That’s not something we have to decide at this very moment,” 

“But I just don’t want you to think this means something… or at least something more than it does? If that makes sense? I don’t know,”

“Schatz, please,” 

“I want to keep my own place, at least for now. I don’t know what that means for when I’ll see you or if we’ll keep doing this,” I gestured vaguely to my nude body beneath the sheets, “or if we’re even a thing anymore, bu-“ 

Helmut reached his arm around us, placing a quieting finger over my lips and another soft kiss against my shoulder. 

“I swear, your mind sounds even louder than mine,” 

“Sorry,” 

“No reason to be,” His hand left my lips, running down to my stomach and pulling me back towards the softness of his chest. “As for your questions, I shall respect your wishes about distance and housing and labels, whatever they may be. That being said, as long as you’re still up for… this, as you put it, I will never deny you, no matter the distance. I would cross oceans for you,” 

A cum-drunk, half-asleep giggle escaped me as he nuzzled in, kissing my ear. 

“Thank you,” 

“No, thank you,” he matched my laughter with his own, “I believe this is what James would call post nut clarity,” 

“Now you ruined it!” I huffed. The faux anger only lasted a moment, though, before I was rolling to face him, cheek pressed to the soft, downy hair of his chest. “I love you, Helmut.” 

“I love you too, sweet girl. Now sleep. I’ll get up and deal with the dog once you’re resting,” 

For the first time in two years, I breathed in the scent of Helmut’s cologne before lapsing into a peaceful sleep.

---------

A/N: Thank you for reading! This is my first foray into smut in literal years, and it was literally all written within a 12 hour period, so I hope any mistakes weren't enough to take away from your enjoyment. Comments are always appreciated, but never expected. See you on the next authors note!

[laura1633]

a drabble of charles wanting to be in maxs lap? :)

Hi anon, thank you for the ask ♥️. I took it in a bit of a cutesy silly direction so hopefully that is okay, I was just in the mood to write a nice cute drabble today.

------

Charles isn’t jealous of a cat. 

He isn’t. That would be ridiculous. 

Except Sassy is currently snuggled in Max’s lap and taking up the space where Charles would normally choose to perch himself. The Dutchman is cooing softly and giving Sassy little pets on the top of her head and the sound of her purrs are filling the room. Charles scrunches his nose up and tries not to think about how loudly he would be purring if Max was gently petting him and running his large hands through his hair. 

“Has she been fed?” Charles asks curiously, it’s not exactly his finest hour but if Sassy is due a feed then that is a sure fire way to get her up and off where she is curled up against Max’s soft thick thighs. 

“She’s been fed, haven’t you Sassy?” Max coos as he looks down at Sassy and smiles lovingly at her. 

“Okay” Charles nods and tries not to get paranoid about the fact that Sassy is now glaring at him, the last thing he wants is to get into a battle of wits against a cat.

“You look cute like that” Max hums and Charles feels his heart skip as he realises Max is in fact talking to him this time and not Sassy, “You should wear my clothes all the time” 

Charles flutters his eyelashes in his boyfriend’s direction as he tugs on the large hooded top he has borrowed from the Dutchman. It’s warm and fleecy inside so he’s just paired it with a nice tight pair of boxer briefs. 

“You going to come and cuddle up then?” Max grins as he pats the space on the couch next to him. It’s not exactly where Charles wants to place himself though, he very much wants to clamber right on to Max’s lap and melt right up against his boyfriend’s body. 

Sassy looks territorial though. 

Charles cautiously makes his way and over and remembers to coo softly at the little fluffy menace that is currently staring him down and clearly laying claim to Max. 

“Did you just have a shower?” Max asks as Charles takes a seat, “You smell of coconut” 

Charles grins, at least he smells better than Sassy - she’s been rolling around in the dirt all day, the only thing Charles has been rolling about in is in bed earlier this morning with Max. The Monegasque settles down as closely to Max as he dares and leans in bravely to rest his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Luckily Sassy doesn’t hiss this time but Charles can see her eyeing him with suspicion.

