#from the bottom of my heart fuck the new york times
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Saccharine | Modern!Anakin Skywalker
What do you get when you mix a college Halloween party with beer and a pretty girl wearing a pirate costume?
A jealous Anakin Skywalker.
rating: explicit | pairing: anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 5.3k | read on ao3
warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, drinking, jealousy/possessiveness, SMUT [fingering, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v, come eating/swallowing, mild degradation, like a really brief moment of lactation kink(???)]
the lovely @queenie-official asked for someone to write anakin and reader at a halloween party and anakin gets jealous. i have no idea where 5.3k words came from but y'all i love this one!
and i dedicate this to @hanasnx because we were talking about how we would suck anakin's dick every day if we could.
Here’s the thing about Halloween parties— or rather, Halloween and parties.
Anakin hates both of them. Halloween is a stupid holiday where girls wear short skirts, low-cut tank tops, and a pair of generic animal ears and call it a “costume”. Then they complain about being cold and ask for your jacket. It’s fucking October in New York, what do they expect?
As for parties, Anakin has never liked them. He’s not a particularly social person. Hell, he’s not even that pleasant of a person but he somehow wound up with you as his best friend in college. He’s the grumpy to your sunshine. He’s a pessimist, you’re an optimist. He drinks black coffee, you like it full of syrupy caramel. He hates everything you like and you don’t understand any of the things he finds fascinating.
The logistics of your friendship is complicated. You don’t know why Anakin is the easiest person for you to talk to even though you have just about nothing in common. You don’t know why Anakin chooses to spend all of his time with you, even though there are other girls in his engineering classes who would kill to talk to him about their shared major.
You don’t know why he holds your hand when you walk through Central Park while telling you about his hookups. (You wish he wouldn’t talk about other girls with you but you just like the sound of his voice so you do your best at drowning out the meaning of the words).
If only he knew how miserable it makes you feel to hear about his dating life. If only you knew how difficult it is for you to do the same because every single guy is lack-luster compared to Anakin.
“I hate parties,” Anakin states. He’s tossing a baseball— the foul ball he caught for you at a Yankees game— in the air to keep his hands busy.
“Yeah, but you love me,” you reply while taking a cream flowy blouse out of your closet.
“Not if you make me go to this stupid Halloween party with you.”
You roll your eyes and rest your shirt hanger on one of the knobs on your dresser. You catch the baseball midair and flop beside Anakin on your bed. He props up on an elbow and you just want to soothe the crease between his eyebrows. “Pleaaaase, Ani?”
“No.”
“Oh, c’mon! When’s the last time you did something for me?”
“Look around, sweetheart,” Anakin gestures his arm out lazily. “I helped you move into this place.”
You huff. “Okay, fine. But you offered. And if I recall correctly, I supplied you with all of the coffee and bagels your heart desired.”
“There’s only one thing my heart desires.” A lopsided grin forms on Anakin’s lips as his fingers brush against your elbow. It’s a barely there type of touch, one you might not even notice if it weren’t for the sparks you feel every time you and Anakin make contact.
You fail to mask the sharp intake of air that passes through your teeth. “Wh-what’s that?”
Anakin runs his tongue over his bottom lip and you think maybe, maybe he just might say what you want him to say. Your heart expands with hope as you await his answer with a bated breath. “To not go to a fucking Halloween party.”
And just like that, your hope deflates. Of course he wasn’t being serious. Why does his blatant disinterest in you make tears threaten behind your eyes? Is your affectionate friendship really so common that it doesn’t mean anything to him?
You quickly stand up from your bed and distract yourself by finding the skirt you want to wear in your pile of clothes on the floor. You clear your throat and rapidly blink back any tears before they fall down your cheeks. “Fine,” you say as you find your skirt. “I don’t want you there anyway. It’s the senior Halloween party and I’m not going to miss it because of you.”
“Fine,” Anakin says back. “Go. I don’t care.”
You gather your clothes in your arms and stand at the foot of your bed. “I have to get dressed first.”
“So?” Anakin is back to throwing the baseball in the air. Oh, you hate him so much sometimes. You swat the ball out of the air so it lands on Anakin’s stomach, making him groan and his legs curl up to his chest. “Ow.”
“So, get out,” you instruct.
“Jeez. Alright, alright.” Anakin slowly gets up from your bed, being the overly dramatic douche you had to fall in love with. “What, they didn’t put enough sugar in your coffee this morning?”
“Out!” you point to your door. You’re fuming with him. Why does he have to be so fucking difficult? At this point, you don’t even want to go to the party but you’ll go anywhere to get away from him.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
You take a good thirty minutes to get ready for the party. Inspired by a recent rewatch of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, you decided to dress up as a pirate. You didn’t have to buy a shirt or skirt, which helped keep the cost down. You did purchase a corset, hat, and knee high boots from a thrift store in Brooklyn. With the crimson scarf you’ve had since freshman year wrapped around your waist, you’re set.
Anakin waits for you on your aubergine couch in your living room. Why he’s waiting, you’re unsure. He’s stretched across the entire length of the couch, his long legs hanging over the armrest. Upon hearing your boots scuff across the floor, he quickly locks his phone and stands from the couch.
“What are you still doing here?” you brush past him and into the kitchen.
“I changed my mind,” Anakin replies, following you. You don’t notice the way he looks you up and down, soaking in the entire image of you. The scoopy neckline of your shirt, the flounce of your brown skirt, and the tightness of the corset. The only thing he’s disappointed by is the length of your skirt. It’s not short enough.
Still, there’s no way he’s letting you go to the party alone. Somebody has to pretend to be your protective boyfriend to keep the college douchebags away. “I’m going with you.”
You turn around without realizing how close Anakin is to you. You practically step on his toes. He looms over you and you fear he might actually hear your heart racing with how close he is. You back away, straightening your skirt for no other reason than to not look at Anakin. “Are you, now?”
“Yes.” Anakin crosses his arms. “Are you ready?”
“You’re going like that?” You counter. “In a zip-up Yankees hoodie?”
“Take it or leave it, sweetheart.”
You hate him. You love him. You hate that you love him because you know he doesn’t feel the same way. At least not in a romantic way. You grab a banana off of the counter and march toward the door. “I’d rather leave you here.”
“Not an option.” Anakin closes your door and uses his key to lock it. The act of him using the key you gave him for emergencies makes your insides twist. It’s on a ring with his own apartment key, as if he’d need yours as frequently as he needs his own.
You walk down the hallway with a quick pace and make a point to stomp down the stairs, even if it annoys your neighbors more than Anakin. “You’re being exceptionally annoying today.”
“Thank you,” Anakin accepts the insult as if it’s a compliment. He holds the lobby door open for you and a rush of late October air attacks your skin. You have to hold your hat on your head so it doesn’t blow away. You make an effort not to shudder in front of Anakin, knowing how much he hates girls being unprepared for the weather. At least you’re wearing long sleeves. But it’s not not like the fabric was made to keep the Autumn chill out.
The party is only a couple of blocks away in Hell’s Kitchen and you’re determined to stay silent all the way there. You’ll just eat your banana and pray Anakin isn’t in a rare talking mood.
“Why are you walking so fucking fast? I have longer legs than you and I’m practically running.”
You ignore him. You just want to go to the party, have a couple of drinks, maybe flirt with some guys you have no intentions of screwing, and then go home. Preferably without the puppy dog currently following you.
“So. Pirate. Interesting choice. You got a thing for Jack Sparrow or something?” Why does he never have anything interesting to say when you actually want to talk to him? Now he can’t seem to shut up.
Just one more block. Why did he change his mind? Why couldn’t he just be content with going back to his apartment and finding someone to hook up with? You’re sure that’s what he was doing while you were getting ready. The way he locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket when he heard you come out of your room. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like you two are dating or anything. He doesn’t have to hide his booty calls from you.
“I see what you’re doing,” Anakin jogs in front of you and starts walking backwards. “You’re ignoring me.”
You give him a look that has “No shit, Sherlock” written all over it.
“Y’know I don’t like being ignored. I’m too sensitive.”
You have to laugh. “You? Sensitive?”
“Ha!” Anakin points at you. “Gotcha.”
“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “We’re here, anyway. I know you’re just gonna find a corner and sulk in it so please, just let me have a good time tonight.”
“Alright,” Anakin surrenders. You walk into the brick building together, the heavy bass of the music thrumming through your bones. “But just one thing.”
You raise your brows, waiting for him to continue. “You look beautiful tonight.”
Your heart skips a beat and you hate how easily he makes you swoon. How easily your feelings of irritation disappear after one compliment. “Just tonight?”
“Ah- what?” Anakin looks at you quizzically. Perhaps he didn’t hear you over the booming music and chatter.
“Never mind!” you shout. “I’m gonna get a drink. You want a beer?”
“Sure,” Anakin shrugs. You nod and skip off without another word. When you don’t come back after twenty minutes, Anakin starts to worry. It doesn’t matter how many girls have come up to him and batted their lashes at him. It doesn’t matter that he has 11 unread messages from several past hookups waiting for him on his phone. What matters is that you’re alone at a college party with booze and guys who get a little too handsy when they’re drunk.
He pushes himself through the crowd, not an ounce of care that he’s severely undressed and out of place. Actually, he’s overdressed. He didn’t know the fire marshal could allow so many shirtless ‘Gladiators’ in one building. And here he thought only girls used Halloween as an excuse not to wear anything. He bumps into several people on his quest for you.
“Hey, man! Watch it!”
“Yo, dickhead, you made me spill my beer!”
“What are you supposed to be? A sad Yankees fan?”
Anakin hardly hears any of it. Actually, everything seems to fall silent when he spots you. Every other body blurs as he focuses on you and your hand on the forearm of some guy dressed as Captain Kirk from Star Trek. At least he has a goddamn shirt on. It doesn't make the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach disappear, though. You know why? It’s because you’re throwing your head back with laughter. Real, genuine laughter. What is this guy saying to you? And why hasn’t Anakin made you laugh like that recently?
When the familiar figure of Anakin approaches you, you instantly feel bad. You forgot to bring him his beer! And then you realize that you actually handed it to the guy you’re talking to. Oops?
“Ani! I never brought you your beer! I am so sorry. I got distracted talking to- oh my God, I don’t even know your name!”
“Oh, uh, Jeff,” the guy tilts his beer bottle toward you and smiles. You smile back and tell him your name. You also introduce Anakin, but he’s not feeling very friendly right now. He’s too busy criticizing the way Captain Kirk introduced himself.
Oh, uh, Jeff? He had to think about his name? He couldn’t just say Jeff?
“Jeff and I were talking about baseball. He’s a Mets fan, though,” you fake gag. “I told him about the foul ball you practically saved me from. Whew, my life flashed before my eyes.”
“Yeah, they come out of nowhere when you’re not paying attention.”
Anakin hates this guy. He fucking hates him. His fists clench by his side before sidling up next to you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist. You stumble when he pulls you toward him. “She was paying attention. Are you implying that she wasn’t watching the game?”
“Anakin, it’s fine,” you place your hand on Anakin’s chest to calm him. “I’m sure that’s not what Jeff meant.”
“Yeah, man, not at all. I’ve had a couple of close calls myself.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been hit in the head a couple of times with the way you introduced yourself,” Anakin spits. “Who has to think about their name? ‘Oh, um, I can’t remember. I think my name is Jeff,’” Anakin mocks.
“Anakin, stop,” you try pushing away from him. “You’re being incredibly rude.”
“I don’t care,” he replies. He begins ushering you away from Walmart Captain Kirk. “We’re leaving.”
“Seriously, Anakin,” you manage to slither out of Anakin’s grasp. “Stop it.”
“Hey, is this guy bothering you?” Jeff puffs out his chest.
Anakin steps in front of you and squares himself in front of the guy with no chance with you. “Funny, I was going to ask her the same thing about you.”
“Are you her boyfriend or something?”
“He’s not-” you begin, standing on your toes to talk over Anakin’s shoulder.
“Something like that,” Anakin answers. Huh?
“Whatever,” Jeff scoffs. “Thanks for wasting my time.”
“Wait, Jeff!” you call. “It’s not like that-”
“Let him go,” Anakin grits. “He’s not worth it.”
You had almost forgotten about the frustration Anakin made you feel in your apartment. Now it’s all coming to the surface again. Yes, you feel bad for abandoning him and not bringing him his beer but he had no right to ruin your conversation like that. “Oh, and you are?”
“We’re not talking about this here.” Anakin turns and expects you to follow. You have half a mind not to scream at him in the middle of the party but it would be a waste of breath. He’s already nearing the door. You down the rest of your beer and follow Anakin out of the party and onto the street.
It feels drastically colder outside but perhaps it’s all coming from Anakin’s stare. You stuff your hands beneath your arms in an attempt to keep them warm. “What the hell, Anakin? What was that all about?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘nothing’? That was not nothing, Anakin. That was… that was…” you search for the word but your toes are starting to freeze. You don’t know how frozen toes correlate to not being able to think, but it does. The wind is biting at your legs and your teeth are chattering.
“Jealousy?” Anakin fills in the blank.
“Yes! Jealousy! Are you fucking jealous, Anakin?”
“So what if I am?”
You’re both shouting unnecessarily but you’re fucking pissed. This cannot be the way you admit your feelings for each other. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. It’s supposed to be romantic. It’s supposed to happen when you’re strolling through the park and the leaves are falling around you and you kiss and everything falls into place. It’s not supposed to happen during a screaming match on the sidewalk while you’re dressed like a historically inaccurate pirate.
“So what if I feel like punching every single guy who talks to you? Or even look at you? Hm?” Anakin is backing you into the wall and you have no choice but to retreat. “I am jealous every fucking day. I feel possessive over you and I know I shouldn’t. You’re mine, even though you’re not.” Anakin has caged you in with his arms pressed against the wall above your head. His leg is nudged between yours and if you just lower yourself a tiny bit, you might feel a bit of friction where it’s needed.
Anakin drops his head down so his nose brushes against your cheek. Your lips are so close, you can feel the warmth of his breath. “You never asked me,” you whisper.
“What?”
“You never asked me to be yours,” you unzip Anakin’s sweatshirt and slide your arms into the warmth of his jacket. You press yourself against his chest and you think perhaps everything is falling into place.
“Then I’m asking you now,” Anakin cradles your face in his hands. He runs his thumbs over your cheekbones and wonders why it took so damn long to finally get to this point. “Will you be mine?”
“I already am.” You pull Anakin down to your lips by the collar of his sweatshirt. He tastes like Altoids and you taste like beer, which isn’t necessarily a pleasant combination but it doesn’t matter. Anakin’s lips are so plush and soft, everything you dreamed they’d be but better. They work against yours like it’s the only thing they’re made for. He’s groaning against you, slipping his tongue carefully past your lips. He’s not overzealous with it like some people are. It’s just perfect. He’s perfect.
The heat in your core continues to grow and spread throughout your body, suddenly warming you up. “Anakin,” you murmur.
“Hmm?” He replies, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. He pays attention to your neck—which smells of vanilla and everything nice— and is nibbling gently but kissing harshly. His hands have found their way to your breasts, massaging you through your bra and you just fucking wish he’d stop for a second because it’s all too distracting.
“Anakin, stop,” you breathe out.
“What? What, are you okay?” Anakin withdraws himself from you completely and you damn near whine at the loss of contact.
“I’m fine, Ani. More than fine.”
Anakin relaxes at your assurance and takes a moment to admire you. Your hat is askew on your head and your shirt is crooked from him cupping with your boobs. He hopes the corset isn’t difficult to take off…
“Anakin?” you snap your fingers in front of his face.
“Huh?”
“What are you thinkin’ about, pretty boy?”
“So many things,” Anakin smirks.
“Care to enlighten me at my apartment?”
“Way ahead of you, babe.” Anakin whips out his phone and orders an Uber. He’s not walking five blocks back to your apartment with a hard-on.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
You have no clue how either of you manage to keep your hands to yourself in the Uber, but you do. You hardly make it through your door before Anakin’s lips are back on yours with a heavy desperation. He throws your hat off, letting it land who knows where. His hand is on the back of your neck and you’re doing a clumsy dance around your living room. You’re tugging at the roots of his wavy hair, which he’s been growing out since last semester.
You and Anakin are a mess of hands as you’re both trying to get the other’s clothes off with your mouths still attached to each other. He’s fumbling with the laces of your corset and you wonder how long it will take him to realize there’s a zipper in the back.
You shrug off his sweatshirt, leaving him in a basic white tee. Anakin reluctantly breaks away from you when he accepts he’s getting nowhere with your corset. “This thing is fucking impossible,” he groans.
You giggle as you draw the zipper down your back and remove the black corset from your body. You let it drop to the floor as you drape your arms around Anakin’s neck. “You were saying?”
“I hate you,” Anakin says with a smile.
“You love me.”
“So much,” he replies, lips trailing down your neck once again. “I love you so much it consumes me. I’ve tried to fill this void inside of me with other women but it’s never enough. It’s not enough because they’re not you.”
You’re smiling so widely your cheeks hurt. You consume him. He loves you. You’ve never been happier. “I love you too, Anakin. You have no idea.”
“I have some idea,” he smiles. He grabs a fistful of your skirt and slips his hands beneath the hem to find your panties. “Are you going to let me take care of you tonight?”
“Anything,” you nod, giving him the permission to remove your panties. You take off your boots and blouse and while it’s by no means a show, Anakin is enjoying every second of it.
“I’ll let you do anything, Anakin.” You unclip your bra so all that you’re left in is your skirt. Anakin is still wearing a shirt and jeans, which is only mildly infuriating since his golden tan skin looks so radiant against the bright white of his shirt.
As Anakin admires you, he can’t possibly be filled with any more lust than he is right now. Three years of pining after you is surging through his veins and his cock is insanely hard. He’s imagined this so many times. Would he fuck you slowly? Or maybe you’d rather have it fast and hard. Do you like to be called sweet things? Would you be his good girl? Or would you rather be his little slut?
He’s overwhelmed with the incessant need to taste your cunt. “Get on the couch,” he instructs. “Take your skirt off, too. I want to see all of you.”
You nod and once you’ve stepped out of the fabric, you situate yourself on your couch. Anakin kneels down in front of you and resists the urge to spread your legs open so he can see your pussy. “You have to take something off, too,” you say sweetly.
Anakin swiftly tears his shirt over his head and you knew he was fit, but you just didn’t realize how fit. “Oh my God,” you practically drool.
“Yeah?” Anakin smirks whilst hooking his arms beneath your thighs, pulling your ass to the edge of the couch. His cock strains against his jeans even more now that he can see your glistening pussy. “You like what you see, sweetheart?”
You shrug. “Mm, yeah. It’s alright, I guess.”
“You’re a little brat,” Anakin says before kissing up your thigh. The feather-light touch of his warm lips makes you wiggle. Your hand rests atop of Anakin’s head, fingers massaging his scalp in an effort to keep him traveling up to your core. “You’re lucky I can’t resist a pretty pussy like yours.”
“Is it the prettiest?”
Anakin lays a kiss on the inside of your other thigh. His nose brushes against your clit as he places a chaste kiss over your folds while running two fingers down your slit. “No doubt about it, babe,” Anakin praises. Fuck, you smell divine. He wants to spend all day between your thighs. “The absolute prettiest. Bet you taste the sweetest, too.”
With that, Anakin dips a finger inside of you, making you gasp. “Fuck, sweetheart,” Anakin sucks in a breath. He lays his head on your thigh to watch his finger disappear inside of you and then reappear glistening with your juices. “How can you be this wet already? I’ve barely gotten started.”
You roll your head along the couch cushions, impossibly worked up and craving more than just one of Anakin’s fingers. “Then show me what you’re made of, Skywalker.”
Oh, that sends a jolt straight through Anakin’s cock. He wastes no more time teasing you and slips another finger into your hole while attaching his lips to your clit. He flicks the tip of his tongue over your bundle of nerves, two long fingers are curling against your walls, and Anakin can’t get enough. Pussy just tastes better when you love the person you’re eating out. It’s pure saccharine to him. He needs it pumped into his blood to survive.
Anakin finesses his cock out of his pants and strokes himself several times to alleviate the terrible pain that has come over him. Your strangled cries of pleasure and hand on his head pushing him further into your cunt encourages Anakin to add a third finger. “Anakin! Fuck!”
“You like that, baby?” Anakin is breathless, lips coated with your nectar. “You like being stretched by my fingers?”
“Mm,” you hum, fisting his hair, “yes.”
“Bet you do.” Anakin bites the inside of your thigh and pumps his three digits agonizingly slowly so he can really admire the stretch. It’s a toe curling sensation and a bit foreign more than anything. You had no idea fingers could feel so good. Maybe it’s just Anakin’s. He places the pad of his thumb on your clit, applying even pressured circles and yeah, it’s totally just Anakin who makes you feel this good. “Good little whores love to be stretched out.”
“Oh my God!” you exclaim, pussy clenching at Anakin calling you a whore. Your bodily response doesn’t go unnoticed by Anakin. No, he’s storing all of this in his memory, creating a file of all the things that make you go wild. “Fuck me, Anakin. Please.”
“Currently doing that with fingers, sweetheart.” He pumps his fingers faster but rolls over your nub with a more delicate touch. By now you’re squirming off of the couch, heels digging into the cushion and all you can do is chant Anakin’s name. You’re caught in a dichotomy of wanting to cum while also wanting Anakin’s cock. “C’mon, angel, let it go. I want you to cum on my fingers before you take my cock.”
“But I- hngh…” your words are mangled as it’s no longer an option to stave off your orgasm. Your clit is overly sensitive and the tightness in your tummy begins to unravel as your walls pulse around Anakin’s three fingers. “Mm— oh, fuck! Ani-”
“That’s it, baby,” Anakin coos. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you cum.” He draws his fingers from you one by one, each time making you cry from emptiness. Anakin sits beside you on the couch, bringing his fingers soaked in your goodness up to your mouth. You open obediently, only taking in two of them. Your tangy sweetness coats your tongue and you’re looking straight into Anakin’s ocean eyes. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel seasick.
When Anakin takes his fingers out of your mouth, you maneuver yourself on top of Anakin. The rough denim of his jeans creates a rough contrast to the silky tip of his cock poking your thigh. He manages to get his jeans down his legs and around his ankles. Kicking his feet out of them impatiently, his large hands find a home on your breasts while you grab the base of him and position him under your cunt. He’s kneading your mounds gently, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You slot your lips between his as you lower yourself onto his lap.
“F-fuck, Ani,” you rest your forehead on Anakin’s as your breathing becomes one. He runs his hands down your tummy, landing on your waist and gives you an encouraging squeeze. “So big, so full,” you murmur. Anakin guides your hips forward and backward, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. He’s sucking down hard, no other thought other than claiming you as his.
It’s fucking magnificent having his cock nestled deep inside of you while you’re moaning in his ear, and soft hands roaming his upper body. His hands drop down to your ass, grabbing a handful of your peachy cheeks. You start bouncing on his cock, each time you drop down you feel like he’s in your stomach. “Cunt’s so fuckin’ greedy,” Anakin groans. “You just can’t get enough of my cock, can you?”
“Mmh, nuh uh,” you babble mindlessly. Your legs are starting to ache but the pain goes in tandem with the pleasure. Anakin presses your chest to his with his arms around your back. You kiss along his jaw lazily, feeling your energy deplete with each landing on Anakin’s thick length. “Need you to…mmm-”
“Say no more.” Anakin flips you over seamlessly with his cock still anchored inside of you. He hikes your leg over his shoulder and he drills into you at a delicious new angle. His fingers fall to your clit and it sends you soaring. “Fuck,” Anakin breathes. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this tight cunt from me for three years.”
“Y-yours now,” you have some brain cells left to respond. He’s fucking you hard, tits bouncing with each thrust and Anakin just has to have one in his mouth. While he encloses his lips over one of your nipples, he cups your other breast in his hand. He flicks his tongue across your bud and suckles, as if there’s something in there to nourish him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant. It’s all getting to be too much. The bulge you feel in your belly, the pressure on your clit, Anakin’s warm mouth on your breast. How is he so good at doing so many things? “Ani, I’m close.”
“I feel it, angel,” Anakin drags his lips across your chest and up your neck until he reaches his final destination. With his lips slotted between yours once more, the roll of his hips is languid and methodical. He’s bringing you along gradually, until your second orgasm washes over you and your limbs are convulsing. You moan into Anakin’s mouth and he swallows it happily. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”
“Mouth!” you manage to say. Anakin loses every single semblance of control he had when you utter that one word. He pulls out of you just as he begins to cum, hot ropes landing on your chest before he’s propped his foot by your head and shoves his cock between your lips.
Your warm mouth welcomes him greedily as his seed coats your tongue. “Shit,” Anakin grumbles. “Such a little cum slut.”
You nod submissively, wrapping your hands around the rest of his length, all slippery from your juices. You look so fucking sexy with his dick in your mouth, he can’t even think straight. You on the other hand, you could suck his cock all damn day. You don’t even have to think while you’re doing it, you’ll just let your hands, mouth, and tongue do whatever they want. It isn’t until you feel his dick start to soften do you realize he’s finished releasing his load.
Anakin breathlessly slumps down on the other side of your couch. You scoop up his cum from your chest and bring it to your mouth. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do that,” Anakin says rather firmly.
“Why not?” you blink innocently.
“You know exactly why.”
You don’t reply. Instead, you crawl over to him, pulling the blanket that’s draped over the back of your couch and lay on top of Anakin’s chest. He lets you get comfortable as you’re sandwiched between his body and the back cushions of your couch. Once you’ve settled, his strong arm holds you against him protectively. He kisses the top of your head gently and mumbles something you can’t understand.
Neither of you say anything the rest of the night. Anakin isn’t a man of many words, anyway. But when he has something to say, he’ll make sure he gets his point across. The point he made tonight was very clear.
He loves you.
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(ps i'm not a yankees or mets fan. hayden's sweatshirt just kinda looks like the yankees logo even though i know it's not. okay that's it.)
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manhattan longing // tasm!peter parker
❥ tender hands, late nights, secrets, falling from great heights.
wc: 1.1k
navigation ✩ new york private life (I) ✩ empire state of mind (II)
Peter Parker never thought a wall looked so good to punch. Sitting backwards on your toilet while you shakily stitch up a gash on his back does that to a man.
The adrenaline from the fall wore off and Peter realized he probably didn't just land on the concrete of the sidewalk.
Plus, the glass you ungraciously pulled from his wound answered any doubt.
Speaking of ungracious, the needle in his back was definitely not forming and sort of straight lines.
Peter clutches the toilet lid like a vice. Knuckles turning white and head feeling light from how long he's been holding his breath.
"Okay, this should be the last one," the tone in your voice makes him feel awful for the pain he's feeling. He can here the sadness in your voice, how bad you feel for hurting him.
You push through his skin, pulling the stitch tight and cutting the string. Peter intakes a breath, attempting to dig his nails into the porcelain he's wrapped himself around.
You set the needle on the counter, both peter and you letting out a long awaited breath. His shoulders slump. You slowly reach up, running a thumb over healed scars, all white and jagged.
"Do you fall on glass often?" Your tone is soft and close to a whisper.
Peter turns his head to the side, looking at you over his shoulder. "No, I...." he pauses, attempting to think of a good excuse. Though, you don't know that. "I used to, uhm, box. Yeah. It was intense."
"Oh," you frown slightly, tilting ur head.
You back up, allowing Peter to stand. He turns to face you, revealing a forgotten scar on his chest.
It's long. It spans from his collar bone diagonally to the bottom of his rib cage and it's almost an inch wide.
"Peter," you whisper. "There's no way you got that boxing."
Peter quickly grabs his shirt off the counter, pulling it over his head. "That one's not, I don't really wanna talk about it."
Shame. Shame and embarrassment crash over you like a cold wave. Why the fuck did i mention it?!
You look down at your hands, digging your nails into the sides of each other. "Sorry, I didn't mean to over step."
"No, nonono, don't be sorry. It's okay," Peter smiles at you and, in one spontaneous moment, he's brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.
His heart is pounding in his chest. Fear of pushing a boundary crawling up his body.
Your cheeks are warm and before you know it, your hand is holding his against your face, thumb rubbing his knuckles.
"You're so sweet, Peter Parker."
Fucking kiss her!
You let your fingers trail along his arm, trying to give him a hint he can pick up on.
Fucking kiss me!
It's the perfect time too. God her smile. And her hands, they're so soft, and gentle. Loving in a way he never knew he needed.
"Thank you for fixin' me up," Peter gives a lopsided smile, pulling his hand back to his side.
A cold absence takes hold of where his hand once was.
"Of course," you give a flat smile. "You saved my life. It's the least I can do."
꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦
You offer Peter to stay the night, again saying it's the least you can do in repayment of his heroic act.
You both end up on the couch, curled up watching tv. Again, seeing a couple embrace and feeling the same longing from the other day.
You move to lay your head on Peter's shoulder, letting his arm wrap around you, and sighing into him. Comfort overtakes your body as you sink further into him, slowly running your hand up and down his forearm.
His heart is pounding in his chest. Nerves shaking his hands and his thoughts. "y/n?"
This is it. I'm finally gonna kiss her.
"Yes?"
And with the sweet, sleepy tone of your voice he feels all his confidence start to fizzle. His brain short-circuits trying to come up with a cover up.
"D'you wanna go to bed?"
"Yeah," you yawn, pushing further into him.
Pete leads you from the living room to your bedroom, making sure to turn all the lights off along the way. He pauses once you reach the bedroom, not sure where to go.
You turn and walk up to him, grinning. You place a hand on his chest, feeling his pulse increase.
Peter has no idea what to do. His heart is in his throat, hands tingling.
You let your hand slide up his torso and to the back of his neck, getting as close as you can to him. Peter gulps, looking from your eyes to your lips then back again.
Time seems to stand still, neither of you breathing nor looking away from each other. You tangle your fingers into the brown curls and the nape of Pete's neck, twirling them.