“Oh look, it’s her boyfriend!” Charles proclaims excitedly as he sees the large tabby cat from next-door stood outside on the patio. Right on cue there’s a loud meowing that can be heard even from the other side of the glass door and Sassy snaps her head up immediately to look over. 

It’s not Charles’ proudest moment but he feels a huge sense of victory as Sassy jumps up off of Max’s lap and bounds over to the door. The Monegasque almost trips in his haste to let her out. It’s not that he doesn’t like her, he does (kind of), he’s just not sure she is too keen on him yet. As she struts outside she starts nuzzling up against the large tabby cat before trotting off with him presumably to go snuggle up. 

Which is precisely was Charles also intends to do. The Monegasque turns on his heels and tries not to skip too happily as he sees Max’s muscled thighs ready and waiting for him to crawl on to. 

Max hums happily the second Charles clambers into his lap. The Dutchman’s hands glide up the inside of the hooded top Charles is wearing and sooth up and down the Monegasque’s back before settling just above his hips.

Charles does indeed purr. Or at least makes a happy soft little vibrating sound as Max’s palms rest against his skin. The Monegasque snuggles in as close as he can as he leans his body weight up against the broadness of Max’s chest and buries his head right into the crook of the Dutchman’s neck. 

Max gives the best hugs, Charles is just annoyed it took him so many years to discover that.

“You nice and comfy?” Max asks as he wraps Charles up tighter in his arms. 

The Monegasque nods before tipping his head up so he can pepper some much deserved kisses up Max’s jaw and lips.

It’s perfect.

Charles grins to himself as he settles down for the evening all wrapped up warm on his boyfriend’s lap.  It’s the most comfortable spot in the whole house. Max is muscled and broad enough to make Charles feel nice and delicate as he sits atop his thighs. But Max is also soft and curvy and nice and squishy to rest against. Charles likes to call it the perfect balance - a soft but muscled body - the absolute best of both worlds. 

Charles fully intends to stay where he is snuggled up for the rest of the night. 

Charles 1 :  Sassy 0 

[eddiemunsons80sbaby]

Lights, Camera, Action

Pairing: SteveHarringtonxReader

Request: Steve Harrington, you, and a camera. That's all. Do with that what you will. 😉

18+ Only

Click

Steve peeked at you, opening one eye, his hand coming up to his forehead, creating a visor to shield his sight from the sun coming through the window. You grinned down at him, lifting your camera once again. 

Click

“Angel, what are you doing?” he groaned, bringing his other hand up, covering his face. 

“I was watching you sleep and you just looked so beautiful,” you explained, the camera in one hand as your other hand toyed with his hair, messy but still perfect, golden highlights shooting through it in the sun. “The sun was hitting you just right and come on, with that jawline, it would be a crime not to photograph you, baby. You were made for the camera.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head, running those massive hands across his face with a yawn, that perfect jaw dropping slowly. You lifted the camera again, a gift from your dad, a new toy you couldn’t stop playing with, photographing everything. But your favorite subject was definitely your boyfriend. Steve was absolute perfection. 

Just as you were going to click the shutter, one of those large hands covered yours, stopping you. He took the camera from you, bringing it up to his eye and snapping a photo of you. You instantly tilted your head down, allowing your hair to cover your face. 

“Oh what?” he teased. “You can take all the pictures of me you want but you don’t want to be the subject?”

“Well, it’s my camera,” you told him, tracing over the freckles that dotted his chest, your own little constellations that you loved to play connect the dots with. 

“Well, you’re mine so I think that makes this camera mine too,” Steve mused, propping himself up on his elbows. “In fact, this camera just gave me an idea.”

“And what’s that?”

He sat up, brushing your hair back over your shoulder. His hand rested on the small of your back, lips brushing over your throat, to the hollow just below your ear as he whispered, “You have all these pictures of me. It seems only fair that I get to have some pictures of you. Maybe we should do a little photoshoot.”

You pressed your lips together, suppressing a grin, “And are you the photographer?”

“Obviously.” His fingers tickled the skin of your arms, featherlight as they ran along each one. Then they were on your thighs, firmer now, his whole hand spread across your skin, moving up over your hip, your stomach, in between your breasts, pressing you back onto the bed. He raised up to his knees, towering over you, camera in hand as you smiled softly up at him, stretching your arms up over your head.

Click

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, thumb running along your cheek. He rose from the bed, going to stand at the end and you rolled onto your stomach, your hair flipping over to one side as you gazed at him from under your lashes. “That’s perfect.”

Click

“Now crawl to me, pretty girl,” he urged. 

You obeyed, rising to your hands and knees, slowly crawling over the bed toward him, your eyes focused on him the whole time, surprised by how much this little game was turning you on. Your center was throbbing with desire, sticky need between your legs, eager for him. 

Click

“You are so beautiful, angel. Lie back and spread your legs for me.” You listened, eager to please, even more eager for his hands to be on you, devouring you the way his eyes were right now. You laid back, head on the pillows, slowly splaying your legs apart on either side of you as he gave his next directive. “Touch yourself, baby. I want to watch you get yourself all worked up for me.”

You decided to tease him the way he was teasing you with all these commands. Your fingers danced over your chest, tapping at your collarbone as you made your way to your breasts. Cupping them, you squeezed, pressing them together, giving Steve an eyeful. 

Click

A small smile played at your lips, enjoying this game, how much he was enjoying this game. You pinched your nipples, a soft gasp falling from your lips as your mouth dropped open, your hips rocking gently in response to the sensations you were creating in your own body. 

Click

“That’s it, angel,” he urged as your hand slid down along your stomach to the curly thatch of hair between your legs. You moaned deeply, fingers slipping through your damp folds, finding your clit. “That’s a good girl.”

Your neck arched as you circled the sensitive little bud, gasping out Steve’s name, the way you always did when you touched yourself, imagining it was his fingers between your legs instead. Making a V with two of them, you ran them along each side, teasing yourself, slowly working yourself up, wanting to make this moment last.

Click

“Fuck yourself, pretty girl. Come on. Put those fingers inside and find that little place I always find.”

“Steve…” you groaned, fingers slipping down to enter yourself, pressing, curling, the way he always did. Your body bucked when you hit that little spot. “Fuck!”

Click

“That’s it, isn’t it, angel?”

You nodded, teeth biting into your bottom lip, words impossible now as you gasped, writhing on the bed. Your hips rocked against your own hand and you brought your other hand down, continuing to tease your clit as you pumped your fingers within yourself. 

“Is this what you do when you’re all alone, baby? Do you imagine it’s my fingers touching you?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, “but it’s never enough Steve…your fingers are so big and mine…it’s never like when you do it…”

You felt the bed dip with his weight as he placed one knee and then the other on the mattress, making his way up to you. Those hands, hands you dreamed about, hands you fantasized about, hands that could send you to another plane of existence, covered yours, removing them. 

“Then let me take over, baby,” he commanded and you were more than happy to obey. 

Steve pressed two fingers into you, stretching you in a way you never could and your back arched, crying out at the sensation. 

Click

“Is that what you wanted, angel?”

“Yes, Jesus Christ, yes Steve,” you groaned, hands coming above your head, gripping onto the headboard. 

You cried out as his thumb joined in, teasing your clit. Those fingers curved, hitting that spot once again and your hips flew off the mattress, bucking against him desperately, desire raging through your body, the relief of release so close you could taste it. 

“You look so goddamn beautiful like this,” he told you, “when you’re all needy and helpless beneath me.”