Finally, you pull Peter down to you fully. You kiss him the intensity of the sun. He immediately reciprocates. Your bodies instantly meld into one. Finding their way to the bed and laying you down on your back.
Peter Parker is hovering above you, smiling like an idiot. The same Peter Parker that you loved way back in ninth grade. You were both fourteen, both idiots. The Peter above you now is the same one that fell off the jungle gym in gym class in second grade and blamed you for distracting him.
All the memories swell in your mind, bubbling into one thought you can't help from leaving your lips.
"I have loved you for a long time, Peter Parker."
Peter's eyes go wide, head tilting towards you. "You, what?"
"Have loved you for a long time. since ninth grade to be exact," you state seriously.
You've said it twice and yet, he still can't process it. You notice and try to help him out. You push him over on his side, moving yourself the same way.
"When we were both fourteen, we went on a school field trip to the Empire State Building. We all got to go to the top, but i was afraid of heights. So, you held my hand and told me-"
"If you fall, I'll fall with you," both of you repeat together. And in a crazy twist of fate, you both did fall together.
"I've loved you ever since then."
Peter grabs you by the back of your head, pulling you in for another kiss. Souls connecting into one like two water drops.
He can't believe it. You. You've loved him from the same moment he loved you, and after all this time, you made it back to each other. Falling harder than ever.
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hot dream ; billy butcher
fandom: the boys
pairing: billy x reader
summary: you fall asleep in butcher’s sweater and have a rather steamy dream, not realising that everyone heard you moaning butcher’s name in your sleep
notes: this is so bad, and it makes me so sad because i was so excited to write it, but work has been so blegh that i just feel like i failed??? i don’t know, it’s definitely not my best writing, but it’s something! hope y’all can still enjoy!
warnings: swearing, google-translated french, some very incorrect chemistry, and a tiny bit of smut (i’m working myself up to actually writing it, i promise!)
^ the sweater
word count: 4691
“It’s fucking cold in here,” you say, rubbing your arms as you step into the living room.
Frenchie and Kimiko are curled up under a blanket on the couch, and Butcher is lounging on the single seat sofa with his feet propped on top of the coffee table. You know MM is on his way back from Monique’s house with spare clothes and comforters, but you also know how caught up he can get when he spends time with Janine.
“You do not have a jumper?” Frenchie asks.
You shake your head, “The last sweatshirt I had was burnt to a crisp two weeks ago.”
New York City is quickly falling into winter, the air turning crisp and heavy clouds rolling overhead as news channels warn about impending snow within the week.
Kimiko looks up at you and wriggles her arms out of the blanket to sign an apology, gesturing to the jumper she wears as the only one she has.
Butcher sighs and pushes himself off the sofa, “I’ve got somethin’.”
The tiny butterflies in your stomach flitter to life, bouncing around excitedly at the thought of wearing Butcher’s clothing. You move a hand from your arm to your stomach and curse the stupid giddiness that this man aroused within you. It’s ridiculous, really, and just a stupid crush, but he never fails to elicit some sort of irritating physical reaction within your body every time he speaks.
He disappears into the main bedroom for a moment before remerging with a black garment in hand. “Here,” he says, handing it to you, “don’t get it burnt though, it’s my favourite.”
You give him a cheeky smile, “I make no promises.”
Your fingers brush his as you take the sweater from his hand, and his eyes capture yours in a stare you cannot break. His lip quirks into that gorgeous smirk you’ve come to enjoy so much, sending those stupid butterflies into a frenzy before he turns back toward the sofa.
You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding and with numb fingers, find the bottom of the sweatshirt before pulling it over your head. His scent hits you like a truck, rushing through your nose and burning all the way to your lungs. Your chest squeezes around your erratic heart, your ribs aching as they struggle to contain the throbbing muscle. It feels like you’ve been punched in the sternum, and your limbs feel like jelly wrapped in the soft material saturated by his scent.
You know this sweater almost too well, having admired him in it countless times. It’s a little too big on you, but on him, it’s perfect. The thick material hugs his shoulders and fits his torso in the most delicious way. It’s ridiculous that he can make something as plain as this sweater look downright sinful.
“Better?” Butcher asks, his eyes sparkling with a mischief that makes you wonder what he knows.
You nod, “Much.”
Kimiko shuffles over on the couch so that you can squeeze between her and the arm, the side closest to Butcher. You try to focus on the lame action film playing on the television, but the smell of the jumper clouds your mind, and you can feel Butcher’s gaze wandering over to you every few seconds. You want to say something, but every string of words that come to mind are laced with innuendo and teasing, and although you’re very fond of flirting with this man, you’re not sure you can handle it in your current state.
The sun is well below the horizon by the time MM arrives back, his arms full of blankets and second-hand clothing. Kimiko takes two jumpers and a blanket before seeing herself off to bed, and MM does the same shortly after. Frenchie throws another blanket over himself and invites you to share his warmth while Butcher remains on the single sofa with nothing but his trench coat. After almost three movies, your eyelids begin to droop, and you let your head fall onto Frenchie’s shoulder as sleep slowly consumes you.
You startle awake, your mind swirling with images of Butcher. You can still see him hovering over you, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, and his wicked grin as he settles between your thighs. Heat pulses between your legs at the fading memory, and your skin feels like it’s on fire, phantom touches lingering in the shape of Butcher’s hands on your hips, your breasts, your throat.
You have to blink a few times before the living room comes into focus, bright light flooding the space through the drawn curtains as dust mites float through the air. The blankets covering you suddenly feel like they weigh a tonne, and you have to throw them off your sweaty body before you pass out.
“Good morning, mon petit rayon de soleil,” Frenchie greets you, sitting in the sofa where you last consciously saw Butcher.
“Hey,” you mumble as you sit up.
His grin is wide and cheeky, “Did you have a good sleep?”
“It was okay,” you reply, rubbing your neck, “as good as it gets on this old couch.”
“I did not have the heart to wake you,” he says, “you looked so peaceful and were… humming so contently.”
You frown sceptically, “Okay…”
MM is in the kitchen, standing at the stove with a goofy smile as he watches the eggs in the pan cook.
“What time is it?”
“Almost ten,” Frenchie responds.
“What?” you demand, “You let me sleep for that long? Don’t we have things to do today?”
MM chuckles, “We didn’t want to wake you, as Frenchie said, you were so content.”
Spikes of panic begin prickling your skin and your eyes dart from Frenchie to MM, searching their impish faces for any sign of what could be making them so smug.
“Where’s Butcher?”
“Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself,” Frenchie says, “but he is awake.”
MM serves the eggs onto two plates and carries them over to the table where Kimiko is sat. She grins at him before digging in to her breakfast, and your own stomach begins to rumble.
“I suppose I will get my own,” Frenchie sighs, pushing himself off the sofa and walking toward the kitchen.
“I’ll have some too,” you call after him, “thanks, Frenchie.”
He smirks at you with the carton of eggs in hand, “Anything for you, mon amour. How do you like your eggs?”
“Hard boiled,” MM replies before you can, snickering as he takes a bite of toast.
Frenchie giggles too, and he quickly turns toward the stove to avoid your dubious stare.
“What the fuck are you two on this morning?”
They don’t respond as their laughter continues to bubble. Frenchie waves a hand dismissively, still refusing to look at you, before placing a pot and a pan on top of the stove.
“I prefer fried,” you mutter, still frowning.
He nods and moves the pot back into the cupboard just as the doors to the main bedroom creak open. Butcher steps out in faded jeans and yet another hideous Hawaiian shirt with only three of the lower buttons fastened. His hair is a complete mess and his cheeks flushed red; he looks as if he’d just sprinted several blocks.
“You’re awake,” he states.
You nod, “So are you.”
He chuckles, “Been awake for a couple’a hours, love.”
MM is struggling with his breakfast, his laughter refusing to subside though he does his best to quell it, his whole face turning red. Frenchie has turned his back to you completely now, but you can still see his shoulders shaking as he giggles into his hand.
“Did I miss something?” you ask Butcher as he falls into the single sofa.
His smirk just as devilish as Frenchie’s, “Nothin’ at all, in fact, I think it’s me who missed somethin’.”
“Okay,” you sigh, “you’re all being weird, and I’m incredibly sweaty, so I’m going to shower.”
“Breakfast will be ready for you when you return, mon amour,” Frenchie says, “take your time cleaning your- uh, humidité.”
Butcher chuckles as another wave of mirth hits MM, and he begins to choke on his mouthful of food. You roll your eyes before turning on your heel and stomping toward the bathroom, leaving them to their stupidity.
The cold air nips at your bare skin as you strip in the bathroom, carefully laying Butcher’s sweater on the vanity before stepping under the warm shower spray. You take your time washing your hair and scrubbing your body, hazy flashes of hot touches and wet kisses invading your mind as you close your eyes and let the water soak your skin. By the time you shut the shower off, you’re thoroughly clean and a little dizzy with desire. You dry off before wrapping the towel around your body and gathering your clothes to dash across the hall toward your bedroom.
You can’t help glancing in the direction of the living room when you step out, your eyes locking with Butcher’s dark gaze for the split second it takes you to reach your room. Your pulse is thrumming at a ridiculous pace as you unwrap the towel and turn toward your dresser. You slip on a fresh pair of panties and jeans, and turn to the sweater you’d tossed on your bed. Your stomach grumbles impatiently while you procrastinate, and you curse quietly to yourself before slipping the sweater over your head without anything underneath.
The living room wreaks of burnt toast when you remerge from your bedroom, and Frenchie is swearing at the toaster in such fast French, you can’t possibly try to understand it.
“Did you ruin my breakfast?” you ask, walking past Butcher and leaning your hip on the kitchen bench.
“I did not ruin anything,” Frenchie says with a frown, “this good for nothing piece of shit machine did.”
You can feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your head and you know it’s Butcher, but you refuse to turn around, instead joining Frenchie in the kitchen to take over the toaster. After a few minutes of patience, the toast pops perfectly grilled and you place two pieces on each of your plates before Frenchie tops it with eggs.
“So,” MM says when you and Frenchie join him at the table, “what’s today’s plan?”
“We need to go back to the old safe house,” Frenchie replies.
“The basement,” you note between bites of toast.
He nods, “We need to gather anything we left behind that might be useful. I am running out of materials and I know we left a stash of ammunition there.”
“Who’s to say it isn’t already gone?” MM queries.
Frenchie shrugs, “We do not know, but it is worth a try.”
You want to point out that it isn’t really necessary for all of you to go, but you know that will only end in an argument, so you focus on finishing your breakfast. Once you’re all done, MM collects the empty plates and begins washing up while the rest of you go to gather your things.
You pack a small crossbody bag with your phone and keys before tucking a sheathed dagger into the back of your jeans, just in case. When you step back into the living room, Frenchie and MM are waiting by the door, whispering and giggling about something until they see you approach. You want to demand they let you in on whatever stupid joke you’d missed out on this morning, but Butcher’s heavy footsteps capture your attention before you can speak.
“Righ’ then, lads,” he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, “let’s get on with it.”
Your gaze lingers on his lips as he speaks before trailing down his neck and bare chest, finding a mere two more buttons fastened than before. Heat rises to your cheeks, creeping all the way up to the tips of your ears as your mouth begins to water and another blurry image of Butcher fills your mind. You see him on his knees before you, looking up with hungry eyes and parted lips, murmuring something filthy that doesn’t quite reach your ears.
You gasp, blinking rapidly to return to reality and finding three curious faces staring back at you.
“Are you okay?” Frenchie asks.
You nod, “I’m good, let’s go.”
You step between him and MM and walk out the door first, turning down the hall without bothering to wait. They’re giggling again by the time they catch up to you in the lobby, and even Butcher is wearing an amused smirk. He winks as he walks past you, pulling his car keys from his pocket before holding the front door open for the rest of you. Unlike every other time you’ve all been walking toward the car, no one calls shot gun. Frenchie simply opens the back door for Kimiko to slide in before he does, and MM follows without a single complaint.
You look at Butcher, “What the fuck?”
He shrugs, but his smirk is still saturated with amusement and the glint in his eyes tells you that this has something to do with whatever they were all being so smug about.
“You’re all pissing me off today,” you sigh, before walking around the car to the passenger’s side.
You’re not upset about getting the front seat, nor are you annoyed that you get to sit beside Butcher and practically drool over him while he has to pay attention to the road. You are, however, beginning to panic about what it is that they’re not telling you.
The drive isn’t long, and you spend most of it watching Butcher’s hands on the wheel, fantasising about how they would feel caressing every inch of your skin. It almost feels like a memory as you picture his fingers digging into your hips or wrapped gently around your throat, and you can feel your body growing hot within the thick material of his sweater. You practically fall out of the car when it finally stops, gasping for cool air and willing your mind to focus on the task at hand.
Frenchie leads the way down a narrow alley and pushes open the familiar metal door before the rest of you follow him into the dark, damp corridor of what used to be your hide out. You all stay silent for a few minutes, creeping around and checking for any unusual activity or signs that the place might be bugged or trapped. It’s definitely been ransacked, but there are thin films of dust blanketing almost every surface which indicates that whoever was looking in here had given up a long time ago.
“Okay,” Frenchie speaks up once deciding that you’re safe, “let’s see what we’ve got left.”
You split up and wander around the huge, open basement. There are two curtain dividers sectioning the space into what you used as ‘bedrooms’, and a single chipped, wooden door leading to the tiny bathroom at the very back. MM goes in there first, rummaging around for half a minute before declaring it empty.
“Is there anything in particular that we’re looking for?” you ask, turning to Frenchie, “Because there’s a lot of crap in here, and as much as I’d love for you all to rummage through my old underwear drawer, maybe we should-”
Before you can finish your sentence, Frenchie and Butcher take off, abandoning the shelves they were searching and knocking one of the curtain dividers over as they scramble toward the old dresser you used to use.
“Hey!” you shout, your eyes growing wide as you hurry after them.
They’re giggling like maniacs as they wrench the drawers open one by one, tossing out the few items of clothing that still remained in there before realising that there was, in fact, no underwear left behind.
“I was joking,” you say, “fucking pervs.”
Frenchie chuckles, “Can you blame us, mon amour?”
“Yes!”
MM is snickering in the small kitchenette as he picks through the lower cupboards one by one. As much as you want to enjoy the rare light-heartedness within the group right now, you can’t stop wondering why the hell they were all in such a giddy mood. Are they all high?
“Alrigh’ you lot,” Butcher says, running a hand through his dishevelled hair as his laughter subsides, “stop messin’ about, we’ve got a job to do.”
You roll your eyes and trudge toward where MM is, starting on the top cupboards of the small kitchen while they begin opening old crates and suitcases. Frenchie starts a pile by the stairs, stacking up anything he finds that might be useful or too valuable to abandon. There isn’t much, but there are still a couple of cases of ammunition and packets of powders that you know are combustible in some way.
“Wait!” Frenchie shouts suddenly, crouching beside an electrical socket. “Be careful. Somebody has shorted the wiring, intentionally or not, I do not know, but do not touch the outlets or anything still plugged in.”
You slowly retract your hand from beside the rusty old microwave. “What will happen?”
“You will probably be electrocuted.”
“Good to know,” Butcher sighs.
You all return to your ransacking with cautious hands and watchful eyes, skirting around anything electrical or made of metal. When you approach the refrigerator, you can hear a soft, crackling hum, and MM looks at you with wide eyes. It was never a reliable machine, but now it is most definitely a death trap.
You continue your search through the cupboards, knocking half-full packets of rice and flour off the shelves as you stretch up onto your toes to see inside. This job is probably better suited to someone with more of a height advantage, but you’ve always been stubborn, so you don’t bother asking for help.
The cupboard above the sink, adjacent to the stove – you always thought it was stupid to put the sink right beside the stove – reveals a cluster of cleaning products. You reach as far as you can, straining your arms to reach the bottles on the top shelf and groaning at the tension in your body.
Behind you, MM mimics the noise, only louder, “Ungh.”
You hear Frenchie snicker, “No, no, it was more like, mmmh.”
Your fingertips scrape the bottle closest to the front of the cupboard and you huff in frustration.
“Nngh,” MM groans again.
“Ahhh,” Frenchie moans loudly, before dissolving into another fit of giggles.
Determined to ignore them, you try to stretch up even further. Your back aches but your fingers find the bottle once again, scratching at it in an attempt to get it to move.
MM sighs seductively, “Ohh, yeah.”
“Mmm, Butcher,” Frenchie gasps.
Your stomach drops and you lose your balance, stumbling as you whirl around to face them. “What the fuck?”
Frenchie giggles as he meets your stare, “Oops.”
The bottle from the top shelf of the cupboard falls forward and knocks your shoulder, popping the cap off. The liquid inside spills all over your chest just as realisation hits you.
“That’s what all this has been about?!” you exclaim, “you heard me having a fucking sex dream and instead of waking me up, you listened?”
MM can’t stop laughing, with one hand holding his stomach while the other supports his body against the old dining room table. You’ve never seen this man so flustered, and if you weren’t so embarrassed, you might have enjoyed seeing him so overwhelmed with laughter.
Frenchie, however, has gone completely pale, stepping forward with a petrified expression. “Y/N, listen-”
“No,” you snap, “I won’t listen! You are such a-”
“Y/N!” he shouts, “do not move.”
The room falls silent and panic ripples through your body.
“Please, mon amour, stay still,” he pleads as he hurries toward you.
He steps carefully around the puddles on the floor before reaching down to pick up the now empty bottle. He studies the label for less than a second before looking back at you with panicked eyes.
“You need to take off your jumper, now.”
You frown, “What? Why?”
“This is isopropyl alcohol,” he says, “it is highly flammable. If anything in this place so much as sparks, it will catch fire and if the vapours ignite, this whole building could explode.”
“Fuck,” you mutter, looking down at the soaked front of Butcher’s sweater.
Frenchie turns to MM, “Get something, get a bag, and get ready to go.”
You remain still as your pulse quickens, “Frenchie.”
“Butcher,” he says, “you and Kimiko start taking things up the stairs, do not come over here.”
Butcher frowns, “Like hell I’m leavin’ her.”
“Frenchie,” you repeat.
“I will get her out, okay? Just take what we’ve got and let’s get out.”
“I don’t give a fuck about this crap,” Butcher argues, “I care about her, and I’m not leavin’ ‘til I know she’s safe.”
“Frenchie!” you exclaim, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.”
The room falls quiet once again, and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks as each of them turn to you with curious eyes.
“Nothin’?” Butcher asks, fighting the smirk tugging at his lips.
“Nothing,” you reply.
Despite the situation, Frenchie is the first to snicker.
“Come ‘ere,” Butcher says, “slowly.”
You step carefully out of the kitchen, avoiding every surface as your boots squelch against the wet floor. Once you’re in front of him, he shrugs off his coat and gestures for you to remove the sweater. Your heart pounds as you turn your back to him, and he holds his jacket up to shield you, though not quite high enough to block his own view. You hold your breath and pull the sweater up, squeezing your eyes shut as it slips over your head. You can feel his breath on your back as soon as it’s bare, and a whole different kind of heat rushes through you.
He drops his coat around your shoulders and you quickly hug it against your chest. His scent envelops you, even more so than it had with the sweater, and your nerves begin to ease almost immediately.
“Give it to me,” Frenchie says, holding a plastic bag open toward you.
You drop the sweater in and he ties it off.
“Let’s go.”
MM, Kimiko, and Butcher grab what they can before you all ascend the stairs. You hurry through the corridor and out into the alley, not stopping until you’re all safe inside the car.
“Did you get any on your pants, mon amour?” Frenchie asks.
You push the bottom of Butcher’s jacket off your legs to inspect. “Only a little.”
“It will not damage the clothing, but we should wash everything right away.”
You nod before glancing toward Butcher. His face is a mixture of concern and mischief, his eyes struggling to watch the road instead of you, sitting beside him and wrapped in his favourite coat.
“Should we tell someone about that situation back there?” MM pipes up.
“I will call somebody to clean it up,” Frenchie replies.
It isn’t long before you’re all quietly climbing out of the car and carrying your finds up to the apartment. Everyone kicks their shoes off at the door, per Frenchie’s instructions, and begins sorting through the bags and boxes of old materials and equipment.
Frenchie turns to you, “Give me your jeans.”
“Right now?”
He nods and you sigh, deciding not to argue. You turn away from them and open the coat, quickly unbuttoning your jeans and slipping them off before wrapping yourself back up. When you turn back around, he’s adorning that same silly grin that he’d been wearing all morning.
“Is this how it started in your dream?”
You roll your eyes and shove your jeans into his outstretched hand. “Just because you kind of saved my life, doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed at you.”
He giggles as he takes your clothes and walks down the hall to the laundry.
“In his defence,” Butcher smirks, “I told ‘em not to wake you.”
“You what?”
He steps toward you and shrugs, “I liked hearin’ those pretty little noises you were makin’.”
The butterflies in your stomach burst to life and your pulse begins to race.
He leans forward as he whispers, “Liked it a little too much.”
You suddenly remember what Frenchie had said this morning when you asked where Butcher was: ‘Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself’.
“Now,” Butcher clears his throat, “you gon’a give me my coat back before you spill somethin’ else on it?”
You raise your brows, “You want it back right now? Right here?”
He glances over his shoulder toward MM and Kimiko before turning back to you, “Maybe not righ’ here.”
You step around him and walk through the kitchen toward the main bedroom, avoiding MM’s eyes as you pass the dining room table. You don’t bother closing the doors behind you, because sure enough, a pair of heavy footsteps follow closely behind. The door clicks shut and you turn around to look at Butcher. You let your eyes wander over his body, your mouth watering as you follow the collar of his shirt down his bare chest where the top buttons lay open.
“I’m not gon’a lie,” he says, his hungry gaze pinning you to the floor, “as much as I fuckin’ loved hearin’ you whisper my name… I can’t wait to make you scream it.”
His words punch you in the chest, knocking all the air from your legs as heat pools between your legs.
“Now, love,” he steps forward, “can I ‘ave my coat back?”
Your fingers tremble as you grip the lapels of the jacket, moving your shoulders so the material falls off before you open it up and let it drop to the floor. He draws one sharp breath, his eyes growing wide as they move up and down your body, devouring every inch of it as if he’s never seen anything so perfect.
He closes the distance between you and wraps his hands around your waist, fingertips digging into the flesh of your back with bruising pressure.
“D’you know how hard I came to the thought of you this morning?” he murmurs.
You can’t do anything but stare back at him, your lips aching to taste him, all of him.
“So fuckin’ hard,” he whispers before capturing your mouth with his.
You moan as you melt against him, your arms wrapping around his neck and your fingers tangling through his hair as he claims your mouth. His hands squeeze your waist and pull you closer, pressing your naked body against him. The friction of his shirt against your nipples makes you gasp, and he takes advantage of your open mouth, sliding his tongue past your lips.
“Can’t fuckin’ imagine,” he mumbles against your mouth, “how hard I’m gon’a come with you on my cock.”
The ball of tension throbbing below your stomach explodes, and you use all of your strength to push him back toward the bed. He chuckles as he falls back, his hand catching your wrist to pull you down on top of him.
“Tell me ‘bout your dream, love,” he says as you hover over him, “where was I?”
You plant an open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone before biting down and making him groan.
“You were everywhere,” you whisper against his skin, “marking me, claiming me.”
He moans again as you grind your hips down, the friction of his jeans sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.
“I don’t fuckin’ need to claim you,” he growls, his hands holding your hips as he thrusts up, “you’re already mine.”
He lifts you up enough to flip you onto your back, his body moving with yours and settling between your legs as he hovers over you. He dips down, his lips finding your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin before biting down hard. You moan loudly, and quickly smack a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.
“I don’t think so, love,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pinning it to the bed, “I said, I wan’a hear you fuckin’ scream.”
END.
#billy butcher#billy butcher x reader#butcher x reader#karl urban#the boys#homelander#hughie campbell#frenchie#mm#mothers milk#the female#kimiko#karl urban x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#one shot#oneshot
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Deny the truth,set my world on fire (Part 2)
Bucky Barnes x Reader
(Winter Soldier x Reader)
Part 1⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･
Part 3 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*
Part 4⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*
He knew that she was having an affair...she denies, but the love marks on her body are still there.
She can't tell him the truth, it will break him - the Winter Soldier is indeed inside of him, fucking her at night and Bucky doesn't remember.
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Warnings - heavy angst ,stalking, attempted murder
SMUT - non consensual, dom!Soldat, rough!Soldat, choking, knife kink, blood kink, Russian roulette ,degrading in Russian, harsh slapping, hair pulling, fuck toy!reader.
Words - 4000
Bucky is non stop destroying what is left of his heart by constantly thinking about things that have broken him recently. He roots in alcohol, in misery, barely alive in his silent way. Sometimes he gets so drunk that he could hear y/n’s voice calling him at the door as she is coming home with groceries – sick with love.
Their shared apartment will never be complete again, because part of his heart is elsewhere. He needs to feel at home in something, but this is the price he pays for the richness of loving and trusting. In this world he didn’t know what the color of love is – yet he is still deeply stained by hers, but maybe there is no love on earth for him, expect the one he imagined. His body felt the sadness that his soul couldn’t fully register.
„Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling — Oscar Wilde“ one of her favorite quotes. How long will his ruined being still burn?
Bucky is falling apart – the deeply sealed stitches of the nightmares, began to tear apart, not letting him sleep peacefully. He grasps the extend of the loneliness and desertion that he is exposed to. For the first time in forever, there is a complete absence of emotional understating from her – his heart is heavy like an anchor, holding him still in the mist of the storms in his soul. And pain knows a way into every crevice – slowly gaping a hole into the abyss of Winter. Seasons change with the scenery of his emotions and the sky is a hazy shade of winter, there will soon be patch of snow on the ground, shallowing him whole.
His heart begins to ache when he hears a knock on his door. It taints the very air he breathes with streams of hope. The greed of love, reeks of desperation as he runs to the door to open it.
„Sam?“ Bucky says, his eyes confess the fatigue of his living. He lets out a breath, before putting on a smile and forcing a laugh „What brought you here?“
„I came to check up on you, you are not picking up your phone…again“
His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise as he stares, not knowing how to respond.
"Y/n told me...what happened"
Bucky sighs and leans against the door frame. Eyes filled with pure acrimony - puffiness under the eyes. He stands hesitant, his soul floating with embarrassment.
“Really? She did? Does all of New York know, now? Because it really feels like it“ Bucky says, his voice calm but the anger stands in his words like a flame. He furrows his brows, not only in anger, but in confusion too. Why did she talk with Sam about it? Why does he know more?
“You know why she left…?” he questions with urgency, taking a deep breath before chewing on his bottom lip nervously.
„Yeah…she told me.“ Sam answers, keeping his voice low.
His eyes spoke so many unspoken words, begging Sam not to press on the matter, his face forming into a slight frown and his eyes narrowing for a split second. He’s clearly not happy about her decision of talking with Sam behind his back.
„So, um…when do we start with the case of the missing CIA agent? I saw the files you send me yesterday“ Bucky needs to change the subject, a source of a painful reminder to Sam to be more cautious around him.
„There is no need for you to come, I can deal with it alone…and the CIA will provide assistance, too“
„The CIA? Isn’t Y/n coming with us…?“ Bucky gulps, twisting the words into what he really wants to know.
„She…she won’t work with us anymore, she decided to join the CIA“
„What? Under whose command?“
It was awkward as they both stared at each other in, sitting engulfed in suffocating silence for a minute before Sam decided to answer.
„Walker“
He bites the inside of his cheek, his head whips from side to side with nothing, but pure horror.
Sam was simply waiting for Bucky to explore , whereas Bucky was trying to figure out and just process what had just heard.
Hiding shaky hands in their pockets, hiding any evidence of his distress. His chest heaving with ragged breaths, trying to hold back his tears. When a man learns to feel love, he must also bear the risk of feeling hate.
„This…“ his words get catch up in his throat before he forces them out „The nerve-“ Bucky thinks to himself, before letting out a deep sigh and shaking his head in disbelief. „We are her team. What the hell is she thinking?“ he shakes his head, clearly frustrated.
„They don’t even get along-“
he trails off at the end realizing that it was a cover up for their affair, it all made sense now.
„-well…I guess that just…saves me from another discussion. If she‘s with Walker now, then she…has chosen her side. I…I just need some time to process this…“
„It is okay, Bucky…you need a break“ even when life has forgotten him once again, Sam is there – holding his hand, not letting him fall.
„No, Sam I can’t leave you alone in this“
„Bucky, listen to me…if I need you I swear I will call, okay?“
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Bucky’s eyes have finally glazed over, something snaps in him as he closes the door. His lip trembles, and he bites it in hopes of stopping the tears that begin to build. He wanted to let go of the pain even though it was the last thing that feels alive from her.
Love, he’d seen and experienced in his own way - a powerful emotion. It brought them together, gave them a reason to fight, and a purpose outside themselves. Love made him stronger and more capable of facing the challenges of a difficult extended life.
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„Good job today, y/n, wanna grab a coffee and discuss more?“
Walker was so cooky when she called him, sensing that something between you and Bucky happened. He wasted no time In seducing you, he was devoted to earning your love.
„Yeah I-“ The moment y/n laid your eyes on him, she knew. As if time pauses itself, her brain is in a total blur when she spots him coming closer to them, one hand stiffed in his jacket, the left holding a gun and that is what divulges it. It was a joy to be hidden in the crowd and a disaster to be found.
Bucky put all of his energy into protecting himself, developing a terrifying survival strategy.
The Soldat’s behaviors, classified as psychiatric problems – obsessions, compulsions – his most destructive behavior, started unwillingly as a strategy for self-protection of his true self. Winter’s love for her flesh is a like a flower flooded with blood – opening new wounds, making them a garden of a reminder for his sadistic ways.
Y/n pivot on her heels, decision resolute – to get closer to him, hugging him.