Click

Your eyes rolled up into your head, heels digging into the mattress, knuckles white as you held the headboard for dear life. That familiar tightening began in your belly, letting you know you were close and Steve groaned softly as he felt your pussy spasming around his fingers. 

“Fuck, angel, you’re close aren’t you? Come on, pretty girl. Cum all over my hand. I want a picture of that face when you lose control.”

Sounds you couldn’t explain, sounds you didn’t even know your body was capable of, fell from your lips as your ground against his hand, your body seeking release. Steve’s thumb moved over your clit, sending shockwaves through your body that had your muscles trembling, skin rippling along the surface. Your breath came in heaving gasps, chest rising and falling rapidly as you crashed through the surface, crying out his name, trembling uncontrollably. 

Click

Your eyes slipped closed, soft inhales and exhales as your body came down from its high. You felt Steve’s fingers as they trailed up your body, his lips pressing soft kisses to your hip, your stomach, between your breasts, and finally your lips. You tangled your fingers in his messy hair, and then pressed your hands against his chest, pushing him over onto his back, straddling his hips and snatching the camera. 

“My turn,” you grinned, lowering yourself over his stiff cock, relishing the way his mouth dropped open, eyes hooded with lust and pleasure. 

Click

Steve’s hands gripped your hips, completely covering them, fingertips pressing into your skin as he rocked his hips with you. His eyes moved along the line of your body to where you connected, watching as he slid inside you over and over. 

Click

Using your knees, you lifted just slightly, rocking your body back and forth, his pelvis grinding deliciously against your clit, the friction causing your eyes to close for a moment, losing yourself in the feel of him buried deep within you. You circled, sending your hips around and around, squeaking when his cock hit that space within you once again. 

“Yes angel. Fuck baby. Just like that,” Steve grunted from beneath you, his head falling back against the pillow, jaw dropped, mouth open, eyes falling shut.

Click

The camera dropped from your hands to the bed as you lost the ability to focus, your hands coming to his chest, running over the chest hair you loved so goddamn much, tugging it gently. Steve grunted, fingers digging into your flesh as he slammed his hips up into you, your body bouncing with the force. 

“Steve, oh shit. Baby, so good,” you groaned, nails raking across his chest, your head falling back. 

“I’m gonna…I’m gonna baby…oh shit!”

His hands held you against him as he thrust once more, his release spilling inside of you. You gripped onto his shoulders, head falling forward, shuddering as you came once again, walls pulsing, his cock twitching, the two of you groaning and whimpering. 

You collapsed against his chest, sweat soaked bodies sticking together. Your lips brushed against his neck, burying your face there, inhaling his scent, your body content, satisfied, complete mush. 

“Mmm…” he mumbled, lips moving over your hair, fingers trailing up and down your spine. “I can’t wait to see the results of our little photoshoot.”

“Mmmhmm,” you agreed and then lifted your head, a thought hitting you. “Uh, Steve, how are we getting these pictures developed? Most places won’t develop nudie pics.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I happen to know a guy with access to a dark room.”

“Jonathan?” you asked, laughing. “So, you’re okay with Jonathan seeing pictures of me naked?”

Steve’s brow furrowed, those full lips pouting, “Oh shit. Didn’t think about that.” His arms came around you, crushing you against him. “All this perfection is for my eyes only. Huh…maybe I’ll have to have him give me a lesson in photo developing because I am going to need those photos.”

“Oh, you need them, do you?” you teased. 

“Hell yeah I do. They’re going to be my new favorite spank bank material. Who needs nudie mags when I’ve got pictures of you?”

He rolled you over, peppering your face with kisses as you giggled. 

[mingtinys]

A Thorn in the Side

pairing : joshua hong x gn!reader

light angst , fluff , humor

warnings : language , jealous joshy

word count : 1.0 k

requested? no

a/n : can't tell if i like this one or not yet , but i really wanted to get something seventeen related put out !!

Joshua has never liked to think of himself as a jealous person.

In fact, in his own humble opinion, Joshua finds he's secure enough to not let most things bother him.

Some guy wants to buy you a drink at the bar? You're very attractive, it's bound to happen. His members compliment how you look that day? Good, they should, you look amazing. Your coworker is leaving secret love notes on your desk? That's fine, you'll still be clocking out and coming home to Joshua at the end of the day.

For all the attention you receive in a day, it's only ever Joshua who has the privilege of receiving yours. So no, he really doesn't have much need to worry over trivial things.

That being said, every so often, he gets a teeny, little, thorn in his side. The thorn in question being no other than Kim Mingyu and his abnormally large muscles. More specifically, Kim Mingyu's abnormally large muscles in regards to how uncomfortably close they are to you.

You were supposed to be bringing Joshua his gym bag he left at home. Something that would have taken less than a minute to do. Unfortunately, Joshua forgot to take into account the other twelve boys who accompanied him to the gym and had a knack for making his life a living Hell. 

Mingyu stopped you the moment you walked in the door. Engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug and radiating a puppy-like joy he always seems to have when greeting you. But that's not even what did Joshua in. Not by a long shot.

It wasn't until you started giggling about how gross and sweaty he was that Joshua felt something indignant crawl under his skin. Your palms flat against his chest as you tried to push away while Mingyu only held you tighter. Also, why on God's green earth does he feel the need to be shirtless right now!?

And judging from the smug glances Mingyu keeps shooting his way, the boy knows exactly what he's doing. Joshua Hong is a patient man. But the urge to throttle Mingyu is incredibly tempting at the moment.

He doesn't even realize just how long he's been just standing there seething until Jeonghan pokes his head out from behind a machine. "Hey, ‘Shua!" He whispers and it snaps Joshua back down to Earth like a brick to the head. He's twirling a singular earbud in his fingers. "I can hear you grinding your teeth over my music. How much longer are you gonna stand there sulking?"

"I'm not grinding my teeth." He grumbles, a pout set on his lips. Though his jaw is rather sore and he has to actually make an effort to unclench it.

Behind him, Seungkwan snorts. "There's actually visible clouds of steam shooting out of your ears."

Joshua whips his head around and gives the younger boy a look nothing short of homicidal. It only encourages him. "What? Worried Y/N might see something they like?"

"No." He grits out. "I just . . . really need my gym bag."

"Ohhh, okay okay." Seungkwan nods, that same smirk never leaving his face. "Well, it looks like someone might have beaten you to it." Another fit of middle-school-girl giggles erupts between Seungkwan and Jeonghan.

And sure enough, when Joshua returns his attention back to you, a second “thorn” has somehow also found its way over. Lee Chan. "Here, that looks heavy, let me help you," he says, taking the bag from your shoulder, chest puffed and smile toothy. He curls it the way one would a kettlebell, toned and sweaty arms glistening in all their nauseating glory. Seriously, who even flexes like that when picking up a bag? It's just tacky.

That's about all Joshua can stomach for much longer. He can feel the once tiny thorns morphing into jagged claws. Some awful green-eyed beast tearing at his stomach from the inside out. And while he knows he really shouldn't take the bait, he just can’t help it.

He beelines it across the room, walking to where you and his victims members are at a lightning-fast speed. Joshua musters up a sickeningly sweet smile and clears his throat. Mingyu and Chan look at him like they know they're in trouble.

But then your eyes light up at the mere sight of him, and all thoughts he had of ripping Mingyu and Chan a new one fizzle out all too easily. You push past the two boys without another glance in their direction, and a smile only he's capable of evoking plays at your lips.

"Hey, you." You greet him with a peck and the exaggerated gags that fill the room make his chest fill moreso with pride than embarrassment. Your hand slips just under the hem of his shirt, letting your palm lay against his stomach. There it is. That feeling of security. Of trust. Warmth. You lean back slightly and Joshua lets his impulsivity win when he chases your lips for one last reassuring kiss.