„Hey Bucky, oh my gosh! Thank-k you for bringing my revolver back!“ this was the only idea she had.
Her immediate reaction is to hide her face in his chest after giving him a hug, but he prevents her from doing so as he uses his other hand to cup her chin and steer her gaze back onto his. Y/n’s brain malfunctions before putting a hand on the gun as his grip loosens, allowing her to retrieve it in her pocket of her sweetheart. A disgusting public display of affection and ownership the Soldier never showed before.
„Do you want me to shot him?“
She is happy that he says something that resembles Bucky as she turns her back to him, facing John. An enlarged hand grasps hers, and she stops in her tracks, back still towards him. He’s nonchalant when he speaks, his grip on the small hand loosens when she turns her full attention back on him, but he still keeps ahold on y/n’s hand in case she dares to look at John.
„Sorry, John maybe next time…“ Pursing her lips as she replies, not removing her gaze from the empty blue eyes. What abuses has she endured on her heart from him – secret.
Walker’s dimpled smile is on display, meant for y/n only, but she is occupied and he spins around to head to the coffee shop alone.
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Despite thinking that she has the strength, the will to do it, it starts to dawn on her that maybe she didn’t. She couldn’t fight him off, he requires her body once again. She is caught in a tide of lust and control – haunting the world inside of her.
She is alone and if she wants to please him, she might as well do it honest, adorned in blood and bruises, all pain inflicted upon this body must keep his from the world, from Bucky, from her Bucky. In agony, in love, in worry – she is there for both of them.
Metal fingers find the crest of her waist, his other hand skating slowly down the skin, from the chin to her neck, squeezing slightly. His erection crowds in her leg, rolling his hips into hers, the metal hand on her waist clamps tighter leaving the first marks of his assault.
He starts flooding her with tiny kisses as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. That unexpected movement makes him groan.
„Ты мне нужен сегодня ночью...“ (I really need you tonight...) he whispers, his breath tickling her ear.
In between kisses, he adds - the shell of a man speaking to you
„Ты не можешь убежать от меня“ (You can’t run away from me)
„Так вот, я бежать не хочу.“ (I don’t want to run)
Soldat was stunned to hear her speak Russian. His fingers came up to trace her jawline, the cold metal leaving tingles on her smooth skin.
Something in him changed - her grief like a migraine, she is the only scapegoat from his wretched humanity. Shall she grieve ? Shall she hope? Metal fingers danced through her hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail as the human hand started choking her slightly.
„Пошли домой“ (Lets go home)
„Ужасно хочу тебя трахнуть прямо сейчас“ (I really want to fuck you right now) he argues weakly, still struggling to control his breath.
Y/n’s stomach does a flip. She blinks for a few moments, trying to neutralize the look of worry that is sure is scrawled across her angel face.
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Emotionally, she wanted to stay in hopes that Bucky comes back soon. Intellectually, she wanted to leave – but she has to punish herself so that after the she drinks of winter, spring will bloom.
It was the first time that the Soldier came at daylight - her heart is sick of being in chains, but she is the savior as the winter takes one more cherry tree from the depths of her soul.
He watched her for weeks, making sure no one touches his precious flower and here it is, the dark thing, the dark thing he has longed for months – at his mercy. He towering over her as he closes the distance between you. She lets out a deep sigh when he pulls away, eyes softening.
“Can I?”
She asks quietly and puts her long nails on his neck, drawing circles with fingers as red lines starts to form. The Soldat couldn’t speak, he just nods, moving his head to the side in order to give her flesh to explore. He growls shamelessly at her butterfly kisses across his neck, gliding her tongue along his earlobe, biting down gently to earn a groan. She's gentle, soft. Of course she smells of roses, but there's a bit of perfume as well while he smells of whiskey and misery.
She slaps the soldier harshly across the face, making his head turn to the other side - now her tongue is sucking and licking there and his arms squeeze her waist, pressing himself to her warmth. Y/n gives him a proper kiss for the first time.
Short, and just on the lips. It was meant for Bucky.
He had enough, Soldat grabs a fistful of her hair with one hand, pushing her down roughly to her knees. His calloused fingers graze over her chin, making her look up at him. She peers up at him meeting the blue eyes through dark lashes. Already her mouth is open, tongue hanging out, wordlessly pleading for him – anything.
His dick twitches in his jeans. He slowly stuffs human fingers into her mouth, groaning as her lips fall around them, sucking like it is his dick. Y/n whimpers at the low timbre of his voice as he pulls her back by the hair, just to enjoy the sight before adding a third finger. She can only imagine what he must have planned for tonight.
She immediately freezes up when his fingers leave – peering up at him from the floor while promptly undoing his belt, shallow gasp escapes her lips, wanting nothing more than to wrap her lips around his cock, its been a long time.
Y/n catches her final deep breaths as she licks every single finger of her hands before putting them around his base. She gives the tip a modest, teasing lick before running her tongue around it is a talent of hers – both Bucky and Winter love it – wiftly swallowing every inch of him down her throat.
Suddenly she feels his strong hand again, whirling around her hair more and pressing her down to his public region. She gags at the sudden intrusion, gurgling sounds fill the room and y/n eyes water, fucking her mouth with no mercy.
His fiery blue eyes were almost widened from shock as he stares back at her, trying to steady his shaky breaths.
He groans through gritted teeth as he forces her to take him further into her mouth. Quiet hums sent vibrations up through his cock causing shudders to crawl down his thighs. Soldat’s body shakes with pleasure as he forces his way into her mouth. Tears run down, mixing with the drool that's splashed around. His eyes roll back in pleasure - just playing around with his flower, while she stays all quiet and docile.
Right now, she is shameless, she is still listening to the melody of his sounds - grunting and trying not to be too loud as he barely holds it. Her mouth tights as he hits the back of her throat over and over again while digging her nails in his tights to let him know that it is too much. Y/n attempts to breathe, but it results in more gagging noises and he locks her in that position – enjoying every tear that drops on her cheeks.
He leans his head back and when she sucks on the tip, circling her delicate tongue around it as she restrains him in a vacuum-sealed, holding it in her mouth. He blacks out when he comes, the body tenses hard and then liquids rush into her mouth. He feels his knees buckle slightly at the sensation with an even heavier groan escaping his lips.
Soldat withdrawals from her mouth slowly as she licks her lips to assure there is nothing left behind, he smirks looking down and decides to pull her back up by her hair.
He throws her onto the bed, sighing and undoing his pants, removing them completely.
He feels so high with this much adrenalin, with this much power and freedom. The knife is already in his hand, cutting through clothes. The marks on her body are his greatest mastery, Soldat’ smile lingers at the thought of leaving them all over. He trails the tip of it down to the edge of her panties, gulping slowly – with so much time and freedom he is unsure of his choice of action. He is still over the underwear, playing with the knife, seeing how deep the fabric can dip, tracing the folds he can reach, feeling how utterly soaked she is with precise precision of the blade.
The knife slices them as he lets out a whimper which causes her to twitch with fear, staring up at her incubus. Soldat presses the cool blade to her throat, a small line of blood starts to form.
She cries out – a masochistic mixture of euphoria and pain. The knife is removed from her neck and replaced by his vibranian arm. He squeezes until he is satisfied with the angel eyes full of tears, she loves the way he is choking her…almost to death. He growls as he touches his dick with his hand, slowly forces his length into her, a throaty groan escaping his lips.
They share a sickness that doesn't need fixing at all…flatline the heart, discard the brain - change her into whatever you feel like, she is not going anywhere.
He closes his eyes, lost in the moment – his own knife is pressed against his throat – she presses and the red pearls falls on her face and neck and that. It stings and Soldat whimpers about the pain, twitching inside her. He smirks, leaning down to her ear…leaning into the knife as more blood starts to flow. He growls lowly into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, grunting with every merciless thrust that lurches her body with it, his hot breath - intoxicating.
„Из-за тебя я отлично чувствую этот нож….ласковый цветочек“ (Because of you, the touch of the knife fees good…tender flower)
„Поцелуй меня“ (Kiss me)
Before she can register what’s happening, she drops the knife to the side of her head and kisses him. His hand collides with her cheek, stinging and bringing more tears, biting her shoulder as his thrusts get rougher, the unwanted orgasm too close to be postponed any longer. His cock is throbbing, shooting load after load of warm, sticky cum. Even after cumming, he can't bring myself to stop the assault - planning an overdose on orgasms tonight.
Y/n whines at the lost of the feeling of his body, but he flips her over like a drag doll, onto her stomach and she instinctively raises her ass into the air, waiting for him. He gathers both her wetness and cum with his two vibranium fingers, forcing their way inside of her hole with a brutal pace as his other hand shoves her back down into the mattress. Y/n let her eyes flutter shut when he brushed over the clit, hips jolting up and craving for more fingers. He groans into her skin at her reaction, leaving a trail of teeth makes on the back on her neck. The feeling of delight was unfortunately short-lived, however – he doesn’t plan on her cumming tonight.
He is still jealous of her interactions with John for the past weeks, he planned on killing him before she stopped him. He turns her around, on her back as he soon fasted her pussy, his lips latches onto the clit, circling it with his warm, wet tongue. She writhes in pleasure beneath him at the duo sensation of his metal fingers moving inside and his mouth on the clit….but everything stops. Again. Again. Again.
„Please, please…Bucky…“ she murmurs, she misses every part of him.
„У меня ничего не осталось от моего другого я“ (Now I have nothing of my other self) „Здесь только мы с тобой“ (Only you and me here)
Y/n looks down at him, the Soldier looking back from between her legs, not seeing his wide grin. He doesn’t like it when y/n mentions Bucky, but he is too dizzy from the pleasure, not punishing her for now, only giving a warning in Russian.
He gives the clit one last abrupt lick before flopping down in the middle of the bed, slapping his thighs and commanding her to sit
"Ride me"
She hovering above his cock, sliding in one motion. She moans shamelessly as she finds a suitable rhythm, her hands firmly planting onto his neck and he mirrors her act, squeezing her tightly at her neck.
As he is closer to the edge his sadist mind deprives her of any oxygen, her struggles to stay conscious and that slowly drives him over the edge - his throaty moans fill the room as he slams deep for the final time. Y/’s body is writhing, but his hand around her neck keeps her in place, knowing there’s no use in trying to fight him off.
As the grip around her neck looses she opens her mouth to take deep breaths. He takes advantage of this by spitting into it.
„Как ты, дорогая“ (How are you, darling?)
Soldat slaps her cheek, urging her to respond, but her head is so foggy with pleasure that the reaction is delayed.
„Я в порядке“ (I am fine)
„Грязная шалава“ (Dirty bitch)
He glared at her intensely and when his brain had fully calmed down, he flips her over onto her back so that he was on top. He wastes no time in pinning both her small arms above her head, hurling both over her legs over his shoulders as he starts slamming back inside.
Closing her eyes, trembling with fear. There is a little cold kiss on her forehead and when he opens her eyes – her own revolver. He shows y/n the single round before placing it back, spinning the cylinder – Russian roulette.
They stand together set in stone, hearts open wide - flames of afterlife getting closer. He counts to three and pulls the trigger. Her whole body tenses up, eyes closed. The Soldier exhales slowly, watching her eyes full of tears, shallowed by fear.
„Your turn“
But the concept of it seems less gruesome then reality. The time seemingly stopped for a moment. Every time she blinked it presented itself. Memories. Regrets. Love. Fear.
The revolver feels impossibly heavy in her unsteady hands. Soldat takes a deep inhale through the nose as he eyes close.
Index finger rests on the trigger.
Click.
Her soul is in a constant struggle between her need for Bucky, fear of losing him, and a desire to executes the Soldier herself. She was never really insane except upon occasions when Soldat played too much with her heart. His cold laugh alone drives her to tears, his pulsing cock starts pounding into her again – y/n is trapped in a nightmare, breathing just a little, calling it life. She wants a version of herself that isn’t neck-deep absorbed in this filth.
„Bring him back…“ she is prepared to be devastated, but there was a need to confess.
A misfit, people wanted to lock him in, but there she is – satisfying both of the Winter Soldier’s and Bucky’s needs…oh yeah, will Bucky remember when he comes back?
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When she wakes up, he is gone. Y/n decides to look at herself in the mirror – there is a huge bruise on her neck as If she is stripped of beauty. She laughs, then she cries, choking on tears – haunted down by the Soldier even though she tries to stay away.
Sometimes love is a slow burn that keeps you warm, and sometimes it's a bonfire that can't be contained…she is so worried about Bucky, the love in her heart demanding for his presence. Without him, she is nothing but a faint noise. She has to call him, to make sure that he is back after weeks wasted by stalking her as the Soldier.
„Doll…why are you calling?“
The line goes dead.
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✭TAG LIST ✭
@smplymrvl @i-want-to-be-hit-by-a-car @msoldier @marvelxlevram @lovelywritinglady
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"Fine, I'll do it myself." - me writing fics about daddy Soldat
THIS IS WHAT I AM HERE FOR - THE WINTER SOLDIER LMAO BARKING RN
#winter soldier x you#winter soldier x reader#winter soldier fanfiction#winter solider imagine#winter soldier x y/n#bucky x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky x female yn#bucky x f!reader#bucky x y/n#bucky x you#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#I AM HERE TO WRITE SOLDAT FICS LMAO
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"caution! this could get ugly" - eren yeager
Pairing: eren x reader
Summary: It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit when you work through winter break. But when you attend your coworker's annual ugly sweater party in an attempt to get into the holiday spirit, a certain green-eyed line cook is determined to make that a challenge.
Or;
The Chili's!AU Christmas party one-shot no one asked for
wc: 6.6k
Tags: enemies to lovers, coworkers!au
Content warnings: smut, oral ( f receiving), spit play, drug references, eren has big ass hands, minors dni
my first fic in an anime fandom, pls be gentle! you can't tell me eren doesn't give off headass-but-secretly-softie line cook vibes... you can't tell me he doesn't look like that one guy you wanted to smash that one time at work!
um...happy holidays, y'all!
read on ao3 | masterlist | twt
The lady at table six doesn’t deserve about half of the attitude that she’s getting from you tonight. Besides, it’s not her fault all of the sides to each meal she ordered were wrong. It’s not her fault her appetizer had to be recalled two times because there were onions in the guacamole on both instances when her chips and dip platter arrived at the table. She’s not the one who cooked her husband’s steak well-done instead of medium-rare. Of course not, because as she oh-so considerably informs you over the distressed screams of her high-chair-bound toddler, she would never cook a New York strip steak like that.
But between the chaos of the dinner rush and the mishaps of a particular line cook who seems hell-bent on making your night as difficult as possible, table six and her husband are lucky that you are even able to flash them a drawn smile before stalking off.
The double doors to the kitchen – so lovingly called the heart of the house - are a thin veil between utter mayhem and the generally calm atmosphere of the dining area, never staying for longer than a second as waiters rush to tend to their tables. Stepping into the chaos, several obstacles stand between you and the culprit of your terrible night. Fellow employees swarm the narrow walking space, and you slip by with practiced ease and the occasional apology. You’re almost a little envious as you take note of them – no one else looks as half as pressed as you do tonight. As they should be, it’s only a Tuesday night. Not even the weekend yet. And yet, as you shimmy your way through the back of the house, you can’t help but feel a similar fatigue and exasperation that typically follows a Friday night shift. This only serves to further solidify your resolve as you duck past a team of waiters off to serve a business party. A long, stainless-steel counter runs the length of the kitchen space, with shelves that reach the ceiling, effectively separating the servers from the cooking staff. Waiters and line cooks take turns sliding completed and returned orders beneath the shelving, and heat lamps attached to the bottom of the last shelf to preserve the food. It is within this space that you all but shove your head beneath the heat lamps to give Eren Jaeger a piece of your mind.
“Do you have a problem?”
“Yeah, actually.” Eren, standing idly over the stove top adjacent to you whips around at the sound of your voice. He makes a wry face at the sight of you, hunched over the countertop and under the warm hutch, forced to cram your neck in a certain direction to give Eren the full force of your scowl. For all his nonchalance, there’s a glint in his eyes. “You haven’t come to talk to me since you started your shift.”
You blink once, twice, before all but slamming your head into the shelf above you in an attempt to swipe at Eren across the counter. “Are you – are you fucking joking right now? Are you actually fucking messing with my table’s orders because I didn’t say ‘hi’ when I walked in?”
Eren sucks his teeth, pretending to rearrange some condiments in front of him. “You’ve been here for two hours already. It’s polite to greet your seniors. Seems you’ve lost all your manners while you were away at college.”
Right eye twitching at the condescending note in his tone, you rear back, ready to straight up drag him into the walk-in and show him just how polite your fists could be. That thought is quickly sidetracked as a broom handle to the back of the knees sends you stumbling back from the countertop. Your manager stands behind you, arms akimbo, broom in one hand. He pointedly offers you a serving tray.
“Your steak is getting cold.” Stern, curt, and orderly, your night manager is infamous for running a tight ship. But even he, for all his methodology and patience, gets run ragged by the customer service industry. If you thought you were over tonight, Levi looks just about ready to turn in his two weeks.
“What about-,”
“I’ll handle him. Now get back to your other tables before I make you clean the bathrooms.” The night shift manager threatens to strike you with the broom handle again before passing off the tray and pushing you in the right direction.
You spare an accusatory glare at Eren, who watches on in bemusement. Rude bitch, he mouths, wiggling his fingers in a girlish wave.
The rest of the night goes on fairly smoothly. The dinner rush subsides just as quickly as it came. No one asks you to sing the Happy Birthday song. The incident at table six lands you a meager tip, but you grin and bear it. Better than nothing at all. Or worse, change. This seems to be the case for Sasha, a regular dinner shift waitress. She marches through the double doors with a fist full of nickels and dimes courteous of her last table of the night – a group of college students. Cursing under her breath, it’s obvious your coworker is ready to call it a night hide in the back with a basket of rolls until close.
There’s an obvious shift in mood as your team transitions to its closing routine. As Levi thanks the last customers for the night and locks the door behind them, the tension from the day seems to almost melt away instantaneously. Connie, a back-of-the-house member who ends up stuck by the dishwasher most nights, takes the opportunity to hijack the restaurant’s stereo system to blast trap music you only know the chorus to.
Closing, believe it or not, is your favorite part of the job. You take pride in how dutifully you restock, fold cutlery, wipe tables, and somehow always manage to avoid being assigned the task of sweeping the dining areas. You’d rather be caught dead before you struggle with that insolent, brittle plastic broom against an entire night’s worth of grime and dropped food. Instead, when Levi wordlessly hands it off to you this time, you make your way to the back of the house, prepared to bestow this lovely gift to the main antagonist of your shift.
You discover Eren lounging outside the storage shed behind the restaurant, the tell-tale sign of the flicker of a lighter giving him away. And the smell. The heady burn of a Backwood climbs its way up your nostrils as you approach him, languidly smoking half a blunt on the clock.
“Y’know the longer you sit out here, the longer it’s gonna take for us to get the fuck out, right?” Eren greets your matter-of-fact tone with a cloud of smoke, thick and distinct in the crisp winter night air. You shoot Eren a disapproving look as you approach plastic broom in hand, fully prepared to guilt trip your coworker into taking on your least favorite closing duty. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight, aren’t you? You’re so lucky it’s too cold for Levi to come out here and bust your ass himself.”
This isn’t the first time the heart-of-the-house worker had snuck off to light up before joining the clean-up routine. Connie and Eren regularly covered for each other’s smoke breaks, so often that even Levi began to turn a blind eye as long as everyone clocked out on time. The line cooks' routine typically didn’t affect much on your end unless it was a night like this – a night when everyone had plans afterward.
Tonight, there was a holiday party at stake.
“Levi’s got a soft spot for me, you know,” Eren scoffs, taking another drag from the half-smoked blunt. He still has yet to fully face you, perched on a stack of discarded crates and angled away from the kitchen’s back entrance. Tucked away in the shadow of the storage shed, Eren ashes off the corner of the small building. “Besides, even he can’t resist my charm.”
Rolling your eyes, you wave the plastic broom in front of him, threatening to poke him in the ribs when he begins to protest. “Charm won’t save you from sweeping duty tonight. After what your petty ass put me through tonight – here, take it.”
Eren raises an eyebrow, throwing his hands up in protest when you move to toss the broom handle at him carelessly. He gripes, “I’ve got better things to do than clean up after you.” The blunt in his hand smolders near his fingertips. You pluck it from his hands with little resistance and take a hit, brow crinkling at the taste. Your lungs ache and warm at the sensation.
“Yeah? Yeah, like this?” You wheeze and hope he attributes the water gathering at the corners of your eyes to the cold. “Just get it done, and let’s finish this so we can all get to the party on time.” Eren watches in dismay as you stomp out the remains of his roach.
“Someone’s in a hurry…A Grinch like you, it can’t possibly be the Christmas spirit?” Eren narrowly avoids being jabbed in the ribs again, jumping from his hiding spot when you lunge. He eyes your tense shoulders, nearly hiked up to your ears, and the impatience in your stance. In the years you’ve worked together, your general disdainful demeanor towards him is nothing new, but there’s something else. Something else that leads Eren to believe that the dark flush of your cheeks has little to do with the winter air. He swipes the broom from your grasp, approaching you with a wolfish grin. You instinctively take a step back, a little less confident now with the broom no longer as your barrier. Confronting Eren over kitchen counters, between restaurant booths, and across busy back-of-the-house spaces in the presence of your other coworkers was one thing. But as the young man towers over you, gaze shadowed in the dim glow of the moon and the weak holiday lights haphazardly strewn about the awning around the restaurant, you can’t help but shrink a little under his direct attention.
After a tense moment of silence, Eren relents. “Alright, alright. I’ll get it done. But you owe me a dance later at the party.”
Your stupor was broken, you sputter and gawk up at him, at his audacity. “I- Me? Dance for you? Dream on, slacker. Now, move it. I’ve got tables to wipe down, and I’m not waiting for you to finish sweeping.”
Working at Pepper’s had only meant to be a summertime gig, at first. Looking for a quick way to make some cash before the start of your first year in college, the local Tex-Mex chain restaurant was your least enthusiastic option. A popular location in your small town, it was one of a few dining options that didn’t require you to drive out into the city to enjoy. The idea of running into one of your former high school classmates while donning the company apron and signature red visor, toting a serving tray - or worse, working with one of them - mortified you. But chain restaurants were always hiring, and you needed money fast. Eventually, working the evening shift as a waitress during breaks from school became the norm - until now. Now, as the start of the final spring semester of your undergraduate program approaches, you're left to consider what the next summer will really look like for you once you graduate. Besides, it wasn’t like this was going to be your career, right?
Right?
In your years on staff, Sasha’s ugly sweater party had become an unofficial team bonding event of sorts. No matter how new someone was to the staff or how frequently they were on shift, everyone came to Sasha’s. And everyone came dressed accordingly, or you were turned away at the door. A night of ugly sweaters, spiked eggnog, and best of all, Secret Santa. Since your freshman year of college, Sasha’s holiday party was always something you could look forward to.
You anxiously eye a little red gift bag from across your coworker’s living room, trying to hide your grimace behind your second glass of wine.
“You look like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off.” The hostess of the night is pretty quick to clock your demeanor. Sasha slides onto the couch next to you, her sweater an egregious display of flashing multicolored lights, silver tinsel, and a giant patch of Rudolph the red nose reindeer sledding down a mountain in sunglasses stitched to her chest.
You force a smile, attempting to play off your nerves. “No bomb, just…Secret Santa jitters, you know?”
“Ah, the classic Secret Santa anxiety.” Your companion watches as your nervous gaze flickers from the gift table to a certain couple in matching argyle sweaters with tiny Christmas trees sewn in between the jacquard diamonds, huddled in the doorway into the kitchen. Sasha’s eyes widen in understanding. “Can I take a wild guess at who you got?”
You realize you’re not-so-subtly glaring at Jean, who’s laughing with his uninvited guest across the room. Jean, your coworker, and former daytime shift waiter. Jean, your friend whom you’ve admired from afar for his kindness and tenacity. Jean, who got promoted to manager at some point while you were away finishing your last fall semester at college and didn’t tell you. Jean, whom you have the worst, most horrendous crush on. You take another sip from your drink to avoid the pitiful look you know is on Sasha’s face. “I just hope he likes what I got him. I mean, we’re not exactly best buddies or anything...”
If Sasha catches the sour note in your voice, she says nothing to acknowledge it. “I’m sure you know him better than you think.”
You can’t help but huff in exasperation. “That’s the problem though, isn’t it? Ever since I switched from dayshift in the fall, ever since I went back to campus, he’s been so distant. I could’ve sworn we were getting somewhere over the summer, but now…” You tip your glass listlessly in the direction of the object of your ire, whose arm is wrapped around none other than Mikasa, a waitress who quit last year but still hangs around some of your coworkers. Apparently.
Everyone comes to Sasha’s Christmas party.
It goes without saying that Jean is with Mikasa now, but your eyes can’t help but linger in his direction anyway. After all, the last time you saw him…
The pool party. That pool house. The surprise that colored his eyes and flushed his cheeks when you kissed him.
You shake off the memory, scowl deepening. The hostess herself leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, spill. What’d you get him?”
You glance around for any eavesdroppers before revealing, “A leather-bound journal. He’s always jotting things down, and I thought it might come in handy.”
Sasha squeezes the hand on your lap not balancing a drink and offers you an encouraging smile. “Not bad! Thoughtful and practical. I’m sure he’ll love it.”
You nod, a bit more reassured. “I hope so. It’s just…I really wanted to get him something he’d like, you know?” You watch as Jean presses a doting kiss to Mikasa’s forehead, smiling into her hairline. He has yet to look your way once, except for at your arrival.
Sasha pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry too much. It’s the thought that counts.”
The thought. You scoff. You think you might need a third glass of wine.
As Sasha wanders off to mingle with the other guests, a mix of cashiers and kitchen staff amused with seeing one another outside of shift schedules, your attention is drawn to Eren, who seats himself in the spot that Sasha once occupied with all the languor of someone who didn’t show up to the party sober. It doesn’t take much for him to reveal that he heard most of your previous exchange.
“Secret Santa jitters, huh?” he teases, propping himself up against one arm of the sofa. The line cook wears a dark blue cable knit sweater, with what you think is some horrific reimagining of Bob Ross knitted across his chest. Tiny, tinkling silver bells adorn the hem, glittering as he shifts in his seat. His hair, typically tied up and away from his face during shifts, spills loosely over his shoulders and shags over his eyes. You recall the way he looked at you earlier in the night behind the storage shed and remember his insistence that you dance with him at this party. In the warm lighting from the barrage of Christmas lights that line Sasha’s living room ceiling, he almost looks pretty like this.
You shoot him a look. “What’s it to you, Eren?”
“Just wondering if I made the nice list,” he quips, winking playfully. You make note of the lack of red rimming his eyes. Maybe he is sober then?
“Cute,” you scoff, trying to dismiss the way heat rises to your cheeks at the comment. Maybe you’re the one that needs to sober up. “Now go sweep something or whatever is it you do when you’re not getting high and crashing parties.”
Eren smirks but doesn’t leave. Instead, he nods in the direction of the gift table, of the little red disaster bag that haunts the corner of your eye. “So, who’s the lucky recipient of your generosity?”
You sigh, giving in to the conversation. “Well, the point of Secret Santa is that it’s a secret-,”
“Jean, huh? That’s interesting.” While you sputter at his presumptuousness, Eren’s expression tightens for a moment, and you can almost see the wheels turning in his head.
Before you can question his tone – or how the hell he had even overheard you and Sasha, for that matter – Sasha calls for attention announcing the start of the gift exchange.
You leave Eren on the couch to grab your present, eager to get away from whatever that was. You have enough to be anxious about tonight without Eren Jeager getting into the mix. Unsure how Jean will react to your carefully chosen present, you grip the little red bag a little tighter.
In the end, you don’t even get to witness Jean’s reaction to your gift. All of that tension, all of your worries on the drive here, all of your anxiety leading up to this moment is all for naught. Eren Jeager makes sure of that.
He doesn’t even try to sound remorseful once he spills his wine down the front of your sweater just as you’re about to hand off your gift to your should-be-former crush. You had mustered up the courage to approach Jean, who had finally wrenched himself from Mikasa’s grasp for a brief moment to collect a wrapped parcel of his own. But as soon as you reach out to catch the day shift manager’s attention, your entire body is shifted off-center. Eren collides into your right side, tipping his glass into your chest with little more than a half-assed, “Whoops, my bad.”
You gasp, the force of Eren’s weight and a mix of shock and horror sending you reeling back from Jean. The surrounding partygoers come to a halt, Jean included as he turns to finally take in the sight of you for the first time tonight, mortified and doused in red wine that bleeds through the front of your white cashmere sweater like an open wound. The little red gift bag hangs limply in your hands.
Jean calls your name, voice colored with surprise and concern, but you’re already marching towards the bathroom, eyes stinging, hands shaking, dropping the gift bag somewhere on the way between pushing through little clusters of your coworkers all squeezed into Sasha’s homey apartment.
Much to your relief, the bathroom to the guest bedroom is already unlocked and unoccupied, a temporary haven for you to gather your bearings.
Or so you thought.
It’s not long before Eren finds you, gently knocking on the door with a soft call of your name. You’ve spent the past few minutes fruitlessly dabbing at the stain blossoming on your chest with paper towels and cold water, only succeeding in smearing it into a much larger mess. The snowflakes carefully stitched into the pattern of your sweater begin to take on a faint salmon color, the sight in the mirror only serving to fuel your frustration. Tears well up in your eyes as mortification over the night’s events threaten to overwhelm you, but Eren’s voice startles you into a sense of annoyance. In your panic and haste, you had forgotten to lock the door behind you.
The bathroom door swings open, and you glance up in time to see Eren duck inside, his expression softened with a hint of something you’re too bewildered to decipher. Your heart sinks when you realize Jean doesn’t file in behind him.