"Thank you for bringing my bag."

You hum, threading your fingers through his damp hair, combing it back. "I don't mind. I actually think you need to forget your bag more often."

Joshua tilts his head innocently. He's thrown off guard when you lean in, palm pressing harder against his stomach, and your lips ghost the shell of his ear. Voice low enough so that his members won't hear, which he's thankful for. "You're really hot when you're all sweaty and jealous."

Joshua cringes. "Was it that obvious?"

"Seungkwan's voice carries."

He feels a little stupid now for ever getting so worked up in the first place. His head drops with embarrassment, causing you to giggle. "Hey," you poke at his forehead so he'll look at you. "You know I only have eyes for you, right?" You sound a little more serious this time.

"Yeah, I know."

"Good."

"Hey, hyung," Chan calls, still behind you. "Can you take your bag now? It's actually kind of heavy."

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook/platonic!OT7

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 [Part 2: Wind]

Somehow, you don't want to go home yet.

Main tags/Warnings: Werewolf!Jungkook, Werewolf!Bangtan, strangers/enemies to lovers, romantic Jungkook x reader, Platonic bangtan x reader, eventual smut, mentions of past emotional/psychological manipulation, hurt and comfort, fluff!, some wariness from MCs side, a nightmare?

Length: 2.3k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

🌲── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─🐺─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──🌲

The woods are dark. Deep. Endless, even.

There's no clear path to take, noises all around you echoing, only faint light making you see somewhat. Animals watch you with curious gazes, like you're something they've never seen before- and you feel like you're not yourself, even though the reflection of a puddle on the ground shows your face clear as day.

You're not wearing shoes. Bare feet standing on soft moss. In fact, you're not wearing anything, one look down offering you your bare body, though you feel neither shame nor the need to cover yourself. You're warm enough. You're alone, too.

There's a creature circling around you- a large wolf, dark brown fur almost black as it's body brushes against yours, rubbing it's side over your legs, as if to cover itself in your scent. It licks at your skin, and you reach out to touch it, golden eyes staring back.

It's tail wags. You can't help but laugh.

Suddenly, it's bones break however, blood pooling out of its mouth that forms a snarl, teeth showing in anger as it stands up into a human stance, back arched once it grows into a humanoid beastly version of itself. No longer does it offer you comfort, no longer do you feel safe.

Suddenly, you cover yourself, feeling vulnerable, naked, lusted for as the beasts eyes glare at you with hunger. Claws are sharp, paws looking more like hands as it reaches for you. You trip, fall, frozen on the ground as it crawls over you, jaws opening wide to Suddenly bite down right in your face-

"Hey- you're okay!" Jungkook's voice reassures, worried face the first thing you see as you wake up from your nightmare, breathing heavily. Your skin is sweaty, smelling strange, and you Suddenly feel embarrassed. "Come on, sit up for a moment yeah? So you don't fall again." He says, and it makes you a little uneasy.

Can he read dreams or something? Or have you been talking in your sleep?

Either way, you do as he says, sitting up, taking a deep breath. "Sorry." You alplogize, calming down. You have nightmares like this on a constant basis, though they typically never start as such a pleasant dream.

"Its okay." He reassures you kindly, a hand on your back. "Your clothes are freshly dried by the way. Do you.. want to stay for breakfast?" He asks you in an almost hopeful tone- and you nod after a moment, feeling oddly brave. You don't want to come off as rude, either- they've been very kind in offering you a place to stay for the night after all, the least you can do is stay for a little and properly thank them. "Oh, awesome! I'll tell Jin to put out an extra plate then!" He excitedly says, before he runs to the door- stopping for only a second. "Uh- your clothes are in the bathroom- you can just use my stuff to shower or something.. and uh, there's an unopened toothbrush under the sink in the drawer that you can have." He tells you with a smile, before he opens the door and leaves, closing it after him.