“Need some help?” Eren offers, an uncharacteristically sincere tone to his voice.
You shoot him a skeptical look, “Are you being serious right now?”
Rather than back off when met with your icy demeanor, Eren closes the door behind him. And rather than tell him off when he turns you to face him, nearly bumping heads in the cramped guest bathroom, you both set to work with damp paper towels.
You work in silence, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, the sounds of the party raging on outside. Eren’s touch is gentle, and purposeful as he braces your shoulder with one hand and dabs just under your neckline with the other. A pensive look falls over his face. You wait for an apology that doesn’t come.
Distantly, you hear the Christmas music switch to something with a little more bass and know that Connie has hijacked the speaker. As you dab at the hem of your sweater, convinced that the stain would be a permanent fixture in your sweater at this point, you glance up to notice a smile playing on your intruder’s lips.
You shoot him a withering look, “You think this is funny?”
Eren breaks out into a full-on smirk, impish even, looking a bit more like the line cook you’ve known to antagonize you. He tosses his paper towel in the trash and leans against the bathroom counter, his green eyes fixed on you. For a brief moment, they simmer with spitefulness. “I think it’s a hell of a lot less depressing than watching you openly moon over horse face.”
“Horse face?” You blanch. “You mean Jean-,”
“-Besides, I did you a favor. Now you don’t have to go and be disappointed him.”
Your frustration grows, but beneath it, there’s a spark of defiance. You snap at him, “What does it even matter to you, Eren? All night you’ve been on my case; at work, at this party! Whatever I give to Jean – whatever I have or don't have going with Jean is none of your business.”
You feel the tension between you, thick and charged, but the satisfied look on Eren’s face never wavers. He’s lax, head tilted back as he observes you over the bridge of his nose with a gaze that meets yours that could almost be described as bored if not for the hungry something lurking in them. That same look from your closing shift, passing him the broom. He’s not high anymore, you determine, hasn’t been for a while if the intense look expression, and the clarity of his gaze is anything to go by, so you can’t chalk it up to insobriety. You distantly wonder how much more often he’s looked at you like that. For how long? How have you never noticed? It seems so much more apparent like this, outside of work. So much harder to ignore with no metal counters to divide you, and no uniforms to keep up to code.
In your anger, you’ve stepped closer, balling the used towel in one fist and bracing against the counter with the other, half caging in the much taller man against the sink. You don’t realize how close you are, face to face like this, drawn in by the intensity of his eyes. The bathroom feels smaller, the air heavier, and you’re acutely aware of every beat of your heart.
You mutter, “What the hell is with you?” and he huffs a laugh through his nose, a real smile on his lips as you draw near.
“If only you fucking knew.”
Eren leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a bold move that leaves you momentarily stunned. For a moment, you forget about the chaos of the party outside. When he finally presses his lips to yours, it’s a slow kiss laced with arrogance, a statement of intent. And despite your annoyance, you can’t help the feeling of warmth that floods you. Hands seek each other out in a flurry of movement. The paper towels and spilled wine are forgotten as Eren’s hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. Eren lets you cage him fully against the bathroom sink, if only to fit one leg between yours and slot his fingers from around your waist to the back of your neck, into your hair with the free hand not holding himself up against the counter.
The kiss is a collision of emotions – frustration, surprise, and an underlying current of something you hadn’t quite acknowledged before and aren’t entirely sure if you’re ready to either. Unhurried and messy, you can feel the groan that reverberates through Eren’s chest against your own as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. He tastes like smoke and red wine and metal. There’s no urgency behind his moments, languid with the way explores your mouth, as if a crowd of people you’ve worked with throughout some of the more formative years of your life aren’t separated from you by a singular door. As if the man you’d sworn you’d come back to try to commit to wasn’t a brisk walking distance away. He kisses you like a lover, and not like a man who has made it his mission to spend every waking moment you’ve had together grating your nerves.
Surprise shocks you at the swipe of his tongue ring against your lower lip. His thumb at your neck strokes along your chin, and your jaw with a touch that’s borderline reverent. A balmy, pleasant feeling unfurls in your chest, thrums in your veins as you allow him to tilt your head back and deepen the kiss. Eren’s lips are warm and insistent, and despite the bizarre circumstances, you feel right at home in his grasp.
The sounds of the party outside fade into the background, replaced by the rhythmic thud of your heart in your ears.
You’re surprised at how gentle he is. Firm, unrelenting in his touch, sure, but with none of the simmering aggression you’d come to associate him with. Strong, sure hands, slide encircle your hips under your sweater, thumbs dragging across your hip bones at the hem of your jeans. Stoking that smoldering feeling in your chest, a simmering in your low belly. The sensation earns him a gasp, interrupted by his lips. It takes little convincing for you to remove the sweater altogether, discarding the article of clothing along with it.
You’re rewarded with a pained groan as Eren breaks the kiss long enough to admire you like this, all flush and disheveled from the neck up. His doing. Not Jean’s. He can’t help but feel smug satisfaction, finally having quelled that ugly, nagging feeling that had built up in his chest once he had realized just why you had been so anxious to get to the party tonight. None of that matters now. Eren is too focused on chasing the press of your hips against his. Too focused on the feeling of your lips and the little gasps you make each time he moves to tuck into the crook of your neck instead, teeth finding their way to the pliable skin at the juncture of your bare neck. Too enamored by the way the lust and wine make your eyes hazy and soft on him in a way he wishes you’d look at him during the daytime.
Breaking your gaze, Eren rearranges your legs so that you’re nearly seated on his lap with the way you lean over him against the counter. Eren’s fingertips find their way beneath the hem of your bra, sliding over the seams of your ribcage to trace and then squeeze at the expanse of bare skin there. You sigh into his mouth at the feeling, content to rock in his lap and suck on his tongue until the rough pads of his thumbs swipe over your nipples, rendering you just a little more desperate.
“Oh – oh. Eren, please-,” The little silver bells sewn into the collar of his sweater jingle with every rock of your hips, and you can’t help but snicker against his lips once you notice the sound.
“Let me – here, let me take this shit off.” Eren gives you just enough room to swipe the festive sweater over his head, just enough time to toss it somewhere on the floor before he’s on you again. One large hand palms your rear, the other resting against your collarbones, fingers encircling your throat to guide you back into one more heated kiss, prying your mouth open with his teeth and tongue, rolling yours over his.
Your own wandering hands tangle in his hair as it curtains your face, trace the sinewy lines of his back as you silently wonder if he’s always been this strong.
Eren doesn’t let you wonder for long, managing to scoop up you inside the broom closet-sized confines of the spare bathroom and place you on the closed lid of the toilet, skirt fluttering up to the tops of your thighs with a swift motion.
“Wait, woah-,” You’re so caught off guard by the sudden motion, that you nearly miss Eren stooping down to kneel in front of your place on the toilet, large hands bracketing each of your knees. He leans in, a secret smile gracing his features, green eyes bright with mischief under the harsh fluorescent lighting.
“I figured, this is the least I can do after ruining your night, right?” As he speaks, his hands hook around the backs of your knees, helping him make room for a space between them. He takes a second to gauge your reaction, and you belatedly put the pieces together of what he’s asking with a slight shiver. His smile ie earnest, eyes unexpectedly sincere.
You think of putting back on your sweater and going back out there to face Jean. You think of fishing your gift out of whatever unfortunate corner of the room it fell into. Of returning home having achieved little other than embarrassing yourself in front of coworkers and friends.
Your thumb traces Eren’s lower lip, and you realize you’re taking too long to answer. Eren. Line cook Eren. Eren the bane-of-every-night-shift-ever Jeager. After all you’ve said and done, after years of working together, can you come back from something like this?
Eren sits back on his heels and presses a kiss to the soft skin of the inside of your knee. Well, you sigh, stroking a hand through his dark tresses, almost lovingly. The hungry, impish grin you receive when you can only respond with a half-choked “please,” is enough to make your heart stutter in your chest. A win is a win.
Unfortunately for you, there reaches a point where you’re not even sure who’s really winning. Eren eats pussy like he was made for it.
He starts slow, tracing his nose up and down the gusset of your panties like you’re not cramped together in the guest bathroom at your mutual friend’s party. Like he’s got all the time in the world. Gentle touches across the backs of your thighs, the plane of your stomach.
When you start to wiggle with impatience, he bites into the crease between your sex and upper thigh, deep and indulgent enough to make you cry out. He doesn’t care much for your choice in panties – they’re quick to join the rest of the discarded clothes on the floor anyway.
Eren switches your position again, turning you face forward and bent over the toilet so that your hands brace the lid. You fold your arms, pressing your cheek into the bends of your elbows when he encourages you to arch your back further, palm large and warm and sliding down your spine. From where he kneels, he locks one arm around your hips, the other hand bracketing the crease at your asscheek, just at the top of your thigh. You are rendered immobile, vulnerable as he spreads you open to his gaze and laves once between your folds.
“Fuck-!” The exclamation comes out warbled, almost tearful into the crook of your arms. You wiggle your hips in search of more contact, but the touch never comes. Eren’s mouth remains frustratingly out of reach, instead tracing your folds with his thumb. Of course, he doesn’t start right away. Indulges in the way you squirm, half out of impatience, half apprehension.
Complaints earn you a sharp smack! where you’re left wet and wanting. Your knees bow, legs trembling from the shock of the sudden assault on such sensitive nerves.
“Eren,” you bite back a moan. Your antagonist shushes and coos at your anguish, only pausing in his condescension to sink his teeth into the cheek not held in his grasp. The whine that works its way out of you in response is loud enough for him to relent after a moment, playfully admonishing you.
“Who would’ve thought you’d be this fuckin’ noisy?” He mutters, lips ghosting over where you need him most. “So damn uptight and quiet at work until it’s time to chew me out, right? Now look at you.” Embarrassment colors your cheeks at his words, feeling the slick wetness between your thighs you know he must have a plain view of, and you distantly wonder how you allowed this to escalate so quickly.
From your bent position, you think you hear him swallow, mouth working over something that’s decidedly not you until you feel something liquid and warm spatter over your mound. Biting back another moan, you silence the small, nagging part of your brain that seethes at the possibility of him holding this moment over your head in the future. Taking note of the litter of bruises that mark the backs of your thighs, you know the decision you both are making will literally come back to bite you in the ass tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you have to inevitably face him at work again, along with the rest of your coworkers who are no doubt wondering where you’ve been at this point. Eren uses the pads of his thumbs to spread your lips again, brushing a gentle, teasing kiss across your clit and you decide you’ll reconcile with yourself on the matter in the morning.
“Oh fuck, oh god,” you mumble, unable to work up the energy to be irritated when you feel the way he smiles against you.
When Eren finally decides to give in, it comes with a price. His lips seal over the span of your sex, sucking on one fold, then the other before gracing you with a broad stroke across your slit, and you’re a goner.
“Mm-oh! Oh.”
That price is your sanity and your resolve to stay as quiet as possible.
He devours you, seemingly unable to decide between one pace and another as he eagerly works his tongue into your molten core. He’s mean. Deliberate. Worst of all, he seems to be enjoying himself. Starting slow, savoring all of your heat and taste on his tongue. Then fast and relentless, flicking devastating strokes across your clit in a motion that leaves you gripping the lid beneath you. Chest heaving in exertion as you attempt to hold back your cries.
Your legs ache and tremble, knees biting into the cool lip of the toilet lid each time Eren presses you forward in his insistence. Eren dips the tip of his tongue into your slit, nose pressed between your folds with a self-satisfied moan, causing you to jerk and keen in his grasp. Your arms squeak across the porcelain when you jostle a little too far out of grasp. The angle he has you bent at presses you up onto your toes. Eren tightens his grasp around your waist. He presses one long digit into your core and you cry out into your elbows.
“Fuck, just-just a little longer, okay? Just gimme a little more, yeah,” he mumbles, deep, raspy, fucked out, and sounding more like an assurance for himself than you.
The finger inside you and the hand at your thigh disappear momentarily, and you wonder if he’s touching himself. The position he has you in means you’d have to crane your neck backward just to catch a glimpse of his lower half. The thought fuels the searing heat in your veins, as does the slick sound of wet skin and the resounding whimper breathed against your core, confirming your suspicions.
“Eren,” you gasp, whimper, locking up at the sight of his free hand palming at the profuse bulge in his jeans, veins popping in his arms at the effort. “Fuck, wait, fuck-!”
You come hard and fast, blood roaring in your ears, fingers gripping the lid with a white-knuckle grip as you squirm in Eren’s grasp. Coming together and falling apart in an overwhelming wave of pleasure that catches you off guard. Eren is quick to catch on, both hands returning to your hips to lock you in an embrace, face pressed into your sex in earnest. You twitch and writhe in his grasp, unable to escape from his relentless assault on your senses. He talks you through it when he can bear to detach his mouth from you, murmuring praises into the heated skin of your thighs. Bliss crackles up your spine and warms you inside out from head to toe.
“Eren, god, please,” you simper, dizzy with your fading arousal, not even sure what you’re pleading for at this point. To stop? To keep going?
Eren decides for you, pressing one last parting kiss to your mound before getting to his feet. The moments following go about in relative silence. Despite him having been between your legs just seconds ago, you’re quick to feel awkward and aren’t exactly sure what to say. Surprisingly ever the gentleman, Eren helps you rise off the lid and redress and clean on shaky legs. You are slow to stand upright. Unable to meet his eyes as you try to reconstruct your thoughts from mush. He slides your panties back over your hips and trades your ruined sweater for his own.
Eren stops you before you can protest the offer, vehemently against him commuting home at night, in the cold shirtless. “I’ll just take Armin’s jacket,” he reassures you, adjusting the collar of the horrendous Bob Ross fabrication at your neck. The tiny silver bells jingle at his touch, sounding akin to tinkling laughter
Over his shoulder, you take in your appearance in the mirror. You had done your best to right your disheveled makeup and hair, but the bruises on your neck and the obvious wardrobe change were a lost cause. Even if you dipped out of the party now, there was no avoiding being seen. You were going to have some questions to answer in the morning.
Eren catches your contemplative expression and matches one with his own, a little guarded now. Before now, neither of you had been on the best of terms. A history of annoyance and resentment that lasted years brewed between the two of you. But now…
Now as you consider how terrible the night had gone and the embarrassment you’ll face when Jean inevitably picks up that little red bag with his name on it, now as watch Eren wipe leftover slick off the corner of his lip before sucking the offending finger clean, you figure that’s something you can sort out another day.
5 New Messages
hey! I saw what happened w Eren, u alr??
hello??
I got ur present! Txt me when you get home!
hey!!
can we talk?
#eren x reader#eren smut#eren jaeger#eren yeager#eren aot#aot smut#aot fluff#jean kirstein#jean x reader#pepper's!au#eren jaeger x reader smut#eren yeager x reader smut#eren yeager smut#eren jaeger smut#jean kirschtein x reader#ctcgu
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“I still hate you,” Tony mutters, voice shaky and entirely unconvinced while his hand expertly unbuckles the clasps of the uniform he designed so carefully, months and months and months ago.
“I know,” Steve responds gruffly. His beard scratches Tony’s jaw as those perfect teeth run down the thin skin of his neck, trace his jugular. His hands are rough iron clamps against each side of Tony’s beautifully tailored Versace two-piece. The fabric will be ruined beyond repair in less than ten minutes - Tony could bet his fortune on it.
They’ve played this stupid game before. Every time, Tony swears it’ll be the last.
Steve hitches him up onto the kitchen counter of the ridiculous New Jersey safehouse, and Tony goes willingly, yanking Steve into the open spread of his legs. This is the closest Steve’s gotten to New York since he first read those damned accords. The closest he can get to home is some 1965-styled kitchenette with pictures of old-timey adverts lining the walls and a microwave that’d probably irradiate you if you went near it.
It’s wrong- all of it. But there’s no changing it. Steve made his choice long ago, and Tony hates him for it. He should remember that. He should tell Steve that again.
“Fuck, God, Steve,” is what comes out instead, breathed against the other man’s mouth. Tony’s whole body is hot, taught, desperate, and he tugs the top half of Steve’s uniform off his torso. Steve spray painted over the colours- the whole thing is dark now, void of any trace of what it used to be. Tony hates that too.
“Tony,” Steve says, like there’s more to it- a name at the beginning of a sentence which never comes out. He clasps his teeth over Tony’s bottom lip, pushes his hands under Tony’s rapidly-wrinkling shirt and brushes his thumbs over each nipple, rubbing quick circles. The movement pulls another noise from Tony’s throat.
Fuck- the man knows him.
Steve steadies himself for a moment to catch his breath, nose brushing against Tony’s. Tony tries not to look into his eyes, whenever they do this. He’s never been good at seeing Steve’s soul - the one he never tries to hide, to mask. He’s not like Tony, you see. Everything he does, he does earnestly and from the heart.
The decision he made to leave with Bucky - to keep the culprit of Tony’s parents’ deaths a secret from him - they’d both come from that same heart. Hence, no eye contact. Tony has no desire to see how truly insignificant the space he takes up in Steve’s soul was.
Except now.
He does it without meaning to- just catching sight of those infuriating baby blues as he leans in for another messy kiss. Error number 1.
Error number 2 is not shutting his damn eyes and grabbing Steve’s dick like he normally does.
And error number 3 is the worst. Error number 3 is when he catches sight of Steve’s suddenly agonised expression, doesn’t ignore it, and instead asks “what?” Thus inviting conversation. They don’t come here for that. They come here to fuck eachother’s brains out for a night and then keep playing their cat-and-mouse chase across the globe as if anyone in a position of authority actually fucking believes it.
Steve goes perfectly still for a moment. Then he swallows. “This… this really makes you miserable, doesn’t it.”
He doesn’t frame it like a question.
Tony looks up at him, breathing hard. “Oh, I’m sorry I’m not looking ecstatic while getting groped by my ex boyfriend in a place that’s decked out like a prop house in a nuclear testing site. Would you prefer for me to giggle jovially while you fuck me amongst the dust and cobwebs?”
They’d used to have sex that was so full of love. This is how Tony always talks to Steve, now.
Steve shakes his head, a minute, grieving little thing. Tony feels the man’s breath skating across his face- feels the warmth of his bare chest, his shoulders, pressing against Tony.
“I thought…” he begins, then trails off for a moment as Tony skirts his hands down his chest, unlatches his belt. “I thought this made you happy. At least a little bit, even if you didn’t admit it. But it doesn’t. ”
Of course it doesn’t. But it’s all I have left of you.
“You think I’m coming here to find happiness? Jesus Steve. I’m coming here for tension relief,” Tony says, because he just can’t be truthful- he did his best when they were together, he really did, and it all failed anyway. Besides: Steve was never as truthful as Tony had always so fervently believed him to be either. “How about we both just stop talking and get down to that part.”
He gets his hands all the way to Steve’s boxers before Steve stops him- a gentle yet utterly unmoving grip. When Tony looks up at him again, Steve shakes his head. He’s grey in the face- if Tony didn’t know better now, he’d even say heartbroken.
“Tony, I…” Steve’s struggling for the words and he looks so beautiful, so so beautiful, just the same as the very first time Tony laid eyes on his photograph in the SHIELD folder he’d hacked his way into. “I didn’t realise you felt that way. Or maybe I did, but just didn’t want to acknowledge it because I was selfish.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I can’t do this with you. To you.” Steve steps away jerkily, half his body lagging while the other half pulls, as if warring with his own system. His pale skin is patchy, covered in faint marks where Tony has grabbed him. “I thought we were both doing this for enjoyment, but you’re not, and so I can’t. It’s cruel.”
Tony realises what Steve is implying here. His heart - what’s left of the poor thing anyway - convulses in panic, and he stumbles off the counter. “I’m not a fucking dog,” he snaps, “I make my own choices.”
“You don’t even look at me,” Steve’s voice breaks then. “I wished more than anything that you’d look at me. But I just saw it, then, when you did.”
“Saw what?”
They’re facing off against one another now - it’s like they can’t stop themselves. They have to be on either side of the argument, they can never just agree, no matter how hard they both want to. Tony hates and hates and hates.
“Your eyes don’t lie to me, Tony.” Steve’s voice is soft, and he says it like that alone is enough. “Your mouth does. And you don’t want this.”
“See, do you see what you’re doing here, again?” Tony steps forward, smashes his finger against the place where the star used to sit proudly on Steve’s chest. “You’re making an executive decision about how I feel, as to what I need, when you don’t have that right. You don’t get to decide what’s best for me!”
“But you never do what’s best for you!” Steve’s hands flail helplessly. “You do what’s best for everyone else, or what you think you deserve, and you never think about how it’s going to hurt—“
“I DESERVED TO KNOW MY PARENTS WERE MURDERED, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”
Tony was supposed to be making his way to an orgasm right about now - instead he suddenly feels so angry he can hardly breathe. Fucking typical. He just had to go and open his mouth, didn’t he?
He glares at the man who tore his heart out over a year ago. Steve looks back, his expression shattered. Tony feels angrier still when he realises that he’s never going to be able to see this person in front of him and not love him. He’s trying so hard, right now, and he can’t. Even after all this. He can’t find it in him.
“Just fuck me,” Tony says, and it comes out more exhausted than demanding.
Steve shakes his head. “I can’t.”
Right. Steve’s made up his mind about what’s best for tony. Again. Was it ever going to go any other way?
Sometimes, the tiredness goes so deep that Tony starts to feel it in his bones. His therapist says it’s psychosomatic- that bones don’t actually creak and groan like wooden doors in abandoned houses. Tony begs to differ.
“If we stop now, this is the last time you’ll ever see me,” he says, hoping, even now, that maybe something will change. That maybe for once, Steve will just put him first.
It’s a pipe dream. Tony comes to that realisation as soon as Steve shakes his head. Stupid.
“Maybe that’s for the best.” Steve’s voice is hoarse. Like each word is painful. Tony wishes that were true - in reality, he doesn’t doubt Steve is just wary of the fight his words will bring - the argument that’ll erupt out of Tony’s mouth in response.
But Tony’s done fighting. It’s a losing battle. Always has been.
He looks at Steve. Nods.
He walks out of the door without another word.
#stevetony#Steve Rogers#tony stark#i hate civil war passionately and yet I am obsessed with writing about their fucked up little dynamic#yesssss boy. hate eachother!!! love eachother!!! blur those goddamn lines!!!#die in one another’s arms and then finally see everything you should’ve done differently with the clarity that only comes when you know#the opportunity to fix it is gone for good!!!!!!!!!!!#anyways
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Heyoooo I saw that your requests are open and I'm absolutely screaming because OH MY GOD WHAT A PROMPT LIST
So may I request, “If they touch you again, I’ll break their fucking hands” + Bodyguard AU + Billy Hargrove?
I'd probably faint it you wrote this!! Thank you so so much! 😍💖🙏
All writings will be #writing-wh0re-requests
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 2,572
Warnings: Smut 18+, Explicit Language, Praise Kink, Sir Kink, Vaginal Intercourse, Unprotected Sex, Oral (female and male receiving), Jealousy, Language.
A/n: I have re-written this so many times trying to make it right, I hope you enjoy this Leyla! Thank you so much for sending this through!
Being the daughter of a powerful man wasn't the most ideal situation but it did have its perks, like getting into exclusive clubs, penthouse apartments in New York and my own sex god of a body guard, can’t complain.
“Y/n, I expect you to be there?”
I flick my eyes up from my phone, looking up at my father, his best friend Mike smirking at my confusion.
“Uhh, could you repeat that?”
My father tuts, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“My birthday party tonight, I'm hoping you'll make an appearance.”
“If I must.” I smile up at my father as he nods, ticking my name on the guest list.
“That completes the list, be there by 9pm.”
My fathers phone buzzes on the table as he excuses himself and walks out of the room. I noticed Billy standing by the door, a swift wink sent my way as I felt my cheeks heat up.
“Will you let me buy you a drink tonight?” Mike asks, his eyes looking from my cleavage to my eyes.
‘Ew’
“Let's see where the night takes us.” I stand from my seat, feeling Billy’s hand on the small of my back as he pulls my chair out for me, guiding me out of the room.
I wave goodbye to my father as Billy and I get into the private elevator, leaving my fathers penthouse.
I lean against the back wall, the cool marble refreshing against my back. Billy leans on the wall to my left, his arms crossed.
“I hate Mike.”
I smirk at his mumbled comment, humming in agreement. Billy pushes off the wall, his body standing in front of mine, towering over me. I look up at him, his hand tucking a fallen strand of hair behind my ear. Billy licks his bottom lip as my heart hammers in my chest. This isn’t the first time I’ve been this close to him. My mind quickly wanders to where I want this to lead, internally slapping myself knowing Billy won’t cross the line. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip. My breathing becomes uneasy, butterflies erupting inside of me.
“He is not buying you a drink, got it?”
I bite my lip, nodding in response as Billy shakes his head.
“Tell me you understand.”
“Yes Sir.” I whisper, watching Billy’s eyes darken as the elevator tings signalling the doors open.
“Good girl.” Billy whispers guiding me out of the elevator and to the car. Billy opens my door, sliding in beside me and providing the driver with directions.
| | | |
I rummage through my closet, sorting through the outfits, trying to find something to grab Billy’s attention.“Oh.” My fingers brush against the red silk dress, “Definitely this one.” I slip out of my robe, pulling the dress up my body, backless with a halter neck, slightly showing off side boob. The dress sits against my mid thigh, the addition of my black stilettos tying the whole outfit together.
I spray myself with perfume, quickly applying clear gloss to my lips. I look over myself in the mirror hoping to drive Billy crazy.
I swing open my bedroom door, meeting Billy in the hallway, his eyes instantly roaming up my body. I smile posing slightly as Billy chuckles.
“You look great.” I compliment, noticing Billy is dressed in all black, a black button up with the top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up, paired with black pants and shoes.
“So do you.” His fingers brush up my arm leaving goosebumps in his wake. Billy bends down slightly, our lips inches away from each other before his phone vibrates, pulling away from me. Billy sighs before answering, quickly finishing the call before looking over at me.
“Car is waiting.”
I nod, following Billy to the car, mentally slapping the driver for interrupting our moment.
| | | |
“The princess is here.” Mike beams, my father right by his side.
Billy stays close to me as I hug my father, taking a champagne glass from a nearby waiter. My father quickly dismisses me, walking through the party to greet other people.
“Drink Hargrove?” Mike asks
Billy shakes his head as Mike pouts.
“C’mon it's Silver's birthday.” I slightly cringe at my fathers nickname, watching Billy decline Mike again causing the man to shake his head.
“Well you’re boring.”
“Just doing my job.” Billy retorts.
“Pfff, please, little princess doesn’t need saving here, everyone loves y/n.” Mike smiles, his eyes wandering over me lingering on my side boob as I cross my arms. “You’re stunning.”
Billy’s jaw tightens as he moves closer to me, standing slightly in front of me. I quickly finish my champagne, needing alcohol to get through this night.
“Ah, let me buy you a drink.”
“She’s good.”
“I'm good.”
Billy and I respond at the same time, a small smirk on his lips at my response.
Mike rolls his eyes, walking away from the two of us.
“God why is he so interested in me, he’s literally my dad’s age.” I cringe.
Billy chuckles, his eyes looking at me.
“You’re stunning so I don’t blame him.”
Butterflies erupt inside of me as I blush, hiding my face by looking around the room.
“Here princess.” My whole body stiffens, my eyes widen as Mike’s arm falls around my shoulders. Within an instant Billy pulled me from Mike’s embrace and stood in front of me.
“What the fuck are you doing.” Billy spits, grabbing Mike by the collar.
Mike laughs, avoiding Billy’s gaze.
“Simply providing the princess with a refreshment.”
“After she said no?”
“You’re making a scene.” Mike spits, smiling at a few people looking at him.
“Don’t fucking touch her.”
“How much is Silver paying you to care about her?”
Billy uses his grip on Mike’s collar to throw him to the ground, the drinks he was holding splashing onto himself and the floor.
“Billy, let's go.” I grab his arm, pulling him closer to me as he looks at me, his eyes running over my body quickly for anything out of place, noticing I’m uncomfortable he nods in agreement.
“You’re a fucking idiot, do you know who you’re messing with?”
Billy sighs, turning around to Mike and bending down to his face. Billy whispers something to Mike that makes his eyes go wide before he shakes his head mumbling a ‘Yes Mr Hargrove.’
My mouth falls open in shock as Billy laces his fingers with mine, pulling me through the crowd of people. My eyes quickly scan the room for my father, seeing him with a blonde girl on his lap as she laughs at something he said. I cringe at the sight, thankful that Billy is taking me home.
“What did you say to Mike?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“But I want to know Billy, what did you say?” I pull my hand from his, standing in the lobby of my father’s hotel.
Billy tilts his head back a deep sigh leaving his lips, frustration oozing from him. He spins to face me, closing the distance between us, his body heat enveloping me as our eyes lock.
“I told him if he touches you again, I’ll break his fucking hands. No one touches you, especially that jack off.”
My heart races before my mind can process, I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him down to meet my lips. Our kiss is messy, lips, teeth and tongues smashing together as Billy pulls my waist against him, pulling me up into his arms. I wrap my legs around his torso, his hands holding my ass as he walks us towards the waiting car.
We fumble into the car, Billy tells the driver my address before pulling me into his lap, ignoring all his typical road safety rules.
His lips fall to my neck kissing and sucking on my skin, his hands running up and down my exposed back.
“God, I crave you.” His whispered words mixed with his lips on my neck cause my panties to flood with wetness, wanting nothing more than Billy.
“Billy, I need you.”
Billy pulls away from my neck, his eyes locking with mine before flicking to the driver.
“Mind your fucking business and drive the car.”
I blush having forgotten about the driver and hide my face in his neck.
“You’re safe with me.” Billy whispers, running his fingers up and down my back.