A wave of fresh air comes in from that. Brings in smells of the woods, faint rain, and a little coldness from the morning dew. What time is it even?

After getting ready, you walk outside- unsure where to go, so you just walk around a tiny bit, taking in the scenery around in the daylight. It's cozy- unique in that it feels like it's so disconnected from the buzzing city life. As if a place like this shouldn't exist in the state it's in.

Birds are eagerly moving around, collecting nesting material and chirping their morning talks to one another. A squirrel hops over the wooden roof of Jungkook's cabin, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. There's no artificial sound. No cars honking. No nothing.

"Over here!" Jungkook calls out from the largest house, waving you closer, door open behind him. The smell of something cooking hits you like a truck, causing your stomach to growl and mouth to water at the prospect of food. "Don't worry about them." He offers you kindly as he keeps the door open for you to walk through, your head nodding politely to everyone at the table inside the house.

"We typically take what we want from the main plates here- so just grab what you like to eat, yeah?" The tall man, Seokjin, offers you. "I hope you slept well." He says while everyone begins to grab something for their plates.

"Clearly not." A low voice comments. "She reeks of fear." The man says, putting food on his plate.

"Yoongi!" The leader of the pack scolds, Jungkook sighing.

"She just had a bad dream, nothing big." He explains, before he turns to you. "Sorry. We can just.. smell a lot of things a lot more than you. And Yoongi isn't very.. tactful to say the least." Jungkook apologizes.

"Its okay." You simply nod, quietly eating. It's a bit odd to have all those eyes on you, but you'll manage- simply listening to them banter around, before you finish up and pack up your things.

"Thank you for letting me stay." You tell Namjoon, who nods.

"No issue whatsoever. Please get home safe." He says, politely telling you goodbye before Jungkook walks you through the woods again.

You feel off. As if you're forgetting something- but you checked twice, you have everything you brought with you in the first place. "You can.. always visit, you know?" Jungkook offers, his hands in his pockets as he walks next to you. "Or we could, I don't know.. meet up next time you need some time away from the city. Or just grab something to eat in the city too!" He rants a bit nervously.

"...sure." You nod. "Why not?" You decide, almost talking to yourself mostly, while Jungkook beams a grin next to you.

"I-..." he starts, unsure, as you reach the start of the hicking track where you first met. "...you know you don't have to hide, right?" He asks, and you're not sure what he's talking about.

"What do you mean?" You wonder- but he shakes it off, simply smiling at you, golden eyes kind.

"Nothing. Please- uhm.. could you maybe text me if you got home well?" He asks, and you nod, exchanging phone numbers with him- before he awkwardly nods again, waving at you as he walks back. "I'll see you around." He says, and you smile back equally as uneasy, before you walk down the path a little.

And as you look back, jungkook is out of sight ready-

Though you're not sure why that upsets you so much.

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Back home, you text jungkook that you're alright and back, receiving multiple thumbs up emojis from him, before you open your bedroom drawer for your medication. You'll need to renew the prescription soon- you're running low these days.

Maybe because you didn't take them before your hike you got so sweaty during the night again. You tend to get hot flashes and headaches without you're prescribed pills- your mother having explained to you that you've got an overactive immune system that just attacks your entire body the moment you don't take those pills. And it makes sense. You do feel awful when you're not taking them.

Once more, you find another monthly letter from your mother on your table- unopened, because you just don't want to hear her made up stories on how she needs you. She doesnt- she only want to control you, because she fails at controlling herself. You don't want to live with her any longer, you want nothing to do with her in general- so you just throw it into the drawer in your bedroom, where all the other's lay.

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It's a few days later when you meet up with Jungkook again- the small convenience store quiet as you both eat your instant foods together.

"So, the guy goes 'I'm not gonna let a dog help me lift!' And breaks his wrist not even five minutes later!" Jungkook laughs, shaking his head. "Karma is a thing, I'm telling you." He chuckles, moving to take another bite of his food.