“I know.” I whisper, kissing his neck, dragging my tongue up throat as he grips my hips. I smirk against his skin, having found his sweet spot. I suck and bite leaving my mark on him.
The car stops as Billy rushes us out of the vehicle without another word to the driver.
We barely made it to my apartment without pulling our clothes off each other. The moment the door was shut Billy was pulling my dress off. The only light filling the room is from the city below, a mix of whites, reds and blues bounce off the walls and our skin.
“You’re beautiful baby.”
My heart flutters, my fingers working on the buttons of Billy’s shirt. My fingers drag down his chest, fumbling with his belt as Billy’s hands cup my breasts, his mouth capturing my nipples, sucking on the hardened nub.
“Fuck Billy.”
“Uh uh, what do you call me baby.”
“Sir.”
Billy groans, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls my head back, locking his eyes with mine.
“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you baby.”
I nod as Billy chuckles, shaking his head.
“Yes sir.”
Billy smirks, kissing me softly, biting my bottom lip and pulling it away from me.
I pull Billy towards me by his belt loops, undoing his pants as I drop to my knees, my heels providing me with more height, becoming level with his cock. I look up at Billy, holding his dick in my hand, dragging my tongue from the base to the tip. His breath becomes shaky, my tongue swirls around the throbbing head, sliding my lips down his length. I feel his fingers tangle in my hair helping guide my mouth up and down his cock. I tilt my head back, taking more of his cock slipping into my throat as Billy’s moans fill the air.
“Holy fuck, yes baby.”
I moan around him, pulling his cock from my lips with a pop as I tap it against my tongue, kitten licking the tip.
“God.” Billy moans, his hands running through his hair as I smirk up at him, winking.
Billy bends down quickly pulling me up into his arms. His cock brushes against my red thong, his lips smash against mine, walking us towards the huge living room window and pushing me against it.
I gasp looking at the city below, holding onto Billy tighter, my heart racing at the thought of the only thing separating us from the world is the cold glass.
“You’re safe with me, remember baby?”
“Always.” I whisper, his smile illuminated by the city light below.
Billy softly places me down, falling to his knees and placing my leg over his shoulder. He places a soft kiss against my clothed clit; I whimper at the contact, rocking my hips forward as he pulls my thong to the side.
“You’re soaking, so needy for me.”
I moan in response, his tongue tracing my pussy lips, teasing me. He blows air on my glistening slit, his fingers slipping inside of me. My head rests against the window, my fingers tangling in his hair, his tongue swirling around my throbbing clit, dragging up and down, tracing numbers earning a gasp to fall from my lips. He curls his fingers inside of me, keeping a slow steady pace to match his tongue.
“Fuck Billy.”
Billy groans against me, lapping at my core as if he would never get the chance again, savouring every stroke. His free hand reaches up my body, cupping my boob and squeezing the skin as he sucks my clit, Billy’s fingers pressing against my g-spot.
“Right there, fuck.” My legs tremble against the glass, Billy continues his pace, my fingers pull at the strands of his hair, my hips grinding against his tongue and fingers to reach my high.
“I’m-fuck, cumming Sir.”
Billy moans against my core as I tighten around his fingers, covering them in cum.
My chest rises and falls, Billy kisses my thighs, trailing kisses up my body. His lips wrap around my nipple looking up at me.
“Please, Sir, fuck me, I need you Billy.”
Billy smirks, pulling away from my body as he runs his cock up and down my slit, the nudges against my clit causing small shocks to rush through my body. Billy holds my leg up under my knee before slipping inside of me.
I gasp at the size of him, his thick cock stretching my walls. Billy smirks at me, looking down at his cock buried inside of me.
“You were made for me baby.”
“Only you.”
Billy kisses me, his hips thrusting in and out of me slowly, building a rhythm. My mouth falls open, the sound of skin slapping skin accompanying my moans.
“Look at me baby.”
I lock eyes with Billy, my hands tangling in his hair.
“There’s my pretty girl, you take my cock so well.”
I groan in response, my pussy tightening around his cock at the praise. Billy licks his lips, his signature smirk on his face as he grabs my other leg under my knee, placing his hands on my ass, holding me off the ground.
“Fuck.” I dig my nails into his shoulders leaving marks on his skin.
The new angle allows for Billy to slip deeper inside of me, the grip on my ass helping his thrusts as he bounces me on his cock.
Billy captures my lips in his, our moans mixing as our tongues fight against each other.
“I’m close.” I whisper, pulling Billy closer to me for support as I slip my fingers between my slit, rubbing my clit.
“Fuck baby.” Billy moans, watching me play while his cock continues to slide in and out of me.
“God, don’t stop, please.”
Billy picks up his pace causing my legs to tremble around his arms. His hands grip my ass tighter, his pace slowing slightly.
“Cum for me baby, cover my cock”
My mind falls fuzzy, feeling his cock twitch inside of me, his lips fall to my neck, sucking and biting as his moans vibrate against my skin.
“I want you to fill me Sir, please.”
“God, I’m going to ruin you.”
Billy opens my legs a little more, going faster before his hips falter, cumming deep inside of me.
His head falls on my shoulder, keeping his cock inside of me, both of us catching our breath, holding each other.
Billy gently pulls out of me, letting my legs down, my heels unbalancing me slightly.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck you against this window.”
I giggle slightly at Billy’s comment, looking over the window that is slightly fogged up, a few imprints marking the clear glass.
“I’ve always wanted you to fuck me.”
Billy smiles, cupping my face in his hands and kissing my lips softly as if I could break.
“Please stay.” I whisper, wrapping my hand around Billy’s wrists, his eyes searching mine.
“Baby, I will never leave you.”
#writing-wh0re-requests#smut#billy hargrove x reader#billy hargrove fic#billy hargrove smut#billy hargrove one shot#billy hargove imagine#billy hargrove blurb#billy hargrove x y/n#stranger things smut#stranger things#stranger things fanfic#billy hargove fanfic#smutty fanfiction#fanfiction#dacre montgomery
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The Cabin in the Woods
Dave York x f!reader
Dark fic/dead dove, kidnapping, Dave is mean, dub/noncon, piv (wrap your Willy kids!) light dick sucking, dick biting, no description of reader other than having a vagina and grabbable hair, cream pie, scary dark basements, uhh probs some other things I’m forgetting but bottom line: this is dark. Dave is not a nice guy. Enjoy!
Summary: it’s been a few days since your world was turned upside down. Running on pure adrenaline, you plan on getting loose and running as far away as you can but can you outrun your kidnapper? Do you even want too?
A/n : yeaaa this is my first fic(?) idk I wrote this on my phone, purely horny brain rot for my suburban murder daddy. Not edited or beta’d. The more I look at this the more I hate it and feel like it doesn’t read well but in the words of the loml @toxicanonymity fuck it we ball
Your daily life has always been mundane. Predictable. Comfortable. You work, go home to a studio apartment just a few blocks from your office, every other day you order takeout, you try to workout and go out on the weekend but your couch and netflix stay calling your name. It’s the middle of September where it’s chilly in the morning but by the afternoon your sweating bullets so you decided to try and look cute by wearing your favorite black tshirt dress. Work is the same as always except you’ve recently been working on a new case, a murder/suicide. There’s something weird about this case though. A husband shoots his wife at the kitchen table before turning the gun on himself. No apparent marital problems beforehand, no affairs, no real motive behind why he would do it. And then there’s the blood splatter. It just doesn’t add up. There’s something strange about this case you just can’t place your finger on it.
It’s already half past 7 at night, you got lost in your work yet again and lost track of time. The office is empty and mostly dark. You can’t help but get the creeps as you leave your office and start walking towards the elevator. Not even half way down the hallway when you swear you hear a loud thud making you jump out of your skin as you turn around trying to figure out where the noise came from. With your heart in your throat, you pick up speed, walking towards the elevator. Just as your rounding the corner you run straight into a solid chest belonging to a very handsome man you’ve never seen before.
“Oh I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.” You stammer out as the handsome man just chuckles
“You outta be more careful sweetheart. Not good for your health to run into bad men.” the man said with a smirk
That’s a weird statement. Not good for my health? Bad men?? Your mind starts running wild as the handsome man snakes his arm around your back and before you can even react his other hand is coming up to your face, pressing a soaked cloth to your nose and mouth
“ Sorry sweetheart, it’s nothing personal.” is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.
You’ve always had weird dreams all your life. Even had some dreams that later came to fruition in real life. But this has to be the weirdest dream you’ve ever had. You dream of these beautiful brown eyes. Of a rough, deep voice. You can feel his hot breath on your neck while he whispers in your ear.
“ I need you to be a good girl for me sweetheart. This is for your own good.” As much as his voice alone has you turned on, you can’t help but have this nagging gut feeling that something is deeply wrong. You’re scared but can’t remember why. Suddenly everything around you melts away and your in a room you’ve never seen before. Blood red walls, a beautiful matte black four poster bed in the middle of the room. However you notice there’s no windows. That’s when you feel a hand on the back of your neck, guiding you towards the bed.
“Now I need you to do what I say sweetheart. It’s for your own good. Don’t fight me or try to run or else you won’t like the consequences.” the brown eyed man said in a low, rough voice. As soon as he said that, you suddenly find yourself at the bed. With his hand still on the back of your neck, guiding you, you climb up on the bed on all fours when he removes his hand. You don’t know why you feel the need to lay on your back with your hands above your head but that’s exactly what you do. That’s when you finally see the man standing above you as he tied your wrists together to the bed post. Just as he finishes tying you up, everything starts melting away into pitch black darkness.
The first thing you notice when you wake up is the light. It’s not super bright but bright enough when it feels like you’ve been stuck in a coma for a month. Your definitely in a bedroom, very simple. Just a regular full sized bed in the middle of the room. A small dresser to the right of it and a chair in the far right corner facing the bed and a man sitting in it. That’s when you realize your laying on your back with your hands above your head and that your wrists are tied together to a bed post above your head. Holy fuck do your shoulders hurt.
“Well good morning sleeping beauty. Or I guess good evening.” Dave says as he chuckles at his little joke.
The man! The mystery man you ran into before falling into this deep sleep. Wait no it wasn’t sleep. It’s all coming back to you now. He put a wet cloth over your nose and mouth. He used chloroform on you!
“Now that your awake, I’m going to need you to cooperate. This is for your own good sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you but you are playing a very dangerous game.”
“What? I don’t know what your talking about. I’m not playing anything! I swear! You must have me mistaken for someone else! Please! Let me go, I swear I won’t tell anyone about this just let me live please!” You try to beg as you find your voice again after being asleep for god knows how long.
“Aht see that’s where your wrong. You were working on the Bernstein case correct?”
Confused, you nod your head as best you can. What does work have to do with this?
“See here’s the thing sweetheart, my team and I, we’re bad men. We do bad things for money. And you, princess, were dangerously close to solving the mystery which would be very bad for my men and I.”
You lay there with a confused look on your face as the puzzle pieces begin to fit in your brain and suddenly you’re able to put 2 and 2 together. You knew there was something off about the case but you had no idea he had any involvement or who he even was.
“ I - I’ll stop working on the case! I’ll tamper with the evidence, throw them off your track! Please! I’m sorry! I won’t tell! I’ll do whatever you want!”
“I really do enjoy hearing you beg sweetheart.” Dave shakes his head and chuckles darkly. “But begging isn’t good enough. Not when it comes to this.”
As your mind starts racing a mile a minute, you subconsciously start to press your thighs together for a little crumb of friction. The dream you had about this mystery man had you turned on and now that your awake, seeing his face and hearing his voice more isn’t helping your little predicament. While your lost in your head you don’t realize he’s been watching you like a hawk and has noticed every little movement you’ve made.
The man moves closer to the bed your on when you snap out of your thoughts. “What are you thinking about pretty girl?” he asked as he sits down next to your body. You look up at him with wide eyes
“ I - uh nothing.” You manage to stammer out, knowing damn well he can see right through you. “ uh huh. Is that right? So you rubbing your thighs, squirming like that, that’s nothing?”
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. It’s like he can read your mind! You’ve literally been kidnapped and tied up but yet instead of trying to get out your brain is stuck on dick. Your own pussy has betrayed you! You can’t help but notice this dark look come over his face. A hungry look in his eyes. And you can’t help but press your thighs together even more, causing your squirming to increase.
The mystery man lays a massive hand on top of your thigh making you hyper aware of the fact your in a dress. He starts rubbing his hand up and down your thigh, sending chills down your spine. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve last been laid. And the first man to touch you in so long just happens to be your kidnapper?? The universe is playing a cruel joke on you.
Your breath hitches as his hand makes it’s way up your thigh. You can’t help but notice how large and veiny his hand is. How warm . .
He breathlessly says your name. “Look at you. You’re a filthy little thing. I’m a bad, bad man who could do anything he wants while your completely helpless. And all you can think about is how bad you want me right here.” The mystery man says right as his hand stops at the apex between your thighs.
Dave tsks, “Now what am I going to find when I lift this pretty little dress up? Huh? Soaked panties? A wet little cunt who wants to be used?” He says in the most condescending voice as he slowly lifts your dress up.
Embarrassed at the fact that he’s right. Your panties are soaked. You can clearly see the wet spot on your white cotton panties you had on. “ I- I uh I don’t d-don’t k-know-ow” you barely even stammer out, words completely lost to you.
“You y-you d-don’t know-ow?” He mimics your stuttering words, “oh princess I think you do know. I think you know just how bad you want me to touch you right now. How bad you want me to use my fingers, my cock to make this wet little cunt feel good. I thought you were gonna be my good girl? Good girls are honest and beg the bad men to fuck their cunts.”
You swear you damn near cum just from his words alone. “ I- I uh I . . “ you still can’t even get words out. As you try your hardest to find words, the mystery man oh so slowly takes his forefinger and runs it up and down your clothed pussy. Making you throb even more just from the light touch.
“ I- I want you to fuck me. Please.” You say as you look down, unable to look this man in the eye. You can’t believe you even said that. You don’t know who this man is, don’t know his name, you’re still tied up to a bed somewhere you don’t even know. What is wrong with you?
“There’s my good girl.” He practically croons as he starts to slowly pull your panties down.
He grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him, “Now listen to me and listen carefully. The better you are for me and do what I say, the better all of this is going to be for you.”
“ Yes sir.” You said. On the inside, however, you’re speechless. What is even happening right now? Who gets off on being kidnapped and wants to fuck their captor?? Nothing in life has ever prepared you for this or even made you think a situation like this would ever even occur.
The mystery man’s hand leaves your face and goes to his belt and begins unbuckling his pants. All you can do is sit there, arms above your head, neck at a weird half up position and stare as he pulls his thick cock out. Your eyes widen as you see what exactly he had hidden in his pants. That is easily the biggest dick you’ve ever seen. It’s a good 7 inches if not more. Girthy as hell, a huge prominent vein. The head is a tanned pink and slows changes to a darker tan shade down the shaft. You can barely make out dark curls around the base but for the most part you can tell this man keeps it nice and trimmed down there. You had no idea he was gonna pull out a damn horse cock. And why is it making your mouth water?
The mystery man spits in his hand as he goes to stroke himself while his other hand goes back up to your pussy and slowly starts to circle your clit. Everything about this is so wrong but he feels so good.
Unable to stop yourself, you moan out loud, “Please” you croak out. Not sure what your asking for, just knowing you want more.
All he does is chuckle at your request. But nonetheless his forefinger makes it way down to your opening and dips inside. Just barely entering your wet heat and it has you on the verge of tears. After a couple of teases, Dave inserts his middle and ring finger into your pussy.
Oh the relief! Your whole body heats up from how good his fingers feel moving in and out of you. Maybe there is a god. Maybe this big, bad man is merciful.
After thrusting his fingers inside your sweet little heaven, Dave moves his hand away from your pussy and goes to stand up next to the bed, causing his dick to be right in your face.
“ You want a taste pretty girl? Go ahead stick your tongue out baby”
You do what he says quickly. It’s almost comical how fast you stuck your tongue and boy did he notice. Your starting to believe nothing gets by him. Except one thing. Your restraints. They’re tight but not tight enough. All you had to do was wiggle them just so and you’ve managed to loosen them up even more.
Dave takes his cock in hand and sits the head on your tongue. He gives it a little thrust while you do your best to swirl your tongue around the tip. Dropping your jaw wide open, he takes that as you want more and thrusts his cock half way in. The sudden intrusion caused you to gag around his cock, sending spit and drool down your chin.
He keeps thrusting into your mouth despite your gagging. It seems to only be turning him on even more seeing your teary eyes look up at him.
“Fuck princess. Your sweet little mouth feels like heaven.” Dave moans out as his eyes roll back.
That’s when you decide to take control of the situation. With your hands loose, you yank down, freeing yourself and bite down hard. A metallic taste floods into your mouth and you know you’ve drawn blood.
Dave’s enjoyment is cut abruptly when you bite his dick. He falls backward trying to get his dick out of your mouth and slips on his pants. You jump up off the bed and manage to get past him while he’s on the floor cussing, trying to nurse his injured cock.
You bolt out the bedroom door to reveal an open floor space. You quickly realize your now in the living room and make a dash towards what you think is the front door. After a few seconds of desperately trying to unlock it, you finally get it and bust out the front door onto the porch and down the stairs. From the looks of it, you’d say it’s probably about 6 or 7 o’clock in the evening. The suns going down, you might have another hour of light left. But you don’t care. You run full speed into the woods in front of you. All you know is the mystery man took you, brought you to a cabin in the middle of the woods, night is approaching and you’ve just escaped his clutches.
After running what felt like hours in no particular direction, you start to feel yourself tripping over sticks and leaves. You immediately start to fall to the side when you crash into a tree shoulder first. As you steady yourself and try your best to take deep breaths while also catching your breath is when you hear him.
“Sweetheart come on out. You and I both know you don’t know where you are but I do. I know these woods like the back of my hand.” he shouted out. The mystery man sounds close. You start to move as fast as you can without making a sound, practically holding your breath so you don’t get caught. You’ve managed a fast half walk half run from tree to tree, frantically moving your head all around to make sure you don’t see him coming towards you. As your hiding behind a rather large tree you decide to take a quick second and look from behind it to see if you can see him or not. When suddenly you hear a twig snap right behind you and that’s when you feel a large hand yank you by your hair, pulling you backwards into the mystery man himself.
Wrapping his other arm around you tight, with a death grip on your hair, he leans down by your ear and whispers “Gotcha.”
“You little fucking bitch. You bit my dick. I was being nice and showing you some mercy because you were being such a little slut and you bit. My. Dick. Now your gonna see the monster that I really am.” Dave growled in your ear.
With that he keeps a tight hold you as he shoves you down on the ground, belly first. His body following yours, Dave puts his full weight on top of you. With his hand still grabbing your hair, he pushes your face into the dirt and manages to lift your dress with his other hand.
“If you try anything else I swear to god I’ll make this even worse for you.” He spat on the side of your face as he pulls himself out of his pants. He quickly spits into his hand, lubing his cock up and thrusts into your still wet pussy. Fucking hell his cock splits you open. You have no time to get used to his cock inside of you before he’s thrusting like a mad man. You swear you can feel him in your stomach. Thank god for his ministrations from earlier because there is no way in hell you could’ve taken all of him without it.
“Such a fucking dirty little slut. I can feel this cunt squeeze my cock sweetheart. Don’t try and lie to me. You fucking love this.” Dave growls at you while his massive cock pounds your poor pussy. And he’s right. You do love this. The way his cock is splitting you open. The delicious way he’s forcing your pussy to take every inch. Even his body weight on top of you is making you gush around him. Both of you grunting, you from trying to get away and him from pounding the life out of your pussy.
“Ngh that’s right take this fucking cock slut. Take every fucking inch. Hnnn fuck yes. Fuck. Look at you, already cockdumb. Can’t fucking say a word, just taking it like the filthy little whore you are.” Dave grunts out as he continues to mercilessly fuck your pussy.
His words alone have you creaming. You can’t help but moan. No point in trying to hide it. You know he can feel it. You’re so wet and creamy now from his unrelenting cock. You’re so close, if only he would just touch your clit or you could move your leg just right and get a little friction where you desperately need it. You swear you feel him speed up and after a few more thrusts, you feel him pulse deep inside you.
“Fuck sweetheart. That’s it. Take my fucking load deep in that sweet pussy.” he says panting in your ear. After a few more seconds of him panting in your face, he sits up on his knees, still pinning you to the ground. He puts himself up, stands and yanks you by your hair once again to make you get up.
As he turns you to face him, you realize what a mess he made of you. Tear streaked face, dirt and leaves stuck all over your body and in your hair. Cum trickling down your thighs. The bastard looks you up and down and just smirks.
The walk back to the cabin was quiet. You knew you were fucked. Literally. As soon as the two of you re entered the cabin, he took a left turn instead of going towards the back where the bedroom was. Soon you approached a door with a chain lock. You knew deep in your soul you weren’t making it out of here alive. After unlocking the door, he opened it to reveal a set of stairs going down to what you assumed must be the basement.
Dave tightens his grip on your hair as he guides you down the stairs in front of him. Once you both reach the bottom, he turns you to the right and all you can see is a damp, dark basement. Two little basement windows are the only light source to help you see where you are. Cement walls, some boxes stacked on the far right wall, what looks to be a washer and dryer just a few steps in front of you. He flicks a light switch on, flooding the room with light, causing you to blink real hard because of the sudden harsh light blinding you. Dave continues to be silent as he walks you over to the other side of the boxes to reveal a set of cuffs attached to chains stuck in the cement wall. He lets go of your hair only to shove you down on the ground and put a cuff on each ankle. Wordlessly he chains you up and turns back around to go back upstairs.
“Wait!! Wait! Please don’t leave me down here! I’ll be good I promise!! I’m sorry for earlier! I won’t do it again! Please!!” You begged. You pleaded to him to not leave you only for him to stop and turn to look at you
“It’s too late for that sweetheart. Begging will get you nothing. Your lucky I’m putting you down here when I should take you out back and put a bullet between your pretty eyes.” And with that he turns the light back off and stomps up the stairs, leaving you all the alone.
- I hope y’all enjoy this! My first fic ever! So I’m super nervous lol I do hope it’s good and reads well, the perfectionist in me is saying it’s horrible and delete, delete, delete but I’m not. Im posting it lol but yea if y’all like it I could definitely do a part 2(:
Tagging a few of ya that encouraged me to write this and a few I think would enjoy(:
@toxicanonymity @lumoverheaven @bonezone44 @neverwheremoonchild @wannab-urs @multiversed-daydreamer
#Dave York#proud member of the dave york pit#pedro pascal#dave york x reader#dave york x female reader#the equalizer#dave York smut#dark fic#dead dove 🕊️#my first fic#david york#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal cinematic universe
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all over again, pt2
a/n: hi babes
warnings: mentions of pills, slight smut, language (i thinkk)
pairing: none
summary: in which sam gets unexpected news causing her to call you up
word count: 0.9k
part 1
NEW YORK 2022
It's been 7 years since you've been in New York. You're wearing a white tee shirt, black bell bottoms medium high converse, a flannel, headphones, and well obviously your glasses. It's 12:27 A.M. Your friends wanted to meet up at a club, they thought you could loosen up a bit and hopefully find someone that you could well hookup with. You swore to yourself that you would fly back one day to Woodsboro to find Sam. That's if she didn't have a lover.
You pause your music, setting your headphones on the nape of your neck. Setting your hands inside your pockets, your friends come rushing out to greet you. Bella, one of the first friends you met there during high school when you had to transfer, went to go hug you, her arms drooped over your shoulders. Clearly drunk. You thought to yourself as you put your arms over her hugging her back.
"Tonight is the night Y/n will find a hookup!" You smiled awkwardly, as Bella slurs her words letting go of you, trying to find her balance. Your friends cheer as they walk back inside the club.
"You don't have to do this if your not comfortable." Your friend, Jules, stays behind with you.
"I rather much be spending time reading in my bed, but my my therapist said I have to be social." You smile at her, putting your arm around her.
"You have a therapist?" Jules smiles back at me.
You look over at Bella, smiling and enjoying herself. You point at her saying, "She's my therapist."
MODESTO 2022
Sam grabs her Anti-Physcotics from her pockets, quickly putting it in her mouth while downing her water that she grabbed from the floor besides her. Richie comes out eyeing Sam of what she's taking.
"Excuse me miss, what'd you just take?" Richie says, smiling while taking a seat next to Sam.
"Your boner pills, good luck getting it up now." Sam jokes.
"You are my boner pills." Sam's phone rings, seeing "POSSIBLE: Wes Hicks." She decides to ignore it.
"You're so cheesy."
Her phone rings again, debating or not to pick it up. What could go wrong?
"I need to take this." Sam gets up answering it, putting the phone to her ear.
"Hey, what's going on?"
"Sam? Uh Tara was attacked." The way her face drops as she hears the news.
"What? Is she?"
"She's alive." She feels relief flow throughout her body, relaxing herself.
"She was... Stabbed."
"What-" Wes interrupts Sam.
"She made it through surgery, and the doctors said it went well, she's resting now, and I know you guys aren't in the best terms but- uh"
"I'm on my way." Sam breathes slowly her heart thudding through her ribcage.
"She's going to be okay, Sam."
"Do they know who did this..?"
"It's better if you come here."
"Wes." Sam says through the phone sternly.
"She said it was someone in a fucking Ghostface mask."
She hangs up, and Richie makes his way over to Sam.
"Is everything okay?"
"My sister was attacked."
"I gotta go."
"Woah, hey, hey, hey," Richie goes over to Sam, hugging her. "It's going to be okay."
NEW YORK
You wake up, propping yourself up with your elbows. You can feel your head pounding, you look to your right, seeing Bella next to your sleeping soundly. Wait.. No, god tell me I didn't sleep with her. Those words ran through your head, as you looked around seeing your shirt thrown to the other side of the room, your bra still intact around your body, and your flannel on the couch on the edge of her bed. You look to your left seeing your phone ringing.
"POSSIBLE: Samantha Carpenter."
"Sam.." You said lowly under your breath, getting up quickly, accidently falling causing a thud. You check up to see if Bella woke. Phew. Oh right! Sam! You whip your head over back to the nightstand, hovering your finger above the answer button. You press it, rushing to the bathroom, closing the door.
"Hello?"
"Y/n?" Sam says with worry in her voice. You can feel your body lighten up.
"Hey.. Sam." You feel a smile grow on your face.
"I need you.. to come back to Woodsboro. Something happened to Tara."
"What?" You said with a confused tone.
"Y/n, please, I'll explain it to you when you come."
"But I'm-" You hear the phone beep. Sam hung up. "in New York."
Fuck. Now how are you going to get out of Bella's apartment without her noticing.
"Y/n?"
Well too late to try and sneak out now. You open the door, and wave at her.
"Hey, Bells.. Sorry I had to use the bathroom real quick."
You grab your pants from the floor, putting one leg through the hole, and doing the same to the other. You grab your shirt putting your head first, and then your arm, casually getting stuck trying to find the hole.
"What happened last night?" You hear Bella ask you, as she covers herself with the blanket, sitting up in bed.
*FLASHBACK*
The door opens with a kick of Bella's shoe as she continued to kiss you. Your hands roam all over her body, playing with the hem of her shirt. She pulls back, allowing you to take off her shirt, and yours as well. You push her up against a wall, playing with the button of her jeans.
"Y/n." She moans out.
You feel weak in the knees hearing her say your name in that tone.
Next thing you know your both naked, a harness around your body with a dildo attached to it.
*END OF FLASHBACK*
"I don't know," You lie, biting the inside of your cheek, "I was pretty wasted last night."
"Where are you going?" Bella ask a little sincere in her voice.
"California."
"What?"
"I'm sorry, Bella, I gotta go."
"Wait, Y/n!"
You grab your headphones, and your backpack. Going to her front door.
"I love you, Bella." You opened the door, and left it at that.
Maybe you had a problem with those three words.
I love you.
#sam carpenter#scream#melissa barrera#sam carpenter x y/n#sam carpenter x reader#sam carpenter x female reader#scream franchise#scream series#scream movies#scream 5#tara carpenter#tara x reader#sam x reader#angst#one shot#amber x reader#amber freeman#core four#core 4#jenna ortega x you#jenna ortega x fem!reader#jenna ortega x reader#jenna marie ortega#jenna ortega#jenna x reader#jenna x y/n#czalvzer
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Cold Nights (Matt Murdock)
Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Summary: Its a cold night, so you and Matt try to stay warm, in the best way possible
Based on this post, thanks op for letting me write it <3
Warnings: Explicit content, minors dni, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it my children), p in v, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise kink, choking, bit of dom!matt, creampie, fluff at the end, established relationship, language, this is just pwp
WC: 2k
A/N: I'm a whore for Matthew Murdock, that's all. Its currently negative degrees where I live and I want nothing more than for this man to rail me then drink hot chocolate with me, so I wrote it. And that's that. Enjoy my beloved matt whores.
Matt Murdock Masterlist
Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated it!
It was cold, so fucking cold. Because of nights like this you sometimes hated New York. but you weren’t cold. Not anymore.
His body was so warm against yours. His bare chest was pressed flat against your back, his face buried in your neck as he rutted his hips against your ass, his cock buried to the hilt inside your walls. He had a bruising grip on your hip and he held you in place with each sharp thrust he gave you, your moans filling his ears like the perfect melody.
“You’re taking me so well sweetheart,” Matt said into your ear, his voice low and coated with arousal. You moaned in response, reaching back to grip his brown strands as your body shuddered, your orgasm rapidly approaching, “Are you going to come for me again sweetheart?”
Matt knew you were close, if there was something he had become an expert at was learning your body, learning your cues. The way you squirmed under his grip, your rapidly beating heart and your broken cries, he could feel all of it and it drove him goddamn insane.
“Fuuuck Matt,” You squeezed your eyes shut and you dug your teeth into your bottom lip. A shuddering hot flash ran through your body as pleasure took over, leaving you nothing more than a shaking whimpering mess.
"God, I love it when you say my name like that," He sighed out, eyes closed as your slick walls squeezed his cock in the most delicious way possible as you came. But he wasn't quite done with you just yet.
His lips were hot on your neck as he rocked his hips slowly, the rhythm he had kept for the past time finally slowing. He gave you time to breathe, allowed you to come down from your blinding high. If there was something Matt had in excess it was patience. If he was going to fuck you senseless at least he was going to give you time to remember how to breath again. When he felt your breathing slow and your heartbeat begin to steady, he dragged his lips to your shoulder as he gripped your arm gently. You had your face buried in one of his pillows, your breathing loud and quick as you tried to steady it.
You weren't quite sure when exactly you ended up on your back, or when Matt climbed on top of you. But when you opened your eyes again you found him above you, propped up with one arm while he pumped himself with his other hand. The red and blue billboard lights illuminated the entire room and fuck, he looked absolutely gorgeous on top of you like that. You swallowed hard, gasping softly when you felt the head of his cock brush against your sensitive clit. A shot of electricity ran through you and your body twitched.
"Matthew." You warned, but your voice was shaking. But to him, it sounded more like a whine.
"Shhh," He shushed you, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he lined himself up at your entrance, coating himself in your slick all over again, "You can take it, I know you can."
You didn't have time to protest or even whine, he was already pushing himself inside you with a soft groan. Your jaw fell open with a choked out cry and your toes immediately curled.
"F-fuck.. Matt please—" He cut you off with a sharp thrust, and he happily took in the squeal he forced out of you when he did, your sounds filling his sharp ears, "I c-can't, please."
"Yes you can sweetheart. Just give me one more, yeah?" He coaxed, lips brushing against your own, pulling you into a messy kiss that lasted a few seconds before you broke it off, a moan leaving your lips when he snapped his hips again. And he took that opportunity to speak again, "Can you do that for me?"
How could you ever say no?
You squeezed your eyes shut, a hand clenched around the sheets, but you nodded nonetheless, happily taking him.
"Good girl." A half smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he leaned down, his crucifix dangling over your face, reminding you that for someone so catholic he could also be the filthiest guy you have ever dated.
Matt had you just how he wanted in a matter of a minute or two, both of your legs thrown over his shoulders, pretty much pinned under his body as you simply took everything he had to give you, and fuck did you love it. You were shaking, blunt nails scratching up and down his back and your cries mixed with his groans filled the apartment as he fucked you into the mattress. You didn't know what was making more noise, the headboard constantly hitting the wall or you with your cries. You often wondered if Matt's neighbors knew his name by how much you would scream it at night. But you knew just how much he loved the sounds you made, so neither of you really cared about noise complaints.
"Matty, please," Your broken moans filled his ears again, and oh there it was again, that shake, that little shake in your voice paired with your shaking thighs, he knew you were close again, "Fuck, fuck please I'm—"
You didn't finish your sentence, a squeal replaced your words when his cock brushed over your most sensitive spot. A smirk tugged at his lips and he snapped his hips at that same angle again, earning the same response from you.
"Yeah, like that?"
"Yes! God yes!" You threw your head back against the pillows as you felt the familiar burn in the pit of your stomach and your hands flew to his disheveled brown strands, earning a grunt from him when you pulled.
His head slightly twitched as you fell apart under him, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he slipped a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit. He rubbed harsh circles as his other hand flew to your neck, and he fucking squeezed. It was all too much, too much to handle, and you were sent right over the edge. You cried out, tears falling down your cheeks as your orgasm hit you, hard.
"I know, baby. You did so good," He praised as you sobbed his name, your body jolting and twitching under him as he fucked you through your orgasm and the sound of slapping skin as you coated his cock with your juices filled his ears.
Matt kept his pace, his hips only faltering ever so slightly as his thrusts got more shallow and messier. He wasn't too far behind. He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw slightly open as he gripped your throat, his index fingers pressed firmly against your pulse point as he listened to the fast beating of your heart and your uneven breaths. He focused on it, but what sent him over the edge was the quiet whimper of his name you gave him.
"Matthew." Your lips had found his ear, his name falling from your lips like a silent prayer, and not just any form of his name. But Matthew. His eyes were rolling into the back of his head and you held him as he fell apart soon enough.
"God, fuuuck," He squeezed your throat, feeling the way your breath shuddered ever so slightly under his fingers as he gave you, one, maybe two more thrusts before he spilled himself inside you, "Fuck sweetheart."
A lazy smile fell on your lips, still euphoric from your multiple orgasms, and a soft gasp left your throat when he released your throat. Your eyes were still closed when you felt him press a kiss to your forehead, then to your lips. A slower kiss this time and he was sighing into it before he pulled back. He dropped your legs from his shoulders and left one last kiss on your forehead before he slipped out of you. You hissed softly at the loss of him, suddenly feeling cold and empty. But oh well.
Matt lied on his back beside you, his own breathing slowly steadying along with yours. He was facing up at the ceiling one arm behind his head while the other reached out for you. You leaned over him, resting your hands on his chest to get his attention. He quickly fixed his unfocused gaze on you to let you know he was listening.
"I'm gonna go clean up. I'll be right back." You pressed a kiss to his lips and he nodded.
"Don't take too long."
You giggled softly and nodded, slowly slipping out of bed, careful not to fall over. You hissed softly, your sore muscles already screaming at you for your reckless activities. You looked around the floor for your clothes for a long minute, not sure where exactly you had taken them off. The kitchen? The living room? The doorway? You had no clue. You did spot the shirt Matt had been wearing earlier that night. You shrugged and picked it up, throwing it over your shoulders and did the first few buttons.
After the bathroom, you walked into the kitchen for something to drink, and while there, you realized just how fucking cold it was outside, the large windows being completely crystalline by then. It even looked like it had snowed a bit. And then you remembered you bought some hot chocolate mix for this exact reason. A wide smile fell on your lips at the idea and in an instant you were going to the fridge for milk and to the cabinet for the pack.
You were gone for a little while, long enough for Matt to know you must've been doing something else. He was tempted to get up and find you himself, but a mixture of your earlier activities and some bruising from earlier that week during his Daredevil nights left him exhausted, so he opted to just wait, and stayed in bed to rest his eyes. He didn't have to wait too long though, because he heard you walk back into his bedroom, your light footsteps making the floorboards creak the slightest bit. But he still didn't turn around, he had rolled over onto his side, away from the sliding doors. You saw he had his back to you and you pouted softly, thinking he had fallen asleep. Not that you blamed him, you knew he was tired, but you had made him some hot chocolate.
You pouted softly as you placed both mugs on the nightstand and climbed into bed, sitting on your knees, "Matty?"
You ran a hand over his back, mindful of the now purple bruises covering his pale skin. You rubbed his back for a second or two before he gave you a hum, acknowledging your presence.
"I made—"
"Hot chocolate, I know," He had a smile on his lips as he rolled over on his back and sat up against the headboard, the sheets pooling around his waist. You frowned softly and opened your mouth to ask but he cut you off again, "I can taste it off your lips. And I could smell it while you were making it."
Oh, right.
"I always forget you do that," You laughed softly and shook your head. You scooted closer to him and leaned in, pressing your lips against his. His hand landed on your jaw, and he held your face as he captured your lips, savoring the leftover taste off them, "Now you can taste it better."
Matt hummed softly, a lazy smile written on his face as he held your face, while his other hand fell over your bare knee and his smile turned into a soft smirk.
"And you're wearing my shirt."
You pulled back a bit, another frown taking over your face and you stared at him with confusion, "How did you—"
"Sweetheart, I can smell my cologne all over you," He chuckled and leaned in, his hand moving up to play with the hem of his shirt as it pooled over your thighs, "And it's a bit big on you."
"Okay now you're just showing off." You rolled your eyes at him and he laughed, giving you a small shrug before nudging his head in the direction of the nightstand.
"Can I get my hot chocolate now?"
You smiled. You honestly couldn't think of a better way to spend a cold winter night.
#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x you#matt murdock x y/n#matt murdock x fem!reader#matt murdock smut#matt murdock#daredevil#daredevil x reader#daredevil x you
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haven
battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader
chapter four
Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a
a/n: had today off work so I wrote two chapters while watching the film for the *checks notes* millionth time. Anyways, in this chapter we get to see why the reader hasn't figured out Batman's identity...and it's because she as one (1) braincell to her name.
Series Masterlist
word count: 2.6k
“No,” he said. He went to walk away, the lines of his body rigid, but paused. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said over his shoulder.
She wondered if it was true.
The next morning, y/n woke up to good news in the form of an email from her editor granting her a leave of absence and temporary assignment at the Gotham Tribune. The editor there had been cc’d and asked her to call at her earliest convenience.
Then she saw the small package on her nightstand, delivered by Alfred sometime while she’d slept. Her phone had been returned and his short note told her to check to make sure everything was in order.
She immediately called the editor of the Gotham Tribune.
“Jansen,” he said in a gruff voice.
“Hi, this is y/n, we emailed about my temporary assignment?” She absently spread the articles about Batman across her bed. One of them was a huge picture of some sort of…light signal against the night sky. Her brain turned that picture over while she spoke. It looked like a bat. She almost laughed. Subtle.
“Oh, right!” She could practically hear the editor, Jansen, sitting up eagerly. “We heard about your attack, but your identity is being protected by Gotham police. What are you proposing? A tell-all?”
“Well, I’m glad they’re tight-lipped. You heard one of them got away?” A noise of assent. “And a tell-all is only part of it. Part tell-all, part investigative report, part vigilante op-ed. I want to investigate who was murdered and why. I have a hunch that this was…not your run of the mill hit. There were four of them, two victims bound and gagged. And then this bat guy–I assume you know plenty about him–he steps in and tells me to run.”
Jansen paused for so long she was afraid he would tell her no and hang up. “That’s a lot of work,” he finally said. “But if you do it right…hell of a piece. Front page, at least.”
“You’re not going to tell me my hunch is made up? Or tell me not to go after the Batman?” She raised her eyebrows. Part of being an investigative journalist was getting the boss to believe in it enough to pursue the story–and part was pursuing it even after being told no.
Jansen scoffed and said, “Fuck no. My source at GCPD is thinking the same thing about the murders. One suspect may have ties to the Gallo family in New York. All three who were caught lawyered up real quick without a word. And the Batman? Three years this guy has been around, even made national news last year, and you know what I have on him? Squat.”
Y/n scrambled for a pen and flipped over the picture of the light signal to scribble notes. “Can you get me that source’s name?” She wrote out a note about the Gallo family and underlined it twice.
“Nope.” He popped his lips on the P. “But I heard that Gordon took a shine to you. Batman’s right hand man.”
She hummed and wrote another hasty note. “I preemptively asked for an interview but he told me to shove it.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Listen–can I work from home? Since the fourth suspect got away, I…don’t really want to be out and about in the city if I don’t have to be.” She would go into the Tribune offices if she had to, though, but working from home would also offer her a lot more freedom with the article. She was concerned about her safety, sure, but really she needed free reign to do what she wanted.
Jansen chuckled darkly. “I get it. Sure. Send me updates as you get them and weekly summaries of your work. If I come across any leads, I’ll send them your way. Are you in protective custody right now?”
She glanced around her room and thought about all of the security Wayne Tower offered. “Yes,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the police protecting her. It was the Wayne legacy.
“Well, be careful. If it is the Gallo family and they’re trying to set up here in Gotham….” He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
“I will be. I have a lot to research right now anyways. And thanks–this helps me out a lot.”
Jansen outright laughed this time. “Listen, kid, if you turn out right about any of this–or even manage to get more information about our friendly neighborhood vigilante–it helps me out a lot. I’m not being altruistic here.”
“Thanks anyway,” she said with her own laugh. She had known as much when he had agreed to the assignment. It was a big thing, and she was willing to tackle it. She knew how the business worked. She could make the paper and its editor look really good if it worked out. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I’d tell you to be safe, but we both know you investigative types aren’t like that. So I’ll just say this: don’t die before you get me a story.”
They hung up.
Y/n immediately opened her laptop and typed up everything she’d learned from the phone call. Then she made a list of research topics: the Gallo family and their potential ties to Gotham, how to get the GCPD to feed her information, the Batman, and a whole lot of other things that may or may not be connected.
Her eyes fell again on the picture of the light signal–to the bat in its center.
She chewed her bottom lip as she stared at her phone on the bed. Gordon wouldn’t give her an interview, at least not yet.
The idea was a flash of lightning.
Officer Martinez, with his mustache and wide eyed wonder at the home of Bruce Wayne.
She did a quick internet search but couldn’t find any contact information for him specifically. There was, however, a general call number for the GCPD station he worked at.
“Hi, I, um, had you guys come out for a robbery not too long ago and this really cute–” She gave a fake giggle, “–officer came to take my report…I’d like to send him an e-giftcard, you know, to say thank you? So if you have an email or something I could use…I promise it isn’t a scam. This is so embarrassing, I’m sorry–”
The woman on the other end of the call sounded like she mostly just wanted y/n to hurry and hang up. “What’s the name?” she interrupted.
“Officer Martinez. Cute mustache and–”
“I know the one. Hang on.” The sound of a keyboard clicking filtered through the call. “Here’s his official work email. So no funny business, alright? Or we’ll trace it back to you.”
Y/n typed the email address in as the woman gave it to her. “Oh thank you so much!”
Before she even finished hanging up she was writing the email.
Officer Martinez–
You came to Wayne Tower after I witnessed a murder, and I was just reaching out because you seem trustworthy. I know that one suspect got away and, honestly, I’m afraid. If you have any information you can give me it might help with my peace of mind. Another truth? Lieutenant Gordon intimidates me, so I definitely can’t ask him.
Anything you can give me would really help.
Feel free to email me–I know giving out any more personal information would be unprofessional and I really respect what you do. I don’t want to get you in any trouble.
Sincerely,
Y/n
She read through it and wondered if she was laying it on too thick. But she knew, the same way she knew this case was big, that Officer Martinez would be a willing source. Even if he didn’t know that that was what he was doing.
–
Y/n spent the rest of the day in a deep research hole, her eyes aching by the time the sun set. She hadn’t seen Bruce or Alfred either time she’d left in search of food or caffeine.
She was in the study again, feet bare against the chilly hardwood floors, staring at a spot that looked like faded…white paint? She frowned as she ate her sandwich one-handed. Since when had someone painted on the floors? She tried to make out what it said, but almost all of it was scrubbed away. Maybe it was leftover from the bombing investigation. There was a section of flooring and a window that were much newer than everything else.
It was late again, nearly one in the morning. Time always passed quickly when she was deep into a story. Her back and eyes hurt, her wrists cramped, and her brain was mush. But she hadn’t thought about her grandmother all day, and the ache in her chest was a little better than it had been the day before.
She leaned against the nearest window. She wanted to go out, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t still scared.
She rested her forehead against the window as she finished the last bite of her late dinner. Something bright caught her eye.
The light signal. The one with the giant bat.
She straightened. What had that article said? A way for the city to call the vigilante when in need?
She stared at the light. It was cloudy, which made it almost easy to trace the path of the light down, down, down…
She could see the half-built tower in the distance. Wayne Tower had a perfect view of it, in fact.
A thrill ran through her blood.
Forget staying in–she needed to get to that light before it was turned off.
She ran down the hallway, the sound of her footsteps reminding her of a million games of tag, half of which had ended with a sleepy Alfred scolding them for waking him. She slowed her steps automatically. She didn’t want to be caught now, either.
She grabbed her shoes, jacket, phone, and pepper spray then ran back out again.
The elevator ride felt like it would never end. She was afraid that she would step outside and the light would be gone.
But no–when she stepped out to the chagrin of the security, whom she had to remind weren’t there to keep her prisoner–the light was still bright in the sky.
She held a hand out for a taxi. Thankfully one was passing by.
Maybe her luck was turning, she thought as she got in. Things had to go right after going wrong so often, right? Especially lately. That was one thing she believed in her life–things would always revert to the mean. A lot of bad meant a lot of good would come to even out the scales. Bruce had broken her heart…then she’d accepted an offer for her dream job in Bludhaven.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked as he scrolled Instagram with one hand.
“Um,” she said, smushing her face against the window and trying to estimate the distance. “Can you just take me like ten blocks straight that way?” She pointed.
The cabbie set his phone down and looked at her skeptically. “Whatever you say, lady.”
The ride was quick, made quicker still by the lack of traffic. She paid and got out, eyes on the sky. The cabbie muttered about crazy rich people as the door shut.
It was harder now that she was closer, but there was an entire city block nearby that seemed to be under construction. And there were two really tall buildings there, each still only half-finished.
She jogged down the sidewalk. One hand clenched the pepper spray while the other held her keys between the fingers. It wouldn’t be enough if a murderer wanted to shoot her in the head, but it was all she had. Maybe it was stupid, coming out so late when she was probably the target of a mob hitman. But she couldn’t let it go.
The block under construction was surrounded by a huge fence topped in barbed wire. The only way in, as far as she could see, was a gate that required a code for entry. She cursed under her breath, the words fogging in the chilly air.
There was a roar from behind her.
She whirled and ducked behind a trashcan in the same breath. Her heart stopped as the noise came again.
Headlights pierced the air and a car sped straight up to the gate.
Calling it a car was like calling a dinosaur a lizard. It had armor or something on it and an honest to god rocket on the back. It was less of a car and more of a tank. She could see the bones of it underneath, some type of semi-familiar sports car. Bruce would love a car like that, she thought. He loved adding ridiculous modifications to cars.
She shoved away the thoughts of Bruce and quickly took out her phone to take a couple of pictures, just in case. She’d left her actual camera in her room and silently cursed herself for it.
The gate slid open and the car sped through. The gates started to slide closed almost immediately.
This was her chance. The signal light was still on for the moment and she doubted many other cars would drive into a construction zone at nearly two in the morning.
She ran through the closing gates.
They clanged shut behind her a second later.
Okay, now what? she wondered, glancing around. One of the tallest towers was to the left, another one to the right. Now that she was almost directly below them, it was nearly impossible to tell where the light was coming from without circling the whole block. It looked like it was coming directly from the spot where she stood, but she knew it was only because it was coming from somewhere close.
She chewed her lip and glanced around more carefully. And–there. That weird tank of a car was parked beneath the tower to the right. She heard soft clanking and then a caged elevator started to lift on the outside of the building.
Bingo.
She ran over, wishing she had more skills suited for being a secret agent. Her footsteps were anything but silent and her breath gasped through her teeth as she ran. She kept to the shadows as best she could, which was made easier by the lack of lights on the whole site. But if there was anyone else around, she wasn’t being that stealthy.
She looked up.
The light switched off right as the noises of the elevator faded.
Double bingo.
The elevator was descending, empty now.
There was another car, too, half-hidden.
An unmarked police car.
She took a picture of that for good measure. She knew for sure now that she was on the right track.
That fire was back within her. She was so close to finding out if her hunch had been correct. She was close to…well, something. She knew it.
She went to the elevator and stepped inside. One button, and she was headed to the top.
Her palms were sweating. The long ride up gave her time to think, which was bad. She had fucked up. She realized that now, but hitting the button to go back down did absolutely nothing. She really should have thought things through more.
She had no idea what–or who–was at the top of the building. She had no idea if the Batman was actually a nice guy or not. He could very well take one look at her and toss her off the edge. Her mind spun with possibilities, including her death being ruled suicide, the trauma of the deaths of her family too much.
Or what if the murderer who’d gotten away had lured Batman up there? Or what if they were in cahoots? What if that editor, Jansen, was in on it too?
She really, really should have thought this through a bit more.
The doors opened with a noise so loud she winced.
When she looked up, she was face to face with a gun.
Next Chapter
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#bruce wayne x reader#the batman x reader#battinson x reader#batman x reader#the batman#the batman 2022#battinson#bruce wayne#haven#haven fic
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Absolutely feral for the aphrodisiac chocolate drabble! what would have happened if you extended it into an entire fic? 👀👀 *wink wink*
hmmm should i? i usually don’t really plan on extending any of my drabbles n i actually don’t go back n reread them bc they’re vastly different from how i write now ( 2 me ) but that one gets a lot of love
that being saiddddd idk if i’d actually ever extend it but here’s a little something of what would happen later that day broken down into two liddol moments bc bc bc idk if i would write it and if i dooo i don’t wanna spoil it c: mdni black fem coded reader unedited
the car ride back to your university apartment. that had to be one of the most tense moments hobie has even been in, even when he compares it to all the times he’s spent flying through the air with multiple near misses from the amount of concrete rubble thrown at him from half human-half animal villains hellbent on ruining new york.
he is ultimately forced to next to you, breathing in the smell of your sweet perfume. today, he watched you spritz the yellow sol de janero —brazilian crush cheirosa 62 —bottle over your body, naked and highlighted in a dewy sheen from the baby oil you applied to your damp skin, fresh out the shower.
the thought makes his dick absolutely throb in his jeans, baggy but somehow still tight. he’s abandoned the mass of silvery and studded belts, throwing them across the backseat of your sedan. occasionally, when you slow for a red light or make a less than smooth turn around the corner, the buckles jingle and clank against each other.
his brain is muddied with images of your body, basking golden in the sunlight. he remembers lazing about, strewn across your bed and watching in adoration as you get ready for the outing. he’s mad at himself for not taking advantage of the opportunity and sweeping you off your feet, never mind that the aphrodisiac hadn’t had an effect.
“you sure you can’t pull over and give me head?”
your eyes are blown wide, truly in shock that after just fucking your face in the mall dressing room, he wants to go again. not even ten minutes ago, you were swallowing his cum and being dragged towards the exit promptly after. “what? hobie, i drive a fishbowl. that’s literally illegal.”
“so then pull somewhere empty. i’ll give you head, first. consider it a reward.” hobie thumbs at the bottom of your sweater, reaching over the middle console and hooking his fingers under the buttery smooth material. the pads of his appendages rubs against your skin and for a moment, your heart begins to race.
“hobart larry brown.” you have to force your voice to remain still and firm despite the turmoil building inside you. he’s too convincing with his sly words and suggestive touches. he’s the one under the influence and here he is, influencing you.
he clicks his tongue and disappointment and pulls his hand away. much like how you would, he huffs out a breath of air and crosses his arms over his chest. out the corner of your eye, you can see his legs wide open in a manspread. “fine. be a boring conformist.”
it’s comical how fast hobie pushed you through the entryway door to your apartment. you suppose you would have laughed when you stumbled over the long laces of your air forces if the context hadn’t been so provocative. you would have giggled when hobie circles his arms around your waist and lift you in the air. instead, you consider yourself lucky that your roommates aren’t in the common space to witness this, and possibly not here at all.
regardless, hobie would have done the same. he would have paraded into your room and slammed the door shut if they were here or not. he does it now, setting you down as gently as he can manage against your bed, softened by the mattress topper and flushed sheets.
he’s impatient and you can tell because he nearly forgets to lock the door behind him. had you not reminded him, pointing to the brass doorknob, it would have escaped him entirely.
it’s in record time that he’s got your legs spread and one pushed into the comforter, knee bent and trembling in the air. he slurps and suckles your cunt, dripping in runny arousal. hobie’s is relentless, stuck in an infinite cycle of trying to milk your cunt dry despite the never ending arousal that gushes out.
you can sob and cry all you want but he isn’t deterred. if anything, it’s encouragement. it’s like positive reinforcement to taste you like this, indulging in the subtle taste of sour acidity — completely natural and hobie’s favorite drug.
back arching of the sage green bedsheets, you’re body is already spent. hobie hasn’t put a single thing inside your throbbing pussy. not his dick, not his fingers, just the wet, warm muscle of his tongue wriggling and toying with your cunt. you’re delirious after cumming three times in the last few minutes, each weaker than the last.
“icanticanticant —!” your palm comes in contact with hobie’s coarse wicks, and not for the first time either. his forehead feels warm beneath it, clammy with a thin layer of sweat from exerting such physical activity.
pop! hobie’s hand falls hot against your skin. from between your legs, he lifts his head with a scowl. his face reflects an expression you’ve never seen on him before, as if you’re stepped between him and his greatest desire. “try that shit again, bug. see what i do to you.”
you’re hesitant to move, knowing that once you do, the onslaught of his tongue would proceed again. it just barely borders a dull sensation of pain and has you convinced there’s no more you can give him so quickly and back-to-back. still, your body has been manipulated into craving him. you need more; your nerves are certain of it.
you don’t move fast enough for hobie’s liking. his stare hardens and he raises a thick brow. you’re still restricting his access when he sits up a little more. “i’m not playing with your lil’ ass. move your fuckin’ hand or i’m tying them back.”
he’s never spoken to you this way, not once. not even in your most intimate and heated moments under the privacy of the night and locked away in one of your rooms. his tone invokes a carnal desire and you comply, slowly pulling your hand away.
you sort of expect praise, some form of acknowledgment that you did something right. yet, nothing like that comes. the only that happens is the resuming of hobie’s mouth against your cunt.
#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 . . . 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 . . . 𝜗𝜚⋆#hobie x black!reader#hobie smut#hobie brown#x black fem reader#x black reader#astv hobie#x reader#hobie x reader#hobie x y/n
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Worship
PAIRING || Husband!Young!Tony Stark x Wife!Fem!Reader
WORDCOUNT || 1.1K
SUMMARY || Over the years, you and your husband, Tony, have developed the perfect 'welcome home' routine when he returns from filming. However, this time, you decide to change it up, as he deserves to be worshipped in every way possible.
RATING || Explicit (E)
TAGS || Actor!AU. Actor!Tony Stark. Young!Tony Stark. Established relationship. Explicit sexual content.
WARNINGS || Reader is described as tattooed.
SMUT || PWP. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Praise. Groping. Masturbation. Cock worship. Ball play. Oral (M receiving). Deepthroating. Cum swapping. Cum swallowing.
A/N || This story expresses my endless gratitude and love for my best friend, biggest supporter, and most lovely human to grace this earth, @ccbsrmsf1. Carol, I cannot possibly thank you enough for everything you do for me, but I want you to know I love you to the moon and back. Knowing you truly improves my life, and I love you so much! I can't wait to see what the future holds for us and our friendship 💙
EVENTS
Masterlist || @anyfandomkinkbingo || "It ain't gonna suck itself."
Photo: Source || Graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin
Main Masterlist || Tony Stark Masterlist || AU Masterlist
Four and a half months. That's how long it's been since you've seen your husband—none other than the famous actor Tony Stark—in person instead of via a laptop screen, but today, that will finally change. He's coming home, and you have freed up your entire evening, wanting nothing more than to give him the welcome home he deserves.
That's how you've found yourself on the bed in nothing but a dark red lingerie set that shows off your tattoos beautifully, waiting for your husband to find the little note you left downstairs. Candles are lit throughout the bedroom, and soft music is playing while you're waiting, the minutes ticking by in a seemingly endless fashion.
Until you hear Tony's footsteps on the stairs, carrying him to the bedroom where you're waiting. Your panties are entirely ruined from the arousal seeping through as you've patiently waited in anticipation of seeing him.
"Hi, Sun-" Tony says as the door swings open, but seeing you spread out on the bed immediately takes his breath away. Your legs spread, revealing your soaked panties as you let your fingers glide over the fabric, moaning ever so softly.
"Fuck," he whispers, his hand instantly shooting to the front of his pants, palming his rapidly hardening cock at the sight of you. A smirk lies on your lips as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and Tony can't help but groan at the sight in front of him.
Tony quickly undresses himself, as his clothes are all starting to feel tight and uncomfortable on his body. With every piece of clothing hitting the floor, your eyes are raking down his body, and you can't get enough as you drink in the sight of your husband.
His messy hair beautifully frames his face. A red flush on his cheeks, half-lidded eyes, and pink, puffy lips give him a boyish charm, though his body is far from it. His broad shoulders lead the way to the dusting of chest hair you love to run your fingers through. The tattoo with the names of your three children—Hudson, Orion, and Paxton—and yourself is proudly visible over his heart.
His narrow waist leads you to his dark happy trail and your final destination - his absolute monster of a cock standing at attention against his chiseled abdomen. The tip is flushed red, a bead of pre-cum already gathered at the tip of his length, and you let out a soft gasp when he grabs it, his hand slowly working himself as he looks at you.
"Look at what you're doin' to me, Sunshine. 'M so fuckin' hard for you," he growls, his New York accent shining through as you clench around nothing, your hand falling away from your pussy so you can crawl over the bed, ready to worship your husband like the God he is.
Within seconds, he's standing at the foot of the bed, right in front of you as you sit on your knees. Your hand runs over the muscular thighs that frame his cock to perfection, and you're already drooling from the thought of you getting to taste your husband again.
Tony looks at you with a smirk, tugging at the corner of his lips. His brow quirked as he looked at you, his free hand tipping your face up to meet his gaze.
"What do you think, Sunshine? Do you want to have a taste of Daddy's cock again? 'M barely even home, and you're already cock-hungry for Daddy, aren't you," he says in a low voice, and you nod sheepishly as you run your hands over his hairy thighs.
"Y-yes, Daddy, wan' your cock," you tell him, and he smirks before leaning forward and letting the tip of his cock glide over your lips, wetting them with the pre-cum already leaking from the mushroom tip.
"C'mon, Sunshine, it ain't gonna suck itself," he says, and you open your mouth, allowing Tony to feed you his cock. His fist is wrapped around the shaft, working over the light blue veins as he slowly jerks himself off while you suckle on his tip, soft moans tumbling from your lips as you savor his taste.
"That's it, fuck," he groans out as you work more of him into your mouth, your tongue laving over the throbbing veins adorning his cock. Your nails softly dig into his thighs, and Tony throws his head back as he slowly ruts in and out of the warmth of your mouth and throat.
The moment he slides into your throat, you look up at him with big doe eyes, and your husband can't help but feel like he's so lucky to have you—to be married to such an amazing woman who will let him do whatever he wants to you in the bedroom without a second thought.