"Does that happen a lot?" You ask. "Like.. people judging you solely based on what you are?" You question, and he shrugs, before nodding.

"Yeah. It's normal." He simply admits. "And to be fair, there's enough real evidence of particularly alphas who just can't keep themselves in check- so I don't blame anybody for being cautious, you know?" He offers, licking his lips clean. "I mean, you weren't really fond of me and my pack either." He jokes.

"That's not true..." you argue softly. "You're.. really nice. I'm not scared of you or anything." You tell him, and he smiles, leaning his head on his palm.

"I'm glad." He offers. "Can I ask you something?" Jungkook questions, and you laugh.

"You just did." You joke, and he rolls his eyes. "But yeah, go ahead."

"Are you sleeping okay?" He asks, and you frown a bit in confusion. "You just.. look really tired." He worries a bit, and you shrug.

"Its a side effect of my meds." You tell him. "I've got.. some issues with my immune system, so I'm on constant medication- and they screw up my sleep." You offer.

"Oh." He answers. "What.. happens when you don't take them?" He wonders.

"I get a fever, usually." You explain, finishing your own food. "And I get dizzy, nauseous. Had to skip them as a teen once because I got my vaccines done- and man was I miserable! My mom had to tell everyone to not even enter my room because I was so bad!" You laugh. "I always got really whiny when I was sick. Always complained. Really annoyed my mom." You explain.

"What about now?" He asks, watching you with an odd sense of curiosity.

"I'm still whiny as hell!" You giggle. "But I just suck it up and get through it. It's just how it is." You shrug.

"Doesn't she visit you?" Jungkook continues. You shake your head.

"No." You answer. "After my dad died, and my mom got her new boyfriend, it just went downhill." You sigh. "Like, my dad would always go camping with me. He was a super outdoors kind of person, you know?" You remember. "But when he died, my mom started keeping me home all the time. I wasn't allowed to go out on my own or sleep over at friend's houses. I get it now that it was because I got sick so easily, but still. It was like she was holding me hostage sometimes." You admit with a distant gaze, before you shake your head in shame. "Oh god, I'm rambling, sorry!" You laugh.

"No, no, you're fine!" He reassures. "Is that why you're so wary of wolves now?" He asks, and you nod.

"She used to tell me all kinds of stories." You admit. "Like, actually disturbing stuff. How your bones abreast when you shift and such." You say, and Jungkook cringes.

"I mean.. shifting isn't very pretty, I admit that, but that's not something to tell a child, especially when it's a human one." He mumbles.

"Thats what I'm saying!" You agree. "Like, why would you tell that to a kid who won't ever understand that anyways??" You whine, before laughing.

You're both quiet for a little while, when you talk again. "Does it hurt?" You ask, and he looks at you for a second, unsure. "When you shift, I mean."

"It does." He nods. "Very much. And it's pretty exhausting." He laughs. "But it's only a few times a year, so its alright. I'm used to it by now- it's kind of like a cramp. When it happens, it's agony- but once it's done, you're good to go."

"Do you really.. like, sleep?" You wonder. "Your human side, I mean."

"No." He chuckles. "I'm still me, no matter what form I'm in." He tells you with a soft tone.

"..do you think I could pet you?" You ask. "Or would that be weird?" You tell him, and he laughs, tips of his ears red.

"Oh I'd absolutely let you!" He responds, golden eyes warm as they watch you.

And you can't help but feel like he's seeing a lot more than you do.

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There's a letter in your inbox today, official envelope making you curious as to what's inside.

The formal words are clearly meant to intimidate, though you check twice that it's directed at you by looking for your name on the form- and it's there, together with your date of birth, and other personal details. But this can't be right. This doesn't make sense.

Your phone vibrates on the kitchen counter, Jungkook's name telling you he's the one calling, probably to ask when you'll come over to watch a movie- but you ignore it, as you read over the words time and time again.

'Last notice regarding your IC-Evaluation test.'

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