Tony keeps working himself more into your throat, and without a second thought, your hand slips off his thigh, only to cup his balls and squeeze them softly, making him moan your name loudly. Not your nickname, but your actual name.
A shiver runs down your spine as he does, as it only slips out when he's really far gone for you.
"You take me so well, Sunshine; feels like heaven in there," he says in a gravelly voice as he leans down to wrap his hand around your throat, feeling himself as he pulls back before pushing back in again, all the way until you're taking all of him.
"Good girl," he groans before lacing his fingers in your hair, and he starts to speed up his previous pace. As he does, you keep playing with his balls, rolling and squeezing them just the way he likes while you suck his cock in earnest, drool starting to spill out from the corners of your mouth. It's becoming a huge mess, but neither of you cares.
"God, I'm cumming-" is all he can say before you pull back until his tip is lying on your tongue, and you feel the jerking and throbbing motions of his cock as it empties itself in your mouth while you keep looking up at your husband.
"Don't you fucking dare to swallow it, Sunshine," he says once he's done, and he pulls out of your mouth. He quickly sinks on his knees before pulling you into a messy and wet kiss, as you allow Tony to lick his cum out of your mouth as he pulls you close.
You two only let go of one another once the need for air becomes more prominent than the need for each other. You're panting as you pull back, your forehead pressed against your husband's, and you pant with a large smile on your face.
"Welcome home, My Love," you tell him before you're pushed back on the bed, and it's his turn to worship you for the rest of the night, just like the Goddess you are.
#anyfandomkinkbingo#tony stark#tony stark fanfiction#tony stark fanfic#tony stark one shot#tony stark imagine#tony stark x female!reader#tony stark x reader#tony stark smut#young tony stark#young tony stark fanfiction#young tony stark fanfic#young tony stark one shot#young tony stark imagine#young tony stark x female reader#young tony stark x reader#young tony stark smut
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Brother's Best Friend, pt 2
JOSH KISZKA X FEMALE READER
A/N: Hey my loves! Finally posting this and wrapping this little blurb up! Just wanted to say Tumblr isn't letting me reply to your comments, but I am seeing them! I seriously appreciate every like, reblog, and comment. I'm so happy you guys are enjoying my content:) This is also heavily unedited!
Word Count: 3.2k
WARNINGS: 18+ graphic sexual content! unprotected sex (wrap before you tap people), teasing, dirty talk, praise, oral sex (m/f/rec), choking, language, minor cock warming, p in v, throat fucking, gagging, dom/sub (switches), use of vibrator, spit play, feelings, and light fluff. Sorry if I missed anything!
╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅──╮
When a knock on your front door appears and causes you to falter while putting dishes away, you check the clock. 10:30. You’re a bit concerned at who would be at your door this late, but nonetheless, you patter over and look through the peephole. You wouldn’t have been super surprised if it was one of your friends or even Henry coming to assure you’ve forgiven him, but seeing Josh with his hands stuffed in his pockets was last on your list.
“Josh? What are you doing here?” you ask once you’ve opened the door. You try to hide the annoyance in your voice but you can tell by his knitted eyebrows that it didn’t work.
It’s been three weeks since you and Josh hooked up. Three weeks, and not a single word from him. You should have been fuming at the fact he was standing in front of you right now, gleaming at you with puppy dog eyes, but you didn’t try to contact him after the fact either.
“I know it’s late, but I just got back from New York and I needed to see you.” he says, pushing past you into your apartment. You scoff and follow behind him, slamming the door behind you.
Your heart leaps at the fact that him being away was probably the reason he didn’t reach out. “Oh. How long were you gone?” you can’t help but ask.
“Only a week,” he rubs the back of his head.
“Oh.” you feel your expression drop back into its subtle annoyed pose. “So you don’t have an excuse?”
He stares at you, trying to decide what you mean. “An excuse for what?”
You bite your lip and shake your head. “Gee Josh, I don’t know! Maybe the fact we shared an intimate moment and then you told me you wanted to be with me and then ghosted me?”
“I know, Y/N. I know, okay? But you didn’t reach out either. I just figured you needed time.”
“Yes, I did, but three weeks?” you stare in disbelief. “Whatever Josh. Can you just go? I have things to do.”
“At 10:30? What could you possibly have to do this late?” he tilts his head.
You take this as a challenge and rummage through your mind for an excuse. Only one thought pops in your head and you bite your lip as you decide if you should use ir or not. “I need to relieve myself.” You watch as his jaw falls open slightly, showing his white teeth. The skin of his cheeks turns into a soft shade of pink as he soaks in your words. “So I’d really appreciate it if you left. Right now.”
“Woah, wait a second.” he resists against you as you try to guide him back to the door. “You don’t want me to help?”
“Nope,” you say, popping the p.
“How do I score an invite?” he tries again. You sigh and try to push him back to the door, but he holds his ground.
“You don’t. Now go home.”
“Let me make you feel good. Please.” he rasps. You remove your hands from his shirt and stare into his big brown eyes. No man should ever look this desperate to please a woman. Paired with his teeth tugging at his bottom lip and his hands settling on your waist, he puts up a good fight. “Do I need to beg?” he asks, tugging your shirt up with his hands.
“Be my guest,” you say, pushing away from his warm body and disappearing into your room.
At first, you’re unsure if he’ll even follow you there. Josh was huge on consent, and you didn’t exactly say yes. Your worries vanish after a few seconds when you hear his footsteps approaching your door. You stand next to your bed, hands folded across your chest. When he finally appears, he shuts your door and stands a few feet from you.
“Where do you want me?” he smirks.
“Right there is fine,” you say, pointing next to your nightstand.
Like a puppy, he does exactly as you say. You have to turn away from him to hide the blush on your lips as you remove your shirt. Wearing nothing under, you toss the material on the floor and begin to shimmy your way out of your pants.
“Wait. What are you doing?” he huffs from behind you.
“You can watch.” you say through a grin.
Without turning to catch his reaction, you wander to your dresser and dig in the top drawer. Finding your pink vibrator, you clutch onto it and crawl on your bed. Josh smirks at you, obviously enjoying the show you’re mindlessly putting on for him.
“It’s pink. How cute.” sarcasm oozes from his mouth.
“If you touch me this is over and you leave my house, got it?”
He opens his mouth to speak but quickly shuts it, deciding a nod would be better for his current situation. You turn on the device and the hum combined with Josh’s eyes staring into your soul makes you squeeze your legs together. Shaking away the shivers, you prop yourself up on your headboard and begin to open your legs.
“That’s it baby… spread your legs.” he begins to palm himself through his jeans.
Immediately, you snap your legs shut and sit up. “Don’t do that,” you growl defensively. “I’m in control here.”
“Right,” he rolls his eyes playfully. “I’ll let you have your moment.”
“On your knees,” you direct him, trying to keep your voice from shaking. He obliges, falling to his knees right in front of you. “Good. Just sit there and look pretty, mk?”
You watch his fingernails dig into his clothed thighs as you run the member through your folds. You make sure to spice up your reaction, rolling your eyes in the back of your head and letting out a soft moan. Josh sits there, as he’s told, a glimmer in his eyes. You continue sliding the device through your slick, biting down on your lip when it comes across your clit. He adjusts himself, letting out a groan as he searches for friction through his pants.
“Jesus, fuck Y/N. Do you want me to beg? Cause I will.” he growls.
You pull the vibrator away from your heat and think for a moment. It’s a nice visual to imagine him on his hands and knees begging to get you off, but you sweep it from your mind. Holding his gaze, you flick the utensil over your throbbing clit. Your hips grind up into it, a long breath leaving your lungs.
“Please, Y/N. I need to taste you so bad,” he begins, a mischievous shimmer in his eye. Your guard shatters as he slowly crawls to you. Your breathing hitches as he makes eye contact with your heat. “Open up for me. Let me see you.”
Shamefully, you do just that. His tongue darts out and traces his bottom lip. Your skin flourishes with goosebumps as his cool breath reaches your center. “How do you plan on ‘being in control’ if you can’t touch me?”
He smirks, obviously having a plan. He shrugs and says, “I don’t know, mama. Wanna find out?” You nod quickly and he lets out a low chuckle. “I thought so. Now touch yourself.”
You falter for a moment, but begin to drag your fingernails across your stomach. Squeezing one of your breasts, you toss the vibrator to the side. You drag a finger over yourself, relishing in the feeling of actual human skin causing you pleasure. Your eyes flutter shut in hopes of escaping his glare, but you feel his eyes lingering on your skin. You squirm, imagining his finger teasing your clit. It’s stupid, considering he’s right there and would gladly do it for you.
“You’re so pretty when you’re like this,” he hums, blowing cold air across the nipple that’s not threaded through your fingers. Your back arches involuntarily at his words. “I wish I could touch you, baby. I’d make you feel so good until you’re crying for my cock.”
You circle your clit quicker, earning a low grunt from Josh. “You wish.”
“I do,” he responds without a pause. “I wish so bad.”
You add another finger and work your bundle of nerves furiously. Josh’s hovering above you, not a single piece of him touching you. It’s driving you insane and there’s nothing you want more than to feel his tongue sucking your clit. The image of him between your legs in the car pops into your mind. His cheeks were red, his chin covered in your release as he stared at you through hooded eyelids. You use this image to help resist the urge of letting him win.
When you arch your back even farther, your chest nears his face. He breathes out, the warm air coating your body. “Say the words and I’ll make you cum harder than you ever have before.”
You groan. “No.”
“Your funeral,” he smirks, sitting back on his ankles. You don’t know when he crawled onto the bed, but that thought was the farthest thing from your mind as he began to unbutton his pants. You scoff at him, perching yourself back up on your elbows. “What? You said I couldn’t touch you.”
“You’re such a tease.”
“Says the girl who’s getting herself off for my own personal torture,” he bites as he works the fabric off his legs.
“You should have called, Josh.” you hiss, working your fingers back over yourself.
You drag a finger to your entrance and slowly slide it in as Josh removes his last layer. His cock is hard as a rock, precum leaking from the tip. Your body jerks at the sight of a vein protruding from the side. In one swift, fluid motion, he tugs the shirt off his back and tosses it to the ground. He returns to his cock and it looks painful as he takes it into his hand and begins to fist himself. Your heart nearly explodes as he does the most vile thing a man could ever do; spit on himself. You moan his name as you watch him begin to jerk himself. You begin to move your finger in and out of you faster.
“Add another,” he demands in a hoarse tone.
Your body shakes as you slide your ring finger back into yourself, along with your pointer. Sloppish noises fill the room as you and Josh both work towards your climaxes. Your eyes are glued to Josh’s cock, his glued to your dripping center.
“Give me that,” he stops his motions and snatches the vibrator from beside you. When you open your mouth in protest, he stops you. “You only said I couldn’t touch you.”
“Stop cheating, Kiszka.” you growl, your stomach muscles tensing as your fingers pound into you.
“Let me touch you,” he tries one last time.
“Not happening,” you say, removing your fingers from your entrance. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” you say confidently, knowing damn well you’re screwed.
He flips the switch on and settles between your legs, careful not to let any part of himself touch you. He holds the device in the air and presses it to your clit. You jolt from under him as he abruptly pulls it away from you. Then, he flicks it off before sliding the tip of it into you. Your hands grip your bed sheets as he pathetically slides the tube in and out of you, just fast enough to keep you stimulated but too slow to get you anywhere.
“Josh,” you whine and buck your hips against the toy.
“Nope,” he teases. “Your turn to beg.”
Anger splashes through your blood as you bite down on your lip. “I’m not begging.”
“Just surrender already. You’re so difficult.” he whispers.
“Please touch me, Josh.” you pathetically say, your words strained.
As soon as those words leave your mouth, he removes the vibrator and abandons it on the bed next to you. You expect to feel his lips sucking on your clit immediately, but he starts at your ankles. Placing delicate but wet kisses along your skin, you grip the sheets tighter. He nips at the inside of your thighs, tugging and sucking on your skin. You have hope when his lips brush across your folds, but they abandon that idea and he kisses your belly button instead.
You grab his head of curls and push him back to your heat. “Either make me cum or leave.”
“So demanding,” he rolls his eyes before diving in.
Immediately, he takes your clit into his mouth. His lips knead the swollen bundle of nerves and when he tries to pull away, your hand holds him in place. “So fucking hot.” He continues to lap at your clit. “I could cum just from getting you off, you know that right?”
You clench your teeth before saying, “Get on with it.”
He giggles against you, the vibrations causing an extra wave of arousal to rush through you. Luckily, Josh can tell and quickly reattaches his mouth to your soaking core. His tongue teases your entrance as his lips work around. He acts like a starved man as he devours your pussy.
“Do that again–shit–just like that, baby. So fucking good.” you shiver underneath him.
His hands grip your ass as he forces you farther into the heat of his mouth. Your thighs squeeze around his head and he pulls a hand from under you to hold it down. The unrelenting force of his mouth draws you closer to the edge and your legs begin to shake as stars appear in your vision. With your hand fiercely tugging at his curls, you thrust into his face. Josh welcomes it, humming in pleasure.
That motion sends you into oblivion. You become a withering mess, your body jerking from side to side as an orgasm rips through you. His name, along with a dozen profanities, leave your mouth. Josh doesn’t stop his motions of licking, sucking, and stroking until your body stops shaking and your release coats the bottom half of his face.
Gathering your strength, you blink motionless at the ceiling. He kisses your thighs, gently licking up any access cum he didn’t catch in his mouth. Once you’re cleaned up, he crawls over your limp body and falls against you. His arms wrap you in a tight hug and you can feel his cock twitch against your leg.
“You okay?” He says as he kisses your ear.
“I want to make you feel good, Josh.” you say in a hushed tone, snaking your hand down to the shaft of him. The contact makes him jump and thrust into you. He whimpers into your neck, making your eyes roll in the back of your head. “Sit up for me, pretty.”
He listens and you crawl over his outstretched legs. You run your tongue over his belly button, tracing his happy trail all the way down to the patch of hair resting below his hips. You kiss his soft skin, earning sweet moans. His hand finds your hair and he massages your scalp. You take him into your hand again, pumping him a few times as you lick up his balls. When you pull away from him, a sheen of sweat has covered his rosie cheeks.
“Go on, mama. Suck it.” he quivers, his thumb running over your plump lip. He uses the tip of his cock to brand you with his pre cum, spreading it across the skin like lipstick. “Open.”
You stick out your tongue and allow him to slap himself on the muscle before you slide him into your mouth. Josh pushes your head down until every hard inch of him is buried in the back of your throat. Your lungs burn as tears form in your eyes.
“Breathe, mama.” he soothes you, his fingers massaging your head. He doesn’t move an inch, forcing you to focus on your breathing. You fight back a gag as his fingers brush a strand of hair out of your face. “You look remarkable with my cock down your throat, love.” He pulls you off of his length, his eyes meeting yours. He wipes drool from your lip with a smirk. “You take me so good. Gonna be a good girl and let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours?” he asks.
You nod and he quickly shoves himself back into your mouth. He uses his hand as a makeshift ponytail as he plunges up into your mouth. You gag as tears spill down your cheeks. You focus on his chest. His chest heaves, his stomach flexing with every thrust. You feel him twitch in your mouth and he quickly removes your lips from him. A trail of saliva is all that connects the two of you.
“Fuck, that’s so hot.” he groans, using the pad of his thumb to break the line. He dips it in your mouth before pulling it back out. Manhandling you, he pulls you to the edge of the bed so he’s standing between you. “Are you still on the pill?” you nod. “Do you want to use a condom?”
“No, Josh. Cum inside of me. Please. I need it.” you cry.
He groans from above you, sliding the tip of him through your slick. You wrap your legs around your waist and one of his hands keeps you in place as the other angles your ass higher. Without warning, he stuffs himself inside of you. A loud, pornographic moan escapes your mouth as his hips snap in and out of you.
“You’re so tight, darling. Fuck–taking me so good.” he whimpers from above you.
His hands grip your tits as he continues to fuck your cunt. Your legs tighten around him, hands clawing at his back as you take everything he has. Pleasure already builds in your lower abdomen, and you try to fight it off, not ready to let him go. His strokes deepen inside of you and you feel yourself sliding back. Josh places his hand on your neck, squeezing enough to take your breath away for a moment.
“Josh,” you rasp through the hold on your neck.
“Yeah? Say my name again–fuck.” his grip tightens and you grab his wrist with your hand.
“Josh, I’m gonna cum.” you warn as the tip of him brushes against your G-spot once more.
He repeats the same move until your body shakes violently from under him. His eyebrows are knitted together tightly as another mind blowing orgasm controls your body. He follows soon after, panting and crying your name as he fills you up. He’s warm inside of you and you want to feel this way forever.
He collapses on top of you, burying his nose in your neck. You both pant as your bodies recuperate. His hand eventually finds your cheek and his thumb strokes the soft skin. He wipes hair out of your face before kissing your collar bone. He kisses a trail along your face, planting a giant one of your forehead before connecting them.
“I’m so in love with you,” he admits, hands massaging your scalp.
“I love you Josh. I want to be with you.”
He pulls away and stares at you with his big brown eyes. His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I’m eternally yours, sweetheart.”
#greta van fleet#jake kiszka smut#jake kiszka#josh kiszka smut#josh kiszka#sam kiszka#greta van fleet smut#josh gvf#josh kiszka fic#sam kiszka gvf#josh kiskza fanfic#josh kiskza smut#gretavanfleet#gvf smut#gvf#sam gvf#jake gvf#danny gvf#daniel wagner#smut
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Arranged-seventeen
credit to whoever made the gif. found on google/pintrest.
Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death.
Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.
Authors Note: SMUT AHEAD! I thought I would leave you with something good for the night.
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Arranged Masterlist
With the towel wrapped tightly around me, I shook off the excess water from my hair and padded barefoot into the bedroom, ready to get dressed and find out if Bucky or Steve had found out any new information. The shower I intended to have ended up being me soaking in the large tub as I allowed the hot water to ease my stressed muscles.
As much as I would have liked to rush things along in hopes of finding my parents' killer, I knew that it would be useless if I wasn’t one hundred percent mentally prepared.
I came to a sudden halt when I saw the person lounging on the chair, legs spread wide.
“Fuck, Bucky. You scared the shit out of me,” I gasped while clutching the towel closer to my chest.
His chest rose and fell with each deep breath as his lips were parted, something heavy on his mind. He had cleaned all the blood from his hands and was dressed in a clean suit. I didn’t bother to ask where he had cleaned himself up, knowing he didn’t join me.
“Everything alright?” I asked.
Bucky hummed in response.
“Oh-kay,” I replied.
Before I could enter our closet, his deep voice saying my name halted my movements.
“Do you need something?”
He nodded with his hand extended towards me and I took it, our fingers linked together. A quick tug and I was now straddling his lap, the bottom of my towel raising to just below the round of my ass.
Bucky’s hands rested on my hips while his lips brushed against the crook of my neck.
“You smell so fucking delicious, doll,” he groaned. “I’m such a sucker for jasmine.”
The growing bulge in his pants that pressed against my bare mound told me exactly what he needed.
“Bucky,” I breathed.
He was leaving small love bites all along my neck and I rutted myself against him. Bucky hissed while tightening his hold on my hips. My fingers ran through his hair and forced his lips up towards me, crashing them with my own.
It was a quick one, Bucky pulling away before attacking my neck once again.
“I need you, doll.”
I let out a breathy moan when his vibranium hand began to slide up underneath my towel. The coldness of his finger brushed over my already slick entrance and I rolled myself over it, hoping he understood my silent plea.
He answered with the finger sliding deep between my folds and I moaned at the sensation. It had only been the second time we’ve been this intimate but I don’t think I’d ever get used to the feeling.
Bucky’s finger slowly pumped in and out, almost in tangent with my hips as I continued to roll on top of him. Our breaths came out in a mess of curses, my orgasm started to build, and Bucky understood.
So he slipped his finger out, the sudden emptiness brought a frown to my lips. Bucky kissed the corners of them.
“You think I would let you cum that quick and easy? After how you acted tonight?”
I shook on top of him, body covered with goosebumps.
“Bucky, please,” I begged while grabbing his hand in hopes to guide it back to my now swollen mound.
He quickly had my hands between my back, held by his flesh one. The warm breath from his mouth was felt on my cheek as he nibbled on my ear and with his free hand, the towel that was around me had been thrown across the room.
I was bare in front of Bucky’s hungry gaze and he flicked my hard nipple. I bit my lip at the sensation.
“What do you want?” He questioned.
I whined, not wanting to have to beg for it.
“You had no problem running your mouth earlier, doll. What happened?” Bucky teased.
With one hand still holding mine behind me, he started to pinch and pull my nipples giving both of them equal time. My hips dug deeper into his, hoping the friction from his pants would be enough to chase my orgasm.
I couldn’t register what happened until my body was thrown onto our bed. Bucky stood at the end, his dark eyes grazing every inch of my body. His tongue rolled over his bottom lip in anticipation.
“Spread them,” he ordered.
My legs had opened wide for him as I leaned back onto my elbows, my pussy on display for his eyes only.
Bucky was on his knees and pulled my hips closer to his face and I couldn’t stop the squeal that erupted from my throat.
“All I could think of today was the way you tasted on my tongue.” Bucky admitted with a groan as he stared at my wetness.
His tongue spread wide over it and I grunted out a loud moan with my head falling back onto the bed. The tip of his tongue pressed down hard onto the swollen numb of my clit and I forced his face deeper, fucking his face.
Bucky moans vibrated against me and my lips parted in a silent scream as my orgasm washed over me with no warning. I convulsed onto his face and he lapped up my juices. Even in the faint light of the room, I could see the aftermath of my orgasm shine on the small hairs of Bucky’s face as he looked up from my pussy.
“You taste like heaven, and I can’t get enough,” Bucky admitted.
He kissed his way up every inch of skin until he reached my lips, locking us in a battle of tongues and I moaned when I tasted myself on him. I made quick work of shedding his jacket and dress shirt from him and when I began to undo the belt at his pants, vibranium fingers stopped me.
“Get on your knees,” He demanded again with a deep voice.
“Bucky,” I began.
Skin against skin echoed throughout the room followed by a shrieking moan as Bucky slapped my ass with his vibranium hand.
“Ass towards me. Now!”
Without a second thought, I was on my knees in front of him and the sound of pants falling to the ground sounded in my ears.
“You act all innocent and look so sweet, but I know what a dirty mind you really have,” Bucky’s warm breath fanned across my back.
But the warmth was gone, replaced with cool metal dragging across my spine. Only it wasn’t his fingers. This was something sharper.
I bit the inside of my cheek when I realized exactly what was being dragged across my skin.
“I saw the way you watched as I twirled this between my fingers,” Bucky spoke.
He had the knife in front of my face and it glimmered in the light from the bedside lamp.
“Do you have a knife kink, doll?”
I felt like putty in front of him, unsure how to answer. Which only caused Bucky to slap my ass once again.
“I don’t know,” I admitted with a breathy moan.
Bucky dropped the knife onto the bed. “Maybe another night. Right now I want to fuck that pretty little cunt of yours.”
“Oh, Bucky,” I groaned, head falling to the mattress.
With a quick snap of his hips, his hard cock slid into my drenched lips and I began rocking back onto him hoping to help him fill me up. Our bodies rocked together as our moans of desire bounced off the walls of our bedroom and Bucky’s hands gripped deep into my hips as he held me still before sliding in and out of me at an unforgiving pace.
My ears rang with white noise and my eyes rolled back, the sensation causing me to quiver underneath him.
“Fuck, Y/N. So tight. So fucking tight,” Bucky said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, oh, Bucky,” I panted. “I’m so close.”
“Not yet, doll.”
I groaned because there wasn’t any way I could hold on, my orgasm catching up so close. The blood ran from my head straight down to my core as my toes curled. My breathing became ragged when I began to lose control of my actions.
“Please,” I begged.
Bucky now was dragging his cock in and out of me in an antagonizing slow pace, the feel of every vein on his dragging on my walls. I clenched around him, our shared wetness creating ungodly sounds.
Suddenly there was a persistent knocking at our door and I went to push Bucky away but his grip on me held strong, cock still dragging in and out of me.
“Yeah?” Bucky called out.
“It’s Steve. I need you downstairs.”
Bucky’s vibranium finger reached around to my swollen clit and began drawing circles. I had to bite back a moan.
“Is it important?” Bucky asked.
“I wouldn’t be bothering you guys if it wasn’t.”
I peeked over my shoulder. “Maybe we should—oh fuck!”
Bucky’s pace in my pussy started up again and I felt the tip of his cock reach every single inch of me.
With his vibranium finger still working my clit, his other hand wrapped around my throat and pulled my back up into his chest, the new position made my head spin. I let out another loud moan.
"Be quiet, otherwise he's going to hear you. Or maybe you'd like that? Having Steve hear how I have you bent over, fucking this tight pussy,” Bucky grunted in my ear.
My second orgasm washed over me in waves with that simple thought Bucky had planted in my mind and I spasmed over his cock which did nothing to halter his erratic movements.
“Buck?”
He groaned but never responded to Steve.
“I’m going to fill this sweet little pussy up,” he bit hard down on the skin of my shoulder, him keeping up his promise.
His cock throbbed and pulsed as he spilled himself into me and I rolled my hips over him, hoping to get every last drop.
Our bodies fell in a heap onto the bed and Bucky rolled me on top of him, dragging the blanket over our lower half. He brushed a soft kiss to my forehead.
“You alright?” He asked.
I nodded in a haze and Bucky chuckled.
Our eyes locked and we shared a slower, passionate kiss. I could see in his eyes that Bucky wanted to say something, his lips even parted to speak.
“I lo-.”
“Bucky, this is important-.”
Steve barged into the room but I had been too tired to try and cover up more. Even if my lower half was covered, with the right-angle Steve could have been able to see my exposed breasts. Bucky simply wasn’t bothered in the way Steve gazed at the two of us, an amused expression on his face.
“I probably should have knocked,” Steve chuckled while rubbing the back of his neck.
I didn’t miss the way his cheeks reddened in a blush.
“What is so important, Steve,” I asked with a yawn.
“We’ve got a location.”
I was now suddenly wide awake.
#mob!bucky barnes#mob!bucky barnes x reader#mob!bucky barnes and reader#mob!bucky barnes x yn#mob!bucky barnes and yn#mob!bucky barnes reader insert#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes and reader#sebastian stan
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It’s Only My Heart (Save Yourself)
about: Rooster’s very bad, terrible day. Super angst and maybe a glimmer of hope at some point.
word count: 7.3k
warnings: angst, language
masterlist.
"My God, if you are not a sight for sore eyes," Jake Seresin shook his head, slowly taking you in from top to toe.
"You're all dressed up," you smiled, acknowledging the Navy's traditional ceremonial kit and gloves. "Very slick, Bagman."
He gave you his trademark, megawatt grin that didn't quite meet his eyes. "What are you doing here? Thought you were tearing up the East Coast, living the dream!"
Completely embarrassed, you hated that nothing could be further from the truth. But that was a story for another time. He enveloped you in a warm hug as you gave him a gentle smile. "Gig," you motioned behind you to the band setting up, the gentle thrum of a snare drum and bass echoing gently.
"You're playing?" he pulled back with a raised eyebrow. He blinked, almost like he didn't believe your answer.
"Yeah," you smiled at his confusion. Something reflected in his bold blue eyes and he held up a finger.
"Hold that thought, huh?" he gently released you and wandered away, catching a look over his shoulder as you went back to your bandmates to warm your vocals up a more.
There was still plenty of time before the wedding reception, but you always wanted to give your all, and ensure the best part of the day was the happy couple cutting a rug on the dancefloor, with love, joyous grins and laughter. "Where's the playlist?" you asked your guitarist and band manager, Tom, as he handed you the info. It was perfect. The couple's first dance was to Adele's version of "Make You Feel My Love". You adored it and knew how to make it perfect for the couple too.
“Jesus Christ," Rooster sighed to himself. This could not be happening. Not today, of all days, this just could not be happening.
Removing his cover and sitting it protectively under his arm, he debated his dumb luck. There you were, eyes closed and lost in the song you quietly rehearsed. Still magical as you basked in the late afternoon light that poured through the bay windows behind you. Fucking ethereal, he realised. He had to get to the bottom of this as he carefully walked into the reception hall of the hotel the wedding was being held. His throat tightened as he approached you, the lyrics of the song clearer.
"'Dream a little dream of me,'" you crooned and grinned as the band gave themselves some kudos, ready for the evening's festivities. You turned your back to face your guys and chatted about switching up a few songs, depending on the vibe of the wedding party and guests.
"That was really beautiful," some guy told you, affectionately patting your shoulder as you ducked your eyes bashfully. You were never one to take a compliment easily.
Before he knew it, Rooster was before you. "It is you," he said, just quietly enough for you and your bandmates to hear, a little bewildered, as you and your bandmates turned to face him. If you weren't holding the mic stand, you might have lost your footing.
"Holy shit, Rooster. What are you doing here?" a blink and you'll-miss-it fondness gracing your features. He didn't return it.
With a gentle scoff, he replied, "What do you mean, what am I doing here? I thought you were in New York."
"I have been back a few months," you admitted. God, you were getting sick of admitting that. It sounded more pathetic every time.
"Of course you have," he started pacing. He paused, raised his long index finger, and continued to pace. If it wasn't so dramatic, it would certainly be comedic as your bandmates behind you bit back their chuckles.
"Uh, do you know this guy?" your band's manager, Tom, whispered, standing with you.
"Ex-boyfriend," you answered softly, heat prickling your face.
"Ex-boyfriend?" Rooster's ears pricked up and his deep voice cracked a little, and you cowered a little. "I think I was a little more than that." True. He was the love of your life.
"Okay, okay. But Rooster, you need to calm down. Maybe I should have mentioned I was back, but you made it pretty clear when we broke up that you didn't want to see me again.”
"You broke up with me to go to New York," Rooster calmly reminded you. "Follow your dreams, or whatever. Do not pin this... on me."
"Do you need something, man?" Tom asked. "Because all you're doing is intimidating her and that's not cool with us."
Rooster stopped and inhaled. This Tom dude wasn’t wrong and Rooster reflected, hoping to recall his cool, reminiscing on all his years of psychological training to put his body and mind through the worst of human conditions. All of that training escaped him as the moment unfolded. Of all things, he'd never want to scare or hurt you. "You have absolutely no idea, do you?" he almost accused. "I fucking texted you about this."
"I didn't get it," you said, softly. "Sorry, Rooster." He'd been blocked on your phone for so long... it had hurt too much to keep receiving his texts and you having nothing but failure to respond with.
"Well, you hadn't responded to any texts for years, why would you have started with that one?" He'd definitely fine-crafted the art of sarcasm.
"What the hell is going on, Roost?" you asked softly, embarrassed for this scene he was causing.
"This is my goddamn wedding!" he exclaimed, loosening his tall collar. He felt like he was going to have a panic attack and retreated himself. He needed air, his throat constricting.
You felt as if your heart fell out of your butt, a horrible concoction of shock... and terrible sadness. "Oh," was all you said. Well, this escalated into literally the worst day in a matter of seconds. "I didn't know - "
"How do you not know?" he demanded. "You're the fucking wedding singer."
"She's not the MC, she's never the MC," Tom spoke up. "I talk, book the gigs; she sings."
"Just the singer," you told him meekly as Tom looked over the call sheet and handed it to you and you about wanted to die. "Lt. Bradley Bradshaw and Ms Hayley Wills. Okay. Roost, I'm sorry," you looked at Tom, panicked. "I won't do this, I'll go. I won't ruin the evening for you guys."
Tom nodded, patting your shoulder. "It's okay - "
"How did you not know?" Rooster refused to understand. "This is my wedding day. Has my name not crossed your band's lips once?" he was astounded.
"No, only your bridezilla and all the changes she wanted to make up until about two hours ago," Tom warned as you raised your hand, not wanting to hurt Rooster more. "Hardly mentioned you. Can't imagine why, though," he sneered.
"Tom, it's okay," you didn't need him making the situation much, much worse.
"It's cool, man. We'll return the deposit and start packing up - " Tom continued, giving your bandmates the sign to wrap it up.
"You can't go. I've got 100 assholes I don't know watching me get married in - " he checked his watch. "Less than five minutes, depending on how late Hayley wants to be and make me sweat more than I already am."
Sighing, you carefully stepped off the stage and approached Rooster, guiding him with a light touch on his bicep that he didn't shrug away (even if it scalded him). You moved him away from your confused, protective bandmates who were about ready to take his head off. Without a word, he followed you outside into the choking humidity, no relief from the breeze off the water. “Go get married. I will leave; the band can stay. No one has to know - “ you tried as he whipped his arm away from you.
”But I’ll fucking know,” he hissed, pounded his chest, wanting to scream it at the top of his lungs. The last thing he needed to do was draw more attention to the situation.
"Okay, okay. Calm down. I get that you're upset, but I didn't know and clearly neither did you, so we're both equally as pathetic here. Your day can still go on without a hitch. I'm sure your bride is on her way now and your guests are probably wondering where the fuck you are. So stand up straight," he immediately did so. "Go find a mirror, take a shot with Bagman, and man the fuck up," you hated every word you said.
He frowned, his height towering over you suddenly. "I hate this."
You wanted to ask if he meant you or the day, but kept your trap shut. You were beginning to think a little of columns A and B.
He inhaled sharply, in hopes of calming himself. "I told myself I would never allow myself to be alone with you ever again," he looked back at your bandmates through the sheer blinds of the reception room. They'd taken the initiative to put your guitar away and start putting your kit near the door. Bless them, you thought. "And here you are, on my wedding day. I don't even want to get married," he confided. "I never did. Even when we were together, it was just a piece of paper. Why do you need it if you love someone? Shouldn't love be enough?" he rambled.
You nodded, with a shrug. "Sometimes people just need it, Rooster."
"But I don't. And she," he waved towards the rest of the hotel, putting his bride-to-be in the 'people' category. "She does. She needs the fanfare, the show. The dress. The band," he spat the last part as Hangman came into view and approached you both steadily. "Make sure I'm in my uniform. Make sure everyone knows who I am, what I do. My badges gleaming. It's 75 fuckin' degrees!"
"Rooster... Hayley is here and the guests are asking questions," Hangman said quietly. "Do you want me to go and say something?"
"What do I say?" Rooster retorted and Hangman was understandably speechless. "Just buy me some time."
Hangman nodded and made a very hasty exit.
"What am I supposed to do?" he asked you. "I cannot get married, knowing you're here."
"I'm leaving. You'll never have to think of me again," you tried reassuring him. "Tom can cover the singing, he will find a believable cover for me in case Hayley asks questions. Just breathe, and try and have a good day."
"No," he shook his head, finally meeting your gaze. "No. Know that I know you're back? I can't - I don't - " Rooster struggled to get out and you stopped, desperately wanting to hold him - hating how angry he was at you, how much he despised you in this second. "I was madly in love with you, and you left me like I was fucking nothing to you. You broke my heart! I thought about following you every day for a year and you didn't call or text me once."
Panic washed over you a few moments later when you heard, "What do you mean, 'he's just getting some air', Jake?"
Tears streaming down your face now, you dropped your eyes. The situation was escalating much faster than you had the ability to process. Guilt-riddled and in a predicament you never thought imaginable but you weren't veiled in an invisible cloak of obscurity and people could see you both now. And just to Rooster's side in your eye view, a vision in white approached, her dress moving whimsically around her. She was beautiful, everything you'd ever imagined for him. Just spectacular.
"Fuck," he rubbed his face. His entire relationship was hanging by a moment and he hoped and prayed that you both couldn't make more of a mess of this than you'd done already.
"Bradley, sweetheart? What's going on, why aren't you inside?" she asked nervously. "Is something wrong?"
He had the balls to reply, "Baby, I don't think I'm supposed to see you yet," he kept his back to you, his eyes telling you not to make a goddamn sound. No problem, you had no interest in acquainting his fiancee.
Credit to her, Hayley wasn't buying what Rooster was selling and she stiffened. "Don't bullshit me. Why are you out here? Are you getting cold feet?"
Of course he is, you wanted to reply. Things like this weren't natural to Rooster... he hated being the centre of attention, he choose when and how he'd be put on display and you knew this just wasn't him. Eloping? Yes, you could see him eloping. On a beach, a sunset, some tropical island, a cocktail function later with a handful of people you'd bothered to invite - and just like that, those thoughts you'd pushed to the back of your mind years ago were bopping in your heavy brain again. All those dreams of when you thought you and Rooster would celebrate this day and you just wanted to be sick.
"I'm just nervous," he admitted, turning to face her, bad luck be damned (how could it all get worse though?). Even he had to admit, even at his worst, she looked absolutely stunning and she was right there... waiting for only him. "You look beautiful."
"Who is this?" she disregarded Rooster's terms of endearment.
"I was just getting some air, walking past," you kind of lie. Argh. Shut up, you told yourself. Let Rooster handle this. You glued your eyes to the decking below you, wishing it would disintegrate and you'd just disappear.
"No... you're the singer," Hayley realised.
You waved gingerly. "Hi."
"Hi," she broke into a small, relieved smile. "Baby, are you coming in?" she asked Rooster as he tensed.
"I will be right in," he said. And you didn't know how well Hayley knew him, but you know without seeing those soulful hazel eyes that this man was lying through his teeth.
"Hold on... Do you two, like, know each other or something?" She certainly wasn't buying anything, you gave her credit, she had learned the wiles of Bradley Bradshaw. She was smarter than you were giving her credit for.
"No," you both lied terribly. Hayley stepped back to gaze at you both in her focus. "Brad, is there something you need to tell me?" Ew, he hated being called Brad.
His resolve breaking, he introduced you only by name although you figured she'd know that, but different contexts now. "My ex."
"Your ex-girlfriend?" Hayley asked as so calmly that it cooled your blood.
"Yes," he replied numbly.
"Oh, my God," she said softly. "The wedding singer?" she asked incredulously. "How the fuck could I have been so goddamn stupid?"
Right?
"Did you do this on purpose? Not tell me?" she suddenly flared up, the accusation in her voice rising as she closed in on Rooster.
"No, I didn't," he answered. "Trust me... there is nothing I would have wanted less. Believe me, when I tell you I simply did not know. You were pleased with the band, frankly, that's all I needed to hear. You've done all this yourself..." he rambled. But Rooster's eyes changed. You had only seen this rage once or twice, not including today, but his ability to keep his rage in tact had always been a slight downfall of his. Oh dear, you hated when Rooster smartened up because reason had found him and good things never happened when Rooster let the beast out. "Because like everything in this wedding, it's been what you wanted. If you wanted the band, you were just going to get the band anyway,” his tone must have stung his bride-to-be because the wave of bitterness hit you like a little ton of bricks.
Oh, that didn't help the situation, you thought, turning to try and leave. "Don't you go anywhere," Hayley hissed.
"This is between you two - " you tried.
"True. But you've always been there," Hayley said evenly, moving past Rooster to approach you. "Always like a shadow in the background. When I met Bradley, he made it no secret he had been hurt before and that he needed someone who he could trust fully. And that is me."
"I don't deny that," you admitted.
"You destroyed him."
And while it hurt to hear Rooster say, it felt a shit tonne worse to hear someone you didn't know say it so explicitly.
"I brought him back to life, my family adore him, only for you to come back today. How could I be so goddamn stupid? It's like I practically invited you to wreck our day," she paused to retrieve her gorgeous heel from where it was caught between the wooden planks through the layers of sheer fabric.
"I swear, I'm not here to ruin anything. I didn't know Rooster was getting married today."
Hayley gave a bold, mocking shrug. "Well, I guess now you do."
"Okay," you said, your nerves shot, you'd had enough. "You two are a mess. Clearly, the issues between you are way bigger than me. I've tried to be polite to now, but fuck it. Hayley, Rooster, good fucking luck to you both if you manage to get yourselves married today. You clearly belong to each other. I don't need this shit. Goodbye, good fucking riddance. Your dress is lovely, by the way," you told her quickly, it really was, as was the woman who wore it before her, as you desperately held back the bird and walked away.
"It's Rooster's mom's dress," she replied after you and you slowed to look to Rooster as his eyes dropped. He gave you credit, you knew exactly what Hayley was wearing and commended you for keeping your trap closed.
"This is Carol's dress?" you played up for him and him only but he didn't reply. He knew you were just trying to poke the bear.
"You knew her?" Hayley asked.
"Yeah, I grew up down the street from Rooster." You stopped yourself before you told her she let you dress up in it all the time as a child, it was your dress well before it was ever hers. That would certainly have been the final nail in the coffin of an awful, terrible day.
"So this was probably supposed to be your dress too," Hayley exploded, face red with rage. "Jesus, get me out of this place. Get me out of this shitty dress," she turned, and for the first time, you noticed a couple of dozen people around you, bearing witness to what was embarrassing to you... was probably a helluva lot worse to Rooster and Hayley. "And get me the hell away from him."
It took hours for you to stop thinking about the horrors of the previous day. The last time you checked the clock was about 2am and the alcohol in your system had helped you finally pass out, amidst the misery of your bedroom spinning and thoughts of lost love tearing you apart.
Hearing an incessant knock at whatever time it was frightened you as you noted the time on your phone. 4:30am, it blared as you sighed and reached for your UVA hoodie. "Good Lord," you muttered as the knocking continued. You shuffled down the hallway to the door, telling whoever it was to calm the fuck down. Opening the door to Rooster, maybe you weren't entirely surprised, but a little alarmed as he almost fell through the doorway. "Woah," you tried to help and pushed him upright.
He was still in his suit nix the jacket, the collar undone, his curls unruly and his face flushed from booze and frustration.
"Sorry," he mumbled quietly.
All you could ask was, "You lost?"
"Must be," Rooster replied, exhausted as he slumped against the doorframe, chewing his lip. "She, uhh... she thought it was best we not get married... today," he mumbled.
"Oh, Rooster - " you said, eyes welling as your heart broke for him.
"Or ever," he drawled.
"I'm so sor - "
"Yeah, I know. You're sorry. The sorriest you've ever been," he said meekly. "You know, I didn't even realise this was still your place. I just assumed you got rid of the lease when you left," he rambled. "Lucky guess, huh? Could have really pissed someone off if this wasn't your place," he snorted.
Failing to see the funny side, you replied, "I sub-let. What are you doing here?"
He inhaled sharply. "Nowhere else to go. Penny had to close the bar at some point. Can't go to Hayley's. Too embarrassed to show my fuckin' face on base."
”Come in, Roost,” you took his clammy hand in yours, guiding him into the apartment, and he followed numbly. "Drink?"
”Least you can do,” he said, voice terse. "I drive past here to our - Hayley's place - all the goddamn time and always see the light on. Now I know you were there, just living your life..." he stopped at a photo of you and Pheonix at the zoo one day, grinning and giggling, both gorgeous and sun-kissed. "She knows you're back, right?"
"She's known a while," you confirmed. Pheonix had seen the whole showdown between yourselves and Hayley and followed you home, damning any nuptials Rooster and Hayley may have had. She brought over the first 2 bottles of wine you shared to drown your sorrows together - a true friend.
"Can't believe she kept it from me." You knew it must have hurt him to learn his close friend keeping such a big secret from him.
"I asked her to keep quiet."
"She did a good job. She didn't know you were working yesterday?"
"Not your wedding," you sniped. "This isn't about her, Rooster. Please don't drag her into it."
"No, no," he agreed calmly. "You're right. I'm just wracking my brain, right?" he drawled. "How have we not bumped into each other? This is a small town."
"I'm not dumb enough to go where you frequent, Rooster," you rolled your eyes. Seemed fairly obvious to you.“Take a seat,” you instructed with a sigh as he meandered into the living room. It looked the same as when he spent every waking minute there. You went to the cabinet and collected a tumbler, a double shot of whiskey. You knew he’d already been drinking but this poor bastard… you helped ruined his life today.
Wandering back to him slowly, you watched him sit in his old spot and look up at you. “I don’t know why I’m here. I shouldn't have come to see you,” he accepted the glass and sipped, easing back and rubbing his face. “Hayley put me back together and you walk back into my life for five minutes and destroy it all again.”
Wasn't getting any easier to hear.
“I can’t believe this has happened,” he put his face in his hands before looking back up with an incredulous smile, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his sleeves half up his forearms. You didn't like that smile.
”I don't know what you want me to say, Roost.”
”Stop calling me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore," he warned, there was no humour in his tone.
“Okay. I'm kind of fucking sick of talking anyway,” you sighed, sitting cross-legged on the coffee table before him. He was wretched and still as beautiful in his way. Maybe as handsome as before. The boyish innocence was gone though, and there was a man about to start his life over again. The guilt was swallowing you whole.
“Hayley's a good girl. She cares about me, she loves me,” he looked up and was simply defeated, you wanted to hold him desperately and fought every urge not to do so. “I’ve never been more embarrassed. Having to tell everyone that there wasn’t going to be a wedding today. Thought her old man would put his fist through my teeth. But I maintain that I didn’t do anything wrong."
"You didn't," you reassured him. It was on you both.
"And here I am anyway," he reasoned with his demons and continued to internalise.
Answering would only end up with a barrage of pain and insults so you stayed quiet. Rooster leaned forward, sipping the amber liquid just like he had a million times before in the same seat he found so much comfort. His eyes started from above your messy hair, they softened when he met your eyes. “And you haven’t changed a bit. Just as beautiful as the day I dropped you at LAX, with your dreams that were bigger than me and fuckin’ suitcase. I looked you up Fleet Week last year,” he confided. “I saw you had a show in Brooklyn and I was gonna come see you, make sure you were okay. Just to see with my own two eyes that you were okay in the big city without me."
"Did you come?" your eyes were trained to stay with his, but the pain dripped from his eyes unbearably.
He shook his head, but after all the booze he'd consumed, it was just a messy roll of his head. "I thought it best I didn't."
"I would have loved to have seen you."
He rolled his eyes. "Of course you would have. Whipped into a frenzy of old memories before you up and left again like I was fuckin' nothing to you."
"Do you have a single thing to say to me that isn't in the shape of an insult? Because I'm kind of done with this today. You can leave if you don't have anything constructive to add," you muttered, eyes watery. His face softened as he scooted closer to the coffee table, legs wide and he grabbed your ankles and dragged you closer to him, his palms grasping the hoodie for dear life. You were clinging to each other and it was killing you at the same time. The word vomit spilled from your lips before you could stop your, restraint failing in his close proximity. "When I left... I didn't call or text you, Rooster, because I knew the second I heard your voice, I'd be on the first plane back home, begging you to take me back. Begging you forgive me and my fucking ego. Thinking that I had a chance to ever make it."
He sighed, gently wiping a tear away with his thumb. "You deserve all the success in the world, sweetheart. You took your chance. It took me a long time to understand that. I guess I thought that maybe one day you'd come back to me... but I couldn't expect you to stay here while I was gone for weeks and months on end. I was a selfish asshole too."
True.
You stayed silent for a while, happy to study him, reaching to touch the scar that ran across his Adam's apple. It bobbed under your touch and Rooster swallowed hard. "Please don't touch me," he begged. "I will lose all resolve."
But you ignored him as your finger continued tracing the others that ran scant on his chin and the left side of his jaw. You knew what the sensation did to him, and it wasn't the intent to drive him crazy, but the temptation of him so close was starting to affect your mind and body. "Did she love these as I did?" you dared ask; and your heart raced as his eyes fluttered closed, his cheek falling lightly into your palm. "Cherish every blemish because she knew what you went through to get them?" you continued, your thumb padding his bottom lip as his breath hitched.
"Please, stop," his tired eyes half-lidded. A mix of lust and drunk... on you. His phone sounded abruptly, interrupting the revelry. You looked down, saw the callsign and dropped your touch as he sighed. You picked up his phone and he didn't stop you.
"It's okay, Mav. I've got him."
"Thank Christ," Pete sighed. You were hearing his voice for the first time in years. "I thought he'd done something stupid."
"He has. He's with me," you told him. A small chuckle replied you and the line went dead.
"Why did Mav call?" you asked. Rooster and Mav's long-running feud saddened you.
"Long story," he sighed. As long as he had Maverick back in his life, you hoped Rooster was a little less lonely.
"Does everyone hate me?"
"Naw," Rooster said softly. "Worse, they miss you. When Hangman told me you were here today, he felt like he'd seen a ghost. Like someone was playing a practical joke on him," he bit back a laugh, a half-smile gracing his features and he relinquished your touch, falling back into the couch. "I get the ghost bit though."
"I'm here, Rooster."
"Yup. In my UVA sweater that you never gave back," he licked his lips, dragging in a deep breath.
"I love this sweater," you admitted, bringing the collar to snuggle into your face. And it was all I had left of you after I walked away from you.
"Always looked better on you anyway," he gave a slow chuckle.
"Roost?"
"Hmm?" he hummed, easing back into the couch, his eyes closed as he nursed the whiskey to his lips. He took a slow sip and raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain his attention but the alcohol had taken over, the heat of the moment had gone with Mav's call and you were both back to your corners, preparing for the next round. Deciding against telling him how much you missed him and were happy to see him, even in the day's circumstances, you told him to put the glass on the table and lay down. You'd get him a blanket and pillow so he could finally give in to the sleep that was beckoning him. "You're probably right."
"I'll be right back," you told him, getting off the coffee table and walking slowly to your room, finally able to breathe. Realising that since you opened the front door, it was like someone was standing on your chest. Rooster was back in your life in a way that you'd never expected. But he was back and it was like you'd never found the courage to leave him. You had no idea how you'd be able to get over him this time.
Finding a blanket in the cupboard and a pillow from your bed, you wandered back down the hall to find him exactly how you'd guided him, snuggled into the cushions on his side and already asleep. Not surprisingly, the adrenaline had to wane at some point. You took a mental picture of how sweet and relaxed he looked for the first time today and lightly covered him with the blanket before you went back to your bed. But there was no way you could sleep again, not with him just a room away. Checking your phone, you went to his number and unblocked it, littered with all the texts you never saw when you left. Hundreds. A lot that he missed you, did you miss him? Can I visit? Are you coming home for the holidays?
Then nothing for a year. Finally... the last one, six months ago:
I'm getting married.
And there it was. "Shit," you bemoaned, realising how easily avoidable today was in hindsight. But also? How relieved you were now you had Rooster back in your life. What does that look like? You didn't know. But he was mere feet away and you would be patient to find out. As long as you could find a way to be near him, laugh with him again, it would be enough.
He was an enigma to you now. So close, yet so far. For three years, you tried your best to pretend that Bradley Bradshaw didn't exist and in a single moment, he came back screaming into focus. He still looked every bit as handsome as you'd remembered, even the moustache, new for you, surprisingly wasn't a dealbreaker, just so masculine. He was definitely in better shape, losing the last of the puppy fat that you always adored but Hayley had reaped the benefits. But his voice... oh, God, his voice, even when angry at you could still bring you to your knees. The gravelly rumble was still delightfully laced with honey, maybe deeper now with age.
Convinced the last three years were a mistake, you put your head in your hands and cried for all the failures, but also for the strength you had to walk away from a man you were so terribly in love with the try and see if you could make it without him. Maybe you could have, but the universe had other plans for you both. Not knowing what else to do, you picked up your phone and texted Natasha.
You: He's here and I don't know what to do
You weren't surprised when you saw the little dots indicating she was texting right back to you. "Just don't tell him you're still in love with him. Not yet. Do you want me to come and get him?"
You: No, he's passed out in the living room atm. Why are you up?
Pheonix: Left sound on my phone in case R texted or whatever. Kind of expected the worst tonight tbh
Pheonix: You know he's in love with you. But you can't rush this. You know what's coming: good things. But now you have to adjust to being in each other's lives again 🫣
You: Bullshit logic. Hate fucking could be amazing 🥵
Pheonix: But you don't hate each other. That is why you found it so easy to hurt each other today...
You: Deep 🫡
Phoenix: Try and get some sleep. But don't be surprised if he's not there when you wake up.
You were more surprised when you saw him at the door to your room when you woke up, still in what he wore last night, but barefoot. Stretching and hangover in full effect, your eyes raw and like sandpaper, you tried to look like a functional human adult as he gave a half-smile. "I made coffee," he said. "But you didn't have any sweetener," he nodded to the cup on the bedside table he'd left before you rose.
"Thank you," you smiled appreciatively, taking the warm mug into your palms and letting the aroma envelope you. "I don't take sugar anymore," you admitted after all the years he tried to get you to quit it.
"Imagine that," he said, amused at the development.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like shit," he admitted. "Head killing me, body feels like it's been ejected about two hundred times."
You stayed quiet. You didn't need to talk about that kind of stuff this morning.
He remained in place, very good after years of being told to stay to do it exactly. He was scared to cross the threshold to your bedroom, but you didn't want him to approach either. You'd be a lost cause if he took another single step. "I'm sorry for how I acted yesterday."
"What, like your horrible ex-girlfriend wrecked the biggest day of your life?" you slowly sat up. Thinking about it, you added, "Honestly, how were you supposed to act?"
"Better," he told you and it quietened you. He didn't want your apologies, he was taking ownership of the situation and you were so proud of him. "I know better. I was a dick, and I hate how I treated you - both of you."
"I accept that. But you don't have to apologise. It was a lot," you tried to reassure him, but it was his redemption hour and he was on his box.
"You didn't mess it up. I did," he sighed and sat down, stretching his lean legs out as he leaned against the doorframe. "I never wanted to get married - I just thought it was the logical next step, you know? I was spiralling and you were the one there that took the brunt of it."
"I shouldn't have come. I will do better research next time about who I'm singing for," you pledged (and would continue to do so).
"Hayley wanted you there. She didn't know."
"Well, now she does."
"And so does everyone on the Island," he rubbed the back of his neck, tensing, his lips in a tight line. "I thought marrying her was the right thing. I'm not getting younger."
"Yeah, how old are you now? Like 63 or something?" you teased the two-year age difference between you.
"Knock it off, I'm not dead yet," he rolled his eyes. "We're not spring chickens anymore. What are we doing with our lives?"
"Clearly making messes of them."
He actually laughed, a hearty, raspy, oh-so fucking sexy Rooster laugh. "I said knock it off. You're such a pain in the ass."
"Hey."
He hummed in reply, sipping his coffee, and looking at you over the rim of the mug.
"It's not like you do to do what's expected of you, Roost."
"Mav said the same thing," he said, quietly.
"I'm so glad you two cleared the air. Whatever happened was worth it," you told him honestly. "You need him and he needs you. You're family."
He shrugged, nonchalant. "Only took half-killing us, though," he bit his lip, knowing you would ask what the fuck he was talking about.
"WHAT?" you howled.
And he proceeded to tell you the story about the squad and their near-brush-with-death mission. And even though he made it out relatively safely in the end, you kind of wanted to kill him yourself. And Mav, for what it was worth. "Oh, my God," you said, eyes watering, body shaking by the end of it. And although you knew you shouldn't have, you bolted from the bed into him, crushed against his chest, openly wailing that you could have lost him and you would have been no better for it if Natasha had to tell you as such.
A gentle 'oof' escaped his lips as your force made contact with his torso and he smiled. "It's okay, it's okay," he said softly, patting your back tenderly. "I'm still here and making terrible life choices."
"It was a fucking one-way ticket to your grave, you idiot! I am not even surprised with Mav."
Rooster chuckled quietly. "It's okay, really. He saved us."
"You're both idiots," you conceded.
He gently pulled you back and wiped away the tears from your face. "Oh, darling. I lived to tell the tale. Don't live in the past," he whispered the latter part. "Or at least that's what my shrink says," he adjusted your posture and sat you across his lap - close, intimate and forcing you to face your demons head-on. "God, you beautiful disaster," he teased, a gentle laugh escaping his lips and he combed his long fingers through your hair lightly, tangling in your hair as they did so many moons ago, gently calming you. "Did you mean what you said last night? About if Hayley loved me like you did - "
Hiding your eyes, you played with his collar instead. "Can we not?"
He ignored you. "No one has ever loved me like you," he said softly, terribly nervous again. "I've been through some shit. But losing you was the worst thing I've ever been through as an adult. It took me a long time to learn that I pinned too many things to us; a home, a family, a life. Then you were gone and I was debilitated. But now you're back, I'm not expecting anything. I know I'm a mess too. But if - after..." he tried, stumbling over his words and holding your chin to meet his gaze. "I just want to be your friend. Just to be in your life, that will be enough for me."
Thought it killed you to say, you told him, "Things are complicated now. More than they ever were before."
"I know," he nodded. "We're older. No one said wiser." Swallowing, he continued, "Tell me this is all in my head, and I will believe you," he said confidently.
"It's not in your head," you told him delicately. "I have missed you every day since I left. Leaving was the stupidest thing I ever did. And I regret it every minute. But you have a lot of stuff to clean up... and I'm not sure I should be there for that. You need to see Hayley and apologise and sort your life out. I don't need to overcomplicate or distract you."
"But you're such a good distraction," he mewled, he thumbed your cheeks in his rough warm palms. His eyes tested you, dared you to look away.
"Don't," you warned again. You were waning though, and he knew it better than you did. He was watching you keenly, just waiting for his chance. You brought yourself here, he'd remind you, just like you used to. A position like this was never romantic, it always led to a certain wildness in you both -
"To be honest," he said. "If Jake didn't see you yesterday... we wouldn't be here."
"So we thank Bagman?!" you asked incredulously as Rooster laughed heartily, his head lolling back and resting against the doorframe and it was absolute bliss - god, you'd missed that breathy tinkle of joy and you sighed, able to fight just a moment more to keep him serious.
He relaxed and his eyes dropped, nodding. "Yeah, okay. You're right."
"Bradley," jolted back to your gaze by his name on your lips, you added. "I am so in love with you. I've always been in love with you. I'll wait for whenever this all works out for us."
"I know," he nodded, a glimmer of hope returning to his handsome features, he leaned forward and kissed you, just once, just chaste, just to test the waters. He inhaled, evening his breath - how lucky for him considering you'd stopped breathing somewhere in the conversation.
"Don't start, I swear. I'll be a lost cause if you kiss me," you begged, your fists clutching his collar and your knuckles turning white, taunting you just like you had the night before when you reminded him how you knew every devastating scar on his skin. You loved and moved each other in a way no one would ever understand.
"Don't start what?" he whispered, moving your hair from your face to trace the rim of your ear with his steady finger. A tactile asshole when he wanted to be, the use of his hands was his love language and he was going straight for the jugular. He knew every nuance of your body and mind and it left you brutally exposed for defeat.
"Rooster," you warned. "Don't."
He laughed quietly, your tone betraying you - not force, just accepting your fate and you'd lost. "I'm not doing anything," in his other palm, he gripped your wrist and brought it to his lips, the bristles of his moustache as he placed a tender kiss on your pulse. "It's racing," he tormented you. Goddamn heartbeat selling you out. It raced like a hummingbird when you were in his presence. It never changed. Its effect on you still pushed you to the absolute brink and made your head spin. "Just say the word and I'll stop."
But the words were lost as you moved to your knees and brought his face to yours. He adjusted his legs, allowing you more room and his face remained passive, daring you to say no. But as in most instances with him, the words were lost only to the actions.
A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x
#rooster#rooster x reader#rooster x you#rooster x oc#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster imagine#rooster fanfic#rooster angst#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw x oc#bradley rooster bradshaw x you#bradley rooster bradshaw x oc#bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader#bradley rooster bradshaw imagine#rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw fic#rooster top gun#top gun maverick#notroosterbradshaw#hangman#maverick#top gun fanfiction#phoenix
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